I woke up with a violent, ragged breath, my entire body convulsing in sobbing spasms as I lay sprawled on an icy, damp floor.
My head throbbed as if it had been split open by a dull axe, a relentless hammering that perfectly mirrored the deep, agonizing pain settled in every muscle, joint, and bone of my body.
As my mind struggled to process where the hell I was, I forced my eyelids open and pushed myself up, ignoring the physical agony through sheer, brute willpower.
I was surrounded by a void of absolute darkness.
It was a place so completely devoid of even a single beam of light that keeping my eyes open felt exactly the same as squeezing them shut.
And I knew that place well; it was my subconscious.
"HEY!!!!! WHERE ARE YOU?!"
My voice tore from my throat, echoing into infinity through that hollow emptiness.
I pressed the heels of my hands against my temples, squeezing my head tightly.
Along with the piercing pain came a suffocating flood of memories: Arthur's cold, distant gaze, and Laura's blood-soaked body.
"AAAAAAAHHAHHHHHHH!!!! YOU BASTARD!"
I punched the ground beneath me.
The surface, which felt like a solid, mirrored sheet of water, shuddered violently, sending out a sonic shockwave that roared in every direction.
I broke down completely, crying and sobbing in the midst of that devouring darkness.
"Where are you when I need you?.."
"From what I gather, you seem to have a rather special perception of me."
"But that isn't the case."
The voice echoed softly, coming from somewhere above me.
I didn't even need to look up to know exactly who it was.
"Please... help me," I begged, clawing at the fabric over my chest, where my heart hammered out of control.
"PLEASE!"
It was a physical pain, an open, bloody, infected cavity of loss festering inside me, intertwining with an abyssal desire to tear Arthur's limbs off one by one.
I spoke through a veil of tears, suffocating in an atomic explosion of the darkest, most toxic feelings the human soul could harbor.
"Listen to me extremely carefully, Suki. Because this will be the last time."
I finally looked up, only to be surprised. Standing there, shrouded in the oppressive ink of the void, was my adult reflection.
"I failed to protect everything that was important to me, and throughout my entire life, I was never able to do the things that needed to be done."
"I am nothing more than a worthless man."
"So get up, Suki. Get up and keep moving forward. After all, isn't that exactly what you've done up until today?"
"Please, no..." I pleaded, my voice cracking and breaking in the air.
"Even you?"
"There is already enough hatred inside you, Suki..."
He turned his back to me, his figure beginning to dissolve into the endless black.
"Just do something different with that hatred than I did."
I snapped awake.
I was lying on my back in a bed, surrounded by the sterile, blindingly bright walls of a white room.
My chest heaved as I gasped for air in desperate gulps, my hands trembling uncontrollably in front of me.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!!!!!"
I screamed, unleashing a roar of pure, chaotic, maddening frustration that echoed everywhere, heard even outside.
Tsukumo, who was no longer in the same room, stopped dead in his tracks.
The sound hit him before it even audibly arrived. He felt it first in his bones, a vibration that traveled up through his feet and legs until it clenched his chest.
He was in the discharge lounge, already dressed and ready to leave.
Entire days spent in a coma, sharing that cold, white room with the boy who had pushed him to his absolute limit, and now, hearing that scream, he felt every newly healed wound ache all over again.
He took a step toward the door.
The medics were rushing down the hallway, feet pounding, uniforms fluttering, faces tense.
One of them stopped in front of him, arms wide open to block his path.
"Let me go. Maybe I can help." His voice was hoarse, still heavy with sleep and exhaustion.
The doctor hesitated for a moment but shook her head, firm yet polite.
"Lord Tsukumo... you have a visitor," she said, then turned and ran with the others toward where the roar still echoed.
Tsukumo stood perfectly still.
And then, he felt it.
The weight.
Pure weight, as if the gravity of the entire world had suddenly doubled.
The air grew thick, hard to breathe.
He pressed his hand against the wall, fingers digging into the smooth surface, his knees weakening despite his best efforts.
The floor seemed to tilt beneath him.
He swallowed hard, slowly lifting his gaze through the braids falling over his face.
There, in the doorway, standing as unmovable as a mountain, was a giant.
Arms crossed over his chest—and even crossed, those arms looked capable of crushing mountains.
He wore his royal attire: a heavy fabric embroidered in gold, worn exclusively for audiences before the Queen.
His braids were massive, far thicker than Tsukumo's, cascading down his body, silver strands woven into the black, telling the story of decades of battles.
His skin was a map of long, deep, ancient scars, each one a story, each one a victory.
Vangor. The God of Strength. His father.
Tsukumo tried to hold his gaze, but failed.
His eyes darted away, dropping downward, and his legs simply gave out.
He fell to his knees.
The impact was muffled but echoed inside him like thunder, the cold floor biting into his kneecaps, his palms pressed flat to support his body, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
He felt small.
Fragile.
As if he were still a child looking up at that figure who never seemed to be made of mere flesh and bone.
Finally, Vangor opened his mouth. His voice wasn't loud; it didn't need to be.
It was deep, dense, as if every word had been forged in white-hot iron and hammered into shape by fire.
"Get up." A pause that weighed tons.
"The Queen wishes to speak with you."
And without waiting for an answer, without offering a hand, he turned his back.
His shadow enveloped Tsukumo completely as Vangor began walking out, leaving his son alone in the middle of the room, his heart pounding so hard it hurt.
Tsukumo stared at his father's broad back, swallowed the bitter taste rising in his mouth, and followed.
There was no other choice.
Far away, within the castle, our footsteps echoed like solitary drumbeats through the immense palace corridors. The polished walls reflected every sound, amplified every breath, turning every step into a judgment.
I had never set foot here before.
My braids, once groomed with pride, now hung in disarray over my face and shoulders—loose, dirty strands stained with dust and dried blood.
My clothes were torn with dozens of cuts, revealing white bandages that stood out like scars across my skin, wrappings that swathed my arms, torso, and legs, tight enough to ache with every movement.
I was a patched-up, incomplete figure, walking amidst perfection.
And everyone stared.
Servants with their heads bowed, guards in gleaming armor, attendants in impeccable attire—they all looked away, only to snap their gazes right back a second later.
For the first time in my entire existence, I felt the hot fire of shame rise to my face.
Not for having lost.
Not for being wounded.
But because I knew exactly what they saw. Not a warrior, but rather one of Vangor's eldest sons, and at the same time, an anomaly.
The one who failed.
The whispers hit like needles.
Soft, rapid words that seeped through the walls and lodged themselves in my chest.
Did he really do all that...? ...Vangor must be ashamed... A broken god of strength...
Every phrase weighed heavier than the last punch I had taken.
Until the mountain stopped.
Vangor halted in the middle of the corridor, and the entire world seemed to brake alongside him. The sound of our footsteps ceased.
The whispers died instantly.
He only turned his head, his gaze falling upon me like a slab of stone, heavy and insurmountable.
"Regardless of what she says," his voice rolled out low, but every syllable struck me like a command engraved in steel.
"you will simply obey. Do you hear me?"
I swallowed hard.
My tongue felt heavy in my mouth, and my chest hurt to breathe.
I straightened my shoulders as much as my injuries allowed, lowered my gaze before the man who had made me, and answered, each word coming out small, submissive, without a shadow of a doubt.
"Yes, sir."
He studied me for a second that weighed like an eternity, then turned without another word and pushed open the great hall doors.
They were so thick and heavy they seemed to seal fate itself; few in the entire kingdom had the strength to move them.
And Vangor swung them open as if they were made of paper.
We took a few steps, and the instant he bowed, bending his knees until his forehead touched the cold floor, I bowed in defeat.
The torn fabric of my clothes brushed against the polished flooring, and the scent of ancient wax mingled with the dry iron of my own blood.
"Lord Tsukumo... that was what they called you, correct?"
The voice drifted down from high above, soft, yet as cutting as a blade of ice.
I cautiously raised my gaze. The Queen. She possessed flawless, tan skin, like bronze polished in the sun, and pitch-black hair that cascaded in heavy waves down her shoulders and back, every strand gleaming like fresh ink.
"Yes, Your Majesty." The answer came out low, steady, but devoid of arrogance; there was no room left for arrogance here.
Silence filled every inch of that immense room, pressing down on my shoulders, making the air feel thin.
The seconds ticked by like drops falling into a puddle.
"Vangor, you may leave. I need a moment alone with him."
"Understood."
He rose almost in the exact same instant he had bowed, and from my knees, I realized what few ever saw: Vangor was terrifying.
His silhouette against the light was a living fortress, every line of his body chiseled in absolute strength.
He turned and walked toward the exit, his footsteps sounding like distant thunder.
The doors sealed shut behind him with a dull, final thud. The sound echoed, then died, leaving only the two of us.
"You know... what should have been a simple mission," she said, her tone dropping, gaining an edge of weariness that struck me harder than any anger ever could, "has caused me a colossal problem, Tsukumo."
"Arthur's betrayal. Laura's disappearance. And Suki... who was useful to me up until now, has been deeply wounded."
"And the lives of thousands of souls from Virkta's people were snuffed out because of your actions."
She paused, and I felt her gaze pierce me like needles of gold.
"Do you know how hard I had to hold her hand back so she wouldn't kill you?"
"No, Your Majesty." My throat was dry.
"If Virkta were to kill you," she continued, calm, measuring every word, "she would be signing a declaration of war against your family. And the last thing I want right now, Tsukumo, is for Vangor and Virkta to be my enemies." She tilted her head slightly.
"That is the difference between one who rules and one who simply barks orders. I see the full picture, the costs. I did this for the greater good of my people."
"But to ensure Virkta did not leave dissatisfied... I had to promise her something."
I took a deep breath, bracing myself for what was to come.
Prison. Exile. Public trial.
I was already expecting anything.
"You will not be imprisoned."
I blinked, unable to mask my shock.
"On the contrary, you shall remain free."
"However... in exchange," her voice hardened, and the air vibrated, "you will have to save twice as many lives as those you destroyed. Two for every one. That will be your journey of redemption, Tsukumo."
She vanished.
One instant she was on the throne, the next, the air beside me rippled, and she was there.
So close I could smell her perfume of dew and night, so close I could hear her breath.
Her lips almost brushed against my ear as she spoke, and every single word was seared into my soul.
"You are special, Tsukumo. Do not waste it."
"Honor your mother's memory, repent for your sins... because I only forgive them once."
A minute fraction, next to nothing, of her power leaked out.
It was an invisible pressure that crushed me from the inside out; my bones groaned, my vision blurred, and the world went pitch black all at once.
I slumped sideways onto the floor, lacking the strength to even support my own weight.
When I opened my eyes, panting, my heart beating erratically in my chest, she was back on the throne, motionless, as if she had never moved at all.
"Go."
The word fell heavy and tired.
"I have things to fix, thanks to you."
I struggled to stand up, my legs still trembling, my body aching as if I had been crushed all over again.
I bowed deeply, my forehead nearly touching the floor.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
I turned and walked toward the doors, which drifted open silently before me.
I stepped out into the hallway, and they sealed behind me with a noise that sounded just like a prison cell clicking shut.
The Queen rested her forehead in her hand, fingers sinking slightly into her temples, and her eyes traced the doors that slowly closed behind Tsukumo, as if she could still see his silhouette walking away down the hall.
"He takes after his mother far more than his own father..." she whispered, more to herself than to anyone else present.
There was an ancient weight in that sentence, a memory rooted long before Tsukumo was even born.
Kattan, standing perfectly still in the shadows behind the throne, took a silent step forward, hands clasped behind his back, his posture straight as a spear.
"Yes, Your Majesty. And you did well to let him go free. As much as he started his journey on the wrong path, bearing the burden of being Vangor's son... he is forged from the same flame. By our side, he will be an invaluable asset."
The Queen let out a long, heavy sigh, bearing the exhaustion of someone who rules over worlds and never rests.
The relief of having decided Tsukumo's fate lasted for less than a breath, because in its place, two even greater problems loomed like shadows on the horizon.
"Did Erina manage to locate the girl?" she asked, lifting her head. Her gaze, soft just moments ago, hardened once more.
Kattan shook his head, his jaw clenched tight.
"Negative, Your Majesty. The waters can no longer reach them. They are already deep within the Obscure Galaxies."
The Queen's fist slammed down hard against the obsidian armrest of her throne.
The sound was dry and sharp, and a hairline fracture spiderwebbed across the stone where her knuckles struck.
"Damn it all..." she snarled through gritted teeth.
The silence stretched for a moment before Kattan spoke again, cautious but resolute.
"Do you believe... that Suki has some connection to that man's arrival?"
He hesitated, but pressed on.
"He has been distinguishing himself at an absurd pace in such a short amount of time. Perhaps word of his power reached them over there... and that was what drew their attention."
The Queen shook her head slowly, without a hint of doubt.
"No..." she said softly, but with absolute conviction.
"I don't think so."
She stared into the empty space in front of her, as if she could see right through the palace walls, all the way to where Suki still lay wounded.
"As incredible as it may seem..." she continued, and for the first time, a glimmer of hope—faint but genuine—ignited in her eyes, "I believe Suki is something far simpler, and far rarer."
"He is not a pawn placed on the board by that shadow. He is an anomaly. A force that awakened uncalled for. And because of that..." she tightened her grip on the throne's armrest, "...he is a great ally. Perhaps the greatest one we have."
Kattan bowed his head in a gesture of respect, but his expression remained grave.
"If that is the case... may the heavens help us so he doesn't burn out before reaching the flame."
The Queen did not reply.
She merely rested her face back against her hand, alone atop her throne, knowing that the looming war would not be fought solely between armies.
Three weeks had passed since the events on Ruitan.
Time had only shown mercy to the wounds that could be seen.
Shattered bones fused together without a trace, cuts sealed as if they had never existed, bruises faded beneath the skin. Divine regeneration had played its part perfectly.
But not a single passing day had managed to alleviate the cold, hard weight that had settled deep within my chest, like an unmovable stone.
The sky was dyed in hues of burnt orange by the time I stood before the door to Silver and Kania's house.
I could walk, talk, and stay on my feet, but white bandages still wrapped around my entire body, tight and stiff.
The medics had told me to only change them when bathing, and to keep them on for another week.
I rested my forehead against the wooden door.
Three people had walked out of there one day; today, only one was returning.
Or what was left of him.
I sighed, swallowing the lump of tears rising in my throat. I didn't want Kania or Silver to see me like this.
I didn't want to worry them any more than I already had.
I pushed the door open slowly, and the silence welcomed me before the air even did.
The air was stagnant, warm, and heavy as an old blanket. I glanced at the windows—all closed. It was a clear sign that I was home alone.
I walked over to each of them, opening them one by one. The breeze drifted in softly, washing away the heat, but it couldn't wash away the emptiness.
My eyes drifted up the stairs. I took a deep breath, once, twice, and started my ascent.
Every step felt heavier than my entire body. That hallway I knew so intimately now felt larger, colder, completely barren.
No voices. No laughter.
No sound of rapid footsteps beside me.
I reached my room, the only window that was always left ajar. I hated seeing it closed; I needed the wind to circulate. And it was still exactly like that, as if someone had kept everything exactly as I had left it.
And there, leaning against the wall beside the perfectly made bed, was Kazekiba.
I couldn't even remember where it had ended up after the fight against Tsukumo began. Silver would definitely scold me for leaving my weapon behind.
I squeezed the hilt so hard my knuckles turned white.
"I'm back," I whispered.
I placed it on the wooden rack, right next to Lucas's spear.
My fingers brushed against the shaft of that old weapon, and then the memories flooded back: the land of the elves, the nights spent camping beneath the canopy of trees, the playful banter, the plans we made for the future.
And amid them all, Laura's face.
Her wide smile, the way her eyes sparkled whenever she talked about something she loved, her voice trembling with joy even in the worst of situations.
I squeezed the spear shaft with all the strength left in me.
And this time, I couldn't hold it back.
Hot tears streamed down my face, and my legs simply gave out.
I fell to my knees on the floor, letting go of the spear, and curled up in the darkest corner of the bedroom.
But amidst that whirlwind of memories, her face slowly began to fade.
Another image took its place.
Clearer. Stronger.
More alive in my mind than anything else.
Arthur.
And then, everything inside me shattered.
My aura didn't just leak; it erupted.
It exploded from me like a shockwave, tearing through the walls and windows, making the glass shatter, the floor tremble beneath my knees, and the curtains thrash violently in the wind.
It was hatred.
Pure, raw, burning like an unquenchable fire—a hatred so vast it felt capable of consuming not just him, but the entire world around me.
And I stayed there, trembling from head to toe, my fists clenched so tightly my nails dug into my palms, knowing with absolute certainty: there would be no rest.
There would be no forgiveness.
Nothing would end as long as he still drew breath.
"As long as you're breathing... the universe will be far too small to hide you from me."