My legs feel weighted as I glance back at him, each step dragging as though the earth itself is reluctant to let me pass. For a fleeting moment, my stride falters. His gaze finds mine instantly—too sharp, too searching—looking for an answer I no longer have the right to give. Somewhere behind us, voices rise in alarm, urgent and fractured, slicing through the smoke like shattered glass. I curl my fingers into fists, nails biting into my palms, and force myself to turn away.
"I'm sorry. They need me right now."
The look on his face follows me even as I move. Disappointment, restrained and aching, carved so deeply it says everything his lips never will.
Forgive me. But I hope we never meet again. Our paths crossing would only bring you more pain and suffering.
I'm sorry, Lumiere. I truly am. The words echo without mercy, looping again and again until they lose shape. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
Smoke tears at my lungs, thick and acrid, each breath burning on the way in. Flames kiss my skin as I run, searing and relentless, but I don't slow. Pain means nothing. Breath means nothing. If my body must turn to ash to buy them even a moment longer, then so be it.
As long as they are safe.
Fire howls around me, devouring stone and timber alike, collapsing the world into ruin. Towers crumble. Streets split. The kingdom I once admired is reduced to a wound that refuses to close.
It hurts to look at. He would be devastated to see this—his dream fractured so completely. The least I can do is try to extinguish the flames. For him. For them. And, selfishly, perhaps for myself.
I open my grimoire, its pages fluttering wildly as they drink in the inferno. Fire bends toward me, swallowed whole, its fury reduced to raw mana thrumming beneath my skin. The air crackles as the glare dims, the roar sinking into a restless hiss. I reach for Kaede without thinking, my fingers sinking into her fur—warm, impossibly soft, and white amid the devastation. She presses into my touch, lingering, as if she knows this moment is fragile.
"Let's go, Kaede," I say, steadying my voice through sheer will.
She answers with a sharp cry and surges forward, her speed blurring the world into streaks of smoke and ember.
We race through chaos. Cries meld into a single, unbearable chorus. Some people run, terror hollowing out their faces. Others lie trapped beneath collapsed stone, unmoving. And some—some are no longer whole. Charred limbs. Broken bodies. Blood darkens the earth in slow, spreading stains.
They don't matter, I tell myself, forcing the thought to settle.
Their lives are meaningless, I insist, gripping the lie until my knuckles ache.
They were meant to die.
I repeat it like a prayer, like a curse, layering falsehood over falsehood until it almost feels convincing. Almost.
I steady myself as a shadow shifts ahead, its outline warping within the haze. Light gathers in my palm, shaping the blade that has guarded this fragile mortal shell more times than I can count. Steel hums softly, resonating with something ancient and familiar. Blood slips down its surface in thin rivulets, gleaming, alive with mana that refuses to rest.
Through the smoke, the source of the devastation waits.
"Zagred," I breathe, my voice low and sharp, weighted with everything he has taken.
He turns—and the movement is wrong. His neck bends too far, too fluid, joints shifting like they were never meant to hold shape. Bone creaks as his eyes meet mine from an angle that makes my skin crawl. His grin stretches wider, grotesque and delighted.
Then he laughs.
It's light. Almost playful. And it makes my stomach churn.
Hatred flares hot and blinding. I tighten my grip on my sword, teeth grinding. If I could end him now, I would. No hesitation. No regret. But the pressure in the air—the imbalance between us—crushes that hope before it can take form.
I lunge.
My blade meets nothing.
An unseen resistance stops it cold, vibrating through my arms and into my bones. His lips move, shaping words I can't hear, yet somehow understand in the mocking curve of his smile. I stumble back and reset my stance, refusing to break eye contact.
"Back down, Kaede," I order, my voice firm despite the tremor in my chest.
She stills behind me, growl cut short, body coiled and ready. Her eyes never leave him.
Demons are as fickle as fate—ever-shifting, ever cruel.
"What do you want, demon?"
He doesn't answer.
Instead, his grin widens. His tail sways lazily from side to side, each motion deliberate, savoring the screams that echo around us. To him, this is nothing more than a game.
I watch him closely. His lips move again—still no sound. Dark mana coils around him, thick and viscous, clinging to his form like oil. He carries no grimoire. No warning. The unknown tightens around my ribs, stealing my breath.
Then it hits me.
The air goes still.
My body locks in place.
Invisible chains seize my limbs, freezing me mid-breath. Panic surges as I strain against them, heart slamming violently against my chest.
What did he do?
My eyes widen just as he lunges forward, movements smooth and predatory. Something dangles from his grasp, limp and indistinct.
Cold floods my veins.
"No—" The word barely leaves me. "That can't be—!"
I look back.
The space behind me is empty. Silent. Wrong.
When I turn again, Kaede lies where Zagred stood only moments before. Her body is still, sprawled in a pool of dark crimson that spreads too slowly, too calmly. Her fur is matted. Her eyes are dull.
The world tilts.
My knees threaten to buckle as the truth crashes down on me, heavy and unforgiving.
The whisperer is no warrior—only a burden shackled to a life never meant to be gentle. The whisperer hides behind words and shadows, wielding power without the courage to stand where it truly matters. An illusion. A lie dressed in authority.
And that whisperer is me.