A Pinch of Light
"NOOO!" I scream, leaping toward him.
But I'm too late.
Miklotov's chest bursts in a crimson cloud. His body sways and collapses, blood spreading across the floor like a macabre curtain. Emilia rushes in, tears streaming down her face as she desperately tries to stop the inevitable with her magic.
The air grows thick, heavy with the weight of grief and fury hanging over everyone.
Emilia's cries shatter the silence, but they reach no one. There's no answer, no comfort to soothe her anguish. Her body shakes, tears pouring endlessly, her voice broken—shattered—but still brimming with desperate love.
"Sir! Sir!" Her cries are more than a call; they are a plea that shakes everyone to their core. The despair in her eyes, the unbearable helplessness, pierces through any barrier.
Under the light now flooding the hall, all eyes fixate on Miklotov, but it's Emilia who seems like a shadow—alone, bearing the crushing weight of it all.
Her hands tremble as she tries to sustain her magic. It flows through Miklotov's body, an attempt to buy him more time, but it's slipping away. Her tears are a mirror of her powerlessness, her desperate hope for a miracle that will never come.
"Get him!" July's furious shout breaks the trance, her hands erupting in ice. Her movements are swift, feral; the frost seems to draw from the moon's own chill, as if nature itself answers her wrath. "BORDEAUX! You bastard! What did you do to Frederick?!"
I turn sharply, and where Frederick stood moments ago, now stands Bordeaux. He's smiling, his face twisted with cruel amusement, as if this were all some twisted game.
Marcus doesn't hesitate. He lunges at Bordeaux, aiming to grab his head, but the air warps. Time seems to stretch.
"Stop! Cough!" Miklotov's voice rasps, shattered by the effort, and with a breath steeped in agony, he murmurs, "Take me downstairs."
Bordeaux keeps his smug, infuriating grin as if none of this matters. In that moment, his mana spills into the air—dense, oppressive.
Something inside me churns at the sensation.
Before my mind can catch up, my body moves. I hurl myself toward him, my rage and helplessness giving me strength.
My rage bursts out like a torrent that I can't contain.
"IT'S YOUR FAULT!" My voice cracks from the pain as my hand shoots toward his throat. Wind magic detonates at my elbow, but Bordeaux's violet barrier holds firm—a stone wall beneath my fist.
"Marco Luz!" Miklotov's faint whisper barely reaches me. His voice lacks any power.
A crack appears in the barrier, and Bordeaux's eyes narrow slightly.
"You're just a foolish child, but I applaud you nonetheless." Bordeaux doesn't flinch. He simply claps, a mocking smile curling his lips. His arrogance hangs in the air like a slap to the face.
Everything we've done, everything we've fought for—it all feels meaningless in his presence. My chest burns with rage, but something within me also fractures.
Without a word, Reinhard appears, slicing through Bordeaux's barrier effortlessly. In a single motion, he immobilizes Bordeaux, pinning his arms with an iron grip. But what follows isn't victory.
No one feels triumphant.
The battle isn't over, and Miklotov's life continues to slip through our fingers.
"Help me downstairs."
Miklotov looks at Emilia, his eyes heavy with suffering. She meets his gaze with quiet resolve, as if she's grasped something far beyond words.
Tears streak her face, but she doesn't say a word.
Instead, she leans over Miklotov with tenderness only she could muster. Her trembling hands cradle him carefully, each movement a silent vow that she won't let him go.
Her lips press together, her pain reflected in her eyes. Her face remains steady, holding onto a fragile hope that somehow, against all odds, she can still do something.
Our eyes meet, and in that instant, the weight of powerlessness crushes me. My breath hitches, a lump forming in my throat. A single tear escapes, sliding down my cheek—a slow, aching goodbye.
'She can't do anything… and neither can I.' The truth strikes me like a hammer, and a hollow emptiness takes hold, stripping away even the faintest trace of hope.
Emilia's magic keeps him alive, but it's no more than a fragile thread unraveling with every heartbeat. Nothing can stop what's already begun. His eyes, once vibrant, now dim slowly, as though the life within him is fading away.
The murmurs of the crowd fade as Emilia descends with Miklotov. A heavy silence blankets the hall. No one dares to look back at the battle raging behind Emilia and Miklotov's shadow.
Every gaze is fixed forward—on the future queen, on the kingdom's great sage—as if that's the only place where salvation might be found.
But there's nothing left to do.
"Bring Sir knight Felix!" Voices cry out, but their words fall into a void, as if nothing can save us now. The knights' race, but everything moves in slow motion, as though time itself has frozen to grant Miklotov one last moment in this world.
I channel mana into my eyes, focusing beyond the surface. My vision twists and warps, revealing Miklotov's essence unraveling, scattering like extinguished stardust.
Each fragment of him is vanishing, consumed by what feels like a curse beyond comprehension.
Miklotov's od is completely shattered.
His door is gone.
In its place, there's only emptiness—a void that devours everything. His life is already forfeit, and no matter how fiercely Emilia fights with what little strength she has left, the magic sustaining him is insufficient.
It's just a whisper—a final breath—before the inevitable fall.
"Don't die… don't die, please," Emilia's voice is barely a whisper, fractured by pain. Her tears fall relentlessly, but she keeps fighting, pouring all her mana into a desperate attempt to buy more time.
"Someone better than me will arrive soon. Just try to hold on."
Her words fade into the air, and though she seems to be fighting with every ounce of her soul, we all know what's happening. No one can save him. No one can stop what has already begun.
The suffering on her face, reflected in the eyes of everyone present, leaves an indelible mark.
She knows there's nothing else she can do.
Her magic won't be enough.
Nothing will.
"Sir!" Frey's voice is a roar, a cry so raw it's startling to hear from him.
Frey, his eyes darkened with a pain that doesn't seem like his own, moves closer, kneeling beside Miklotov. His trembling hand clasps Miklotov's, but it's the rage in Frey's gaze that freezes me in place.
His lips press into a tight line, and his red eye, that unmistakable crimson hue, seems to devour everything around it. His anguish is palpable, a fury eating him alive, but he knows the same thing we all do: Miklotov is slipping away, and nothing can stop it.
Felix, standing next to Miklotov, watches helplessly. His hands tremble, but his words hit harder than any spell he could cast.
"I can't heal him." Felix's voice cracks, but it's the truth—the cruel, unforgiving reality.
There's no magic in this world that can repair a soul already shattered. This wasn't a soul contract—no, it was something far more sinister, far more destructive. A bond that went beyond the physical, touching the very fibers of existence itself.
Felix and Emilia combine their powers in a titanic struggle to hold him, to offer one last breath of hope. But there's no magic that can mend a soul already unraveling, already surrendered to the inexorable march of time and fate.
"Get the half-elf out of here!" someone shouts, a voice filled with desperation but also seething with anger, pointing mercilessly. "She's the reason for this!"
The fury radiating from Emilia is so dense the air seems to stop. So tangible, no one dares to speak. Her mana seeps into everyone's hearts, and her tears fall like torrents.
She rises with Miklotov in her arms, her face transformed by the sheer force of her will. And as she does, we can all see it—the magnitude of her sacrifice, no matter the cost to herself.
Emilia's mana feels heavier than ever, a crushing weight, and at the same time, a depth of pain so profound no words can describe it.
Bordeaux stands silent. He doesn't utter a word, remaining motionless, his cold gaze fixed on Miklotov. His arms are restrained by Reinhard's hands, a silence that echoes in the charged air. Harald, his jaw clenched, looks utterly out of place. His fearful eyes betray his ignorance of the situation.
Miklotov, however, moves his head slowly, and in his eyes, an abyss opens. His gaze doesn't focus on anyone in particular, but his words fall like stones, crushing everything in their path.
"In this kingdom where I was born… there are all kinds of people: the rich, the poor, the clever, and the foolish. Sadly, before I realized it, I was surrounded by fools. Arrogant people seized power, and those who craved wealth sowed injustice. That's why I thought I needed to lead—with trusted individuals who could guide this kingdom toward a better path."
The man who once dreamed of being the pillar of justice now watches his dreams crumble. Miklotov cannot stop it; his life fades before us, and yet his words carry the force of a whirlwind.
His gaze grows more distant, slipping further away, as if his soul is trying to escape his own body. But his words still resonate: Miklotov, the one who cared most for this kingdom, is giving his life for it.
"But even in my intentions, evil seeped through."
Miklotov doesn't seem to see us, but he doesn't need to. He speaks to all of us, every single one, as if his voice were a judgment upon us all. His eyes lack their former brilliance, but his soul shines with the cold light of truth.
"I tried to fight on my own, but this kingdom overwhelmed me—me, the great sage Miklotov McMahon. Cough!"
A horrific cough racks his body, blood spilling from his mouth and soaking Emilia's chest. But she doesn't move. She doesn't flinch. Her face remains rigid, staring ahead, tears still streaming.
"I realized this world is just a grain of sand, a shadow of reality. And in that realization, I saw it—we were being dominated. Greed had turned us into beasts."
A palpable emptiness envelops us, consuming everything. Bordeaux smiles with unsettling calm, then slowly lifts his head.
Boom!
Reinhard's hand erupts in an explosion of fire. His glove disintegrates, and his arm burns with purple flames—flames that seem alive, feeding on despair itself.
"That's what you tell your dear friend," Bordeaux murmurs. With a twist of his hand, darkness engulfs him.
Reinhard lunges toward him, but something happens. A spell, a prison—an ebony coffin of shadows traps him. Reinhard's feet freeze in place, and he collapses to his knees, defeated by the darkness Bordeaux wields so effortlessly.
"Ugh…" Reinhard groans, his body straining to break free, but Bordeaux's power holds him in place, his fiery gaze seething with anger.
I lunge at Bordeaux, but by the time I reach him, he's already floating in the air.
"It's impressive that the Sword Saint still breathes, even beyond this land, where Od Laguna's blessing doesn't reach." Bordeaux's laughter echoes in the distance as his figure begins to disintegrate, slipping beyond our grasp.
"This is the day I declare war on existence itself. You are nothing but frogs in a well. When you see what darkness offers, you'll be forced to take it." Bordeaux's grin widens as his body fades completely. His venomous voice lingers: "You'll perish beneath your own pride."
The spell binding us ends abruptly, and Reinhard gasps for air, drained and defeated, as though there's nothing left for him to give.
"Take me!" Harald screams, his voice raw with desperation as he tries to cast a spell. But Marcus, moving like lightning, strikes the back of his head, knocking him unconscious.
Chaos engulfs everyone. No one dares speak. The nobles, the knights—all have become shadows. No one wants to face the reality Bordeaux has imposed upon us.
Fear takes hold of everything. Emilia's fury, Reinhard's exhaustion, the uncertainty among us all… It feels as though the very air has turned heavy, suffocating, impossible to breathe.
Nothing seems capable of lighting the way; nothing seems able to stop the fall now awaiting us.
The light fades, and with it, all hope.
"Bow before Miklotov!" I shout, my voice breaking as I fall to my knees.
One by one, everyone follows suit. Nobles, commoners, knights... even the most reluctant cannot ignore the magnitude of the sacrifice they've just witnessed.
In that moment, amidst the ashes of chaos and pain, a spark of hope is born.
I bow deeply, placing a hand over my chest as I fix my gaze on him. My voice is trapped in my throat, unable to escape. Emilia looks at me, confused by my actions, her eyes trembling under the weight of the moment.
I need to draw everyone's attention to Miklotov. Let them, if only for a moment, leave the chaos behind and look at the man who is leaving us.
"Heh... I knew you'd be the first to speak," he whispers, his voice broken as he extends a trembling hand toward us. His body is failing, his face barely responsive, frozen under the weight of pain and effort. "What you saw... what you just witnessed... is proof that you must unite. You must fight... not for yourselves, but for greater good."
Silence falls over the room like a heavy shadow. One by one, everyone kneels.
Without exception, they lower their heads to Miklotov, forgetting their differences, ignoring their conflicts, as if his mere presence commands what remains of their strength.
"The Kingdom of Lugunica... must be eternal. But to achieve that, you must recognize your greed... and learn to master it." His voice cracks with every word, but his gaze burns with an intensity that pierces the soul. "I know all of you. Many... I raised as if you were my own children."
His lips curve into a faint, broken smile, barely visible, as his chest rises and falls with difficulty.
"This kingdom needs change. And for that..." Miklotov raises his gaze, focusing on Emilia with a heartbreaking tenderness, as if seeing in her the future he will never reach. "It needs someone with the conviction to do what is right."
Miklotov's hand, trembling like a leaf in the wind, slowly rises and rests on Emilia's cheek. She shivers under his touch, her eyes brimming with tears she dares not let fall.
"It needs someone willing to suffer for their people. Someone who can prove it. Someone who can rise, even when all seems lost."
Emilia looks at him with disbelief and something deeper—a pain that seems to tear through every fiber of her being.
"I, Miklotov McMahon..." he murmurs, his voice dragging out each word, "give my eternal support... to the royal candidate... Emilia."
His final words are barely audible, a whisper I can't quite catch. But his gaze, before it fades, says everything. One last glance at all of us, as if trying to etch us into his memory before departing.
"The Dragon Kingdom of Lugunica... is eternal."
And then, his hand falls.
Heavy, as if carrying the weight of everything he ever bore.
The world seems to stop as his eyes close and the air leaves his body.
Emilia, unable to hold back any longer, lets out a muffled sob that echoes like a ghost in the empty hall. No one says a word. No one dares to move. All that remains is the void, like an abyss threatening to swallow us whole.
Miklotov McMahon, the man who held this kingdom together through its darkest hours:
Is gone.