The molten fortress was quiet, almost impossibly so. Smoke curled from cracked stone and molten rivers still simmered, but the echoes of battle were gone. Only the absence of Ivan resonated more painfully than the ruins themselves. Rin, trembling, walked slowly among the debris, her fingers brushing the scorched walls, as if seeking traces of him.
"He's… really gone," she whispered, her voice breaking, flames flickering weakly along her arms. Each step was heavy, laden with grief and disbelief.
Miyu followed, blades still in hand, though they felt useless in the emptiness. Her gaze lingered on Ivan's shadow remnants, the faint traces of his energy lingering in the halls. "He saved us… but at what cost?" Her voice was low, almost a prayer.
The harem moved together, hearts aching with loss, memories of intimacy and battle intertwining like threads of fire and shadow. Every touch, every whispered instruction, every shiver of desire they had shared now became a ghostly echo in the emptiness.
Rin pressed her hand to the cold ground, imagining Ivan's warmth there. "I can still feel him… guiding us," she said, tears spilling freely. The air seemed to vibrate with his absence, every breath a reminder of what they had lost.
Miyu knelt beside her, placing a hand over Rin's, sharing the grief in silent solidarity. "He isn't just gone. He's… part of us now. Every fight, every strategy, every bond we carry—it's all him."
In the great hall, broken artefacts and shattered constructs glimmered faintly with residual energy, the last echoes of Ivan's ultimate powers. His sacrifice had purged the mastermind's threat, but the cost was seared into every corner of the fortress.
"I'll never forget him," Rin whispered, voice breaking. "Every touch, every moment… he was ours, and now… he's lost to us."
Miyu exhaled, a bitter mix of sorrow and determination. "We have to survive. For him. For everything he fought for."
The molten halls reflected three figures—shadow, flame, and steel—standing amidst the ruins, intertwined in grief, memory, and the faintest traces of desire, bracing for the long, painful journey of mourning and remembrance.