Frank moved without warning, and Badmiel followed a moment later, already used to this pattern. He found him crouched beside a flickering soul. It pulsed too quickly, unstable, like it couldn't decide whether to exist or disappear. Fragments of memory leaked from it in uneven bursts. There was fire, smoke, a child crying, and a man standing at a doorway with too many choices and not enough time.
"He can run," Badmiel said.
"Yes."
"But he won't."
"No."
Badmiel studied the scene more closely, his gaze narrowing slightly as the man in the memory stepped forward.
"Why?"
"Because this is the only moment he thinks he matters."
The man moved into the fire, and the soul trembled as if reacting to its own decision. Badmiel exhaled softly, already seeing where this would end.
"He won't survive."
"He knows."
That answer didn't sit well, but before Badmiel could say more, Frank reached out and touched the soul. The reaction was immediate. The memory twisted. The man froze, hesitation replacing certainty. He stepped back once, then again, doubt settling into his expression.
"What did you do?" Badmiel asked, his voice lower now.
"I gave him doubt."
"You're interfering."
"I'm testing."
The child's cries grew louder, sharper, pulling at the man's resolve. His body shook as the hesitation deepened. For a moment, it looked like he would turn and run. Then something broke not toward escape, but toward decision. He turned and ran into the fire anyway. The soul flared.
It didn't flicker this time. It steadied, burning brighter than before.
"Confirmed."
Badmiel stared at it for a moment longer than necessary, his expression unreadable.
"You nearly broke him."
"He didn't break."
"That wasn't your decision to make."
"If doubt breaks him now, it breaks him later."
Badmiel didn't respond immediately. He simply raised his hand and marked the soul. The light stabilized completely, no longer on the verge of collapse.
"One," he said.
They moved on.
The drifting space around them shifted slightly as they walked, souls passing by like quiet echoes of unfinished lives. This time, Frank didn't speak immediately. He observed, watching how they flickered, how they held together or didn't. Patterns formed the longer he looked.
"That one wants power," he said after a while.
"Most do."
"He wants control."
Badmiel glanced once at the soul before looking away.
"Reject."
They continued walking. Another soul drifted closer, weaker than most, barely holding its shape. It dimmed, brightened, then dimmed again, like it was fighting to stay.
"This one hates himself," Frank said.
"That's not rare."
"He still gets up."
Badmiel slowed slightly, his attention returning.
"Show me."
The memory surfaced without resistance. Failure after failure. Rejection. Loss. Every time, the same result, he stood up again. No pride, no confidence, just stubborn refusal to stay down.
"…Persistent isn't he" Badmiel said.
" No Stubborn."
"…Same thing."
Badmiel lifted his hand and marked the soul. It steadied, not strong, but no longer collapsing.
"Two."
They walked again, the silence between them not uncomfortable, just natural. Then both of them stopped at the same time.
"…You felt that," Frank said.
Badmiel's gaze sharpened slightly.
"Yes."
A pulse moved through the space. Faint, but wrong. It didn't belong to the drifting souls around them. It was something else... something deeper.
"The light," Frank said.
"It's appearing too often."
"That's not normal."
"Agreed"
Badmiel closed his eyes briefly, tracking the source before opening them again.
"Elarion."
Frank didn't react.
"That makes three."
"I know."
Badmiel turned, already moving.
"We're done here."
They vanished.
Elsewhere, in a space filled with soft light, Mikhail stretched lazily as scenes of the mortal world drifted around him. People prayed, begged, and cried out for things they believed only gods could give them.
"Power. Strength. Revenge," he muttered.
He waved a hand, and several scenes disappeared at once. "Always the same."
Another flicker caught his attention, sharper than the rest. It didn't blend in. It stood out.
"…Oh?"
He leaned forward slightly, his usual lazy expression fading.
"That again…" The feeling was faint, but familiar. "The light…" He clicked his tongue.
"You're getting bold."
In another part of the realm, where the air felt heavier and still, Enchanted stood alone. Unlike the others, he wasn't watching many lives. Just one. A steady glow that didn't flicker or waver.
"…So you stayed hidden," he said quietly.
The light pulsed once in response. "And now you're moving again."
He folded his arms, his expression unreadable. "This won't end well."
AT THE PALACE BALLROOM
The light still surrounded the prince, bright and unyielding. It hadn't faded since the moment the artifact reacted. It simply held him there, as if deciding something no one else could see.
The nobles stood frozen, their earlier confidence gone. No one spoke. No one dared to move. Even their breathing felt quieter, like the room itself demanded silence.
The King remained still, his gaze fixed on the center. His expression gave nothing away.
Luminous stood at the edge of the hall, watching without blinking. Something about the light felt familiar. Not comforting. Not dangerous. Just… known.
"It's taking too long," Emily whispered.
"Yeah." Luminous said even though he didn't know how long it was meant to take.
He didn't look at her. His eyes stayed on the center, on the way the light pulsed, on the way it felt like something deeper was moving beneath it.
"Do you feel that?" she asked.
"…I do."
The glow shifted. Not brighter. Heavier. Like it carried weight instead of light.
The prince's silhouette flickered within it, barely visible. The nobles leaned forward slightly, unable to stop themselves. Hope and fear mixed on their faces, twisting into something ugly.
The King's gaze sharpened. The light flickered once. Then again. Slowly, it began to pull back. Not all at once, but slowly, like it was reluctant to let go. Shadows returned to the room. Shapes became clearer. The outline of the prince began to form again.
The glow weakened further, shrinking back toward the artifact. The air felt heavier with every second that passed.
Then it faded completely. And they all waited with bated breath.