The palace didn't cheer.
That was the first thing Carl noticed as the ringing in his ears finally faded.
There were no horns blaring victory, no roaring crowds, no triumphant swell of music the System loved to paste over moments it deemed important. Just the hiss of dying torches, the deep, tired groan of settling stone, and the steady, unpleasant drip of water leaking from somewhere in the shattered ceiling.
Victory, apparently, was quiet. And cold. And smelled faintly of blood and smoke.
Carl leaned his full weight against a fractured pillar, its marble face split clean down the middle like it had taken a personal offense. His sword tip scraped the floor, the sound grating, but he didn't have the strength to lift it. His arms felt wrong—heavy, distant, like they belonged to someone else who had loaned them out without warning. Every breath rasped in his chest, shallow and sharp, each inhale reminding him just how close he'd come to earning a permanent plaque somewhere important.
Here lies Carl. He tried.
Elira stood a step away—too close for comfort, close enough that the faint, familiar hum crept in behind his eyes.
[Residual Bond: Active]
[Combat Efficiency: +10%]
[Status: Stable]
"Stable," Carl muttered under his breath.
"That's… optimistic."
Elira turned to him immediately, her gaze sweeping over every visible injury with the intensity of someone afraid that if she blinked, he'd vanish. The authority she'd wielded during the battle was gone now, stripped away to reveal something rawer beneath.
"You should sit," she said quietly.
"I am sitting," Carl replied, shifting his weight slightly. "Just… aggressively vertical."
For a heartbeat, she looked like she might argue. Then her lips twitched despite herself, the smallest crack in her composure. In a ruined palace littered with broken bodies and broken stone, that tiny smile hit harder than it had any right to.
Guess she really was soft on the inside.
Boots echoed from the far archway—measured, precise, and angry enough to leave dents in the floor.
Kaela emerged from the smoke like violence given form.
Her armor was scorched black in places, dented and scraped where blades and claws had failed to finish the job. Her hair had come loose from its usual severe bind, dark strands clinging to her face with sweat and grime. Blood streaked one gauntlet—some of it hers, most of it belonging to things that had very much deserved it.
She took in Elira first.
Then Carl.
Then Elira again.
"You're alive," Kaela said. It wasn't a question. It was an accusation aimed at the universe.
Elira inclined her head once. "Because of him."
Kaela's gaze snapped to Carl, sharp and invasive, cataloging him the way soldiers did—searching for fractures, weaknesses, signs of imminent collapse. Carl lifted one hand weakly.
"Before you say anything—"
She punched him.
Not hard enough to kill him. Not soft enough to be mistaken for affection.
Pain exploded across his jaw, rattling his teeth and sending him stumbling back into the pillar with a grunt.
"Ow—what the hell was that for?!" Carl barked, clutching his face.
Kaela's chest rose and fell sharply. Her fist trembled, knuckles white. "For staying alive."
Elira stiffened. "Kaela."
"No," Kaela snapped, then stopped herself, dragging in a slow, shaky breath until her voice steadied. "I was ordered to protect the civilians. I did. Every street. Every corridor. But every second I was gone, I thought I'd come back to a corpse wearing a crown."
Her eyes burned—not with fury, but with a fear she'd never been allowed to show while the fighting raged.
Carl rubbed his jaw and winced. "Yeah. Same. Except, you know… the crown part."
For a moment, no one spoke.
But this silence was different. It wasn't empty. It was heavy, loaded with everything they hadn't said while blades were swinging.
Naturally, the System chose that exact moment to be itself.
[Quest Chain Unlocked: Echoes of the First Realm]
[Phase One Complete: Palace Defense]
[Next Objective: Investigate Realm Signature Source]
[Time Limit: Unassigned]
Carl closed his eyes and sighed. "Of course there's a sequel."
Elira frowned. "What does that mean?"
"It means," Carl said carefully, "whatever those things were… they weren't random. Something's bleeding through. Somewhere nearby."
Kaela straightened immediately, fatigue wiped from her posture by instinct alone. "Another nest?"
"Maybe," Carl replied. "Or something worse. The System used the word Realm. That's never good news."
Elira paled—but she didn't retreat. Instead, she stepped forward, shoulders squared, spine straight, every inch the ruler she was trying to become.
"Then we investigate," she said. "Quietly. Before the court panics."
Carl blinked at her. "You want to poke the cosmic horror instead of pretending it doesn't exist?"
"Yes."
Kaela nodded without hesitation. "Smart."
Carl looked between them. Two women. One throne. One sword. And both of them looking at him like he was the obvious answer.
"…You're both insane," he said flatly. "Just so we're clear."
Elira met his gaze, unflinching. "And yet, you're the one the world bends around."
That landed far too close to the truth.
Something stirred deep inside him. The hunger. Low. Patient. Waiting.
Carl pushed himself upright, ignoring the sharp protest from every abused muscle in his body. "Fine. But we do this my way."
Kaela raised an eyebrow. "And what way is that?"
He smiled—tired, sharp, and dangerous in equal measure. "We get stronger. Quietly. No hero speeches. No noble sacrifices. Just preparation."
The System chimed, far too pleased.
[Alignment Shift Detected: Pragmatic Resolve]
[Hidden Trait Progression: Void's Chosen — 18%]
Carl didn't like that it approved.
He liked even less how natural the feeling was.
As guards began to regroup among the ruins and the faintest hint of dawn crept through the shattered windows, Carl understood something vital.
The battle for the palace was over.
The war—for control of the realms, the System, and himself—had only just begun.
And this time, he wasn't running not because of sudden bravery but presence of right motivation if you know what I mean.