CHAPTER 5 — NARK OSITH
Adam hit the ground like a broken promise.
Blood spread fast—too fast—dark against the luminous stone, soaking into gold veins that drank it greedily.
His breath stuttered, wet and wrong, eyes glassy with shock.
Lucy screamed.
The sound tore out of her chest raw and unfiltered, ripping through the cave like a fracture in reality.
Ether flared instinctively, shattering loose stones, sending ripples through the suspended water still trembling from the deer demons retreat.
Abbie moved before thought.
She slid across the stone on one knee, hands glowing as she pressed them against Adam's wound.
Ether poured from her palms in precise, practiced streams—stabilization sigils snapping into place midair.
"Don't you dare die," she snarled. "Not after all this."
Adam coughed, blood flecking his lips. "Told you… plan wasn't finished…"
Abbie didn't respond. Her jaw was locked tight, eyes burning with focus and rage.
Lucy stood frozen.
The world narrowed to three things: Adam bleeding, Abbie fighting to keep him alive, and the girl standing a few paces away—calm, composed, utterly unhurried.
Nark Osith wiped her blade on her cloak.
The metal sang softly as it slid clean.
"You're wasting ether," Nark said conversationally. "He'll live. I didn't hit anything vital."
Abbie looked up slowly.
Her eyes were no longer green.
They glowed faintly blue—ether saturation rising.
"You stabbed him," Abbie said, voice low. "You don't get to comment."
Nark tilted her head, studying Abbie like an interesting specimen.
"Correction. I disabled him. Killing him would have drawn attention. I prefer efficiency."
Lucy's hands clenched.
Something deep inside her—something newly awakened—hated the sound of Nark's voice. It wasn't loud. It wasn't cruel. It was worse.
It was professional.
"Who are you?" Lucy demanded.
Nark's gaze slid to her at last.
For a fraction of a second, something flickered behind those dark eyes—recognition, perhaps.
Or satisfaction.
"Nark Osith," she repeated. "A battle mage for The Golden Moon."
The words fell like a verdict.
Abbie's ether flared violently. "So you're part of the sick fucks that killed my brother."
Nark blinked once. "Am I?"
Her brow furrowed slightly, as if searching memory.
"Possibly," she said after a moment. "I've been deployed for seven years."
Abbie stood.
The air around her warped, pressure spiking as suppressed mana screamed for release.
Her voice shook—not with fear, but with the effort of holding herself together.
"You don't even remember him."
"No," Nark said honestly. "You're brother I wouldn't know him but his probably one of the failures that couldn't even survive the Wister Wars."
She raised one hand.
The cave answered.
Golden veins pulsed brighter.
Ether currents twisted, snapping into complex formations around her—clones blooming into existence, each identical, each radiating controlled power.
Lucy gasped. "There's more than one—"
"Fucking Vallenian always relying on their echoes," Abbie muttered. "Advanced. Damn it."
Nark spoke as her copies spread out, surrounding them.
"You are anomalies. The dark haired girl especially. My job is to retrieve anomalies before they destabilize the region."
Abbie laughed, sharp and broken. "You stabbed a kid."
Adam groaned weakly. "I'm eighteen…"
Nark didn't look at him. "Still a kid."
Then she moved.
The clones attacked in perfect synchronization—blades of ether forming mid-strike, trajectories overlapping, angles calculated to overwhelm.
Abbie met them head-on.
She fought like fury given shape.
Sigils ignited around her as she wove spellwork and instinct together, deflecting strikes, countering feints, tearing through two clones in a burst of blue fire. They shattered like glass, dissolving into mist.
But for every clone destroyed, another pressed in.
Lucy backed away, heart hammering.
She tried to summon power—any power—but what surged inside her was chaotic, formless. Too big. Too loud.
She reached out—
—and nothing happened.
A clone slipped past Abbie's guard, striking her across the ribs. Abbie flew back, crashing hard into a stone outcrop, blood spraying from her mouth.
"Abbie!" Lucy screamed.
Nark advanced calmly, stepping over the remains of her own shattered copies.
"You're strong," Nark said. "But you're holding back."
Abbie coughed, forcing herself upright. "Because if I don't… they'll find us."
Nark nodded. "Correct."
She raised her blade again. "And that makes you predictable."
Lucy felt it then.
Not anger.
Fear.
Pure, animal terror clawed up her spine as she saw Nark poised to finish it—to end Abbie, to take Lucy, to crown her and lock her away.
Something inside Lucy snapped.
"No," she whispered.
The word carried weight.
The cave shook.
Black-and-white ether erupted from Lucy's body in a violent surge, spiraling outward like twin storms colliding.
The air screamed as pressure inverted, gravity bending toward her.
Nark froze.
"Interesting," she murmured.
Lucy screamed.
Not in fear—but rage.
The clones' heads imploded.
Blood and ether burst outward in wet, explosive blossoms, bodies collapsing mid-motion as if their brains had been crushed by invisible hands. Stone cracked. Water fell from suspension, crashing violently to the ground.
Abbie stared in shock.
Lucy staggered, clutching her head. "I—I didn't—"
Nark slid back, boots skidding across stone, eyes wide for the first time.
"Telepathic compression," she breathed. "No incantation. No focus."
She laughed softly. "Special indeed."
Lucy turned on her, tears streaking down her face. "What do you want from me?!"
Nark straightened, blade lowering slightly.
"You?" she said. "Nothing personal."
She gestured vaguely. "The Golden Moon wants what you are. To regulate it. To ensure stability."
Lucy shook her head. "You hurt my friends."
"Yes."
Abbie pushed herself to her feet again, body trembling. "You're not taking her."
Nark's expression hardened. "You don't get to decide."
She moved faster than before—too fast.
Lucy tried to react, but inexperience betrayed her.
Nark slipped past her raw power with ease, striking pressure points, redirecting energy, forcing Lucy back step by step.
Despite her overwhelming strength, Lucy was losing.
Skill mattered.
Training mattered.
Nark drove her to her knees, blade at her throat.
"See?" Nark said quietly. "Power without control is just noise."
Lucy's vision blurred.
Abbie screamed her name.
Adam's breathing hitched.
Then—
Something deeper answered.
Not loud.
Not violent.
Cold.
A black-and-white aura poured out of Lucy, calm and absolute, wrapping around her like a cocoon. The ground beneath her crystallized. Symbols burned into existence—ancient, inverted, forbidden.
Energy washed outward.
Adam's wound closed.
Abbie's broken ribs knit themselves back together.
Nark staggered back, eyes wide with dawning realization.
"Healing!?…" she whispered. "That's not possible."
Lucy rose.
Her eyes were empty of color—pure white.
The cave fell silent.
Nark exhaled slowly—and smiled.
"Good," she said. "I was worried."
A metallic hum filled the air.
Above them, reality parted.
A golden object descended—slow, inevitable.
An inverted crown.
Lucy screamed as it slammed onto her head.
Metal bands lashed out, binding her mouth, eyes, limbs—sealing her senses, her power, her self.
The world collapsed into muffled silence and pain.
Nark relaxed, shoulders dropping in relief.
A white battleship pierced the cave ceiling, descending with impossible grace. A ramp extended.
A man stepped out—tall, draped in black and gold, face hidden beneath a hood etched with imperial sigils.
He looked at the devastation.
Then at Nark.
Then at Lucy—bound, crowned, silent.
He sighed.
"What mess," he said tiredly,
"did you get yourself into now?"