The world looked small from up here.
Villages. Forests. The smoldering wreckage of what used to be peace.
Clouds curled around her feet like misty serpents. Above them all, she hovered—weightless, breathless, silent. Not like a human. Not anymore.
Lyra stood like something remembered. Not summoned. Returned.
A second sphere of fire—not of hope, but of reckoning.
The demon screeched. Purple flames surged from its maw. She didn't flinch. She vanished.
SILENT. FAST. DEADLY.
Wind wrapped around her limbs. She moved like a ghost—no wasted motion, no noise.
The fire scorched the air where she had been.
Above the demon, she appeared—hand glowing.
ZAAAM!
A white laser split the heavens—cutting clean through a mountain in the far background. Like paper.
She landed, calm. The demon charged.
She sidestepped, grabbed its horn mid-sprint—spun behind it—
CRACK.
She slammed her staff into the ground.
KRRRAAAHH!
The earth ruptured. A massive crater bloomed from the impact. The demon staggered.
It roared again—rushing toward her, fangs wide.
Its mouth inches from her face. She blinked.
SHOCKWAVE.
A silent pulse erupted.
FWOOMP!
The demon was blasted back like a ragdoll, smashing through ruins.
SLASH! SLASH! SLASH!
Light Blades fired from her hands like a machine gun.
Hundreds. Each glowing, each sharp.
They slammed into the demon—tearing at flesh and bone.
But then—
CLINK. CLINK. CLINK.
Its back shifted. Dozens of obsidian spikes retracted, then launched outward like missiles, intercepting many blades mid-air. Some pierced the ground behind her—scorching it with residual heat.
The demon vanished in a blink.
BOOM.
Its fist connected with her shield—sending her spiraling across the field like a comet.
She crashed into a boulder—shattering it on impact.
Before she could stand, it was on her.
A kick sent her airborne.
Mid-flight, she spun—recovered—and countered with a white flare from her palm.
The demon twisted, avoiding the beam, and its spike-covered tail lashed out, catching her side.
RIP.
Blood misted the air. Her robes tore.
She hissed—then vanished again.
They clashed mid-sky.
She struck its jaw—cracked it sideways.
It rammed its shoulder into her chest—sent her hurtling.
A claw came for her throat—she twisted away—
It bit, flames spewing.
Her mana flared—she created a pulse of raw force—
BANG!
They broke apart—both skidding across the battlefield.
She floated again, breathing harder now. The demon panted, half its face melted from her laser, one eye glowing like a dying star.
It screamed—a deep, violent sound.
Its spikes retracted, then doubled in size.
With a roar, it launched itself forward—purple fire blazing from its limbs, propelling it faster than before.
She fired another beam—
It dodged, flickering side to side.
It appeared above her, claws out.
She summoned MANA CHAINS—glowing whips lashed out, wrapping its limbs mid-air—
It snapped one with brute force.
She yanked—its arm tore.
It didn't scream. It used the pain, leaned into it. More fire gathered.
She summoned another chain—then a third.
They clashed again.
The demon grabbed her face mid-spell—and slammed her into the dirt so hard the ground cracked.
BOOOOM.
Smoke.
Silence.
Then—green light pulsed.
EMERALD MANA WALL.
She rose inside a dome—protecting her unconscious sister.
The demon launched a massive firebolt from its chest.
It crashed into the barrier—and this time, the wall shook.
She raised her staff. Light shimmered through her body.
Her eyes turned blank.
WHITE LASER.
The beam tore from her weapon like judgment itself—
Sliced through the demon from nostrils to bellybutton—
BOOOOOOM.
A glowing, gaping hole erupted through it—like a celestial donut of annihilation.
Its neck barely attached. It twitched.
Tried to scream.
Then, Ash.
Scattered to the wind.
The wind was calm again.
Her robes fluttered. The golden light behind her dimmed.
She still said nothing.
But the world was listening.
The sky was quiet.
No more flames. No more screams.
Only smoke curling from blackened soil… and silence, heavy as stone.
Lyra hovered for a moment longer—barely. Her body trembled, her eyes flickering, the divine glow dimming like a dying lantern.
Then—
She dropped.
She landed hard on her knees, panting. Blood trickled down her side from where the demon's tail had struck. Her vision blurred.
"M-Miya…" she whispered.
The name gave her strength. Just enough.
She stumbled forward—across cracked earth and glowing craters—searching through the scorched ruins. Her steps were uneven, dragging. Each breath felt like it cost something.
She passed charred trees. Burned homes. A shattered well. Bodies, twisted and crumbling.
Then—a glimmer of green light.
Her mana dome. Still intact. Still glowing.
She dropped to her knees before it. A hand pressed weakly to the barrier.
The dome shimmered—recognized her—and faded.
Inside lay her sister. Unconscious, but alive.
Lyra's breath caught. Relief flooded her face.
"…I did it…" she muttered, voice barely a whisper.
She leaned down—arms trembling—and gathered Miya into a hug, pulling her tightly against her chest.
A weak sob escaped her lips.
"…I found you…"
Her eyes fluttered.
Then—darkness.
She collapsed, arms still wrapped protectively around her sister.
FWOOOSH.
A sudden gust swept over the battlefield.
In a burst of wind and glimmering mana, Sir Rion appeared.
His tall, muscular frame looked more suited to a tavern brawl than battlefield command. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway, exposing a sun-kissed chest and abs that might've earned him coin as a painting model. Bright ocean-blue swim shorts flared with every step. A shell necklace clinked against his collarbone.
He blinked at the scene.
"…Well. I was only gone for a beach nap."
His eyes scanned the devastation. The crater. The smoldering remnants of the demon. The girl slumped over her sister, both unconscious, mana still rippling faintly from Lyra's frame like sunlight off water.
He let out a long, low whistle.
"Should've brought shoes."
He touched the crystal badge on his wrist, voice shifting to something quieter—still light, but focused.
"Arkan. You hearing this?"
The reply came, dry as ever.
"Barely. What's the damage?"
"Demon's ash. Village… gone. Girl's alive. Both of them are. But the older one's mana is still flaring. Something's not right."
A pause.
"Don't touch her. I'm minutes away. I brought reinforcements in case it wasn't dead. Just stabilize the situation. And Rion—"
Rion's smile faded. His brow furrowed. His head tilted slightly, as if… listening to something far away.
"…He's coming."
Arkan's voice sharpened.
"Who?"
Rion turned slowly to the south. The air around him shifted—growing denser, heavier.
His voice was quiet now.
"…The Prince."
The moment the words left his mouth—
BOOM.
The air split.
Far above the treetops, something streaked through the sky like a falling star—a fiery red meteor, hurtling straight toward the ruined village.
Arkan's voice came back, urgent now.
"What!? No—no, Rion, keep him out of this. The royal family wasn't supposed to—"
"Too late."
The fireball crashed down.
KRAAASSHH!
What remained of the village's last intact building was annihilated—reduced to rubble in a single impact. A crater formed where he landed, cracked earth spidering outward in all directions.
When the smoke cleared—
He stood at the center.
The Prince.
In his thirties. Red hair, like fire given form, fell past his shoulders. A sharp jaw, hardened by years of command. Royal crimson robes, trimmed with gold and battle-worn. A blade rested sheathed at his hip—but it might as well have been drawn, with the pressure his presence gave.
His eyes were molten steel.
He didn't speak.
Didn't blink.
He walked forward, slow and deliberate.
Toward Lyra.
Toward the mana.
Rion stepped in his path, quietly this time. His usual humor gone. Only tension remained.
"Your Highness… please. She's not your enemy."
The prince's eyes narrowed, jaw clenched.
He didn't stop walking.
Rion's hand moved subtly toward the hilt at his waist.
Then Arkan's voice crackled again—quiet, but firm.
"Do not let him interfere."
Rion didn't answer.
He simply watched the Prince advance, step by step.
The pressure in the air wasn't magic.
It was presence.
The Prince strode forward—unblinking, unwavering—his burning gaze fixed on the unconscious girl behind Sir Rion.
Rion didn't move.
Didn't flinch.
He simply tilted his head slightly, then casually stretched his arms back behind him, cracking his neck with a yawn.
"…Man," he said, loud enough for only the two of them to hear. "You're really doing the whole brooding thing today, huh?"
The Prince didn't answer.
Rion grinned wider.
"No hello? No 'hey Rion, how's your vacation'? No 'did you find your sandal'? Come on, you're making me feel like that cute waitress at the beach meant nothing to you."
That made the Prince stop.
Just for a second.
"…Rion," he warned.
But Rion's grin didn't fade. He leaned forward a bit, as if sharing a secret.
"Still mad I beat you in that duel, huh?" he said, voice playful. "Nearly killed you, too, if that poor healer didn't jump in like some tragic love interest."
The ground cracked beneath the Prince's step.
No mana.
Just anger.
He changed direction—turned from the girl—heading straight for Rion.
Face to face.
Eye to eye.
And still—
Rion just smirked.
"…I mean, if you want, I can finish the job this time. Wouldn't even break a sweat."
The Prince's jaw tightened.
They were inches apart now.
Rion looked down slightly—he was taller—and gave a dramatic sigh.
"But y'know, I won't," he said. "Wanna know why?"
The Prince didn't respond.
Rion leaned even closer, voice dropping to a whisper:
"Because I'm scared I might accidentally ruin that beautiful face of yours."
The Prince blinked.
"…Not handsome," Rion clarified, wagging a finger. "Beautiful. Like a tragic prince from one of those romance novels the maids keep reading."
He turned casually to the side, pretending to survey the wrecked village.
"…And the town next to this one. Vel… Velharest? Yeah. I think we might flatten that one too. Shame. I liked the fruit market there."
A muscle in the Prince's cheek twitched.
"…Try me," he said, low and sharp.
Rion turned back to him, eyes twinkling.
"…Gladly."
They stepped forward—closer. Chest to chest. The air between them buzzed with something raw and silent.
No mana.
No blades.
Just weight. Two titans pressing forward with nothing but will.
The wind held its breath.
And the moment—froze.