The rain began to fall again.
First timid.
Then constant.
The drops touched the still-warm mud of the ruined field.
Some evaporated the moment they touched the blue embers that still breathed between the cracks of the street.
Others ran slowly over the broken stones.
The circle of fire no longer roared as before.
The columns of flame were shrinking.
Slowly.
As if something ancient were withdrawing from the world.
Isabela remained motionless at the center of the mark.
The sword of flames still burned in her hand.
But the light was no longer as intense.
The weight of the battle was beginning to settle into her body.
Her breath came out slow.
Controlled.
Her gaze remained fixed ahead.
Where Azazel had stood.
The runes carved into the mud began to lose their glow.
One by one.
Like embers dying beneath the rain.
Algiz shimmered one last time in the right eye.
Tiwaz answered in the left.
Then both weakened.
The rain finally touched Isabela's face.
One drop ran down her still-warm skin.
Another fell over the hilt of the flame sword.
The blue fire rippled.
Then diminished.
The circle was ending.
The judgment had been acknowledged.
The silence that followed was deep.
Heavy.
As if the field itself awaited something.
That was when the voice appeared.
Ancient.
Serene.
Closer than before.
The blue flames of the circle rippled softly.
As if they recognized something approaching.
A presence began to take shape beside Isabela.
Not as flesh.
But as the translucent silhouette of an ancient warrior sustained by the very circle of judgment.
Brynhildr remained there.
Tall.
Motionless.
The spectral spear rested beside the ethereal body.
But her eyes were not on Isabela.
They observed the devastated field.
The torn mud.
The impossible marks left by the battle.
Like a valkyrie contemplating the result of a judgment that crossed eras.
Only then did the voice return.
"You did well, child."
Isabela did not turn.
But her eyes closed for a brief moment.
She recognized that presence.
And she knew what it meant.
The rain continued to fall.
Soft now.
The circle of blue flames breathed in silence around them.
Brynhildr remained still.
Ancient eyes still turned toward the devastated field.
As if contemplating not only that battle.
But echoes of many others.
When she spoke again, her voice seemed to carry the weight of forgotten ages.
"Every victory claims its due."
Isabela did not respond.
But her fingers tightened slowly around the sword.
As if the weight of that truth were already known.
Only then did the gaze move to Isabela.
The rain ran slowly down the young woman's face.
There was a brief silence.
Not of hesitation.
But of memory.
Brynhildr continued.
"There are judgments no warrior wishes to win."
The flames of the circle flickered.
Weak now.
"And yet… we win."
The valkyrie's gaze hardened.
"Guard your heart, daughter of judgment."
"Odin watches what grows outside his will."
"Guðrún remembers what should remain buried."
The wind passed through the ruins of the field.
Lifting the thin rain.
"And if the threads of fate cross your path again with the one who once was Sigurd…"
The spectral presence seemed to weigh upon the world.
"Do not call him back."
"Not with mercy."
"Not with love."
Isabela faltered for a brief instant.
The blue flame of the sword rippled.
Then returned to stillness.
The silence returned for a moment.
Brynhildr then lifted her chin slightly.
"This age is not mine."
"Nor theirs."
"Walk, therefore, without bending the knee."
"Do not swear your blade to kings."
"Do not place your fate in the hands of gods."
"And do not lose yourself for those you fear losing."
The circle of judgment began to unravel beneath the rain.
The runes slowly fading in the mud.
Brynhildr's presence grew lighter.
As if the world could no longer sustain her for long.
But her voice remained firm.
"Then hear my final decree."
The ancient valkyrie looked at Isabela with the same gravity reserved for warriors deemed worthy.
"Isabela Svanhild Valkyr."
"I recognize you."
"Not as a subject."
"But as an equal before the judgment."
The rain fell harder.
The wind crossed the broken field.
"Walk, then, with pride…"
For a moment, the nearly extinguished runes on the ground shone again.
Faint.
But ancient.
As if something within the circle itself were still listening.
"Valkyrie of Judgment."
The blue flames around Isabela rose one last time.
Like witnesses.
The wind ceased.
The rain seemed suspended in the air for a single impossible second.
Isabela inhaled deeply.
And straightened her shoulders.
Then the glow of the runes vanished.
The flames lowered.
And the circle finally began to die beneath the rain.
The spectral presence began to dissolve into fragments of ancient light.
Like embers carried away by the wind.
The last voice came low.
But clear.
"May the heroes of Valhalla guide you…"
There was a brief pause.
Almost like an echo between worlds.
"…or tear you apart until nothing remains to guide."
The last spark of Brynhildr's presence dissolved into the air.
Like an ancient ember carried by the wind.
For a brief instant…
The rain seemed to hesitate.
The drops hung in the air for an impossible second.
Then the circle of judgment went dark.
And the rain fell again.
Heavier.
Slowly washing the marks of battle from the ruined field.
Isabela remained motionless.
The sword of flames still burned in her hand.
But the fire no longer held the same strength.
The blue flame flickered.
Once.
Then again.
Until it slowly went out.
Isabela raised her face.
Let the cold water run over her skin.
Over her eyes.
Over the marks of battle.
If there were tears there…
The rain did not allow them to be distinguished.
The field remained silent.
And there was no taste of victory in that place.
Far to the north.
Where the wind ran colder.
The rain still existed there.
But it fell differently.
Thinner.
Higher.
As if avoiding the ground.
Upon the ancient rocky rise, the presences remained.
Motionless.
Watching.
At the center of them, the pale-skinned woman remained turned toward the east.
The smile on her lips had disappeared.
But her eyes remained attentive.
As if listening to something the ordinary world had not yet noticed.
The darkness behind the presences tore in movement.
First came the eyes.
Neon-pink.
Unstable.
Blinking like living sparks in the dark.
Then the figure emerged.
White hair spiking in every direction as she practically slid across the rock, strides too long, too light, as if the ground were just part of the game.
She appeared beside the motionless woman in an exaggerated spin.
Almost dancing.
Then she leaned forward, too close, her face invading the space no one else dared touch.
Her eyes shone with excitement.
"Aaaah… it's over?" she sang out, dragging the words.
She tilted her head to one side.
Then to the other.
As if trying to listen to something that no longer existed.
"Strange…" she murmured, tapping two fingers against her own temple. "I can't feel big brother Azazel anymore."
Her smile widened.
Curious.
Excited.
"He's not going to play with us anymore?"
For a moment, no one answered.
Then the woman moved.
It was not a sudden gesture.
She merely lifted her hand and rested her fingers on the girl's head.
A slow caress.
Almost absentminded.
Like someone calming a restless animal.
The black eyes remained turned toward the distant horizon.
"It seems…" she said softly, "that he will not come to meet us."
Pixy blinked.
Twice.
The crooked smile returned.
"Huh?" she tilted her head to the side. "And why?"
Before the answer came, the world around them reacted.
The wind descended upon the rocky rise with sudden violence.
Cold.
Heavy.
The presences around them became denser.
Pixy spun at the same instant.
A light jump backward.
The knife appeared in her hand as if it had always been there.
Low stance.
Wide smile.
Excited.
"Ooooh…" she murmured, thrilled. "Now this got fun."
The Woman did not move.
She merely allowed a brief smile to escape.
"Asmodeus," she said, almost in a tone of acknowledgment. "Impatient… as always."
The darkness beyond the rocks did not answer immediately.
But something inside it breathed.
Not air.
Intention.
A presence far too vast for the space it occupied.
Ancient.
Predatory.
And then the voice came.
Grave.
Deep.
Like stone dragging against stone.
"Lilith…"
The wind seemed to hesitate.
"I no longer feel Azazel."
The silence that followed weighed upon the field like a suspended blade.
The presence in the darkness continued:
"Tell me… why."
The murderous intent spread like blood in water.
The presences around them withdrew slightly.
"You kept us here."
"I waited."
"Without complaint."
The rock beneath the rise groaned, as if something enormous had adjusted its posture in the darkness.
"But patience…" the voice grew lower "reaches its end."
A moment.
Then the declaration came like a sentence:
"Speak, Lilith."
"Or tonight will know the hunger of my blade."
Lilith's smile did not fade.
Not even when the wind carried the murderous intent that emanated from the darkness.
Her fingers still rested softly on Pixy's head.
She then spoke.
Calm.
Without raising her voice.
"Feed first on silence, Asmodeus."
A brief pause.
"Decisions born of impulse usually serve only the enemy."
The wind remained violent around the rise.
But it did not touch her.
"This age is not the same one we left behind millennia ago."
The black eyes finally moved.
Not toward the darkness.
But toward the distant horizon.
"Humanity has changed."
"Grown."
"And, as always happens… has become more dangerous."
Pixy tilted her head, listening like a curious child.
Lilith continued:
"Not even I would be foolish enough to underestimate the gods who oversee this world"
"Much less confront them without purpose."
The wind diminished for a moment.
As if the world itself listened.
Then she spoke again.
"You are mistaken if you think our waiting was for Azazel."
The darkness reacted.
Subtly.
Almost imperceptibly.
Lilith then raised her gaze to the east again.
"I was waiting… to see."
"Up close."
Her smile returned.
Small.
But genuine.
"The seeds I planted."
The silence that followed was heavy.
Dense.
"Some sprouted better than I expected."
She then concluded:
"And they will be of great importance in the wars that are yet to come."
A brief pause.
And then she added, in the same calm way:
"Just as Azazel was."
Pixy broke into a wide grin.
"Ooooh…" she murmured excitedly. "So the big game hasn't even started yet?"
Lilith did not answer.
But the faint glow in her eyes was answer enough.
In the darkness, Asmodeus's presence remained still.
Thinking.
Or perhaps merely watching.
Lilith finally moved.
Her fingers left Pixy's hair.
She turned her body slowly.
Without haste.
Like someone who had already said everything that needed to be said.
Her gaze did not seek Asmodeus.
Nor any of the presences around.
She simply walked.
Straight toward the darkness where the murderous intent breathed.
The wind diminished as she advanced.
As if the air itself opened a path.
Pixy remained where she was.
Spinning the knife between her fingers.
Then she stopped.
For a rare moment of silence.
The neon-pink eyes turned to the east.
Very far from there.
Where the rain fell over ruins and embers.
She tilted her head.
As if listening to something distant.
"Heh…" she murmured quietly.
Then she shrugged.
And jumped after Lilith.
The darkness swallowed the presences.
And the wind ran free again over the rocky rise.