The table stretched long, lined with foods—fruits bursting with syrup, roasted meats glistening with fat, and breads baked golden-brown. Yet every bite she had taken earlier turned to ash in her mouth now.
She stood, her chair screeching against the marble floor. Across from her, Midas reclined on his throne-like seat at the head of the table, his goblet resting loosely between two fingers. His golden eyes gleamed in the candlelight, as if every flame bent its will to reflect in them.
Elara: "You call this saving the world? Feeding it poisons and then burning the bodies when they choke on it?"
Midas smiled faintly, not rising to meet her anger.
Midas: "Poison is only poison when it kills. Gold, too, is only a metal. But in man's hands it becomes the deadliest poison of all. I merely corrected the imbalance."
Elara slammed her hands on the table, her voice trembling.
Elara: "You slaughtered them!"
Midas rose now, slow and deliberate. His presence filled the room without effort, every step toward her echoing like a hammer strike.
Midas: "I liberated them from themselves. Greed is a sickness, Elara. Wealth festers it. Desire fuels it. My people—my Golden City—proved that even paradise can decay. They traded their souls for scraps of gold they already owned. So, I burned the rot away."
Elara backed one step, though her fists clenched tighter.
Meanwhile…
Droids surged from every passage, their synchronized march like a drumbeat of death, glaives and rifles forming a storm of golden light.
Henry dove into them with the fury of a collapsing sun, his fists striking faster than sight, each impact detonating in shockwaves that tore the machines apart and hurled fragments down the corridor.
His body weaving through a dozen blades, every dodge guided by instinct homed in blood, until he stood at the center of a storm of sparks and smoke, chest heaving, eyes ablaze, ready to burn through the endless tide no matter the cost.
But then… it appeared, a giant hallway, and at the end, a gigantic gold and black banquet door.
Henry: "Elara… I know you are there; I can feel it."
Meanwhile…
Elara: "And what about Saphir IX?" Her voice cracked, but she forced it louder. "What about the children you cut open? What about the girl who cried herself to sleep in a cage every night while men like you took notes and smiled?"
For the briefest moment, something flickered in Midas's eyes—recognition. Then it vanished beneath a calm mask.
Midas: "Saphir IX was… necessary. Progress demands sacrifice. I am deeply sorry for what happened there to you."
Elara's voice became a scream.
Elara: "Quit your apology. You call me progress? You call those children sacrifices?!"
Midas lifted his goblet, as if toasting her rage.
Midas: "Yes. And you, Elara Vaydrin, are the proof that sacrifice yields miracles. Look at you now—alive, strong, bearing an Awakening that could bend the fabric of life itself. Would you rather still be that starving girl in the street, clinging to stolen bread?"
Her chest heaved. She wanted to strike him, to tear the smug calm off his golden face. But she couldn't—not yet.
Elara: "You don't get to decide who lives and who dies. You don't get to play god."
Midas finally stepped close, lowering himself so that his eyes were level with hers. His voice dropped to a near whisper.
Midas: "And yet, who else will? Who else has the will to do what must be done? You? Henry Dreherg? Your father?"
Elara flinched at the names, but Midas pressed on, his tone like velvet hiding a blade.
Midas: "You know so little about Henry, Saphir IX, your brother, and even yourself."
Elara suddenly felt unsettled; she started to shake.
Midas: "I created Saphir IX to create an Awakening, which allows me to create what I needed for my plan. But this sadly turned into a failure. The awakening happened to be unstable, which is why we allowed our only survivor to escape.
Then, your brother joined the Reapers… A boy who possessed a powerful Awakening, but within it slumbered a power that opened a new opportunity for me; your brother had unlocked dark energy."
Elara's eyes widened. She remembered back then when her brother left them. The incident and the monster he had turned into.
Midas: "But then… Henry appeared, possessing the Heavenly Awakening. But Zorath's blindness and idiotic ideology sadly came in the way."
Elara: "It's not yours to take."
Midas: "The Heavenly Awakening is not meant for childish dreams of freedom. It is a tool. A weapon. With it, I can strip greed from this world forever. No kings, no merchants, no beggars clawing for scraps. Only purity. Only order."
Elara shook her head violently.
Elara: "That's not purity—that's tyranny dressed in gold!"
Midas chuckled softly, stepping back toward his throne. He raised his arms, the chandeliers flaring brighter, casting his shadow long and deep.
Midas: "Perhaps. But history will not remember tyranny. It will remember salvation. And Henry's light will be the torch that leads the way."
Elara: "He'll never give it to you."
Midas turned, sitting once more, his fingers lacing together. His smile returned, colder now, sharper.
Midas: "He won't need to. I already know how to make him come to me."
Her blood ran cold. She wanted to ask, but the words stuck in her throat. His smile told her enough: whatever trap he had set was already closing.
And then—
The great doors of the banquet hall slammed open.
Henry staggered in, his shirt torn, blood staining his arm, and his fists still glowing faintly with the remnants of his Heavenly energy. His chest rose and fell in heavy breaths. His eyes locked instantly onto Elara—safe, though pale—and then onto Midas, seated in his golden throne like a god carved from sunlight and shadow.
Henry: "Elara… step away from him."
Midas's smile widened. His voice rolled through the chamber like thunder hidden in silk.
Midas: "Ah. The boy marked by Heaven arrives at last."