Elyndra's fingers curled slowly at her side.
Her voice, when she spoke, was low—meant only for the bridge.
"…There is still something."
Several officers stiffened.
Alric turned sharply. "You're certain?"
She nodded once, eyes unfocused, sensing far beyond sight.
"The demon boy," Elyndra said. "His presence is faint—fractured—but **alive**. It isn't mana in the conventional sense. It's deeper. Like a shadow pressed into the world itself."
A murmur rippled across the command deck.
One captain swallowed. "Impossible. After that level of destruction—"
"I believed the same," Elyndra interrupted quietly. "And yet… I can feel him."
Theron said nothing. His golden gaze remained fixed on the ruined horizon beyond the shattered viewport.
Alric stepped forward, voice firm but strained. "If the target survives, then protocol demands pursuit. We still have two operational airships. The Apostles—"
"—are gone," Elyndra finished. "Withdrawn. And even if they weren't, what remains below is not a battlefield."
She finally looked at them.
"It's a grave."
Silence settled like ash.
Theron turned at last.
"How many knights are still combat-capable?" he asked.
A pause.
Then an officer answered carefully. "Less than half, Your Majesty. Many are injured. Others… are not responding to commands."
Not wounded.
Broken.
Another officer added, "Several units refused to advance even before the bombardment ended. Fear spread faster than orders."
Theron exhaled slowly through his nose.
"And the airships?"
"Barrier integrity is compromised. Cannons are overheated. One more full engagement risks total loss."
Theron closed his eyes for a heartbeat.
Then opened them.
"Enough."
The word carried finality.
"We will not give chase," he said. "Not today."
Some officers looked relieved. Others looked ashamed.
"The cost is too high," Theron continued coldly. "The Apostles are gone. Our Queen is dead. Our army is fractured. To press forward now would be to offer ourselves to something we no longer understand."
His gaze flicked to Elyndra.
"But mark this," he said. "The demon boy lives."
Elyndra inclined her head. "Yes."
Theron turned back toward the bridge.
"Sound the recall. Gather what remains of the army. We return to the Empire."
He paused—just long enough for the weight of it to settle.
"This war is not over," he said. "It has merely… learned our names."
No one spoke.
Outside, the airships began to turn—slow, wounded giants retreating from a land that would never forget what had been unleashed upon it.
And far away, beyond their reach—
A demon boy still breathed.
---
### **Scene Shift**
In a place where light had never learned its own name, a sound echoed.
**Thump.**
Slow. Heavy. Absolute.
A single **red heart** floated in the void—suspended, beating, each pulse sending ripples through nothingness itself.
**Thump.**
With the next beat, blood surged outward like a command finally obeyed.
Veins burst forth first, spider-webbing through the dark. Arteries followed—thick, luminous, anchoring themselves to an unseen frame. In the span of a breath, **organs formed simultaneously**: lungs inflating without air, a spine knitting itself vertebra by vertebra, ribs locking into place with a wet, final click.
**Thump.**
Flesh followed.
Not grown—**imposed**.
Muscle wrapped bone. Skin sealed everything in a single instant, as though the body had always existed and reality was merely catching up.
The heart slid into the chest.
And then—
**Silence.**
A man stood where the heart had been.
Ivan.
Naked. Whole. Long black hair spilled down his back, damp with fresh blood that evaporated into faint golden motes before touching the void. His eyes opened slowly, glowing Crimson for a fraction of a second before dimming to something calmer.
Colder.
He inhaled.
The void trembled.
"…Tsk."
Ivan rolled his shoulders once, testing the body, fingers flexing as sensation returned.
"So dramatic, brother," he muttered with a faint smile. "Detonating yourself like that… honestly."
He placed a hand over his chest, feeling the steady beat beneath his palm.
"My heart, outside the world," he continued softly. "Untouched. Unbothered."
His smile thinned—sharp.
"But you forced my hand."
The darkness shifted, responding not with fear, but recognition. Symbols flickered briefly—laws, contracts, divine equations—before sinking back into nothingness.
Ivan's gaze grew distant.
"The Apostles lost their vessels," he mused. "The Empire retreats. And you…"
He paused.
"…You left something of mine in that brat's possession."
His fingers traced an unseen sigil in the air. Golden lines flared, then collapsed.
"…But you burned yourself down to deny me the kill."
Ivan's lips curved, not quite a smile.
"And that brat," he continued quietly, "burned himself so completely that what was mine can no longer recognize him."
He laughed softly, the sound echoing far too long.
"Fine," Ivan said. "Hide your children."
His eyes gleamed.
"The piece is dead. Rendered meaningless."
He exhaled slowly.
"A loss," Ivan admitted. "But an acceptable one."
The void shifted again, images surfacing unbidden—airships retreating, Apostles dissolving, armies breaking under fear rather than command.
"Everything else unfolded exactly as intended," he said calmly. "The Empire withdraws. The witnesses live. The story becomes… convenient."
His eyes narrowed.
"…That was the plan."
Then irritation flickered across his expression.
"The only variable," Ivan said quietly, "was Draven."
The name lingered.
"He should have shattered. Collapsed into madness or obedience. Any child carrying that much hatred—so much loss—should have broken cleanly."
A pause.
"But instead," he murmured, almost intrigued, "he endured."
Golden light flared faintly in his eyes.
Ivan chuckled under his breath.
"How troublesome."
He turned away, darkness parting at his steps.
"But I'll wait."
"I'm interested to see what he becomes."
Space folded as golden light traced a doorway that should not exist.
"After all," Ivan said, stepping forward, "a world capable of birthing monsters like your son…"
His smile returned—full, satisfied.
"…is worth watching break slowly."
The darkness closed.
And somewhere far away, beneath shattered roots and blood-soaked soil, another heart—blackened, cracked, **still beating**—
answered in silence.