In the fractured quiet of the ruined castle, Achlys stood above Persephone, sword raised high—its mist swirling like breath from a dying god.
"Goodbye… Persephone!" he whispered, voice cracking as he drove the blade down toward her head.
Persephone shut her eyes, chest trembling, as if bracing for an end both feared and accepted.
But the steel never struck.
At the far end of the blood-stained hall, a ragged cough echoed like a lifeline. Achlys froze, sword biting deep into the marble beside Persephone's head. Breathless, wide-eyed, he turned toward the sound.
"Saria…? Is that really you?" His words stumbled out, breaking on the edge of tears.
Leaning against a shattered column, her body trembling, Saria forced herself upright. Her face was pale, yet her gaze held the warmth of stubborn hope.
"Yes, Achlys… It's me," she whispered hoarsely. "You don't… you don't have to worry about me."
"Like hell I wouldn't!" Achlys shot back, voice cracking under relief and guilt. "I thought she—" His blade trembled as he pointed at Persephone, still bleeding on the ground. "—I thought she'd killed you!"
"That 'she'… isn't an enemy," Saria rasped, limping closer. "She… she is my best friend."
Persephone's eyes fluttered open, confusion and disbelief flickering in her gaze.
"Best… friend?" Her lips formed the word as if she'd never spoken it before. Tears welled, slipping silently down her bruised face. "Friend…?"
"It's okay, Persephone," Saria whispered, kneeling beside her. Her hand, trembling but resolute, rested over Persephone's heart. "It's okay to cry. I promised, remember? Years ago… I promised never to leave you. And I still won't."
Persephone broke then, sobs racking her chest as she hid her face behind a shaking arm.
Achlys lowered his sword, the mark on his cheek pulsing softly. His voice cracked. "I'm sorry too… Persephone helped me once. Pulled me out of darkness… she awakened my Orders. I never got to thank her." He bowed deeply, tears falling. "I owe you, Persephone. From the bottom of my heart."
A bloodied hand rose, trembling, to rest on his hair.
"No, Achlys… I'm sorry. For attacking you. For words I never truly meant…" Persephone whispered, her voice raw with regret.
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A Slow Applause in the Ruin…
Their fragile reunion fractured as slow, deliberate claps echoed through the ruined hall.
"That was a beautiful scene," drawled a voice steeped in mockery. Achlys, Saria, and Persephone all turned sharply toward the intruder.
A figure stepped into the light—a cloak as dark as starless midnight, and eyes gleaming with cruel amusement.
"Who are you?!" Achlys demanded, sword rising as the mark on his cheek flared.
"Oh, me? My name doesn't matter," the figure sneered, laughter dripping like poison. "You'll only know it for the next… five seconds."
Achlys surged forward, mist boiling around him—but the figure tutted, raising a single hand.
"Ta-ta-taa~ I wouldn't do that," he warned. At his fingertip, a tiny yellow orb of light coiled and shimmered.
"Take an hour of rest," the figure intoned, firing the orb straight toward Achlys.
But Persephone moved first. With a desperate cry, she shoved Achlys aside, bracing for the blow.
"Persephone…!" Achlys gasped, horror freezing his heart.
The cloaked man clicked his tongue, annoyed. With a flick of his wrist, time twisted backward—rewinding Persephone's act of sacrifice.
Achlys found himself back where he stood before, the moment repeating—but this time, the yellow orb struck true, crashing into his chest. Golden light flared. His eyes fluttered shut as consciousness slipped away.
"Achlys… you did well," the man in yellow whispered, almost gently.
But the temperature shifted, heat searing the air. Saria stepped forward, her flame sword gleaming, her gaze dark and deadly.
"I'm sorry… clockwork abomination," she hissed. "But for that… you will die."
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Achlys awoke on a field littered with thousands of broken swords—blades of every shape, half-buried in scorched soil. Above, a ruin of a kingdom burned in blue fire. And far overhead, a monstrous sphere of flame floated in the sky, a lone figure standing upside down atop it.
She was beautiful and terrifying: long black hair like flowing ink, eyes as black as a moonless night, a crimson dress swirling in unseen wind. Two crosses hung from her ears, and three swords circled her like silent sentinels.
"Where… where am I?" Achlys called out, gripping his sword.
"Moonfall… Horizons… and Eclipse…" she murmured without turning. "Named First Order."
Achlys' eyes widened. "How do you know my attacks?!"
The mist sword vanished from his hand, reappearing in hers.
"Hey! Give that back!" he snapped.
"A mist sword… how interesting for a Marked One," she mused, black eyes studying the blade.
"Marked one? Who are you?!" Achlys demanded. "And where is this place?!"
"We are inside your mind, Achlys Yorunium," she said, turning with a soft, chilling smile. "And I… I am Bellona. Your marking."
Achlys staggered back. Bellona flickered, then reappeared right before him, her gaze sharp and ancient.
"I've tried to reach you for so long!" she shouted, summoning a battered military helmet. "Put it on."
"Why?!" Achlys protested.
"JUST PUT IT ON!"
Achlys flinched, catching the helmet, and hurriedly placed it on his head.
"Wha- AARGH!!" Agony seared through his skull. He cried out, clutching the sides. When the pain ebbed, Bellona's smile returned, sharp as steel.
"Did it hurt?" she asked sweetly.
"What do you think?!" he barked, still panting.
"But now… we can speak even outside this mind," she said, stepping closer, arms wrapping around him from behind.
"How did I even get here?" he muttered.
"I pulled you in… because you finally activated your marking," she replied, her breath brushing his ear.
"And those swords floating around you—what are they?" Achlys pressed.
Bellona's expression soured. "How many Order abilities do you have now?"
"Three."
"And how many swords do you see?"
"Three…"
"And why could I pull you here?"
"Because… I activated my marking?"
Her frown melted into a smile—half pleased, half annoyed. "You really are slow, aren't you?"
Achlys chuckled weakly. "So the swords are how rich I am?"
"YES—NO! Absolutely not!" she snapped, poking his forehead. "You have much to learn, Achlys."
His vision began to blur as the memory faded.
"I guess… goodbye for now," he said.
"I can still reach you when you sleep," she promised softly, watching him fade.
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Achlys awoke, his breath shallow, and the smell of blood and dust clinging to the air. The Sword of Nota lay beside him.
He turned and saw Persephone lying unconscious next to Akatsuki.
"Huh? What happened…?"
[ Hello? Achlys, can you hear me? ]
Bellona's voice echoed in his mind.
"Bellona…?"
A faint, broken whimper cut through the quiet. Achlys' eyes turned to the throne doors—behind them, soft sobs, raw and terrified.
"Mom… dad… please… stop…"
He pushed the doors open. Saria knelt inside, tears streaming down her face, breath shaking.
"Saria? Are you okay?" he asked, heart twisting.
She looked up, haunted. "Help me… Achlys… I'm a monster…" Her words barely formed, drowned in despair.
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In the battlefield, Nox forced himself upright, breath ragged. "I've a little magic left…"
The demon princess raised her hand. "Erase."
A beam of pale blue light streaked toward Tiabishi. Nox lunged, shoving her aside. The mountain behind them erupted in a cataclysm, a smoking crater left where stone once towered.
"That blast… could level a country," Tiabishi gasped, eyes wide.
The princess smiled coldly, aiming again.
Nox gathered every scrap of magic, darkness bursting outward. "END OF ILLUMINATION!"
A black storm swallowed the field. When the smoke cleared, Nox and Tiabishi had vanished.
"Hahaha… run all you like," the princess whispered, her voice quivering with manic joy. "I can't wait… to kill you both."
She stepped through the drifting smoke—and was gone.
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High above, Cryo, Adonis, and Doviam faced each other as dawn's twin suns rose, painting the sky red and gold.
"What did you mean, warn us?" Cryo asked sharply.
Doviam lowered his gaze. "He is already here… Víðarr v Trasana. Time Master of Rage and Power."
"You called?" A cruel voice answered from behind. Víðarr hovered, eyes glinting, a smile like a blade.
"Leave them!" Doviam commanded, opening his ancient book. "They don't deserve to die."
"Life's just an old man's clock," Víðarr murmured. "It ticks… until someone breaks it."
A yellow orb of time formed at his fingertips.
"YOU BASTARD!" Doviam roared. "Time magic: 11 di mattina! Infinito cena!"
A colossal clock shimmered above, each tick draining life.
"You wouldn't dare," Víðarr sneered, magic building.
"Klokkestopp!" he shouted, sending the orb flying.
Doviam dodged, the clock ticking on. "A spell that follows its target," he snapped, channeling streams of red, blue, and white energy.
The beams struck Víðarr, driving him to his knees. "Using timelines… you're clever…" Víðarr hissed before summoning a black hole beneath himself.
"Farewell, Cryo. Farewell, Adonis," he taunted, vanishing into shadow.
Cryo and Adonis exchanged grim nods.
"Enough fighting," Adonis said. "I sense our masters… in danger."
Together, they turned, wings outstretched, racing toward the castle where destiny awaited.
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<| Ability Book |>
Spellbook: Time Manipulation
Spell: 11 di mattina, Infinito cena
Tier: Low Godly
Strength: Stop time for a planet (Can reach its influence to a galaxy on higher mana control and input). Life force gets sucked for every tick of the clock's arm.
Weakness: Resistant to time manipulators and people with high mental strength. Upon a slight intervention with the target's state, the effects of the magic are nullified.
Spellbook: Time Manipulation
Spell: Klokkestop
Tier: Mage
Strength: The summoned time orb is set with a homing attribute. It can be passed through time and space.
Weakness: Extreme concentration required.
Explanation: The target is stopped in time, varying from an hour to even 100 years.
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