[???]
The air was different now.
It was heavier almost.
Not just from the pressure of the dragon looming behind Aelfric, not just from the suffocating aura that poured from it in waves, but from something else.
Aelfric could feel it, something had changed, Mikoto was still standing there, a figure so misleadingly fragile, so effortlessly beautiful, so eerily similar to—
His jaw clenched, he hated it.
That face.
Those eyes.
So much like hers yet twisted, different, sharper in ways that made his blood burn, that made the rage in his soul coil.
Even so, Aelfric exhaled slowly, "Do you understand now?"
Mikoto's eyes narrowed, he was searching for the best way to twist this moment to his favor, to turn this against him, to mold the conversation into something he could once again hold sway over.
Aelfric let him think, he let him process. Because it didn't matter, none of it mattered. Not Mikoto's arrogance, not his wit, not his amusement. Because in the end, in the grand scheme of things, in the face of the absolute truth of this world—
Mikoto was just a boy.
He was nothing.
He just didn't know it yet.
Mikoto's lips parted, controlled despite the obvious tension in the air, despite the reality of the creature waiting behind Aelfric, despite the way his presence seemed dwarfed by what now towered over him.
"Do I understand?" His voice, soft yet hubris still laced into it, still painting itself over his words, but Aelfric could hear it, could feel it—
That thin, almost imperceptible edge of irritation just beneath that surface.
Mikoto tilted his head slightly, strands of his hair slipping over his delicate face, his pale skin and those vivid red eyes an image so hauntingly familiar Aelfric had to physically force his body not to react.
"You're acting like you've accomplished something significant," Mikoto continued, dragging the words out. "But let me guess… this is where you tell me that this dragon, this little toy of yours, is supposed to change something? Supposed to tip the scales? Supposed to make me—"
His smirk sharpened.
"Afraid?"
Aelfric didn't answer immediately.
Because he knew, he knew the kind of boy Mikoto was, the kind of boy he had been molded into, the kind of creature he was shaping himself into. A child who had never once been taught fear. But there was one absolute truth in this world.
Everything breaks eventually.
And Mikoto, for all his arrogance, for all his talent, for all his incomprehensible potential, was no exception.
So Aelfric did not answer with words, he simply raised his hand—
And snapped his fingers, the dragon moved. The ground beneath them shattered, split apart, a ripple of force so immense it sent the air quivering, distorting as the dragon's massive form shifted, its white scales gleaming, its deep red eyes burning.
Mikoto's expression didn't change—not yet, not visibly, but Aelfric could see it, could feel the slight shift in his stance, the smallest tension in his fingers, the most minute flicker of realization.
"You've run your mouth long enough, boy." And with those words, he lowered his hand.
The dragon's mouth yawned wide, annihilation forming at the back of its throat, a force of churning, blue fire surging to life. A roar ruptured through the dead air, crushing space, and then, in a single breath the dragon unleashed its fire.
A tidal wave all-consuming blue erupted forward, a force so overwhelming that the land beneath them melted, the scorched, ruined earth unable to even resist, unable to do anything but cease to exist in the presence of such a thing, the force tearing apart the air, warping the atmosphere, silencing everything with its magnitude.
And Mikoto—
Did not move.
He simply stood there, his small frame illuminated in that ever-growing sea of Death, bathed in the glow of something that should have swallowed him whole, something that should have reduced him to ash, to nothing, something that should have been inescapable—
And yet, before that raging, endless torrent of blue fire could so much as touch him—
It stopped.
Not because it had weakened, not because it had faltered. But because something—something enormous had intervened.
A barrier.
Not of Mikoto's making.
It erupted into existence with no warning, no sense of origin, a vast, wall of brilliant violet, a construct of impossibly strong wards. The moment the blue flames struck, the land quaked, the wasteland convulsed.
And yet, the barrier held. Not simply enduring but completely nullifying the force, Aelfric's expression hardened.
His body, so composed, so steady, so confident just moments ago, suddenly felt tense, suddenly felt unnerved, because this was not something he had accounted for, this was not something he had foreseen.
The flames died down, noth their heads turned.
"Took your sweet time, hag."
There was no warmth in Mikoto's words, no genuine irritation, only the indifference of someone who had already endured too much to waste further emotion.
A chuckle followed.
"Hag?" The voice hummed, unimpressed. "A sharp tongue now, I see. But I much preferred you before you began drowning in the 'phase'—what a shame to see such a lovely face twisted into perpetual dissatisfaction."
She moved through the scorched earth leisurely, Aelfric's gaze darkened, his expression shifting ever so slightly as the presence settled beside Mikoto.
And then, she was there.
Guinevere.
She did not announce herself. She did not need to.
"Hello, Father." The word was empty, devoid of emotion, spoken not with anger, nor with hatred—just apathy.
Aelfric's lips curled downward, but it was not anger that tightened his features—it was something unreadable.
"That you would still stand beside that filth." Aelfric spat out. His gaze flickered toward Mikoto—and then back to her. "You disappoint me."
Guinevere chuckled softly, "You still believe that word holds weight over me?" She shook her head, as if indulging the misguided notion of a child. "You were under the impression that blood was enough?"
Aelfric said nothing.
"Do you truly believe," she continued, "that blood alone binds me to you? That a mere connection of lineage entitles you to my loyalty?"
Aelfric exhaled through his nose, a quiet sound—something between annoyance and something more subdued.
"So you do this for your mother's soul, then?" It was more of a statement rather than a question. "A woman you've never met. A woman who would despise you for how you came to be."
Aelfric's words were like hot iron against flesh, and yet Guinevere did not deny it.
"Perhaps." Her gaze went toward the dragon, its red orbs flickering with something anguished, something waiting to be set free. "Perhaps mother would hate me."
It was simply a truth accepted.
"But this is not about her."
She turned back to Aelfric, the smirk now gone, replaced by an almost somber expression.
"This is about Lyra. You are the source of her suffering. That is all that matters to me."
Aelfric's expression did not change. But something in his stance did, almost imperceptibly. But it was there.
"Then I will erase you alongside her."
Guinevere did not react, save for the slightest tilt of her head.
Her gaze went to Mikoto, taking in the way his fingers clenched, the way his shoulders tensed, the way his breathing remained unsteady.
"Your mana is all over the place, fluctuating wildly" she observed. "Magic's not an option, is it?"
Mikoto let out a click of his tongue, exhaling through his teeth, his irritation tangible.
"No. Lyra was right—I'm running on fumes." His gaze lifted, locking onto the monstrous dragon. "That thing is carrying your mother's soul. The blessing of Octavia is embedded in it now, so it can use magic at a high level that shouldn't even be possible." He frowned. "If I fight it like this I won't last long."
Guinevere hummed in interest. "Then I will free my mother's soul. Lyra will be here soon."
Mikoto's lips curled into something between amusement and resignation.
"It's only right that she lands the final blow."
Guinevere's smirk returned, but it was softer now.
"I agree. Let us begin"
Guinevere moved.
A single step forward, and the air around her fractured, fissures of black slithering through the area. Her arm rose, fingers graceful, and then she snapped her fingers.
From the darkness beneath her feet, chains erupted.
They willed themselves into being, slithering through the air, they shot forth with terrifying speed, latching onto the dragon's massive frame before it could react. A sound followed—not a roar, but something far worse, a scream. The roar of a bound beast shackled to agony.
The dragon thrashed.
Wings unfurled, limbs clawed at the air, its entire being convulsing with desperation. The chains seared into its form, not just wrapping around its body, but digging in, burrowing beneath scales, wrapping around it.
But the chains held.
Guinevere exhaled, her gaze never leaving the writhing dragon before her and then, she spoke.
"You will not escape me. You were stolen. You were twisted. But I will not let you remain a puppet." The dragon shrieked, its bound form thrashing harder, its flames swelling—
Mikoto meanwhile vanished.
In the next instance Aelfric's body bent unnaturally as an armored foot crashed into his side. A shockwave detonated from the impact, the pressure sending Aelfric careening backward through the wasteland, his body carving a path.
Before he could even recover—
Mikoto was already there.
His hand gripped Aelfric's robe, fingers tightening, they soared.
The ground beneath them vanished as Mikoto propelled both of them into the distance. As they ascended, Mikoto's voice cut through the strong winds.
"Guinevere. I'm leaving it to you."
And from below, Guinevere smirked.
"Don't worry. I shall save this anguished soul."
--------------------
[???]
The air howled as they hurtled toward the ground. Aelfric's body twisted violently through the sky, his robes snapping against the wind. The earth below rushed to greet him, but before impact—
Mikoto wrenched his arm downward.
A final burst of force.
The moment Aelfric's form met the ruined wastelands ground, the land shattered.
Like glass, the ground caved inwards, enormous rifts spiderwebbing outward, veins of earth splitting through the landscape. A crater erupted beneath the force of his impact, debris flung skyward, choking the air with dust and rubble.
For a moment, there was only silence, Mikoto descended, his landing was silent. Aelfric was there. Half-buried in the shattered ground. His robes torn, yet reforming. His body broken, yet mending.
Yet even as he stirred, even as he rose to his feet with inevitability of something that could not be destroyed, there was no anger in his gaze.
He exhaled slowly, dusting off his robe. "Pointless." His voice was steady now. "You know that, don't you? No matter how much you struggle, no matter how much you fight, nothing changes. Not really."
The words were not spoken in mockery. They were spoken as if they were truth itself.
"You are here, drenched in justice, bound by your false heroism, and for what? For the impossible? To shatter the immutable?" He stepped forward. "You should understand the futility of it, the absurdity of trying to strike down something beyond Death. Or have you begun deluding yourself, thinking you are different?"
Mikoto scoffed.
"You sound like a broken record you immortality-addled bastard. You always think you're making some grand revelation, like you've uncovered the greatest truth—"
A blur, burst of momentum, a gust of displaced air screamed.
And suddenly—
Mikoto was behind him.
Not with the sound of footsteps, he simple appeared. Aelfric barely had time to turn—
Fingers curled into the back of his robe, a grip, and then a single, effortless toss. As if Aelfric was nothing more than garbage to be discarded, an irrelevance to be removed from his sight.
The Ancestors body twisted violently midair, sent careening through the area, the wind screaming in protest as he was flung with bone-crushing velocity, his form blurring .
"If you're going to monologue, at least say something new."