Iteration Requested. Unnamed Iteration 112046. Border with Chaos

  Date? Present

  Report Complete

  Suriel floated in deep space, where the calming blue of the Way bordered the black of Chaos.

  Iteration 112046 was not a planet or world; only deep space exists here. The Angler, Iri, have agreed to meet her and they both have agreed on the location . Far enough from either side's main forces and close enough to make a rapid escape if necessary. No reinforcements were allowed within four parsecs of their meeting.

  The Angler appeared before Suriel on the fractured edge of Chaos, a calm anomaly amid the swirling black madness. Her long dark red hair flowed like silk, the colour so rich and vivid that Suriel couldn't help but think of freshly spilt human blood. A sleek, polished gas mask hid her features, the mirrored lenses catching and distorting the broken light around them.

  She wore a pristine white hoodie, its surface unblemished despite the corruption of the landscape, and loose black trousers with wide, flowing legs. Dozens of perfectly stitched pockets adorned the fabric, each one faintly humming with spatial bindings—quietly capable of swallowing objects far greater than her own body, even ships large enough to shadow continents.

  The Angler stood there in eerie stillness, immaculate and composed, as though the Way itself dared not touch her.

  "Suriel," the Angler greeted with a child-like voice. "It's really you," she said, somewhat surprised.

  "Iri," Suriel replied.

  The Angler patted her left pocket caringly. "When my ship first received the transmission from a presence claiming to be Suriel's, I dismissed it immediately. But then it never stopped. Only when it finally addressed me using my name did I get interested. Even seeing you here now is a surprise."

  Suriel doubted that. Iri was here because of the hefty sum Suriel had prepared to pay for the conversation.

  "Your payment," Suriel pulled out a book from empty space.

  Beneath the gas mask's lenses, Iri's eyes flashed. Her body shook and jittered with excitement. "Is that it? Is that really it?" she yelled in excitement .

  Serenity of Reprisal.

  The book held no forbidden secrets or hidden great power. In truth, it was little more than a storybook — a simple tale of vengeance. It told of a nobleman's pursuit of the Noble Thief, a vigilante who stole from the rich to give to the poor. But one theft changed everything: the Thief had stolen the medicine the noble had desperately secured through bribery, and without it, the noble's younger sister succumbed to her illness. What began as heroism twisted into tragedy, and the noble's quest for justice darkened into a quiet, burning reprisal.

  Yet the book told of love brewed from hate. And how tragedy can be shifted to love through honesty.

  It was a rare book from Suriel's home planet. Her personal favourite.

  And the Angler had specifically asked for the one in Suriel's collection . Not for the monetary value. But for what it meant to Suriel.

  It was given to her by her long-dead first love . Back before she ascended, When her world was first decimated by a Vroshir attack. And it was the last thing she had left from him.

  The memory threatened to break her carefully composed expression.

  She handed it before she could change her mind, tossing it through the space between them.

  The Angler caught the book and removed her mask, revealing a wide smile on her pale face as she skimmed through it. Her white eyes widened as she closed the book. She looked up at Suriel in surprise.

  "You're serious," Iri concluded. "That just got me much more interested in what you have to ask."

  Before Suriel could reply, Iri held the book in one hand and flashed her teeth at the Judge.

  The Angler lit the book on fire.

  Iri's grin widened.

  As it was burned in chaos. There was no reverting the ashes.

  Suriel's heart shattered.

  She felt the weight of loss crash into her—but she allowed the Way to cool the ache, pressing the grief deep beneath her serene mask.

  Iri watched her closely, savouring it. Letting the silence stretch.

  The real price was never the book.

  It was this. Suriel's pain.

  Iri allowed the silence to fester, enjoying every second.

  "Now we can go to business," Iri jeered once she was fully satisfied. "How can the Angler help the Judge," she bowed mockingly.

  "I want to see Durandiel," Suriel spoke, her voice unshaken and serene. "The first generation."

  Iri mused. "And why do you think I would know where he is?" She immediately waved dismissively. "Stupid question. Of course, I can arrange it."

  The Angler's sly smile reappeared. "Question is. Are you able to afford it?"

  Suriel met the white eyes of the Angler. "What do you want?"

  Iri gently patted a pocket near her right knee. "Ziomachus had treated me well all these millennia, but I can't help but sense its desire for an upgrade. And what can be a suitable upgrade for such an artefact except a Judge's weapon?"

  Suriel's razor was a weapon passed down from one Suriel to another. She will not and could not hand it over. "No," Suriel said.

  Iri's smile never wavered. "A loan then. Two years."

  Iri would not be able to use the bindings, ruins, and scripts, but she would be able to study them.

  "Four," Suriel said.

  Iri's eyes narrowed. "Months?"

  Suriel eyed the other woman.

  "Days??" Iri sneered.

  "Hours."

  "Tschk," Iri kissed her teeth. "Five."

  "Four."

  Iri grew visibly frustrated. With resources such as Iri's, four hours was enough for her to figure out what she needed of the basic to middling aspects, but not enough time to decode the encryption for the more powerful aspects .

  "Five!" Iri retorted. "Five, and I won't share whatever I find with anyone else! And I'll keep it under my highest level of encryption!"

  "Deal."

  Iri paled at what she realisedrealised had just happened. "You!" she growled in frustration. "You!" She pointed accusingly at the Judge. You tricked me!"

  Suriel didn't respond.

  "Ah, fine," Iri grabbed a fistful of her hair.

  [Well done], Suriel's presence commented on her negotiation.

  The Angler had a reputation to uphold . One that she had never broken. Once a deal was made she would see it through.

  "I'll contact your presence with the time and location. Unlike me, the first-gen Ghost isn't such a likeable person," Iri growled, still clearly irritated by the terms of the deal. It was a good deal, but she knew she could've gotten more.

  Iri reached into a pocket and pulled out a miniature ship in her palms. She threw it into her side of space, and the ship grew to the size of a planet. In a flash Iri dissapeared into her ship , before it accelerated into light speed.

  Alone, Suriel stood on the side of the Abidan blue. This far from anyone else, she could feel the silence for once.

  Slowly, she ordered her presence. "Remove emotional restraints."

  [How long]? Her presence asked.

  Until she says so, Suriel wanted to say. But the consequences could be dangerous, for the possibility she would never want to was higher than she would like to admit.

  "Sixty seconds," Suriel replied.

  [Emotional restraints disengaged.]

  The change was instant.

  A sob cracked out of her like a fissure-splitting stone. Tears flooded her eyes, blinding her, burning her, as the full, crushing weight of grief smashed through the dam of her self-control.

  Her knees buckled.

  She wanted to collapse, her fingers clawing desperately through the blue Way and floating ash.

  The remains of the book—the last fragile tether to the one she had lost—drifted just beyond reach, caught at the edge of the Way like a ghost refusing to let go.

  Suriel gathered the ashes in trembling hands, her cries ragged, torn from somewhere deep and broken inside her.

  For sixty eternal seconds, she was no longer the embodiment of an Icon.

  No longer a Judge.

  No longer Abidan.

  Just a woman weeping for what could never be returned.

  When the timer ran out and the restraints reasserted themselves, Suriel sat motionless, the ashes cradled in her palms, the silence inside her now deeper and colder than ever before.

  Iteration Requested. Cradle

  Date? Present

  Report Complete

  Yerin Aurelius slashed her sword in the air, her goldsigns swinging in accordance. The walls of the training area lit up, but not as much as it had when Eithan had done so.

  "Twelve scripts," Yerin announced.

  Her Blood Shadow growled at the side. "Eithan did more than a hundred."

  "Bleed and bury me!" Yerin scoffed. "What's your record?"

  "Ten," The Bloodshadow growled.

  At first, Yerin felt nauseous about the idea of training alongside her Bloodshadow. But these days, with Eithan gone for weeks at a time, she was the only person she had to talk to.

  "You need a name," Yerin spat. She can't believe she's sounding more like Sadi and Mercy now.

  "Is that really important now?" The Bloodshadow growled.

  "No," Yerin retorted. "But bleed me if I have to keep calling you... well 'you'."

  "Ask someone else to do it, " The Bloodshadow replied with narrowed eyes. "Because I'll bet my soul against a rat's tail that you would give me some incredulous name."

  "You mean my soul, " Yerin snorted, emphasising on whose soul the Bloodshadow would actually be betting with. "Then give yourself a name then."

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The Bloodshadow responded immediately, almost embarrassingly. "Ruby, " she muttered.

  Yerin raised an eyebrow. "Ruby. Like the gemstone."

  "Yes, " the Bloodshadow hissed. " The one that Lindon liked when Sadi was showing off her spoils from the Gold Dragon. "

  Yerin remembered that night in Stormrock when they had gathered after dinner in Sadi's room. Lindon was curious about what she got from the Gold Dragon, Ekeri's void key, and Sadi invited them in. Yerin's cheeks had heated up when Lindon said the gemstone reminded him of her.

  Now, thinking back on the memory, Yerin's cheeks grew red again.

  "Fine, " Yerin crossed her arms and looked away. "Ruby, it is."

  "Ruby, it is, " Ruby concurred.

  Ruby didn't show it in her expression, but Yerin could feel the Bloodshadow's delight. That was ... wierd. She had always had only felt hunger and blood from Ruby. Now she felt ... jubilation?

  "Bleed and bury me! " Yerin cursed the new sensation, hoping it would leave sooner rather than later. She turned back towards the walls and readied her sword. "Let's try that technique again."

  "Catch, " Ruby called out, and Yerin stretched her other hand to catch Ruby's sword.

  Then Yerin braced for the unsettling sensation as Ruby entered her spirit.

  Yerin pulled back both swords, one in each hand, and cycled her madra in preparation for her rippling sword. Ruby caused her to pause.

  "What? " Yerin snapped.

  She felt lucky no one else was here, or else they'd think she had gone insane and begun speaking to herself.

  {That box that Eithan left. Open it,} Ruby spoke inside her.

  "What box? " Yerin turned to the side where Ruby had signalled from inside her spirit.

  And there, to the far right corner of the wall, was a box. A plain, cardboard box.

  "Since when was that here? " Yerin scoffed; she hadn't sensed anyone entering or exiting the training hall.

  Yerin shook her head. Was there even a point in asking? Of course, it was Eithan. That man can sneak up on anyone like a worm.

  {More like a spider}, Ruby corrected.

  Yerin stepped towards the box and used the tip of her sword to open it. Suddenly, life's aura started bursting out of it. On the walls of the box were suppression scripts.

  Inside was a single flower in a transparent glass cloche. The flower was white, with thorns on the branch. On the side was a letter.

  Yerin picked up the cloche and took a look inside of the flower. Whatever the flower was, it definitely had something to do with life aspect .

  Then, she tore the letter into pieces. Sadi had given her lessons on reading , but it still wasn't Yerin's expertise.

  "Ahh, I see that you have found the flower, " Eithan's voice sounded in thin air.

  Yerin hated it. Eithan must've known she wouldn't have bothered to read the letter.

  "This flower is called Gracemoon Rose, found only in the swamps near my homeland. The rarity of this flower had resulted in wars between Lords. Well, until they find out that growing one is quite simple. Fertile soil, and you wouldn't believe it. Hair gel! Anyway, I'm sure you'll make good use of it."

  Yerin tried her best to ignore Eithan's voice and used her perception of the flower.

  "And what am I supposed to do with it? " Yerin asked Ruby.

  Eithan's voice magically returned. "I've heard in ancient times that women would give them to their male partners as a show of love and desire."

  Yerin grimaced as her cheeks grew even redder.

  "I'm sure Lindon will like them."

  Yerin yelled. "Alright, that's it! Where are you, Eithan? I'm sure you're listening on this right behind a wall somewhere!"

  She lifted her sword into the air.

  "I'm cutting you the next time we meet! You hear me!"

  {Eat it}, Ruby cut in.

  "What? " Yerin scoffed, looking at the thorny branch of the flower.

  {Cycle it to me}, the Bloodshadow replied.

  "You do it! " Yerin huffed.

  {Fine}, Ruby escaped from Yerin and grabbed the cloche from Yerin's hand. Ruby broke the glass with her goldsign and began munching down on the flower.

  Then, once Ruby was done, she ... burped.

  Yerin didn't know how to feel seeing herself burp after swallowing down a thorny rose.

  "Delicious, " Ruby commented, rubbing the large bump on her stomach. Then she fused back into Yerin's spirit.

  {Alright, let's try it again}.

  Yerin ignored the memory of Ruby looking pregnant and began to cycle. Just as she was about to release her Rippling Sword, she felt Ruby trying to cycle blood madra into her technique.

  Fear crawled up Yerin's spine, and she fought using her will power to stop Ruby from taking control.

  {Trust me}, Ruby's struggling voice spoke inside of Yerin.

  Bleed me, Yerin thought and decided to allow it.

  Blood madra gathered alongside sword madra as Yerin released her Rippling Sword.

  Red and Silver lines streaked through the air, and it struck the wall of the training hall with a loud boom.

  Scripts lit up the walls, and Yerin's expression was caught in awe.

  Ruby formed beside Yerin and held the same expression.

  "Bleed me, what did you do? " Yerin asked, unable to shift her gaze from the lit wall.

  "Life aura, " the Bloodshadow replied softly, staring similarly. "Not far off from Blood aura, true?"

  "Like how you used my lifeline for fuel."

  "Our lifeline, " Ruby corrected.

  "Our lifeline, " Yerin concurred. "How many scripts did you lit up before?"

  "Ten. With yours twenty-two."

  "And now?"

  "Forty-six."

  "Bleed and bury me, " they both muttered.

  Seishen Daji woke in pain.

  He always did.

  Pain was the first thing he remembered every morning.

  The burning in his spirit when he tried to cycle.

  The fire in his lungs with every breath.

  The hollow agony that gripped him whenever he thought of Kiro.

  A soft knock came at his door.

  "My prince, " a voice called—and without waiting, a servant entered.

  "Javin, " Daji rasped, his throat raw.

  Javin hurried to his side, offering a glass of clear water. Daji accepted it with a trembling hand, grimacing as he swallowed. Even drinking burned.

  "Help me up, " Daji said, returning the glass with a soft clink to the bedside table.

  Javin hesitated before taking his hand. His touch was careful, almost reverent, as he pulled Daji upright.

  "My prince, " Javin said quietly. "You should rest."

  "No, " Daji groaned, forcing himself upright. The muscles along his back screamed, but he refused to fall.

  "You've been training every day... " Javin said under his breath, the words almost a plea.

  Daji ignored him, lifting his head to meet the older man's gaze.

  Javin looked old, and him being a Truegold in the path of water meant that he was far older than he looked. Truth be told, the man was more of Daji's bodyguard than a servant. Wrinkles covered the man's face, his thin hair growing grey and his face clean shaven.

  Javin wore a plane shirt pressed against his body and baggy trousers. He did not wear the Seishen colours; his clothing was dyed entirely black, the colour of mourning.

  "I won't get any better by being bedridden, " Daji replied, pushing off the mattress. His legs quivered as he stood.

  He remembered the first time he woke up. He couldn't cycle, and his spirit burned with the slightest of movements. He couldn't even walk. All he could do was sob himself awake and cry himself to sleep.

  Permanent spiritual damage.

  That's what the healer had said. That he would never recover and that his path was over.

  Daji clenched his teeth against the wave of memory. He took a step forward—and almost collapsed. Pain knifed up from his heels to his spine, setting his body alight.

  But he took another step.

  "How's my father? " Daji asked Javin as he steadied himself on his legs.

  Javin grimaced. "The King had not left his chambers. He has delegated his tasks entirely to the council."

  Daji closed his eyes.

  His father had not visited him once ever since that night.

  Not once ever since Kiro died.

  Father of the century, that man was.

  But Daji didn't blame him. He wouldn't visit him either if he had a son like him.

  He should've been the one to die that night. It would've been ... better. He swallowed the bitterness like vitriol. He had long accepted that fact.

  Daji took one step forward, and he gritted his teeth as he felt pain burn up from his legs to his spine. Like everyday, he fought through it and took another step.

  "My prince, please, " Javin begged. "You've been training for months without rest. It would not help your spirit."

  "Javin! " Daji scolded with more ice than he had intended.

  He met his butler's gaze.

  "Why? " Daji demanded. "Why do you care? Why do you treat me like a sick dog?"

  His father had never cared, let alone the other Sacred Artists.

  Only Kiro ever did. His brother always tried his best. And now that Kiro was no longer here, Daji felt lonelier than ever.

  So, he didn't understand why a Truegold like Javin would choose to lower himself and become a broken prince's servant. The man could snap him like a twig, yet he didn't.

  Javin swallowed. "My daughter was on that cloudship, " he answered. "She survived because of you."

  "Pity then, " Daji spat, his voice thick with loathing.

  He hated feeling helpless. His whole life, he had put on a mask of brashness and arrogance.

  He would rather be hated than pitied.

  "Not pity, my prince, " Javin replied, calm yet resolute.

  "Then what? " Daji snarled. "Absolution?"

  "Loyalty, " Javin answered.

  Daji remained silent, stunned by the Truegold's answer.

  Javin met the prince's stunned gaze. "I have known your father since we were boys, " he began. "Your father was a bear not only in looks but also in actions. He only ever cared about himself and his advancement. He would've gladly sacrificed all of us to gain an inch of recognition from the Akuras."

  "Careful, Javin, " Daji warned in a whisper. "Some would call what you're speaking as treason."

  "It is the truth, " Javin spat, his wrinkles forming into a grimace. " Your brother did the same , and we all saw it that night. "

  His wrinkles softened.

  "But you. You sacrificed yourself without hesitation to save us. " Javin straightened. "Many of us remember what you did for us that night."

  Then, Javin's hands began to tremble, and his spirit flared against his thin frame. "Yet that bear had chosen to put you under house arrest. Refused to meet his own son, who had sacrificed himself not for glory or recognition. But to save his people."

  "House arrest? " Daji's eyes widened. "Since when?"

  "Since the moment we lay you on your bed, " Javin answered, struggling to keep his spirit veiled. "He refused to provide you and healers. Refused even basic medicines! The King! " Javin spat the word 'king', "had chosen to punish you for the consequences of his actions."

  Daji paled. Did his father really hate him that much? Was he surprised?

  "But I've been to the training yard. And the medicines, " Daji croaked. "Healers came to my room almost every day for months."

  "Like I said, " Javin said through gritted teeth, his gaze boring into Daji's. "Many of us remember what you did. W e brought them to you. The guards, the servants you saved that night or their families. We risked everything to get you the care you needed."

  Daji said nothing.

  Could say nothing.

  "My prince, " Javin said, and then the old Truegold fell to one knee. "You must rest. Heal. One day, we will need you. We will need a King worthy of the Seishen name."

  Daji stared at the man in silence, unsure of what to say.

  Daji frowned, fighting back the tears of acceptance that no love was lost between him and his father. How could there be when there was none to begin with?

  His father had never loved him.

  He had known that for a long time, deep down. But hearing it spoken aloud so starkly left a hollow ache he hadn't prepared for.

  He fought back the sting in his eyes.

  Finally, he spoke. " If your loyalty is as steel as you claimed . Then don't ever ask me to rest again, " Daji said softly. " I don't think I'll be able to rise back up if I did. "

  Javin's gaze remained on the floor as he nodded once.

  "And don't ever, " Daji sneered, "talk about Kiro again. You know nothing about him, " he warned.

  "Forgiveness, my prince, " Javin muttered. "I did not intend to offend."

  "Then watch your tongue, " Daji snapped, colder than ice.

  He could feel the old mask slipping back into place, the one he had worn for most of his life.

  The arrogant, brash prince.

  He needed it now more than ever.

  He would need it again.

  "It's time I pay the King a visit."

  Seishen Daji wobbled toward his father's chambers, leaning heavily on a long staff with every laboured step. His legs trembled beneath him, muscles burning, spirit flickering with strain.

  Servants along the hallway froze as he passed.

  Several of them looked like they wanted to help, while some wondered why he was out of his room.

  But one look at the prince's gaze banished any thought of interference.

  They remembered the wolf he once was.

  And no one dared step into the path of a wolf, even a wounded one.

  Daji stopped before the massive carved doors. His breath came in short, ragged bursts, but his hand was steady as he raised his staff.

  "KING DAKATA! " Daji bellowed, slamming his staff on the door with all his might. "YOUR SON HAS COME TO PAY HIS RESPECTS!"

  A side door creaked open.

  One of his father's concubines slipped out, her silken slippers whispering across the marble.

  "My prince," she said gently, full of confidence. "Your father—"

  Daji turned on her, raising his staff to her throat in a single, smooth motion.

  She flinched, and her breath hitched. She swallowed a nervous and fearful gulp.

  Other than his father, Kiro, or Meira, none had ever dared to get in his way.

  It seemed that he had been gone for too long.

  He'll remind them of their place.

  "Do not interfere," Daji hissed, his voice low and savage. "Or I'll have you flayed where you stand."

  The concubine's face paled. A pretty woman the highgold was. She could kill him in his current state. Yet, beneath his gaze, she found herself frozen, unable to move.

  One thing Daji gave credit to the King was that the man had remained loyal to his mother until she passed.

  "You, " Daji shifted his spear to a nearby servant who shivered in fear immediately. "The concubine is tired. Take her back to her room."

  "Yes, my prince, " the servant quickly nodded, ushering the concubine to return to her chambers.

  Then, as Daji returned his gaze to his father's chamber's doors, ready to slam his staff again, the door cracked open.

  Daji entered without hesitation, balancing himself on the staff as he walked.

  Inside, the King's chamber stank of stale alcohol and old sweat. Bottles and shattered jars littered the floor, rolling listlessly against the marble. The curtains were half-drawn, letting a sickly light into the massive room.

  King Dakata sat slumped in a great stone chair, his frame too wide for it , his back turned to his son . His gaze was locked onto the horizon outside the window.

  "It seems you haven't learned your lesson," the King growled without looking back. "Must I kill you to find some peace?"

  The King's Overlord spirit flared, and Daji grunted as it crashed into him. His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the marble, the impact jarring through his battered bones. Blood splattered from his mouth as he struggled to breathe.

  Still, he forced a crooked smile through the pain.

  "Tsch," he spat blood onto the polished floor. "You could’ve killed me any time, old man. You just don’t have the spine."

  "Hah, " the King sarcastically snorted. "Is that why you came here? To gloat? "

  The King's spirit retracted, and Daji pushed himself back up.

  "No, " Daji replied. "I just want to see the man they call King. The man who wanted his own son to die but was not brave enough to do it himself."

  The King remained silent.

  "That's why you locked me in my room , isn't it ? Why you banned any healers from tending to me. " Daji continued.

  A bottle of wine appeared in the King's hand, and he swallowed the entirety in one gulp.

  "Yes, " the King hissed, shattering the bottle with a squeeze of his hand, venom dripping from his hand. "It should've been you that night."

  Daji fought away the frown that threatened to appear. Only now did he realise, deep down, he had hoped his father would've accepted him.

  But there was no mending whatever bridge once existed between them.

  Daji had heard everything he needed.

  Daji blinked away the tears that threatened to spill and turned to leave.

  But his father's voice caused him to pause.

  The King's voice cracked with grief when he spoke. "You're a failure, Daji. Every day, I prayed to the heavens that you would be the one to die. But it seems even the heavens have abandoned me."

  Silence reigned.

  Daji paused by the doorway; his gaze remained steadfast on the hallway outside.

  "Your mother, " the King continued. "She was kind. Brilliant."

  The King let out a bitter laugh.

  "And yet, somehow, she bore you."

  Daji’s body shook.

  Not from pain.

  Not from fury.

  But from grief so deep, it was almost primal.

  But he swallowed it down.

  With mechanical calm, he straightened his spine and forced the tremors from his hands.

  "Goodbye, Father," he said.

  He stepped through the doorway without looking back and closed the door behind him with a quiet click.

  The hallway beyond was filled with servants and courtiers who parted like the sea before him, stepping back without a word. Their heads bowed low, not in reverence, but in terror.

  Daji forced himself to walk, leaning heavily on his staff, his heart hammering with every step.

  His mask, the sneer, and the arrogance slid into place once again.

  He would not let them see the broken boy inside.

  Not today.

  Not ever again.

  He didn’t stop until he heard fast footsteps echoing down the hall behind him.

  "My prince, " Javin said, gasping for air like he had been running for days without rest. His clothes were thorn, but there were no visible wounds.

  "You found her, " Daji stated more than asked.

  "Yes, " Javin said between breaths. "We found her in the dungeon below and eliminated the guards. But she refused to leave, my prince. She's too advanced for us to force her."

  Daji exhaled the breath he had held since leaving his father's chambers. "Take me to her."

  Javin led Daji underground, towards the prison where they held powerful sacred artists. By the entrance, two guards lay dead on the ground, their stomachs cut open, and holes littered their armour.

  His gaze shifted to the dozens of Sacred Artists gathered there. They wore simple Sacred Artists' robes, and their weapons were unsheathed and blood-stained.

  "You do realise this is mutiny? " Daji spoke to them.

  All their eyes were filled with determination. Not a hint of regret was visible.

  "We know, " a woman spoke up. She held the tip of a spear in one hand, the chain attached to it spiralled on her forearm. She bore similarities to Javin, besides her blue hair goldsign that flowed like water.

  "Where the prince goes, we follow, " another spoke up. A man this time, with eyes of complete red.

  "There are more of us above getting the cloudships prepared, my prince, " Javin cut in . "But we must hurry before we are discovered. The Underlords are currently away, but they can be back in less than a moment's notice."

  "Make way then, " Daji ordered as he hobbled towards the only opened door of the dungeon.

  Daji hobbled forward into the dungeon's open doorway.

  The prison stank of blood, iron, and waste.

  The only light came from the torches outside, casting long, broken shadows across the cell.

  She sat in the darkness, arms chained above her head with half-silver shackles that suppressed her spirit.

  "Meira," Daji called softly.

  Her white eyes flashed towards him, and her face turned into a snarl.

  "You, " she whispered threateningly.

  Her rags were torn, barely keeping her dignity intact.

  He was quitely impressed by her strength. Able to keep a dozen golds away despite being chained by half-silver.

  "Have you come to die? " she asked, flashing bloodied teeth. "You should come closer."

  Daji ignored her threats. "I want you to come with me, " he stated.

  "With you? " she laughed. "What is this, " she gestured to the other sacred artists outside. "Your little rebellion?"

  "No, " Daji shook his head. "We're leaving."

  "Leaving? " she laughed. "Oh, you're a real coward, aren't you? Running away now that dear big brother is no longer here?"

  Daji's breathing grew ragged. "I'm going to avenge him, " he muttered coldly.

  "Avenge him!? " Meira's anger returned. "You should've been the one to die! " she yelled, her body trashing against her restraints, wild madra flaring around her.

  Her rags fell, removing any last coverings of her modesty.

  Daji's eyes widened.

  Bruises covered her entire form, crusted blood forming in lines around her body.

  His first thought was the guards had tortured her, but she was a life artist. This was something deeper . Something more raw.

  "You've been hurting yourself, " Daji muttered.

  Meira ignored his words and struggled against her shackles, uncaring or unbothered by her state of undress.

  " If you want revenge, then you should fall on your own sword! " she roared.

  Daji raised a hand to prevent the others from entering. He didn't want them to see Meira in her current state. She was loyal to her brother . She deserved better.

  "Come closer! " she yelled again, the chains rattling against the wall. "I'll gladly do it for you."

  Slowly, Daji stepped forward. He was afraid, but fear was something he could use , something he knew very well how to turn into stubbornness.

  He reached out towards one of her shackles, and Meira bit into his arm.

  He held the pain and allowed it as he unshackled the half-silver restraints. Allowed it as she drained his lifeline through her teeth.

  Her glare never left him, and when he looked down, he saw tears in her eyes.

  When he finished unshackling her other wrists, she whirled and slammed him towards the wall. Her hands around his neck, her Underlord spirit pressing down on him.

  "Why shouldn't I crush you? " she asked through gritted teeth. "Give me one good reason?"

  "Because...then... you'll set me... free, " Daji choked as he felt blood and air leaving his lungs and head. "Look...at...me."

  He felt his spirit burn as she used her perception on his spirit without care, feeling the damage he had accumulated. Her gaze never left his face.

  She was silent for a long moment, their ragged breaths mingling, each exhale brushing against the other's lips.

  She didn't move.

  The space between them, so narrow, so fragile, felt heavier than chains.

  "You look so much like him, " she finally said with trembling lips, her voice shattering with grief.

  Then she let go, and Daji collapsed to the cold, damp stone floor, coughing violently.

  "But you are not him, " Meira stated, returning to sit where she had previously been shackled, her grief gone from her voice. "Leave me."

  "No, I am not him, " Daji groaned, rubbing his neck. "But I will not leave you. Not here."

  Meira curled in on herself, her head pressed against the cold wall of her prison. "What good is revenge? " she asked. "It will not bring him back."

  "No, " Daji agreed, slowly picking himself back up. "But it is all I know."

  "Good luck then, " Meira replied, not bothering to look at him.

  "Come with me, Meira, " Daji pleaded. "I need you."

  Meira didn't reply directly, and Daji saw her frown through the dim light of the torch.

  "That's what he said, " Meira said softly.

  "Do it for him, " Daji whispered.

  Meira's white eyes flashed towards him.

  "You're not the only one that lost a Kiro that night, " Daji whispered, removing his outer robe.

  Slowly, reverently, he laid it across her shoulders.

  "Thousands of people lost their loved ones that night, " Daji whispered, going to his knees so he could see her eye to eye. "They need to be reminded that their actions will have consequences. That we are not their pawns to be sacrificed."

  Meira's eyes met his when she spoke softly. "The Blackflame and the Wasteland-,"

  "No, " Daji shook his head. His voice turned lower than a whisper. "We are going after the Akura."

  Silence, only the sound of dripping water filled the prison.

  Then Meira’s hands tightened around the robe.

  Her fingers dug into the fabric, clutching it like a lifeline.

  Her fingers trembled as her nails dug into the soft fabric.

  She looked at him now. Stared at him. And she nodded.