(Marvel, DC, images, manhuas, and every anime that will be mentioned and used in this story are not mine. They all belong to their respective owners. The main character "Karito/Adriel Josue Valdez" and the story are mine)
Next Day, Zhcted Imperial Capital, Silesia.
Morning crept over the imperial capital of Silesia, cloaking the towers of Zhcted's palace in a cold light that didn't quite reach the stone halls inside. The capital was quiet in the early hours. Too quiet. But Adriel was used to silence. Silence was easy. Predictable.
His boots echoed faintly against the polished floor as he stepped out of his assigned guest chamber. Despite the opulence around him—painted ceilings, velvet banners, and gold-etched walls—he looked like a man burdened more by thought than awe. He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes dulled with fatigue.
The parasite was still gnawing at him. Not physically, not entirely—but in his mind, his flow of thought. Where once his Meta-Knowledge could map the story beats of this world like he was reading a script, now there were gaps. Blank spaces. Delays. His instincts were slower, like someone had introduced lag into his perception.
It pissed him off.
The throne room debacle from the day before still lingered in his mind. He had won. Of course he had. But it had come at a cost—in perception, in trust, in the balance of things.
Elen...
He didn't finish the thought.
He adjusted his coat and headed toward the kitchens. He needed food. Real food. Something grounded. He ate dinner yesterday, but he was distracted, and now that things had somewhat stabilized, his body reminded him that yes, Guardians still needed to eat when their dimensionality is reduced to 3D.
The halls were largely empty, save for the occasional servant too polite to do more than bow their head. He didn't bother acknowledging them. Not out of arrogance, but out of focus. His thoughts were already moving to the next step.
He would need to gather the Vanadis who remained in the capital. Sofya. Mila. Elen.
He sighed.
No, not Elen.
The kitchens, surprisingly, weren't deserted. As he pushed through the archway, the smell of warm bread, herbs, and morning stew welcomed him like an old friend. But what made him pause was the presence at the long oak table near the hearth.
Ludmila Lourie sat with a cup of tea, already dressed in her formal wear. Her hair was neatly tied, her posture impeccable. The room's warmth did little to melt her usual chill.
"Mila," Adriel greeted, his voice low.
She didn't look up from her tea. "You're late."
He raised an eyebrow, grabbing a piece of bread from the basket and taking a seat across from her. "Didn't realize there was a schedule."
"There wasn't. But you looked like the sort who kept to one."
Adriel smirked slightly. "Even Gods hit the snooze button, Mila."
She did glance at him then. Not with humor, but analysis. The corners of her mouth lifted—just barely.
"I assume you're here to discuss next steps."
He nodded, mouth full. "Wanted to get all three of you in one room. Strategy. Logistics. Influence consolidation."
"That might be difficult."
Adriel blinked. "Why?"
Mila set her cup down gently. "Elen left the castle this morning. Early. Took her sword and her horse. Didn't tell anyone where she was going."
The tension in Adriel's face didn't shift much. But the glint in his eye dimmed.
"So she ran," he muttered.
"After what you pulled yesterday, are you surprised?"
"No," he admitted. "But I was hoping she wouldn't."
Mila didn't respond. She merely watched as he leaned back in the chair, staring up at the ceiling as if it held answers he couldn't quite see.
He tapped the table absently. "I never wanted to hurt her."
"You did anyway."
"I know."
The sound of approaching steps saved him from digging further into that thought.
Sofya Obertas entered the kitchen with her usual calm, her long blonde hair cascading behind her like a trailing comet. She wore simpler clothes than yesterday—still elegant, but toned down.
She paused as she saw them. "Ah. Looks like I'm not the only one who thought breakfast was overdue."
Adriel offered a tired smile. "Morning, Sofya."
"Adriel." She gave a polite nod, then sat beside Mila, nodding in thanks as a servant poured her tea.
"I assume we're discussing plans?" she asked as she sipped.
"Eventually," Adriel said. "But I figured we start with bread first, world-saving later."
Sofya gave a small chuckle. "Pragmatic."
For a brief moment, the air settled.
Three Vanadis at one table. Two watching him, one absent.
Adriel's fingers drummed quietly.
"I know I'm not what you all expected," he said finally, voice quiet.
Mila looked at him over her cup. "No. You're not."
Sofya offered something softer. "But that doesn't mean we can't work with you."
Adriel glanced down at his hands.
"Let's make this simple," he said. "We'll wait for Elen to return. Until then, the three of us need to solidify control. Nobles will be testing boundaries now that the shock has worn off. If they see cracks, they'll dig."
"Then we don't show any," Mila said, almost instantly.
Sofya nodded. "Agreed."
Adriel looked at both of them, the weariness in his eyes hardening into resolve.
The kitchen had settled into a quiet rhythm, the sound of clinking utensils and the soft scrape of bread against plates filling the air. The warmth of the hearth bled across the stone walls, but none of it reached Adriel. He sat still, hand wrapped around a mug of tea he hadn't touched.
Across from him, Sofya watched with careful poise. Mila remained silent, but observant—her fingers toying with the rim of her teacup. They had eaten most of their breakfast, and now the quiet was too heavy to ignore.
Adriel exhaled, breaking the silence. "There's something I need to give you."
Mila raised an eyebrow. Sofya tilted her head, the faintest crease appearing on her brow.
"Not a gift," he clarified, setting the cup down. "A blessing."
Sofya looked intrigued. Mila looked suspicious.
"Guardian's Blessing," he continued, eyes lowering slightly. "You won't understand what it is—not fully. And I won't explain what I can't. But what you do need to know is this: the enemy we're about to face cannot be harmed by conventional weapons or magic. Not unless I authorize it."
Mila straightened. "Authorize it? What, are you some divine registrar now?"
Adriel didn't laugh. "Think of it as giving your weapons permission to strike something that exists outside your world's structure."
Sofya's voice remained calm. "You're saying that without this blessing, we are powerless?"
"Against the lesser forces? No. You'd still fight. Still bleed. Still die. But you wouldn't hurt them. Not really. Not enough to make a difference."
Mila folded her arms. "Then you'd best explain what exactly you're sending us into."
Adriel looked between them, and for a moment, the air around him felt heavier—like a shadow had passed through the light.
"The army that came for Alsace was the beginning. They were the easy ones. Copies. Hollowed creatures filled with nothing but destruction." He paused. "I stopped them. Alone. And I could do it again, if I weren't already infected."
Sofya frowned. "Infected?"
Adriel nodded. "A parasite. Slowing me down. Weakening me. I can't afford to take the field against that kind of force again until it's removed."
Mila didn't ask what kind of parasite. She likely guessed it wasn't natural. Instead, she shifted to the next logical question. "And until then?"
"You fight in my stead," he said simply. "With my blessing."
Sofya sat back slightly. "I see."
"We'll start with Nemetacum," Adriel continued. He pushed his empty plate aside, leaning forward, both hands folded on the table. "The territory is exposed. Felix Thenardier is a problem, but not an unpredictable one. Brune's forces already failed to capture Alsace, and after what I did there, they'll be licking their wounds."
Mila narrowed her eyes. "You're suggesting we invade their territory outright?"
"Strike decisively," Adriel corrected. "We need momentum. They won't expect an attack so soon after Alsace. That gives us leverage."
"It will provoke a response," Sofya said.
"Good," Adriel replied. "That's what I want. We draw them out. Keep them distracted. The longer they think they can win with brute force, the longer they keep sending pawns instead of looking deeper into what's truly wrong."
Mila didn't speak, but her gaze said enough. She understood. He was playing the long game.
Sofya sipped her tea. "And what of the court? Some still doubt your intentions."
Adriel smirked. "Let them. Doubt is predictable. Desperation is not. Once word spreads that two Vanadis are carrying a divine mark, those doubts will fade."
"Divine mark?" Mila echoed.
"The blessing," he said. "It will linger. People will see it. Feel it."
Mila stared at him. "You're making us symbols."
"No," Adriel said. "I'm making you weapons."
Silence returned, heavier than before.
Then Sofya broke it. "And what of Elen?"
Adriel's jaw clenched.
Mila answered. "She left. But not far, judging from the direction she's taking. She just needs time."
Adriel nodded slowly. "Then I'll give it to her. But not forever."
They ate in silence for a few moments more. Plans unspoken filled the air like smoke.
The table had quieted again. The early clinks of utensils and occasional small talk had faded into a heavier kind of silence, one that carried the weight of what wasn't being said.
Sofya noticed it first—the way Adriel's posture subtly stiffened at the mention of Elen. The way his fork slowed. The faint hardening of his jaw.
She didn't speak immediately. She watched. Waited.
And when she was sure, she asked softly, "Adriel... what happened between you and Elen?"
He didn't look up. Just tore another piece of bread and chewed like it was a necessary function, not something he tasted.
Mila didn't give him a chance to dodge. She set her cup down and answered for him.
"He used her."
Adriel's fingers twitched.
Sofya turned sharply to Mila. "Explain."
Mila's voice remained even, but there was no hiding the disdain in it. "He knew she cared for him. He let her believe he was just some strange wanderer with power. Someone harmless. For a month, he let her open up to him. Laugh with him. Trust him."
Adriel still didn't speak.
"And then," Mila continued, "he used that trust. He walked into that throne room knowing full well what kind of chaos he was going to bring. He dragged her name and her loyalty with him—because he knew it would help him win."
Sofya's face changed. Not into anger, but something quieter. Disappointment. Sadness.
Her gaze shifted to Adriel. "Is that true?"
Adriel finally looked up. His eyes were dull, tired.
"Yes."
No defense. No spin. Just a flat answer.
Sofya didn't lash out. She didn't raise her voice. But her next words cut anyway.
"She trusted you."
"I know."
"She fought for you, even if it was too keep you as a 'prisoner" of war, but that didn't last. She laughed with you, judging by the two different versions you displayed here and back at Elen's castle. And she let you into her home."
"I know."
Silence again.
Mila didn't press further. She'd said her piece.
Sofya breathed in slowly, fingers folded in front of her. "Then why?"
Adriel leaned back in his chair, looking up at the wooden beams of the kitchen ceiling like he might find clarity carved into them.
He stayed like that for a long moment. Then, without emotion, he said, "Because I needed to win."
"That's not good enough," Mila said flatly.
"I know," he said again. "But it's the truth."
Sofya's tone softened, though her eyes stayed sharp. "There's more to it than that. I can see it. You didn't just manipulate her for strategy. You pushed her away."
He didn't answer.
She studied him, quiet for a beat, then leaned in slightly. "Why, Adriel?"
Adriel exhaled, pressing a thumb and forefinger to his temple. "You want the real reason?"
Sofya nodded. "Yes."
He didn't meet their eyes when he asked, "What would you have done?"
That threw them both off. Mila frowned. Sofya blinked.
"You want sympathy?" Mila asked, incredulous.
"No," he said. "I'm asking. Honestly. What would you have done?"
His voice wasn't challenging. It was quiet. Earnest. And exhausted.
"You come from another world," he said slowly. "You're dropped into a place where the people are kind to you. Strong. Brave. And someone—someone radiant—starts trusting you. Starts looking at you like you might be something worth holding onto."
He looked at Sofya now, and there was no teasing in his eyes. Just something hollow.
"And you know, because of what you are, because of what you've lived through, that if you let her care too much... she'll get hurt. Maybe even die."
Sofya's lips parted slightly.
"You know that because it's happened before. Again and again. You've watched people you care about die. Be taken from you. Erased. Not killed. Erased. Like they were never written to begin with."
He paused, letting that sink in.
"So, you tell me. What would you have done?"
The table was quiet again, but this time for a different reason.
Sofya didn't look away. Her voice, when it came, was soft. "I would have warned her."
"And if she didn't listen?"
"Then I would have stayed. And protected her."
Adriel looked away.
Mila, uncharacteristically quiet, said nothing. But her eyes had softened.
Adriel leaned forward, elbows on the table, and rubbed his face with both hands. "I'm tired of losing people. That's it. I knew Elen was getting too close. And I didn't want her caught up in this any more than she had to be. So I did the only thing that always works."
He looked at them, and for once, there was no glimmer of arrogance behind his words.
"I made her hate me."
Sofya's eyes shimmered faintly, but she didn't cry. She just nodded slowly. "And now?"
He sat back again. "Now I let her cool off. And I try to make sure this doesn't get worse."
Mila finally broke the silence. "That's not how people work, Adriel."
"I know," he said.
Sofya exhaled. "You still should have told us something."
"I don't explain myself to people I met yesterday."
"Then maybe stop treating us like we're temporary," Mila snapped.
Adriel smirked, not unkindly. "We're all temporary."
Sofya reached across the table and touched his hand gently. "So make what time we do have matter."
He looked at her hand for a moment, then nodded once.
The table went quiet.
Not uncomfortably so—just still. Like the breath after a long exhale.
Adriel tore another piece from his bread and chewed slower this time, gaze unfocused, somewhere on the table. Mila sipped her tea, the earlier sharpness in her posture softened. Sofya remained poised, but her shoulders had dropped slightly, her hands no longer resting in command, but at ease.
They didn't press him again.
He appreciated that more than he let on.
"You asked what I would've done," Sofya said eventually, her voice softer now, as if reshaping the air around them. "Truth is, I've made mistakes too. I've chosen silence over honesty more times than I care to count. Sometimes it was the right move. Sometimes... it cost me people."
Adriel didn't look at her. But he listened.
"People see me as the pacifist," she continued. "The diplomat. The one who talks before drawing a blade. But even diplomacy cuts. You learn that the first time someone trusts you to speak for them—and then you watch them suffer because you didn't say enough."
Her words didn't ask for pity. They were statements. Quiet truths offered up like olive branches.
"I've had to watch sisters fall out with each other. Seen Vanadis stop speaking. And I stayed silent to keep the balance."
Adriel raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? You ever ghost a kingdom?"
Sofya chuckled. "Not yet. But I have made a grown man cry over tea negotiations."
Mila glanced up, blinking. "The merchant from Muozinel?"
Sofya gave a slow nod. "He lied about the spice rates. I made him apologize barefoot on a frozen lake."
"You're terrifying," Mila muttered, but the faint smile betrayed her fondness.
Adriel allowed himself a quiet laugh. It was the first genuine one that morning, a crack of warmth splitting through the weight.
"Okay, I needed that," he admitted.
"You're not the only one," Sofya said. "We all carry things."
"Some more than others," Mila added, eyes flicking toward him.
Adriel tilted his head. "Subtle as always."
"I was raised to value directness," she replied, taking another sip of tea. "And I'm still not convinced you're not going to vanish in the middle of the night."
"If I did, I'd take the bread," he said. "Fair warning."
Sofya smiled faintly. "You don't trust easily."
He met her eyes for a beat too long. "Would you?"
"No," she said. "But I'd try."
The room quieted again—not awkwardly, but with mutual understanding. Adriel leaned back in his chair, resting his hand against his face, fingers brushing over his temple.
"I didn't want to hurt her," he muttered.
Sofya didn't ask who. She didn't need to.
"But I knew I would," he continued. "It was the only way to push her away before it was too late."
"Why?" she asked. Not demandingly. Not even with judgment. Just... curiosity. The kind that comes from someone used to helping others untangle their knots.
Adriel exhaled. "Because the closer people get, the more it costs them. And I'm tired of people paying for knowing me."
Silence again.
Sofya reached across the table—not to touch him, but to push a second slice of bread toward his plate. She didn't say anything as she did it.
Adriel looked down at it.
"You know," he said slowly, "where I'm from, this kind of behavior usually means you're flirting."
Mila snorted into her cup.
Sofya raised a brow. "Then take it as a sign of mercy. You're pitiful when you're underfed."
He smirked. "You're alright, Sofya."
"I know," she replied smoothly.
Mila finished her tea with a quiet clink. "If you two are done with your little courtship ritual, I'd like to get through breakfast without needing to gag."
Sofya turned her gaze toward her with a glint of amusement. "Jealous?"
"Disgusted," Mila corrected flatly.
Adriel leaned back, arms behind his head. "You know, for two people who didn't trust me yesterday, this is a pretty friendly breakfast."
Mila didn't answer. Sofya did.
"You're still dangerous. We just know how to use dangerous things when we have to."
Adriel smiled faintly. "That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me this week."
Sofya leaned back in turn, her expression less guarded than before. "You've earned a bit of peace, Adriel. Even if it's just for breakfast."
He looked at her, then at Mila, then back at the bread on his plate.
"Yeah," he said finally. "Maybe I have."
And for a fleeting moment—no Darks, no war, no fractured dimensions or forgotten lovers—just bread, tea, and people who weren't enemies, Adriel let himself believe that this kind of moment could last.
Not trust.
Not yet.
But something close enough to feel human again.
Brune Imperial Capital, Nice.
The halls of Brune no longer echoed with the bustling life of a proud kingdom. Instead, they pulsed with something unnatural. Veins of black corruption crawled along the stone walls, flickering with hints of violet and crimson, breathing like some slumbering beast. Where torches once burned, now dim, violet fire gave off no warmth, only a sense of dread.
At the heart of the corrupted throne room sat the being once known as Sentry. Now, he was something else—a towering, obsidian-clad entity, his form shifting and cracking with raw void energy. A crown of dark metal hovered just above his skull, constantly spinning, constantly whispering in voices no human could understand. What remained of the throne of Brune was now fused with his body—he didn't sit on power; he became it.
A Lesser Dark approached from the shadows, bowing its head so low that the void around it trembled.
"Lord Sentry," it hissed, voice a hollow echo. "Our forces were repelled in Alsace. The Guardian intervened."
Sentry said nothing at first. His eyes—glowing sockets of shifting void—remained closed. He didn't seem surprised. Because he wasn't.
"I predicted as much," he finally said, voice a distortion of every ruler Brune had ever feared. "It was never about Alsace. That was a test. And he took the bait."
The Lesser Dark flinched as tendrils of void crept across the floor like roots.
"He is beginning to feel desperation," Sentry continued. "Even if he won—he's not what he was. The parasite I planted in his system has begun fraying his perception. His access to the deeper layers of fiction is weakening."
Sentry rose slowly, and the room groaned with the weight of his movement.
"His instincts are slower. His Meta-Knowledge is fractured. For the first time in centuries, Adriel Josue has to guess."
He stepped toward the edge of the dais, the void flickering around his shoulders like a corrupted cloak.
"He will seek reinforcements. He's already taken Zhcted's army. I can feel the shift. The ripple in fiction. A Guardian turning the tides."
He paused.
"But he is still playing a game I designed."
The Lesser Dark hesitated. "Shall we pursue a counter-offensive?"
Sentry raised a gauntleted hand, halting the creature.
"No."
The throne room dimmed further as his influence pulled the light inward.
"He will come to us. His next move is already clear. He will strike Nemetacum."
The Lesser Dark cocked its head. "Thenardier's stronghold."
"Correct. It is the next logical step. He thinks it's weak after our previous deployment failed. He believes he can rout us there and send a message to the rest of this world."
A low hum resonated from Sentry's chest. Laughter. But hollow.
"So let him come. Let him gather his Vanadis and their blessed weapons. Let him wear his facade of control."
Sentry turned, and the darkness in the room responded like a tide turning with him.
"We will reinforce Nemetacum with Void-Touched Darks. Ones that know pain. Ones that remember Adriel from the worlds he broke."
He raised his hand, and an image shimmered into view—a flickering map of the continent, veins of corruption spreading like cracks in glass. Nemetacum pulsed in red.
"Infuse the walls with the Black Code. Bind the defenders in loops of corrupted logic. Prepare constructs that counter Guardian coding."
The Lesser Dark hissed. "And the civilians?"
"Keep them."
The void twisted in the air.
"They scream louder when their homes still look familiar."
The Lesser Dark bowed and melted into the wall, becoming part of the rot that now spread across Brune.
Sentry remained alone again, save for the endless whispers of the Void.
He stared at the map, eyes narrowing.
"You're weakening, Guardian," he said to no one and to Adriel all the same. "And weakness breeds panic. Panic breeds mistakes."
He raised his fingers and drew a circle in the air—a loop. A cycle.
"Even when you win, I shape the path you take. Even when you break the loop, I write the new one."
The dark crown spun faster.
"So come. Bring your Vanadis. Bring your noble ideals and half-broken truths. Bring your so-called blessings."
A crack formed in the air, revealing a vision—Adriel sitting at a table with Sofya and Mila, talking, planning, eating.
Sentry watched.
Waited.
"You are not the first Guardian I've unmade, Adriel Josue," he said, voice colder now. "But you may be the last one who thinks he can win."
Then the image shattered, the cracks spreading outward.
Nemetacum began to bleed.
Zhcted Imperial Capital, Silesia, Training Grounds.
The courtyard of the Zhcted palace buzzed with activity as the sun climbed over the battlements. Rows of soldiers stood at attention, their armor polished, banners of gold and blue flapping in the mountain wind. It wasn't a royal parade—it was a prelude to war.
Adriel stood at the head of the formation, flanked by Sofya Obertas and Ludmila Lourie. He wore no armor, only his dark coat and boots, a Spider- sigil design barely visible beneath the folds of fabric. His presence alone had quieted the ranks.
He scanned the field, taking in the nervous energy. There were hundreds present—Vanadis-led companies, palace guards, knight-retainers. These were elite forces by this world's standards. And against a human army, they would've been enough.
But they weren't fighting humans.
Adriel raised his voice, just enough to carry across the courtyard.
"I won't waste your time with pleasantries. We're moving to war, not ceremony."
That got their attention.
"You've all heard rumors by now. Strange movements in Brune. Towns falling without explanation. Soldiers returning with empty eyes—if they return at all."
A few men shifted uneasily. The murmurs among the officers grew.
Adriel let that sink in for a beat. Then he stepped forward, hands behind his back.
"You want an explanation? I'll give you one."
He turned slowly, sweeping his gaze across them.
"The enemy we face isn't one you can understand. Not yet. You've seen what happens when soldiers vanish mid-fight. Or when a city falls overnight with no trace of a siege. This isn't rebellion. This isn't banditry. It's something worse."
He gestured to the south.
"Brune has already fallen."
Gasps echoed through the ranks.
Sofya's expression didn't change, and Mila stood coolly with her arms crossed, watching the soldiers instead of Adriel. They'd heard this yesterday. They believed it. But the rest? Still catching up.
Adriel raised a hand to quiet them.
"But we still have time. And we have a chance—because you're not going into this alone."
He reached into his coat and withdrew a short-bladed ceremonial dagger—plain, unadorned.
"I carry a title not from your lands, but it serves the same purpose. Where I come from, I am called a Guardian. What that means doesn't matter right now. What matters is this—your weapons, no matter how sharp or enchanted, cannot harm the things that have taken Brune."
The officers stiffened.
"But I can change that."
He held up the blade. Golden light flickered along its edge, symbols glowing faintly. Not magic. Something else.
"A blessing. Not of the Gods you know, but one older. My kind can give it. Only then will your steel have any meaning on the battlefield."
He gestured to Sofya and Mila.
"They already carry it. Now I will extend it to you."
Silence followed.
Then one commander stepped forward—an older man in plated armor, face scarred by age and experience.
"And what price does this 'blessing' carry?"
Adriel stared at him.
"No price. No trick. I'm not a god asking for worship. I'm a soldier arming you for the war you haven't seen yet."
That seemed to land. The man gave a sharp nod and returned to the ranks.
"Good," Adriel muttered. "Then let's talk strategy."
He turned, and Sofya stepped forward with a map unfurled between them, holding one side as Mila held the other.
Adriel pointed toward Alsace, marked in blue.
"A few days ago, this province was nearly wiped off the map. Not conquered—wiped. The enemy that struck had no intention of ruling it, only erasing it. I intercepted the strike. Alone."
Mila cleared her throat gently. "He did. Just an afternoon."
More murmurs.
Adriel jabbed his finger toward the southern reaches of Brune.
"Our next target is Nemetacum. Lord Thenardier's territory. His forces are already weakened after failing to move on Alsace."
He drew a line from Zhcted's capital to the west.
"But we don't move directly. We'll march through Belfal Town in Territoire. Not because it's the shortest route, but because it's where I expect to encounter Tigrevurmud Vorn."
That name caused another stir. The nobles' son turned war hero. Missing in action since the collapse of Brune's central authority.
Sofya raised a brow. "Tigre? You expect to meet him... by chance?"
Adriel didn't answer directly. "He'll be seeking allies. He'll move along the safest known trade paths. Belfal is where those paths intersect."
Mila studied him. "And Limlisha?"
"She's with him," Adriel said simply.
"And Elen?" Sofya asked, voice softer.
Adriel hesitated. "They'll find her. Eventually. She's holed up in Kikimora Lodge."
Sofya and Mila shared a glance.
"How can you possibly know that?" Sofya asked.
Adriel met her gaze, unreadable. "Because I know how this world works. I know its people. Their habits. Their patterns."
Sofya pressed further. "Knowing habits isn't enough to know their exact location, Adriel."
His silence was the answer.
"Of course," she said quietly. "Another secret."
Adriel turned back to the map.
"Our numbers are smaller. So we don't engage directly at Nemetacum's gates. We bait. We draw their corrupted forces out with controlled skirmishes—strikes on their supply lines, outposts, and scouts."
He pointed to several forests and passes along the route.
"Here, here, and here. Natural chokepoints. They can't move large groups without funneling through these."
Sofya's eyes flicked down. "So you want to bleed them before the siege?"
Adriel nodded. "We kill the outside before we touch the inside. Nemetacum is a black heart surrounded by rot. If we strike true, the infection won't spread."
One of the younger knights stepped forward, voice tentative. "And if we fail?"
Adriel looked at him evenly. "Then you'll know what I've been fighting all this time."
The knight stepped back.
Adriel turned to Sofya and Mila. "Assign commanders. Split the forces into four units. Mine will handle the frontal push. Yours will cover our flanks and supply reinforcement."
He didn't ask. He instructed.
And neither Vanadis objected.
The meeting broke with sharp salutes and quiet urgency. Officers moved to assemble their divisions. Quartermasters rushed off to retrieve the weapons that would receive the blessing.
But Adriel didn't leave with them.
He folded the map with precise fingers, the stiffness in his shoulders betraying the effort it took to keep his face unreadable. As the others dispersed, he glanced toward Sofya. "Walk with me."
She gave Mila a brief glance. Mila didn't speak but nodded once, her expression calm and unreadable as ever.
Adriel led the way out of the room and through the arching hallways of Zhcted's palace. They walked in silence past stained glass windows, flickering torches, and the heavy hush of early morning stone corridors. Eventually, they stepped outside into the rear gardens, where the frost had not yet melted and the air smelled of pine and metal.
Sofya walked beside him, graceful as ever, her hands folded in front of her. Adriel had his arms crossed, his gaze distant, thoughtful.
"You said nothing in front of the men," he said without looking at her.
"I didn't want to distract from the strategy," she answered. "But now that we're alone..."
She stopped, turning to face him.
"...I'm going to say this plainly. I trust your leadership. Your decisions. But your silence is going to kill someone eventually."
Adriel didn't speak. His jaw tightened.
Sofya's voice didn't rise, but it sharpened. "You know too much. You speak in riddles. You hide behind this mystique like it's armor, and maybe it is. But Mila and I? We are not pawns. We deserve to know the risks."
He looked away, a muscle twitching in his cheek.
"I'm not asking for everything," she continued, stepping closer. "I know there are things we can't comprehend. But you need to start treating us like allies, not tools to be pointed at your enemies."
Adriel exhaled slowly, but it wasn't calm. It was restraint.
"And if I don't?" he asked, voice low.
Sofya didn't flinch. "Then I'll start asking louder."
That got a laugh out of him. Short, humorless. "You always this persistent?"
"Only when the fate of kingdoms hangs in the balance."
He turned away from her slightly, running a hand down his face, then through his hair. "You think I enjoy this?" he muttered.
She said nothing. Waited.
He faced her again. "You keep pushing like you're owed something. You think because I made a decision you don't understand, I need to answer for it."
"That's not what I—"
"Let me finish." His tone was sharp. Not cruel, but close to the edge.
"You think you're experienced because you've served a crown, watched a few decades pass. Because you've seen war. But you don't know what I've lived through. What I've endured."
His hands were clenched now, his voice growing louder with each word.
"I spent nine hundred quintillion years trapped in a death loop, Sofya."
Her eyes widened, just a fraction.
"Nine hundred quintillion years." He stepped forward. "Each time, I was hunted. Killed. Torn apart. Reset. Over and over again. And the only way out was to keep dying until I solved an impossible riddle set by a monster with no end. Do you know what that does to a mind?"
Sofya didn't answer.
Adriel kept going. "My memories. My identity. Ripped apart and stitched back together by people who thought I was a tool. My friends? My lovers? Erased. Torn from me like they never existed. And when I finally crawled out of that hell? The only thing I had left was purpose. Not peace. Not closure. Just the next crisis. The next enemy."
His eyes shimmered with something unspoken.
"So forgive me if I don't feel like opening up to people I met yesterday. Forgive me if I don't throw my soul on the table like a diary."
Silence settled over the garden.
Sofya finally spoke, her voice softer. "I didn't know."
"You weren't supposed to."
She looked at him, studying the tightness in his posture, the fire behind his eyes.
"Then let me ask you this," she said gently. "What would you have done, in my position? If the man you were following held the lives of thousands in his hands, and refused to let you help him carry that weight?"
He paused. Then exhaled, the fight draining slightly from his shoulders.
"I'd have asked louder," he said.
She smiled faintly. "Exactly."
He nodded. A slow, reluctant acknowledgment.
"You're right to press me," he admitted. "But I won't promise to tell you everything. Some truths are still dangerous. Even to hear."
"Then tell us what we need," she said. "Not all. Just enough to fight beside you."
Adriel looked up at the sky. The clouds were rolling in now.
"There are worse storms coming," he murmured.
"Then let us help you face them."
He looked back at her. For the first time, there was something almost vulnerable in his expression.
"You're not like the others," he said quietly.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
He smirked. "It was."
She turned, beginning to walk back toward the courtyard. "Come on, Commander. You've got weapons to bless and soldiers to rally."
He followed, his voice faint behind her.
"You sure you're not the one leading all this?"
She didn't look back. "You're not the only one who knows how to lead."
Time Skip – Kikimora LodgeTigre's POV
It had been days since Elen and Adriel left for the capital. And ever since then, I hadn't been able to relax.
Sleep came in fragments. Thoughts wouldn't stop spiraling. But something—something deeper—kept me grounded. A thread of clarity that pulsed beneath the dread.
Maybe this was what Adriel meant when he warned me about "knowing too much."
I still didn't understand all of it. But I understood enough.
The way he spoke before leaving Alsace... like even saying certain truths out loud could summon something. Something listening. Something waiting.
Now, I don't question that.
Darks. Guardians. Concepts that shattered everything I believed about this world. About myself.
Adriel called me an anchor—something holding this reality together. If I die... or break... the rest of it goes with me.
He told me I could handle the truth because, in his words, I'm this world's "main character." Whatever that truly means, I'm starting to feel the weight of it.
If I fall, the rest falls with me.
He didn't want Elen involved—because of what losing her would do to me. That was the real risk.
But the way he's been handling it—his secrecy, his desperation—it's like this war isn't even the real battle. Just the surface of something deeper. Something worse.
And I hate it.
I hate keeping secrets. I hate watching Elen hurt and pretending I don't know why. I hate lying to Lim every time she looks me in the eye.
Adriel's methods are going to catch up to him. Maybe they already have.
But I can't stop. I have to keep moving. Keep gathering strength. When the time comes, we'll march on Thenardier's territory—and I'll be ready to join him.
For now, all I can do is wait. And prepare.
We'd just helped Viscount Augre with the bandit threat. It took longer than expected, but with that done, we made our way to Kikimora Lodge.
Adriel was right—he'd predicted Elen would be here.
Lim hadn't questioned my urgency. But her silence wasn't ignorance. It was patience.
And guilt gnawed at me with every passing hour.
I broke the silence as we crossed into the forested edge of the valley.
"I wonder if Elen's back yet," I asked casually, hoping my voice sounded more curious than nervous.
"She should be," Lim answered. "We took longer than planned."
Before we reached the lodge, a man in a hooded cloak approached us from the trail. He offered a polite bow and extended a folded note.
"This is from Eleonora-sama," he said.
I took it, turned it over.
Unreadable. Scribbled in some celestial chicken-scratch only Elen could justify.
"This handwriting is ass," I muttered. Adriel was rubbing off on me.
Lim sighed, scanned it with a practiced eye. "It says, 'I'm waiting in the Kikimora Lodge. Come immediately.'"
Of course it does.
We approached the villa in silence.
Its windows glowed with warm light, but the knot in my chest only tightened. Like I was walking into a reckoning.
Elen stood outside.
Crimson cloak fluttering in the cold wind, arms crossed, silver hair catching the breeze.
She didn't look tired in the way soldiers get tired. She looked emotionally drained. Hollowed.
She hadn't been sleeping. I could tell from the way she held herself.
I think I already knew why.
Adriel... what did you say to her?
She didn't speak. Just stared. Her gaze lingered on me, unreadable.
"Elen," I said, trying not to sound too nervous.
She gave a curt nod. "Tigre. Limlisha."
Then she turned and walked inside without waiting.
We followed.
The interior was warm, fire crackling in the hearth, but the heat felt smothered. Bread and tea sat untouched on the table. A tray, long gone cold, rested nearby.
No one sat.
Elen remained standing near the fire, her back half-turned. Arms still folded. Distant.
"I take it Viscount Augre was satisfied," she said without looking at us.
"Yes," I replied. "The villagers are safe. Bandits gone."
A pause.
She turned—slowly—and looked at me. Not at Lim. Just me.
"What did you hear about the capital?"
It was calm.
Too calm.
I hesitated. "Just... rumors. Nobles whispering."
"Rumors," she echoed flatly.
Lim frowned. "We haven't heard much from Silesia. What happened?"
Elen's gaze didn't shift from mine. Her arms tightened across her chest.
"I'll spare you the spiral," she said. "Adriel challenged Sofya to a King's Gambit. Beat her. Took command of the entire Zhcted army. Right in front of the king."
Lim's mouth parted slightly. "That's not possible."
"It happened," Elen said. Quiet. Controlled. "He used me to get there. To stand before the king. Then made his move."
I stared at the floor. At a knot in the wood. Anywhere but her eyes.
It wasn't that I couldn't meet her gaze.
It was that I didn't want to see how much of me she'd already figured out.
"You knew," she said.
Soft. Steady. Deadly.
I didn't answer.
Because what could I say?
"I knew something was happening," I said carefully. "I didn't know it would go that far."
Not a lie.
Just not everything.
Elen stared at me for a long time. She didn't blink. Didn't even breathe, it felt like.
Her arms dropped to her sides, slow and controlled. Like she was trying to hold herself back.
"And yet you're not surprised," she said. "Not like Lim."
Lim hadn't moved. Still standing behind me, but I could feel her presence shift. She was watching me now. More closely than ever.
"I heard rumors," I said quietly. "Didn't want to believe them."
Elen wasn't buying it. "That's not what guilt looks like."
I swallowed. My mouth was dry.
"Why won't you look at me, Tigre?"
I forced myself to raise my eyes.
It hurt.
She looked tired. Not the kind of tired that sleep fixes. The kind that comes from betrayal. From feeling like something important is slipping out of your hands.
"You're not telling us everything," she said. "Just like Adriel."
Lim finally spoke, her voice level. "You've been distant since we left Alsace. Focused—but distracted. Like you're constantly bracing for something. What are you afraid of?"
I didn't answer.
Because the truth?
I was afraid of them.
Of losing them.
Of what I might become if I did.
Elen stepped forward. "Tigre... what did Adriel say to you?"
I took a breath, slow and shallow. "Not much. Just enough."
"Enough to do what?"
"To stay alive."
She blinked.
Lim stepped closer. "Are you in danger?"
"Always," I said. "We all are."
"That's not what I meant."
I sighed and turned toward the fire, watching the way the flames danced across the logs. I wished they could burn away the weight pressing down on my chest.
"He told me things I didn't want to hear," I said. "Things I still don't fully understand. But I know one thing—if I die, it's not just me that breaks. It's everything."
Elen's voice dropped. "What do you mean... everything?"
"I mean exactly what it sounds like."
I turned back to them. Slowly.
"If something happens to me—if I die, or if I... fall apart—this world starts to fall with me. Whatever Adriel's fighting, whatever those 'things' are, they're tied to me somehow."
Lim's face tensed. "That doesn't make sense."
"It doesn't have to," I said. "It's not about logic. It's something deeper than that. Something... structural."
"Structural," Elen repeated, like the word tasted wrong. "He told you this?"
I nodded.
"He said I'm the anchor. If I go down, the world breaks with me."
Elen backed away a step. Not in fear. In disbelief.
Lim looked stunned. Completely still.
"And you believed him?" Elen asked.
"No," I admitted. "Not at first. But the more I've seen, the more I've... felt—he's right. Things happen around me. People change. Events shift. But something always pulls things back into balance. Me."
They didn't respond.
And that silence?
It was worse than shouting.
"But what does that make you?" Lim asked.
"I don't know," I said. "But Adriel said if I fracture, I become the very thing he's trying to stop."
Elen looked at me like she didn't recognize me anymore.
"Tigre... is that why he kept me out of it?"
"Yes."
"And you agreed?"
I didn't answer.
Because the truth was, I didn't agree.
I just... accepted it.
"What did he tell you about me?" she asked.
"Nothing bad," I said quickly. "He just said you were important. That if anything happened to you—"
I cut myself off.
Too far.
But Elen latched onto it.
"If anything happened to me, what?"
I didn't respond.
"Tigre," she said, voice shaking. "Tell me."
I shook my head.
Elen's hands balled into fists. "So that's why he kept me away. Why he used Sofya and Mila instead. He thinks I'm a liability to you."
"If you died... I wouldn't survive it. And if I fall—"
"You become one of them," she finished.
I nodded.
"And you didn't think I deserved to know that?"
"I didn't want to lose you," I said.
She stepped back again. "You already did."
That hurt more than I could admit.
Lim looked between us, her voice sharp. "You've been working with Adriel all along."
"No," I said. "Not with. I'm trying to keep up. I don't agree with everything he's doing."
"But you're still following," she said. "Still keeping secrets."
Elen turned away, her cloak swaying behind her as she moved toward the window.
"I thought we were past this," she said. "After everything. No more lies."
"I didn't lie," I said. "I protected you."
"Don't twist it like that."
"I couldn't let you get caught in this," I said. "You, or Lim, or Titta. Adriel was right about that. He wasn't right about a lot of things, but that part—he was."
Elen didn't turn around.
Lim stepped away without another word.
And I was left staring into the fire.
Alone.
A few hours later...
I'd been standing outside their rooms for what felt like hours.
The hallway was cold. Silent.
Two closed doors. Two people who didn't want to see me.
I had already knocked once. Elen hadn't answered.
Lim didn't even pretend to care.
And I couldn't blame them.
I just stood there, hand hovering near the wood, my breath shallow. I felt like a ghost haunting my own team.
The silence behind the doors wasn't just quiet. It was punishment.
And honestly?
I deserved it.
My chest was tight, my limbs were stiff, and something inside me kept looping the same question.
What if they never forgive me?
I knocked again.
Soft. Pathetic.
Nothing.
I stepped back, staring at the crack beneath the door. The light inside flickered. Still awake. Just... ignoring me.
I turned around, bracing against the wall. I felt like I couldn't breathe.
It was too quiet.
Too empty.
And the longer I stood there, the more I felt it building—the weight.
Not guilt. Not fully.
Something worse.
I pressed my hands to my face, forcing down the panic. I needed to stay calm. I needed to pull it together.
But I couldn't do it anymore.
I rapped on Elen's door—harder this time.
"Elen," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Please."
Silence.
Then finally—
The door cracked open.
She stood there, arms crossed, face blank. Not cold. Not furious.
Just... done.
"What?"
That one word hurt more than I expected.
Lim appeared from the next room. She didn't say anything—just leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, waiting.
I felt like I was on trial.
I tried to speak, but the words choked me.
"I didn't come to fight," I managed. "I just... I needed to explain."
"You did that earlier," Elen said flatly. "Explained how you were working with Adriel behind our backs. How you let me get used. Lied. Hid things."
"I didn't lie—"
"Then what would you call it?"
I flinched.
Lim's voice joined in, quiet but cutting. "Tigre... we don't even know who you are anymore."
That hit harder than anything either of them could've done with a blade.
I stepped back, instinctively. "I didn't have a choice."
"You always have a choice," Elen snapped. "You just chose not to trust us."
My vision blurred slightly. My chest felt like it was tightening by the second.
"You don't understand," I whispered.
"Then make us," Lim said. "If this is as serious as you keep pretending it is—then say it. Tell us."
I shook my head. "I... I can't. It's not safe."
Elen's brow furrowed. "Safe from what?"
"Them," I said before I could stop myself.
Silence.
Elen blinked. "Them?"
I swallowed. My mouth was dry.
"I wasn't supposed to say that," I muttered.
"What do you mean—'them'?" Lim asked, suddenly on edge. "Who is 'them,' Tigre?"
I shook my head. My body started to tremble.
"Tigre," Elen stepped closer now, concern surfacing. "What's going on?"
"You don't know what I've seen," I whispered. "What Adriel showed me."
"Then show us," she said, firmly now. "Say it."
My breathing was picking up. My heart thundered in my chest.
"They're called Darks."
The room went still.
"Darks?" Lim repeated, cautiously.
I nodded. "They don't come from anywhere we know. They aren't part of this world. Not even the gods here can touch them."
"What are they?" Elen asked, voice low.
"They eat realities."
That got their attention.
"They consume them. Erase them. Leave behind... corrupted, empty things. Negative reflections of what was. Dead realities. Dead universes."
Elen and Lim both froze.
"Adriel... he's the only one who can stand against them," I went on. "Because he's not from this world either. He's... beyond it."
"What does that even mean?" Lim asked.
"I don't know," I admitted. "He never said. I don't think he can say. But he told me enough."
"What else?" Elen asked, slowly.
And then I said it.
"If you die... I risk turning into one of them."
Elen stared at me. "What? So that was true?"
"He explained that it had something to do with how I'm connected to other people. And I happen to be very connected to you..."
I could feel the air shift.
"If you're erased, if you die... something inside me could snap. And if it does, I become like them. And if that happens..."
I didn't finish.
Because I couldn't.
"Adriel kept you out for that reason," I said. "He's using the Vanadis I haven't met. He's keeping you and Lim away because if I watch you fall... well... I already explained it."
Elen's expression cracked—just slightly. "Tigre..."
"I didn't want this," I said. "But I can't risk it. And now I've said too much."
Lim's eyes narrowed. "How do we know this isn't another lie?"
"Because I wouldn't be panicking if it was," I muttered.And I was.
My knees gave slightly. My heart was racing. I felt cold—watched.
Not...
"No... they heard that. I know they did. The Darks. They listen through emotion, through cracks."
Deaf...
I looked at them both. "If they know we know... they'll come."
I staggered back, gripping the edge of the table for support.
"You said their name," I breathed. "You said it too loud."
"Tigre, calm down—"
"No!" I snapped. "You don't get it! They'll come. If they know you know, they'll come for you. They eat everything. Even time. Even gods. They are nothing and everything. They don't belong in this world."
The silence was deafening.
Elen looked shaken. Lim looked pale.
I forced myself upright.
"I said too much. I shouldn't have said anything. Please. Please—don't repeat what I said. Not to each other. Not to anyone."
"Tigre—" Elen stepped toward me again, arms slightly raised, like approaching a wounded animal.
"If you do... I don't know what's going to happen."
The words came out cracked. Almost childlike in desperation.
My knees hit the wooden floor with a dull thud, and I barely noticed. My hands gripped my head like they could hold the panic in.
"Stop," I muttered. "Stop thinking about it. Stop remembering it. Just let it go."
Calm down...
"Tigre, you're scaring me," Elen said, kneeling beside me. Her voice wasn't cold anymore. It was trembling. "Tell us what's going on—please."
"I can't," I whispered. "I've already told you too much. What part of 'I can't' doesn't register?!"
Lim's boots stepped softly across the wood behind me. "Tigre, calm down! This is what Adriel warned you about, isn't it?"
I nodded.
Continue...
"He said the Darks live in moments," I breathed. "In feelings. In breaks. And when someone breaks too hard, or a secret cracks too wide... they slip through. That's how they get in."
Elen blinked. "Through emotion?"
"Yes."
"And through... you?"
I nodded again, slower this time.
"He said I'm... different. That I have a role here I don't fully understand. I just understood that I was too important to lose."
Lim folded her arms tightly across her chest, lips pressed into a thin line. "Why you? Why would these creatures—these Darks—care about you?"
"He said I'm like a flame in the dark. If it goes out—everything collapses."
"Everything collapses," Elen echoed, her voice distant.
Neither of them moved.
I could tell they were shaken—but trying to understand. Trying to anchor themselves in a conversation that was dragging them into a different reality entirely.
Lim took a shaky breath. "You really believe this."
I looked at her. Not angry. Not defensive. Just exhausted.
"It's a strange feeling, but... I know it."
Elen stayed quiet for a moment. Then-"Why didn't you tell me before?" she asked, not accusatory this time. Just... broken.
I looked at her, voice dry. "Because it wasn't just about protecting the mission. It was protecting you. If you'd known this earlier... if I'd said all this during a battle, during a breakdown... I might have turned into one of them. I don't know how it works. Adriel doesn't completely understand how they work. He just knows it's triggered by trauma. Grief. Loss... anything negative."
Her eyes glossed over, but she didn't cry. Not Elen. Not here.
She whispered, "That's why he didn't want us around."
I nodded, my voice rough. "That's why he was so... cruel with his actions. To keep us away."
The words sat between us like a blade.
"This plan ate me alive. I thought I was gonna suffocate from guilt!" I snapped. "Every second I stayed quiet was to keep you both breathing!"
The room went still again.
For a moment, the only sound was my own panicked breathing.
Then Elen's hand reached for mine. Slowly. Gently.
"Tigre..." she said softly, "we're not angry anymore."
I looked up, startled.
"We're scared," she admitted. "And that's worse."
Lim finally sat, her voice still tense, but quieter. "We don't know what to do with this. With you."
"I don't either," I whispered. "I'm just trying to hold it all together. I don't know what's going to happen next. But please—please just promise me you won't talk about this again. Not even to each other. Not even when you think you're alone."
They both nodded, slowly.
And for a moment—just a moment—the world didn't feel like it was collapsing.
Dark Sentry POV.
Thank you... for being so emotional, Main Character.
Truly, I should thank you properly. That fleeting moment of despair—of broken resolve—it gave me everything I needed.
And credit where it's due... The Guardian made a bold move. Whispering such a monumental secret to the Main Character of this tale without the narrator's awareness? Impressive. Reckless, but impressive.
He's growing sly, that much is clear. Especially now, as my void parasite siphons more of his perception with every passing moment. He's fighting harder, but the more he resists, the more the threads fray.
Still... that's where he made his mistake.
He forgot just how
delicate
fictional characters truly are.
Tigre—oh, brave, burdened Tigre—carried that secret for months. A single soul anchoring an entire world. A walking paradox of strength and fragility.
But when the connections around him began to bend... to break...
So did he.
A tremor of guilt. A flicker of fear. And then—a fracture.
That one spike of negative emotion was all I needed. The crack I'd been waiting for. And through it, he slipped—clumsy and mortal—uttered a word no fictional being should ever be allowed to think of us with.
Darks.
He said it.
And in saying it, he thought of us.
He focused. He gave shape to the formless. He gave us permission.
If only he'd kept his mind still. If only he'd stayed silent. But no... he felt, he feared, he broke.
And all I had to do... was twist the knife.
A whisper here. A tightening of the chest there. I stoked his desperation. Amplified his anxiety. I stirred his heartbeat faster, faster—until the moment came.
And then he blurted the truth.
To them.
To the girl with silver hair. The knight with quiet steel.
He told them everything.
Well... almost everything.
Still, it was enough. Enough for me to understand the Guardian's next steps. Not all—Adriel is growing clever, muting his presence, blinding our gaze when the story bends too close to him. A trick, perhaps, borrowed from higher narratives.
He leaves behind traces of his essence on those he chooses—fragments that blur our perception. And he's learned how to fracture the observer's lens.
He's difficult to see. But not impossible.
Tigre, though?
Tigre was a stroke of fortune. His essence had faded just enough when I found him. Dim. Exposed. Vulnerable.
The story wasn't watching. The Guardian wasn't near. The plot armor thinned under isolation.
And now... I know.
I know who the tether is. I know who breaks the anchor if she dies.
I know what happens if the Main Character shatters.
I don't need to kill Tigre. Not yet.
I just need to keep watching. Keep pressing. Keep feeling.
Because the beauty of fiction... is that the most powerful characters often write their own downfall.
All I need is one more spark.
And then I won't just be watching the Anchor break.
It'll be too late for him by then..
Time skip
Location, Town of Hot-Springs Rodnick.
No Pov
It had been a couple of days since Adriel arrived in the town of Rodnick alongside the two Vanadis traveling with him. Mila had recommended the location, and for once, Adriel didn't argue.
He owed himself a break. Even Guardians needed maintenance.
Of course, there were still questions to address—especially with Mila. He hadn't yet asked her how she felt about the fact that someone she once considered an ally was now twisted into a monster, a living abyss with the sole purpose of consuming entire worlds. That conversation would come later.
After the hot springs. Obviously.
Adriel stepped into the changing room, the soft scent of cedar and mineral steam already thick in the air. Rows of medium-sized cabinets lined the walls, each one marked with neat brass plates. He picked one at random, undressed, and tossed his sweat-soaked clothes into the hamper without ceremony.
He paused in front of the mirror.
"...Dammit."
His disguise was starting to fail—just slightly, but enough. His upper torso now revealed faint, jagged scars; relics from wars fought in dead timelines and across fractured realities. Scars that could never be healed, especially those dealt by Darkenstine weapons.
"Seriously," he muttered to himself, "I can regenerate from planetary explosions, but these blade-wounds just won't go away?"
He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.
At least his hacking ability still covered his face well enough. No one could see the growing wear in his eyes, the way his skin had paled from too many sleepless nights. If they did, Sofy and Mila would probably start asking more personal questions—and he'd rather wrestle a Void Construct naked than deal with Sofy's "warm, motherly wisdom" while Mila stared at him like she was trying to crack open a riddle.
He remembered Sofy telling him that Rodnick had three main baths: one for men, one for women, and one reserved specifically for Vanadis.
He made a mental note to respect the signs this time.
Lately, the universe had a way of steering him into ecchi cliché scenarios, like some badly written anime trying to hit its fanservice quota.
Not that he minded the view—he just hated being accused of having intentions. Especially when all he wanted to do was enjoy hot water without dodging slippers, shampoo bottles, or icy death glares from battle-maidens.
He let out another sigh.
"...At least this time there aren't any magical exploding towels, right?"
He winced at the memory of that one time in Elen's castle. He and Tigre had accidentally entered the public baths together—only to be graced by Elen herself, already inside. She hadn't even tried to hide her body. Just smirked, as if daring them to look. Tigre had turned red like a tomato.
Adriel, however?
He definitely looked. For science.
And the image decided to replay itself in his brain right now. Without warning. In full 4K.
He blinked hard.
"Goddamn you, Cyberpunk Edgerunners," he muttered under his breath. "Turned me into a pervert with better taste in trauma."
He gave himself one last shrug and headed toward the baths.
The air was thicker with heat now. Steamy. Inviting.
And then—plot happened.
Because of course it did.
As the sliding door opened with a soft click, Adriel walked directly into the view of a very naked Ludmila Lourie.
Time froze.
Steam curled in the air like the suspense in a visual novel.
Ludmila stood still, completely nude, her silver-blue hair damp and clinging to her shoulders. Her expression—blank. Not angry. Not embarrassed. Just neutral. Dangerously neutral.
Adriel's mind kicked into overdrive.
Step 1: Don't move.
Step 2: Don't say anything dumb.
Step 3: Don't get frozen to death.
And still, his brain thought:
Fuck my luck. Welp... mental screenshot saved.
They stared at each other. One second. Two. Steam drifted lazily between them.
Adriel broke the silence.
"...I swear the sign didn't say Vanadis only."
"It did," Ludmila replied flatly.
"Plot sabotage. Again."
Her eye twitched. "Turn around before I blast your soul into next week."
Adriel did a perfect 180 so fast it made his hair whip. "Ma'am yes ma'am."
He started backpedaling toward the exit. "You know, on Earth we call this a 'cursed achievement.' Accidental, but memorable."
"Keep talking, and it'll be your final memory."
"I'll take the L," he said quickly, and pulled the door shut behind him.
Back in the changing room, Adriel slumped against the wall, staring at the ceiling like it had betrayed him personally.
"Why is it always me?" he asked the universe.
No answer. Just the distant sound of water sloshing, and Ludmila probably plotting a very icy revenge.
A few minutes later...
After narrowly avoiding becoming an ice sculpture courtesy of Ludmila Lourie, Adriel had managed to find the correct bath. The actual men's bath.
He double-checked the signs this time. Twice.
There was a literal carving of a towel-wearing dude carved into the wood. He even gave it a little pat on the head before walking through, just in case.
Inside, the bath was large, misty, and serene. Warm golden lanterns glowed softly behind carved wooden latticework, their light dancing across the rippling surface of the mineral-rich water.
Adriel let out a sigh as he lowered himself into the pool. His shoulders dropped. Muscles relaxed. His brain finally shut up.
Maybe I'll get five minutes of peace before another naked warrior princess tries to murder me.
He leaned back and let the water rise to his chest. This was luxury. Bliss. He could almost forget the Darks, the corrupted throne room, and the fact that the entire narrative could collapse if Tigre got too emotionally wrecked.
Almost.
The heat soaked into his bones. His eyes fluttered shut.
Then—
click.
The soft sound of the sliding door echoed through the steam.
Adriel peeked one eye open, senses sharpening. For one glorious moment, he dared to hope it might be another man. A fellow bath bro. Pure, platonic silence.
Instead...
Sofy Obertas
stepped through the haze.
She wore a towel with far more confidence than should be legal, her
blonde curls
pinned up in a messy but elegant style. She moved like a goddess pretending to be mortal for a vacation.
Adriel's internal HUD flared to life.
Men's bath confirmed.
One Sofy detected.
Towel status: secured.
Danger level: rising.
He cleared his throat as she spotted him.
Sofy blinked once, then offered him a warm, impossibly composed smile.
"Oh. Fancy seeing you here, Guardian."
He raised a hand from the water. "I double-checked the sign this time."
"I know," she said, lowering herself gracefully into the pool not far from him. "I thought I'd join you."
Adriel stared. "This is the men's bath."
Sofy shrugged delicately. "Vanadis rank privilege. And the water's better here."
"...You're just making things up now."
"Am I?" she asked, eyes glittering.
He sank deeper into the water. "I barely survived the Ludmila Incident five minutes ago. I'm not emotionally stable enough for a sequel."
"You'll manage," she said sweetly.
He narrowed his eyes. "You knew she was in the wrong bath, didn't you?"
"I may have nudged the staff," she admitted, voice full of mischief.
Adriel blinked. "You set me up."
"No," she said innocently. "I simply created the opportunity for something... interesting."
"Plot deviance," he muttered.
"You are supposed to adapt, aren't you?" she replied, splashing the surface of the water lazily.
"You play dirty," he said. "Flower motif and all."
Sofy chuckled. "Don't pretend you didn't enjoy the view."
"I almost died of embarrassment."
"But did you die-die?" she teased, smirking. "Because I consider the incident a success."
He deadpanned. "You're officially banned from diplomacy."
She sighed dreamily, ignoring the threat. "Still... this bath is wonderful. You have good taste."
"Mila recommended the town and you vouched," he reminded her.
"And you accepted. Which means you trust me. Which means I win."
"You're turning this into a logic puzzle."
"Am I wrong?"
Adriel opened his mouth—then closed it. "Touché."
Sofy shifted slightly closer, her expression unreadable. Her skin glistened from the steam, the towel dangerously secure. Not tight. Just right.
"I've been watching you," she said softly. "Since King's Gambit."
His eyebrows rose.
"You're clever. Too clever," she added. "But you carry something heavy. And it's not just strategy. Or secrets."
Adriel's smile faded, just a little.
"I don't expect you to tell me everything," she said, her voice dipping. "But I do want you to know something."
She turned toward him, water rippling around her.
"I'm not here because of titles or oaths. I chose to follow you."
He stared. Really stared.
"And yes," she added before he could respond, "I saw you staring."
"I wasn't—"
"You were," she said, lips quirking upward. "And I let you."
He coughed. "Not my fault you waltzed in here looking like divine temptation wrapped in a bath towel."
"I take that as a compliment."
"It was one."
She smiled wider but leaned back, tone shifting again.
"You remember what I said before?" she asked. "About not being treated like a pawn?"
"I remember."
"I meant it."
He nodded slowly. "I know."
Silence stretched between them, soft and heavy.
Sofy broke it.
"You said you've suffered... for a long time."
"Too long," he said, voice quieter now.
"I don't know what a Dark is," she continued, more seriously. "Not really. You say you're a Guardian. I believe you. But I don't
understand
it. I don't think I'm supposed to. Still... I want to help."
He turned to look at her.
Not suspicious. Not defensive. Just tired. Worn. Human.
"I know," he said. "That's the part that scares me."
Another beat.
Then, in a lighter tone: "You're still banned from diplomacy."
"Too late," she replied smoothly. "I already made a peace treaty with the bathwater."
He smirked. "Do I get visitation rights?"
"Only if you behave."
Steam danced between them, curling like lazy serpents in the air. The silence wasn't awkward—it was warm, like a familiar blanket shared between allies who had suddenly forgotten they were in a war.
Adriel leaned his head back against the stone, the tension slowly bleeding out of his jaw. His body relaxed, but his mind still paced in circles behind his eyes.
"You really want to help?" he asked, softer this time. Not challenging. Just... weary.
Sofy turned her head to look at him. Her hair had begun to come loose from the towel, soft golden strands curling at her neck.
"I wouldn't be here if I didn't."
Adriel studied her for a long moment. "Most people run away from what they don't understand. You seem to keep walking toward it."
"Curiosity isn't a weakness," she replied. "It's how people like me survive. Politics. Courts. People with power. You read the room. You ask the hard questions. And sometimes..."
She shifted just slightly closer.
"...you get in the bath with them."
He barked a soft laugh. "So this is strategic nudity?"
"Not entirely. Some of it is aesthetic." She gave him a sly smile. "You're more cooperative when your pulse is elevated."
Adriel arched an eyebrow. "You're manipulating me with towel physics?"
"Is it working?"
He hesitated. "...Unfortunately."
She laughed again, but there was something gentler in her eyes now. The flirtation hadn't left—it was just layered atop something steadier.
"Adriel," she said, her voice dropping into something serious again, "why does it scare you? That I want to help?"
He didn't answer right away. The steam had fogged the edges of the room, making everything feel distant, like they were adrift in a world that wasn't watching for once.
"Because people who try to help me..." he said slowly, "usually end up dead."
Sofy didn't flinch. "And yet you keep letting them."
"I try not to. That's the problem."
She watched him, patiently.
"I've seen too many things," he continued, eyes unfocused. "Things I can't explain. Things that don't belong in a world like this. I thought if I took all the weight on myself, it'd protect the people I brought with me."
"And?"
He smiled bitterly. "Turns out, even Guardians break. Just slower."
There was a beat of silence. Then—
"What do they want?" Sofy asked. "These Darks."
Adriel looked at her, and something passed in his expression. He didn't answer at first. But something in her gaze—calm, persistent, real—convinced him to speak.
"They want to consume," he said at last. "Not just people. Not just places. They eat realities. Collapse timelines. Turn living stories into cursed husks. Dead universes filled with negative emotion and looping suffering."
Sofy inhaled slowly, digesting that. "You're saying they destroy... existences?"
He nodded. "They infect meaning. Rot intention. They don't just win—they make it so victory was never possible in the first place."
Her brow furrowed. "How do you fight something like that?"
"You don't."
That made her blink. "Then what are we doing?"
Adriel turned toward her, his voice low. "You hold the pieces together. You delay the collapse. You play the game until something—someone—rewrites the rules."
Her lips parted slightly, but no words came.
Adriel softened, just a little. "I'm not asking you to believe in the scale of it. Hell, I barely understand it myself anymore. But the longer you stay by my side, Sofya... the more you risk being seen."
"By them?"
He nodded.
"Then let them see me."
He blinked. "That's not a light thing to say."
"I didn't say it lightly."
He stared at her. There was no bluff in her tone. No fear. Only that same composed certainty she wore in courts, in war councils, in king's halls.
And something in him cracked—just a little.
"You're not like the others," he said, almost to himself a second time.
"I'll take that as a compliment," she whispered.
The air between them felt heavier now—not with tension, but with shared gravity.
Adriel let out a breath and rubbed the back of his neck. "You're gonna make this harder, aren't you?"
"Oh, absolutely."
"I can't afford to care."
"You already do."
He winced, and she smiled. Victory.
"I'm not saying I'm fearless," she said. "But I've made peace with not knowing everything. If there's a monster in the dark, I want to be holding the torch beside the man fighting it—not left in the hallway wondering if he'll come back."
His eyes narrowed slightly. "That almost sounded romantic."
"Don't flatter yourself. I'm still mostly here for the bathwater."
They both laughed—and this time, it wasn't bitter or hollow.
It was genuine.
Adriel leaned back again, sighing long and low.
Sofy shifted, letting her towel slip a fraction lower on her shoulder. She saw his gaze flick downward and made no move to fix it.
"You're staring again," she said.
"I know."
"You gonna stop?"
"...Eventually."
She smirked and leaned in just slightly. "Only if you behave, remember?"
He gave her a look. "Define 'behave.'"
Sofy tilted her head thoughtfully. "Don't die. Don't lie. And don't stop laughing when it's funny."
Adriel blinked. That last one caught him off guard.
He nodded slowly. "I'll try."
The air thickened between them again. Not from the steam this time, but from something far more dangerous than heat.
Proximity.
Sofy's expression softened, the corners of her smile still faintly visible but fading into something... unspoken. She didn't move away. If anything, she leaned a touch closer, her gaze flicking from his eyes... to his mouth.
Adriel swallowed. His hand had been resting casually on the edge of the stone bath—but now, it twitched. Slowly, deliberately, it drifted just slightly closer to hers under the surface. Not touching. Almost.
"You know," Sofy murmured, "it's funny."
"What is?" he asked, voice lower now.
"I didn't come in here expecting anything." She tilted her head. "But suddenly, I feel like something's about to happen."
Adriel's lips curved, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. They were locked on hers.
"I've seen the end of timelines," he said softly. "This feels more dangerous."
"Then maybe you should leave."
"I don't want to."
The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was electric. Their eyes met, locked, and refused to look away.
Then—almost imperceptibly—Sofy leaned forward.
Adriel didn't stop her.
The distance between them vanished inch by inch.
Her hand rose from the water, slick and trembling slightly, fingers brushing lightly against his chest—exploring an old scar.
She whispered, "How do you keep going?"
"I don't know," he whispered back. "But when you look at me like that... it's easier."
The moment slowed.
Tension curled like a thread pulled tight between their mouths. Breath mingled. His hand found her thigh underwater, fingers gentle, uncertain but present. Her towel had loosened around her shoulders, half-forgotten.
His had drifted lower with every movement. Neither of them noticed.
Her lips were almost touching his.
Almost.
And then—
"ADRRIIIIIEEEEEELLLLLL—!"
The scream came from the hallway like a thunderbolt cracking across the bathhouse.
Both of them froze.
Adriel blinked, then jerked his head toward the sound. "Mila?"
"WHERE ARE YOU? SOFY'S BEEN GONE TOO LONG—WAIT, WHY IS THE MEN'S SIGN WET—"
Sofy's eyes went wide. "Oh no."
Adriel scrambled. "Shit—towels—"
Sofy snatched hers just as it slid halfway off, arms flailing, hair cascading from the messy bun as she tried to gather what dignity she could. Adriel launched himself toward the stone ledge, grabbing his towel and wrapping it around his waist like a man surviving a divine judgment.
Footsteps. Nearer. Fast.
"I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU'RE—"
The door slammed open.
Steam billowed outward. Light spilled in from the hallway. And there, framed in the entrance like a wrathful empress—stood Ludmila Lourie.
She took one look at the scene: Sofy breathless, towel loose, hair down. Adriel soaking wet, towel half-secured, looking very guilty.
Her face turned volcanic.
"WHAT. THE. HELL. IS. THIS?"
Adriel opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
Sofy tried to look composed. She failed.
"...Diplomacy?" she offered.
Mila shrieked. "GET OUT! OUT OF THE BATH! BOTH OF YOU!"
Adriel held up his hands. "Mila, listen, it's not what—"
"OUT!"
Sofy sighed, rising with what grace she could muster in a drenched towel, stepping carefully from the bath like a goddess retreating from scandal.
Adriel followed, grumbling, "The one time I get a quiet moment..."
"YOUR QUIET MOMENTS SHOULD NOT INVOLVE NUDE NEGOTIATIONS!" Mila shouted.
As they shuffled out under Mila's blazing glare, Sofy leaned toward Adriel and whispered just loud enough for him to hear:
"...We were definitely about to kiss."
Adriel muttered, "We were definitely about to do more."
Mila's scream echoed behind them.
And so ended the great diplomatic bath treaty of Rodnick.
Later that night...
The stars were faint tonight, their shimmer dulled by the rising mist from the hot spring. The lanterns along the terrace burned low, casting long shadows across the wood planks, interrupted only by the steam curling from a simple porcelain teapot.
Ludmila sat in her usual way: straight-backed, hands folded neatly in her lap. Regal, unbothered, untouchable.
Except for the second teacup.
Adriel stepped closer, glancing down at it. "You knew I'd come?"
"I hoped," she replied, not looking at him. "And I didn't feel like wasting good tea."
He sat beside her, slow and quiet. The steam between them rose like a veil, warm and fragrant. Raspberry black tea with a hint of citrus—her favorite.
They didn't speak at first. They didn't need to.
Mila sipped from her cup, her expression unreadable in the half-light. She was calm again, like the earlier explosion in the bathhouse never happened. But Adriel had been around long enough to know when a storm was only resting.
"You're quieter than usual," he said.
"I already screamed at you once today," she replied smoothly. "Didn't feel like repeating myself."
He smirked. "I'm grateful. My ears are still ringing."
She took another sip. "I'm still not happy about what I walked in on."
"We weren't doing anything," Adriel said.
"You were about to."
He didn't deny it.
Mila let that hang in the air for a moment. Then, her voice dropped to something softer.
"Sofya's been changing."
He blinked. "You've noticed?"
"I notice everything." She glanced sideways at him. "Especially when a woman who once talked like a walking law book starts blushing around a man."
Adriel chuckled. "She's not the only one who's changed."
"No," Mila admitted. "She's just the only one who admits it."
She didn't elaborate.
He turned toward her slightly. "And what about you?"
"I'm still deciding," she said. "You're not an easy man to understand, Adriel."
"I've been told that before."
"But I've also been told that power is rarely polite. And you... you took the kingdom of Zhcted in less than an hour. That makes you dangerous. But it also makes you interesting."
Adriel's gaze met hers.
"You followed me because I was interesting?"
"I followed you," Mila said, setting down her cup, "because I wanted to understand what I was seeing. And because I sensed that you might be right."
She leaned back slightly, her eyes rising to the stars.
"You spoke of Brune as if it were corrupted beyond repair. And the more I think about it... the more I start to believe you."
Adriel nodded slowly.
Mila turned to him. "You used a word a few times. Quietly. Carefully. Darks."
His jaw tightened slightly.
"I want to know what that means," she said. "I may not be Sofya, but I'm no fool."
He was quiet for a long time. The wind moved softly through the trees above, stirring the scent of cedar and tea.
"They're not demons," Adriel said finally. "They're not gods. They're something older. Something... invasive."
Mila stayed perfectly still.
"They don't destroy like an army. They infiltrate like a curse," he explained. "They whisper into hearts. Into souls. They take the worst parts of us—fear, grief, doubt—and stretch them until they swallow everything else."
She listened, expression unreadable.
"They don't break minds. They unweave them. Piece by piece. Until the person doesn't know what they were anymore."
He paused, searching for an image that fit her world.
"Imagine a spell," he said. "A beautiful, ancient incantation. Then imagine someone changing a single rune. Then another. Slowly, the magic becomes something else. Something poisonous. And the caster never even realizes they're the one reciting it."
Mila's lips parted slightly. "That's what happened to Brune?"
"Yes," he said. "Not through invasion. Through erosion. Over time. One soul at a time."
She looked at her tea, then set it aside.
"Why tell me now?" she asked.
"Because you've earned it," he said. "And because I don't want to fight beside someone who's walking blind."
She absorbed that for a moment, then nodded.
"You've changed, too," she said after a while. "Since we met."
Adriel raised an eyebrow. "In what way?"
"You've softened." Her voice was neutral, but her eyes were sharp. "Not much. But it's there."
He smiled faintly. "You make that sound like a threat."
"It's not." She looked away. "Just an observation."
Silence returned. Not heavy. Just thoughtful.
"I still don't trust you," she added.
"Fair."
"But I don't distrust you either. You're not who I expected."
Adriel leaned back against the post behind them. "And who did you expect?"
"A tyrant. A sorcerer. Maybe a manipulator."
She glanced sideways. "What I got was... complicated."
He tilted his head. "That's a new one."
"Complicated men don't take over kingdoms with a smile," she said. "They do it because they don't see another way."
Adriel chuckled softly. "You might understand me more than I thought."
"I understand pressure," Mila said. "I understand pride. I understand duty that chokes you when no one's looking."
A long pause.
"And I understand what it's like to want to do the right thing without knowing what that is anymore."
Adriel's smirk faded. He looked at her—not as a Vanadis, or a tool, or a soldier. But as someone who had carried weight like his before.
"Thank you," he said simply.
Mila blinked. "For what?"
"For still sitting here," he said. "For not walking away when I gave you just enough truth to scare you."
"I don't scare easily."
"No," he agreed. "You don't."
She looked at him again. This time, there was something else in her gaze. Not romance. Not desire.
But trust, beginning to bloom. Hard-won. Earned.
"You're not the only one carrying weight," she said softly.
Adriel nodded. "I know."
A breeze stirred again, tugging at her loose braid. Adriel reached out without thinking—just a light brush of fingers to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
She didn't flinch. She didn't stop him.
When he pulled back, her cheeks were slightly flushed. She covered it with another sip of tea.
"You're not forgiven, by the way," she muttered.
"For what?"
"The bath."
Adriel grinned. "Worth a shot."
Mila set her cup down again and sighed.
"But I might reconsider," she added. "If you keep talking like that."
He raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"
"Like someone who remembers what it means to be human."
They sat there until the tea cooled, and the stars blinked down silently above them.
Mila shifted slightly, her fingers still curled loosely around the cup, though the warmth had long since faded.
"You really meant it, didn't you?" she asked quietly.
Adriel looked over, brow tilting. "Meant what?"
"That I scare you a little."
He chuckled. Not mockingly—more like he was amused by the question itself.
"Not really," he said, leaning back against the wooden beam behind him. "Hard to be scared of a girl who looks that pretty."
Mila blinked, caught slightly off guard.
"That's a terrible excuse," she said, deadpan.
"It's a valid one," he replied, smirking. "You're terrifying in battle. But here? Now? I've survived worse than sharp stares and good posture."
Her lips twitched. "Flattery's cheap, Adriel."
"Good thing you brought tea."
She exhaled through her nose, hiding her smile behind the cup. Then, softly: "You should be afraid of someone who brews better tea than you."
Adriel tilted his head, feigning offense. "Oh? Is that a challenge?"
Mila glanced sideways. "Is it working?"
He leaned a little closer, lowering his voice. "You know, I happen to be decent in a kitchen."
"Mm. Doubtful."
"I didn't say I'm a chef. I said I can cook."
"Survive-level cooking or 'impress a noble court' cooking?"
"Let's just say," Adriel said, eyes narrowing playfully, "if I made you breakfast, you'd end up offering a treaty before the first bite."
That pulled a laugh from her—short, low, and real.
"Is that how you won over Sofya?" she asked.
He raised an eyebrow. "That was strategy."
"She does look well-fed lately."
He groaned. "You're impossible."
"And you're predictable."
But her tone was lighter now. The tension of earlier had bled away, replaced by something gentler. A slow burn, not yet acknowledged, but present in the warmth that lingered between glances. In the comfortable space where silence didn't demand words.
A breeze tugged softly at the ends of her braid. Mila rubbed her arm once—not a shiver, just a reflex to the night air.
Without a word, Adriel reached over and draped the light cloak from his shoulders across hers.
She looked down at it, then up at him.
"I didn't ask for it."
"I know," he said. "But I'm offering it anyway."
Mila adjusted it slightly, letting the fabric settle over her arms. "You really are too warm for someone who talks about ancient monsters and cursed kings."
"And you're too composed for someone who nearly decapitated me with a towel hours ago."
She gave a small huff of amusement, folding her arms under the cloak. "We should get some rest."
Adriel stood, then offered his hand—not as a gesture of chivalry, but something more honest. She hesitated a moment, then took it.
As she rose, she didn't let go right away.
Their eyes met. There was nothing dramatic in the look. No swelling music. Just... understanding.
"I meant what I said," she murmured.
He nodded. "So did I."
She turned first, walking toward the villa beneath the moonlight, the cloak brushing behind her.
Adriel watched her go for a moment, then followed, his footsteps quiet on the old wood.
And in the stillness of the garden, only the tea remained—cooling slowly beneath the stars.
To Be Continued...