(Marvel, DC, images, manhuas, and every anime that will be mentioned and used in this story are not mine. They all belong to their respective owners. The main character "Karito/Adriel Josue Valdez" and the story are mine)
Valentina Glinka Estes POV
1 month ago
Two days before the Guardian vanished into Brune's burning heart, he saved me.
I don't know how else to say it.
One moment, I was watching my command structure collapse—surrounded by fire and corrupted beasts. My war maidens screamed—those who hadn't already died clawing for their lives. Soldiers broke rank. Some prayed. Others ran. None of it mattered. The enemy did not hesitate.
And then the sky cracked.
Not metaphorically.
It shattered like glass stretched too thin. A seam of silvery static tore through the clouds—and from it, he descended. A figure cloaked in splintered black armor, half of it melting under some internal war. He landed like gravity had no say in it, and with him came silence.
The Guardian.
He didn't say a word.
He just moved.
And the world bled around him.
That wasn't a rescue. It was erasure. Everything that dared to reach for us died screaming under ribbons of burning logic and fire-threaded momentum. I saw blades form out of raw code and flames—slicing through twisted giants as if they were nothing more than parchment.
In minutes, the battlefield fell quiet.
I remember shaking. Not from fear.
From shame.
He approached me—not as a god, not as a conqueror—but as a man half-broken.
"You're safe now," he said softly, kneeling. His voice cracked mid-sentence. His hand, though stained in ash and gore, trembled when it reached mine.
"Leave the rest to me."
And he vanished.
No applause. No declarations. Just silence.
I haven't stopped thinking about that moment since.
Now, in Silesia, I sit behind the safety of high walls, among people who still argue about whether to trust him. Whether to fear him. As if he hadn't bought us this quiet with his own blood.
Sofy avoids the topic.
Mila won't even speak his name.
Elen... she says nothing. But I see the weight in her eyes.
I can't sit idle.
Not again.
So I asked them—each of them. The surviving Vanadis, Titta, even Tigre. I wanted to know who he really was. Not the monster. Not the myth.
Just the man.
Sofy was the first.
Her hands trembled around her tea cup. She wouldn't meet my eyes. "...He scared me," she admitted. "But I think he's suffering more than any of us ever could."
Mila folded her arms tightly. "He fought like he didn't want to live through it."
Elen stared out the window. "...We feared him. We feared what he could do. And I think..." she hesitated, voice barely audible, "I think we broke something in him that day."
Tigre, who had once stood by Adriel's side through battle and chaos, simply leaned forward, arms braced on his knees.
"He saved us," he said. "Even after we turned our backs."
And Lim?
Her answer was quiet. But the truth behind it carved deeper than steel.
"He fights like someone who doesn't believe he deserves to win."
That... shook me.
And it made me realize how blind I'd been.
He saved me. Held my hand. Whispered I was safe. And I—Vanadis of Osterode, born to rule through guile and ambition—I never even thanked him.
Instead, I watched others doubt him. Stay silent. I stayed silent too.
But no more.
I've played the game of masks and courtly intrigue all my life. Manipulated, maneuvered, plotted. But none of that mattered on that battlefield. Power didn't save me.
He did.
I owe him more than silence.
So this is my vow.
If he returns... if he stumbles through fire and shadow, half-broken but still standing—I won't look away. I won't flinch. I won't fail him again.
Not because I'm afraid of him.
But because I refuse to let that man bleed alone.
He doesn't deserve to carry the burden of our survival without knowing that at least one of us believes he's still worth something.
Still Adriel.
Still ours.
And if no one else will remind him of that?
Then I will.
Nightfall.
Dinner at the palace had always been a polished, predictable affair—gilded plates, folded napkins, staff moving with silent precision. But that night, the air was too still. Too quiet. Even the chandeliers seemed to dim in shared mourning.
I took a seat by the windows. Not because the view outside was beautiful—it wasn't. Silesia's nights were shrouded in uneasy silence now. But because I couldn't sit among the rest of the nobles, prattling on about logistics, power balance, and border shifts as if the world wasn't unraveling.
And then I saw her.
Sofy.
Sitting alone at the end of the table, a single plate of untouched bread and fruit in front of her. Shoulders slouched. Chin resting against her palm. Her usually immaculate golden curls fell in loose disarray over her collar.
She looked like a ghost of herself.
Without thinking, I stood and walked over.
"May I?" I asked softly, motioning to the chair beside her.
She blinked up at me like she hadn't even noticed I was there. Then nodded, smiling faintly.
"Tina..."
"I won't ask if you're alright," I said as I sat. "That'd be insulting, wouldn't it?"
Her lips quirked up in the ghost of a smile. "Yes. It would."
For a while, we just sat there. The silence wasn't tense. It was... heavy. Like the both of us had words we weren't sure we were allowed to say.
Eventually, I leaned back, swirling the wine in my glass. "You think about him often, don't you?"
Sofy stiffened, but didn't deny it.
"I saw you crying that night," I continued, gently. "When the report of Sasha's death came. And I've seen the way your eyes follow the map every time someone mentions where Adriel might be."
Sofy swallowed. Then nodded.
And then, with a soft, broken laugh, she said, "I tried to seduce him once."
I blinked. "You what?"
"In Rodnick," she said, smiling weakly. "Back when Mila and I were stationed with him. We stayed at a hot spring inn."
I leaned forward, curiosity piqued.
"He was always... odd. Mysterious. But kind. Gentle in this quiet, deeply guarded way," she said. "When we had arrived to Rodnick. I had decided to pull a small prank on him with Mila, and as expected she got mad."
She giggled at the memory, a faint smile formed in my lips as she told me more about the past. But she then paused, as if remembering something embarrassing.
" After I pulled that stunt. I... I don't know what came over me. I followed him. Inside another bath."
She covered her face, cheeks red despite everything.
"We talked. Joked around. Listened to him when he had negative thoughts in his mind." A wistful breath. "He just smiled. That strange, warm smile like he didn't know how to accept kindness."
"And?" I asked, unable to help myself.
"We almost kissed," she whispered.
I blinked again.
"I leaned in... he did too... and then Mila's voice echoed through the inn. She looked like she was hunting him down because I was gone for too long." Sofy laughed—but it cracked midway. "She completely ruined the moment. Started shouting and throwing towels. Adriel ended up running away half naked through the inn."
I laughed, gently. But then I saw her expression again.
And it hurt.
"I never feared him, Tina," she said, more serious now. "Even when he crushed that Dark warbeast with his bare hands... even when his armor screamed like a dying star... I was never afraid."
"So why—?"
"I don't know," she whispered. "I don't. One moment, I was watching him fight for us. And the next... I was backing away from him like he was some... some thing."
Her hands clenched over the tablecloth.
"It wasn't natural. It felt like it was placed there—like someone flipped a switch in me. I hated it. I still do."
Her eyes welled with tears.
"I trusted him. And he trusted us. He cooked for us, Tina. After a mission, he'd make these strange meals from his world—spiced rice, grilled fish soaked in honeyed vinegar, something he called 'empanadillas.' It was the most divine food I've ever tasted."
I could almost smell it just from her memory.
"He smiled more back then. Just a little. I remember once, he and Mila talked in a balcony. He opened up to her, teased her and gave her his coat. She definitely started to be more comfortable with him. I saw it in her eyes, fondness."
I touched her hand gently. "Sofy..."
She looked at me, truly looked at me.
"I didn't just admire him, Tina," she whispered. "I cared for him. In a way I hadn't allowed myself to feel since childhood."
My heart twisted.
And suddenly, I understood her silence. Her grief.
It wasn't just guilt.
It was heartbreak.
"He was always pushing forward," she said. "Always bleeding for us. And we—" Her voice broke. "We just watched him walk away. And we let him."
I gripped her hand tighter. "He'll come back."
"I don't deserve him to," she said, voice trembling. "But I hope he does."
Because now she knew.
That he loved us—even when we didn't love him back.
Figneria Alshavin's POV
I never believed in gods.
Not the ones nobles clung to in empty temples. Not the ones priests named in desperate sermons. War taught me the only gods that existed were those with sharper blades and better reflexes.
But that night—when the sky was blackened with ash and the ground writhed with death—I almost believed.
Not in gods.
In him.
The Guardian.
No—Adriel.
I don't know how long I had been running. Days maybe. Time doesn't move right when your entire world becomes a blur of teeth and blood and screaming. The rabbits weren't rabbits—not truly. More like nightmares wearing fur. They moved like liquid muscle, eyes shining with hunger, always more, always behind me, above me, under me.
I watched my army die.
Not fall.
Die.
Torn apart in seconds. I heard a man scream and choke on his own severed arm. Another flailed before they dragged him into a pit of teeth. We tried to regroup. To form ranks. But what formation holds against infinity?
I was the last.
Bargren, my sword, was already nicked and dull, soaked in gore. My cape had burned away. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't see through the fog of rot and smoke. And they were coming again.
I remember thinking—this is it. Not the battlefield. Not honor. Just... being chewed to death like meat.
Then—
He came.
Through the smoke. Through the fire.
Not like a savior.
Like a storm.
He didn't speak. He didn't pose. He simply landed—a blur of shattered earth and gravity-warped air. Hundreds of the beasts snapped their heads toward him.
And he threw himself into them.
No finesse.
Just fury.
Twin swords—jagged and alive, formed from the strange writhing black that clung to him like oil—ripped through the horde. He carved a path, blade to bone, his entire body twisting in perfect, brutal motion. His movements didn't feel human. They felt designed.
He was bleeding already. Badly. I could see it—his sides torn open from bites. His left arm bent at the wrong angle. But he didn't stop.
Not when they bit through his leg.
Not when one of them tore his jaw open.
He screamed, and it sounded like fire hissing through steel.
And then—
He reached me.
The monsters were on me—claws reaching, teeth bared.
Adriel didn't hesitate.
He threw himself between me and them.
He threw himself between me and them.
The symbiote left his body, a surge of black webbing and light, wrapping around me like a cocoon, throwing the bunnies back. I watched them swarm him—dozens of them—biting, clawing, shredding.
They were eating him.
I tried to move.
I couldn't.
I screamed.
And through it, I saw his face.
Ripped open. Bone showing. One eye missing.
And he grinned.
Then roared.
And something changed.
The air bent.
His body glitched—literally. One second he was there. The next—a blur of white light and afterimages.
And then they were gone.
Not dead.
Gone.
He deleted them.
Blade by blade, scream by scream, Adriel ripped the entire swarm apart with nothing but swords, grit, and that unnatural glitching ability—whatever it was. I don't know how to describe it. He moved wrong. Like time forgot how to hold him.
The ground trembled.
The air smelled of ozone and blood.
When the last of them fled—cowards in the face of something greater—I finally collapsed.
And then he was beside me.
Covered in gore. Missing teeth. One leg shattered.
And he picked me up like I weighed nothing.
Held me.
Carried me.
I stared into his face. Saw exhaustion. Pain. A rage that could split the heavens.
But also something else.
Regret.
Guilt.
He looked down at me, and whispered, "You're safe now."
I wanted to speak.
To thank him.
To scream.
To cry.
I wanted to bury my face in his chest and sob like the frightened girl I hadn't been in twenty years.
But he just looked forward.
And in a blink—
We were in Silesia.
In the palace.
He set me down in the middle of the Great Hall.
Then turned.
The symbiote was already crawling back over his shredded flesh, reknitting the parts of him that hadn't yet failed.
"Wait—" I croaked.
He paused.
Not fully.
Just enough for one last glance over his shoulder.
A tired smile ghosted across his face.
Then—
He vanished.
Gone.
To keep fighting.
Alone.
I sat there on the floor for a long time. Lim came eventually. Then Elen. Titta. Mila. They took me to a healer. Gave me wine. Blankets. Words.
But I didn't hear any of it.
I could still see him.
And I hated it.
That he left before I could thank him.
That he fought like a monster but died a little more like a man every time he saved someone else.
And for the first time in a long time...
I prayed.
Not to gods.
To him.
Adriel.
Wherever he was, I hoped he knew.
I was still breathing because of him.
And someday—I would repay that debt.
Reality
I woke up crying.
The kind of tears that don't shake your body or choke your breath. Just... quiet. Slow. Like the soul was bleeding instead of the heart.
I didn't scream. Didn't gasp. I just opened my eyes—and they were wet.
The ceiling of the guest room above me was ornate, traced with gold filigree and morning light leaking through its cracks. The silken sheets wrapped around my legs were soft, warm.
But none of that warmth came from them.
I sat up slowly, one hand pressed against my sternum.
Still there.
That strange... warmth.
It wasn't heat. Not from the fireplace across the room or the lingering comfort of down-filled blankets. It was his warmth. That lingering trace of someone who'd once held me—not for comfort, not for desire—but because he had to. Because he refused to let me die.
I wrapped my arms around myself.
Tighter.
Trying to contain that feeling before it faded like the dream had.
No... memory.
It wasn't a dream.
I lived it.
I survived it.
Because of him.
Adriel.
The Guardian.
He carried me through a hell I couldn't even comprehend. Ripped through monsters with nothing but fury and swords made of shadows and sparks. Took bites for me. Let himself be devoured just to shield a stranger.
I buried my face into my hands.
Gods, I was shaking.
Not from fear.
From grief.
Grief that I never got to say thank you. That I never even got his name before he vanished back into the burning horizon.
Only later did the others speak of him. Whispered stories. Some said he was divine. Others, a monster cloaked in man's skin. Mila said he once held the sky together with one hand. Sofy claimed his cooking was so perfect it made her cry.
I didn't care about the rumors.
I knew what I saw.
He was bleeding. Broken. Maybe dying.
And he still smiled at me.
Still told me I was safe.
Still vanished before I could hold onto him.
My knees hit the floor beside the bed. Not collapsed—lowered. Deliberately.
Like an oath.
"I will remember," I whispered.
The words echoed in the silence of the room.
"I don't know who you are. Or what's eating you from the inside out. But I will remember."
And if there's anything I can do—anything—to help you, Guardian...
...I swear I will.
I sat there, on the cold marble, arms still wrapped tightly around myself.
Not praying.
Not hoping.
Just remembering.
Because that's the one gift I could give him.
And the one thing I'd never let Silesia—or the world—forget.
Imperial Castle – Silesia, Early Morning
I didn't want to lie in that bed any longer.
It smelled too much like stillness. Like a place made for recovery, not action. And I... I'd been lying still for too long. Resting while others fought and bled and died.
He had bled.
For me.
I walked barefoot across the marble floor, the chill biting at the soles of my feet as I left my room. The palace halls were quiet at this hour, filled only with soft echoes of servants preparing breakfast and guards changing shifts. A golden light filtered through the stained glass, casting a warmth the stone walls couldn't hold.
I didn't know where I was going. Only that I couldn't stay still. My heart felt too full for that.
I turned a corner near the west wing, just as a familiar voice caught my attention.
"Tigre's not awake yet, is he?" I heard a soft whisper, and there she was.
Titta.
Dressed simply, her long hair braided neatly over her shoulder, a tray of warm bread in her hands, and concern etched into every line of her face.
She flinched slightly when she saw me, as if caught sneaking around.
"Lady Figneria—ah—I was just bringing breakfast," she said, motioning toward the door behind her.
I gave her a nod, my voice soft. "I don't want to intrude."
"You're not," she assured me with a small smile, though her eyes still carried something... distant.
"Titta," I said, pausing. "Could we talk? Just for a little?"
She blinked in surprise but nodded without hesitation. "Of course."
We moved to a nearby bench in the corridor, the tray resting on her lap now. For a moment, we sat in silence—until I gathered the courage.
"I heard... about Alsace. What happened six months ago. How he saved it."
Titta didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she stared down at the bread, as if seeing another world reflected on its crust. Then slowly, with a breath that trembled as it left her, she began to speak.
"It was worse than anything I've ever seen. Alsace was under siege... not by Brune soldiers or bandits, but monsters. Creatures born of nightmares—twisted men, corrupted beasts. The sky had gone red. The ground itself felt like it would swallow us whole."
Her hands tightened.
"I tried to fight back, but... I was weak. I was just a priestess. One of the nobles—a Brune royal who had been overtaken by the corruption—he tried to... he tried to..." She trailed off.
I reached out and gently laid a hand over hers. "You don't have to say it."
But she did anyway.
"He tried to force himself on me. I still remember the sound of my ribs cracking when he hit me. I thought... I thought I was going to die."
Her eyes glossed over, but she didn't cry.
"And then, like thunder tearing the sky apart—he came."
I knew who she meant.
"The Guardian?" I asked quietly.
She nodded.
"Adriel," she said, like the name itself was sacred. "He appeared out of nowhere. Not with fanfare or armies. Just him. Covered in his red and black armor that seemed alive. He killed that noble without hesitation. Not out of rage... but precision. Then he tore through the rest."
Titta looked up, voice filled with awe.
"He fought a dragon. Not like the ones in stories—something worse. A black creature that twisted and melted everything it touched. He fought it alone. And he won."
She paused, her next words filled with reverence.
"He didn't stop after that. He negotiated protection for Alsace. Brought Elen's troops. Helped rebuild homes with his bare hands. Carried the wounded himself. For days, he didn't rest."
I swallowed hard.
This was the man I saw torn apart by monsters. The man who bled for strangers. The man who saved me and didn't even wait to be thanked.
Titta looked down at her hands.
"I don't know what he is. But I know he's not evil. I felt it. Through my prayers. Through my own senses. Maybe it was the gods. Maybe it was just... him. But I feel like I was meant to meet him."
She smiled faintly. "He changed something in me. He saved everything."
"And Tigre?" I asked gently. "What did he say?"
"He was grateful," she said simply. "He looked at Adriel's eyes when it was over. He told him he didn't have the words. Just... gratitude."
She turned to me, her eyes firm now.
"I'll always be grateful. Forever. Because without him..."
She didn't finish.
She didn't need to.
Because I knew.
Because I understood now.
Adriel hadn't just saved me.
He'd saved them all.
And yet... he walked alone.
Zhcted — Royal Palace, Throne Room
Present Day
No POV
The doors didn't creak when they opened — they groaned. As if the castle itself hesitated to admit what now stood on the other side.
Adriel stepped through.
His boots left streaks of dried blood on the pristine marble floor. The ornate red carpet that led to the king's empty throne absorbed the ash from his armor like it had been waiting for it.
The throne room was silent. Empty. Regal banners swayed gently in the absence of wind.
And there — by the far wall, standing beneath a towering stained glass window of a long-dead saint — was Mila.
She looked up.
Her book slipped from her hands.
Her breath caught in her throat.
The man before her was a specter of ruin — torn armor, streaked with soot and caked with gore. His face was pale, gaunt, lips cracked, eyes sunken but burning. His steps were heavy, but unyielding.
And then she saw the ribbons.
The Huo Huan gauntlets shimmered with faint firelight — golden-orange, flickering like embers caught in a slow wind. The ribbons wrapped around his forearms pulsed with a strange rhythm, almost like breathing.
She watched — frozen — as they moved.
They weren't just ornaments. They were alive. Responding. Repairing.
The ribbons tightened, coiling across his ribs. His wounds — slowly knitting back together. The gashes in his chest sealed. His broken knuckles reformed. Even the fractured edge of his jaw realigned with a subtle crack.
The symbiote armor joined in. It moved sluggishly, clearly exhausted, but did its part — fusing over the exposed muscle, reforming its sleek, living black weave across his arms, his chest, his shoulders.
Mila took a step forward.
"Adriel?"
He didn't stop walking.
She flinched — not from fear, but from shame.
"I—I didn't know you were back," she said, voice barely above a whisper.
He moved past her — silent.
"Wait."
That made him pause.
She stepped in front of him. Her hands were trembling. Her voice cracked.
"Please. I... I want to talk."
Adriel looked down at her. His expression unreadable.
She couldn't meet his eyes. Her fingers clenched the sides of her dress.
"You came back," she said. "You really came back..."
"I said I would."
That should've comforted her. But it didn't.
Because his tone wasn't cold. It wasn't cruel.
It was kind.
Too kind.
And it broke something inside her.
"I—I want to apologize," she said quickly. "For what happened... back then. We were afraid. I was afraid."
Adriel tilted his head. The glow from his suit reflected in her eyes.
"I understand," he said gently. "You had every right to be."
"No," she said, suddenly stepping closer. "No, that's just it. I didn't. I don't even know why I was afraid."
Her hand clutched the fabric near his hip.
"I trusted you. More than anyone. I saw the way you fought for us. For me. For everyone."
Adriel didn't move.
"It felt like something flipped in me," Mila whispered. "Like a switch. One moment I was in awe of you... and the next... terrified."
Her fingers gripped harder.
"I don't know why. It wasn't real. It didn't feel real."
Adriel's expression didn't shift.
But something in his eyes — something faint — flickered.
He lowered his hand. Rested it briefly on her shoulder.
"You don't owe me your comfort," he said quietly. "You don't have to carry that weight."
"But I do!" she shouted. "I was there when Elen said what she did. When you left. And all I did was stand there!"
Tears welled in her eyes.
"You were kind to me. So kind it hurt sometimes. And I gave you nothing but silence when you needed someone to just say you were still you."
Adriel gently pulled his hand back.
"That's the thing about kindness," he said softly. "It isn't currency. You don't owe me."
Mila dropped to her knees, burying her face into the side of his leg, arms wrapping around his thigh as if holding onto a piece of the world itself.
"I'm sorry," she choked. "I'm so sorry. Please don't push us away again. Don't push me away again."
He didn't push her away.
But he didn't lift her, either.
He just stood there — quiet, tired, watching the flickering ribbons at his side pulse in time with her sobs.
Then — almost too softly to hear:
"You said it felt like a switch."
Mila nodded against him, still crying.
"I need you to remember that," he said. "That moment. That feeling. Anything strange about it."
Her sobs hitched.
"I... I don't know. It just came out of nowhere. I trusted you completely. Then fear... like it was planted there."
He closed his eyes.
Not in pain.
In realization.
Adriel stood still in the silent aftermath of Mila's apology, her words echoing longer than any battle cry he'd faced in the last six months.
"It felt like a switch."
He didn't react on the surface. Not a flicker in his expression. But within, the phrase spiraled, repeating with haunting clarity—because it fit too perfectly.
And as he stood there, his mind unspooled the pattern he had missed for so long.
The first key fracture: the Kikimora Lodge.
Tigre. Lim. Elen.
An argument that shouldn't have gone as far as it did. But Tigre had spoken one word—Dark—with just enough fear and tension in his voice to rupture everything Adriel had carefully layered in place. The warded silence spells. The structured narrative isolation. The suppression of knowledge that could give the Darks insight into his plans.
And with one slip, it was gone.
The Lodge wasn't just a place of rest. It had been the linchpin of control.
Then came Rodnick.
Their regrouping wasn't celebratory—it was tension barely cloaked under tired civility. Adriel had been frustrated, more than he let on. But he had chosen understanding over blame. Tigre was human. A young man caught in something too big. It wasn't fair to hate him for cracking under weight most gods would falter beneath.
He had buried his irritation.
And taken the failure onto himself.
Instead, he turned his attention to repairing what he could.
Especially with Elen.
He'd used her—indirectly, but still—as a means to an end. Convincing her, rallying Zhcted's army, positioning them as the first wall against the encroaching tide of Lesser Darks while he faced the Pure ones alone. He never intended to drag her into his world—but the war had forced his hand.
Still, he'd tried to make amends.
Their conversations during the Rodnick stay had begun soft. Hesitant. But there had been progress. The distance had started to shrink.
So he focused on maintaining stability.
Tigre. Lim. Mila. Sofy. Elen. They became his silent priority. If he could keep them steady—emotionally intact—then he'd at least have something human to anchor him. Something real.
But the enemy was always a step ahead.
Then came the attack.
Rodnick didn't fall easily. But it was overwhelmed all the same. Shadows descended—Daewi at their head. The surprise wasn't the ambush.
It was how much had already been compromised.
Adriel remembered watching the fear bloom behind Sofy's eyes—not at the Darks, but at him. The warping of her expression. The way Mila instinctively stepped back when he approached. The doubt in Elen's voice. Lim's silence.
And that's when he knew.
Something had poisoned their perception.
Not their hearts—but their emotional response. Something embedded deep during the ambush. During the chaotic storm. While they were exposed, vulnerable, surrounded by Dark energy.
That's when Sentry made his move.
Not with a weapon. Not with an army.
But with infection.
A mental, emotional virus. Something that twisted reactions just enough. That implanted unease. That created suspicion. It didn't change who they were—it just made them react wrongly when it mattered most.
The trust they'd built had been overwritten.
And it had worked.
Because for six months, Adriel hadn't just fought armies—he'd fought isolation. He'd fought pain, and loneliness, and the knowledge that the ones he cared about had begun to fear him without knowing why.
He hadn't blamed them.
He never would.
Because it was his fault.
He hadn't protected them from Sentry's reach. He hadn't anticipated the attack's true purpose. And now? The parasite inside him had spread further than ever. If not for Hacker and the sliver of autonomy it retained, his power would be completely gone.
The symbiote was barely holding him together now—more medical tape than armor.
He clenched a hidden fist behind his back.
This wasn't just a war anymore.
This was a play.
A staged tragedy, written by Sentry, with Adriel as the bleeding protagonist slowly stripped of his role, power, and place.
The realization burned like acid.
But he kept his face calm.
Mila stood not far behind him, still quietly crying. Still gripping his sleeve.
She had said it herself.
"Like a switch."
Yes.
Sentry had flipped something.
And now Adriel knew what to fix.
The weight in Adriel's chest hadn't lifted, but it settled. Like a stone in a riverbed—no longer tumbling, just... heavy. He looked down at Mila, still clinging to his pants, trembling like a child who'd just realized her hands had pushed away something irreplaceable.
The tears streaming down her cheeks sparkled as they fell, catching the late afternoon light that filtered through the high glass windows of the royal hall. Her small form, knees pressed against the carpet, shoulder shaking, made his breath catch.
She wasn't supposed to cry.
Not for him.
"Mila," he said softly.
His voice was like velvet—warm, unarmored. It had no sharp edges, no barked orders or battle-hardened commands. It was the voice of the boy that barely existed under the armor. The one who'd cooked meals for her and the others in Rodnick. The one who stayed up on watch without being asked. The one who always made sure to stand between them and the monsters.
She looked up—face flushed, eyes raw.
Adriel slowly knelt in front of her. His symbiote shifted as he moved, ribbons of Huo Huan rippling gently behind him like silk stirred by wind. His armor flexed and opened at the shoulders as if responding to the softening of his demeanor, allowing the gentle warmth of his skin to meet the cold stone air.
"You don't have to say sorry again," he murmured.
"But I—" Mila's voice cracked, too thick with grief to shape words.
He placed a hand on her shoulder—not with pressure, just presence. "You didn't betray me."
Her breath hitched.
"You were caught in something you couldn't see. Something none of you could have known. That's not weakness," Adriel said. "It's just... vulnerability."
Mila lowered her head, but his fingers rose to gently lift her chin.
"And the fact that you're here—talking to me now—means it didn't win."
Her lower lip trembled. "I... I don't even know why I felt it. I trusted you. I—" She gritted her teeth. "I still trust you. I don't even remember the moment it changed. One second I was proud of you—of what you did for us—and the next I felt... wrong. Afraid. Like a switch flipped inside me."
She squeezed her fists against her thighs.
"I hated it. I hate that I hurt you."
Adriel didn't flinch.
Because he had already forgiven her. Long ago.
He reached up and brushed a lock of her sky-blue hair away from her face. The strands shimmered against her flushed cheeks like frost under moonlight.
"Then let that hatred go," he said. "You didn't hurt me. Not really. What would've hurt... is if you stayed afraid."
She blinked. Slowly.
And then—she collapsed forward.
Her arms wrapped around his waist, pressing into his chest, holding tight like she might fall apart if she let go. And Adriel? He didn't push her away. He let her stay there, buried in his armor and heartbeat, until her sobs finally dulled into quiet breathing.
His own heartbeat was steady now.
He could feel the change in her pulse—no longer frantic, no longer trembling with guilt.
He held her there a little longer.
Not because she needed it.
But because he did.
Then, gently, he pulled back.
"Come on," he said softly, helping her to her feet. "The others will want to know I'm back."
Mila nodded through watery eyes, wiping them with the heel of her palm.
And for the first time in a long while, she smiled.
Not a wide one.
Just a quiet one.
But it was real.
And that was enough.
Adriel turned his gaze back toward the empty throne.
And continued down his path.
Zhcted Palace – Royal Hall
The marble floors echoed beneath Adriel's boots as he walked deeper into the empty chamber. Mila clung to his side, her fingers still hooked in the ribbons of Huo Huan wrapped around his arm. She hadn't spoken since she'd finally stopped crying—but she hadn't let go either.
He didn't mind.
Not anymore.
If her presence gave her comfort, he'd offer it freely.
The chamber was quiet. The throne stood vacant. Curtains danced in the breeze sneaking through the stained glass. The weight of absence was thick—like even the walls knew something was coming.
Then the silence shifted.
He felt it first—someone watching.
Mila tensed slightly, and Adriel followed her gaze toward the arched doorway at the far end of the hall.
Valentina Glinka Estes stood there.
Her white and violet dress clung to her frame like moonlight wrapped in silk, but her usual poise—her sly grace and ever-present smirk—was gone. In its place, silence. Stillness.
Her eyes locked on Adriel.
And the world stilled for her, too.
She saw the ash still clinging to his armor. The faint trace of blood matted at the edges of his ribs. The symbiote's shifting texture, pulsing as it healed the last fractures in his frame. The glowing ribbons of Huo Huan—still unfamiliar, but unmistakably powerful—draped across his forearms like celestial gauntlets.
He looked like he had crawled out of a god's war.
And yet—he walked.
Alive.
Still moving.
Still protecting.
Her breath caught in her throat.
It wasn't supposed to feel like this, but it did. Like something primal and ancient inside her had recognized him—not as a figure of fear or legend, but as something real.
She had seen him at his most terrifying.
Now she saw him just... breathing.
Alive.
And it hurt.
Because he shouldn't have had to crawl through hell to prove he was one of them.
Her heels clicked as she approached.
Mila flinched at first—still overwhelmed, still processing. But when she saw Tina's face, her guard dropped.
Tina's steps slowed as she neared them.
Adriel stopped, expression unreadable—but calm.
Tina opened her mouth. Closed it. And for once, words failed her.
So she bowed her head.
Not out of politics.
Not as a Vanadis.
But as a woman who had once sworn that if he returned, she wouldn't flinch.
She looked up. And when she did, her eyes were glassy.
"You came back."
It wasn't a whisper.
It was a promise fulfilled.
Adriel didn't respond right away. His gaze lingered on her a moment longer than he meant to—reading the shift in her aura, the quiet ache that hovered behind her voice.
Then, gently, he nodded.
"I said I would." He had a feeling he was going to say this line a lot today.
Tina's lips trembled—but only for a second. She stepped closer, her hands clutched before her. Her mask—the courtly, playful, manipulative guise—was nowhere in sight.
"I should've said thank you," she said. "Back then."
He tilted his head. "You don't need to."
"I do," she replied, more firmly. "You saved me. You didn't even hesitate. You were bleeding, shaking—dying, and you still told me I was safe."
Adriel blinked.
And Mila, watching her closely, finally understood.
Tina wasn't playing a part anymore.
She had meant it.
Every word in that private vow—every whisper of guilt and admiration that Sofy had hinted at during their late-night conversations—was real.
She stepped even closer now, standing just beside Mila, who hesitated for a moment before allowing it.
And then, softly, Tina reached out—and pressed her hand against Adriel's wrist.
The symbiote did not recoil.
Nor did Adriel.
"You don't have to carry this alone," Tina said. "Not anymore."
He stared at her hand, watching it rest against his armor like it belonged there.
The silence that followed wasn't awkward.
It was reverent.
Three people standing in a room where so much had broken.
Trying to build something again.
Piece by piece.
Adriel barely had time to process the quiet solidarity Tina offered when her fingers didn't let go.
Instead, her hand curled further around his wrist—elegantly, deliberately.
"I mean it," she murmured, her voice a silken ribbon of conviction. "You don't have to walk alone anymore."
Mila blinked, her grip on Adriel's opposite arm tightening just slightly.
The shift didn't go unnoticed.
Tina turned her head slowly, lavender eyes cutting to Mila's like a dagger wrapped in silk. A soft, poised smile tugged at her lips—but something beneath it simmered.
Mila met her stare with ice-blue steel.
There was no malice in their expressions.
Just intent.
"I've already promised him that," Mila said sweetly, pulling herself closer into Adriel's side, both hands now gripping his forearm.
"Oh?" Tina's eyes widened in mock surprise. "How brave of you, Mila. But you see... I was there when he bled for my people. Held my hand. Promised me I was safe."
"He did that for all of us," Mila countered, cheeks puffing slightly. "He saved me too. And Alsace. And stood by me when I had no strength left to stand."
"I'm sure he did." Tina's voice dropped into a velvet purr. She turned back to Adriel, her other hand rising to gently adjust the edge of his cloak. "But not like he did for me. And unlike some, I thanked him."
"I was too busy mourning everyone who died to throw myself at him like a lovesick noble!" Mila snapped before she could stop herself.
The echo of her voice rebounded off the marble.
Tina blinked.
Adriel's eyes went wide.
So did Mila's, realizing what she just said.
"I— I didn't mean—!"
Tina laughed. Not mockingly. Not cruelly. It came from somewhere between amusement and admiration.
"My, my," she said, tilting her head. "Jealousy doesn't suit you, Mila. But I must admit—your honesty does."
Mila looked like she was about to combust.
"I'm not jealous."
Tina raised a brow.
"You're practically welded to his arm."
"That's because I—!" Mila choked, cheeks burning scarlet. "He—! You—! GAH!"
She clung harder to Adriel's arm like he was a life raft in a storm.
Tina grinned. "Careful, dearest. At this rate, he might think you're trying to marry him by osmosis."
Adriel finally spoke, eyes narrowing. "Ladies."
Both froze.
Mila blushed harder.
Tina merely raised a dainty finger to her lips and winked. "Apologies, Guardian. But really, what did you expect? You walked into this palace like a half-broken storm god—ribbons, fire, and quiet eyes. Of course there'd be competition."
"I didn't ask for that," he muttered, shaking his head.
"No," Tina whispered, stepping just a little closer, "But you deserve it."
Mila suddenly pulled on his cloak again. "Don't listen to her."
"She's not wrong," Tina sang. "He deserves everything. Loyalty. Praise. Even affection."
"That doesn't mean you get to throw yourself at him."
"Says the one who basically glued herself to his ribs."
"I—!"
"Enough," Adriel muttered again, sighing.
The girls kept staring at each other, lips pressed in matching stubborn lines.
Tina's fingers, still resting against his arm, gave one last, deliberate squeeze.
Mila leaned into his side with subtle defiance.
Adriel looked at the ceiling, silently begging for divine intervention.
Somewhere in the distance, a servant rounded the corner—saw the Guardian locked between two intensely radiant Vanadis like a man being claimed by rival elements—and immediately turned around and walked away.
Zhcted – Royal Quarters, West Wing – Adriel's Chamber
The doors shut with a soft click behind him, but Adriel barely registered the sound. The weight of the fight with Wenren still pulsed in his muscles, like ghost wounds refusing to fade. He could feel the Huo Huan gauntlet tightening and releasing in slow rhythmic pulses—an eerie echo of a heartbeat.
Mila stood just inside the door, hands wringing nervously in front of her. Tina followed shortly after, not even pretending to hide her interest. Her violet eyes gleamed with something halfway between admiration and mischief.
"You really should sit," Mila said softly, still worried, her hand hovering at his side.
"I'm fine," Adriel muttered, voice rough. His body wasn't fine—but the symbiote was already knitting the worst of the damage. Bones realigning. Skin mending. The pain was dull now. Tolerable.
But the weight behind his eyes?
That wasn't going anywhere.
Tina leaned casually against the doorframe. "You're not fine," she said. "You smell like battlefield regret and molten carnage."
Adriel cracked a tired smirk as he started tugging off his half-melted shirt. The fabric peeled away with an audible rip—revealing skin carved in stories. Scars old and new—slashes across ribs, puncture marks along his back, a nasty burn still fading from his left shoulder.
But not a mark on his face.
Of course.
Mila turned beet red and quickly turned around, arms flailing. "You could have warned us you were going to undress!"
"You've both seen worse," Adriel replied dryly.
"I've seen men die in war, not men stripping five feet in front of me after tanking an elemental nuke," Mila shot back, still very much not facing him.
Tina, however, took a step forward, eyes absolutely not avoiding his chest. "You should rest," she said sweetly, "and perhaps let someone wash your back. You've been through quite a lot."
Adriel raised an eyebrow. "Tina."
"Mhm?"
"Boundaries."
She sighed dramatically, clasping her hands behind her back and leaning in, pouting up at him. "I just want to be helpful. We're all allies here, aren't we?"
"Helpful?" Mila whirled around, fire in her eyes now. "You're trying to get in the shower with him!"
"And?"
"And?!"
Adriel stared at the two of them—the absurdity of this moment washing over him like a misplaced comedy sketch at the end of a war documentary.
"Mila," he said calmly. "Tina's not going to join me in the shower."
Tina clicked her tongue. "You make that sound like a bad thing."
"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."
"You literally just heard it."
"I said pretend."
Mila looked flustered beyond measure, fidgeting with her sleeves. "W-We were just worried, you idiot!"
That softened him.
A bit.
The tension drained from his shoulders, and he finally turned fully to Mila, reaching out to gently rest a hand on her head. She blinked up at him.
"You really don't have to worry," he said softly. "I'm still here."
She hesitated. Then leaned forward—head resting against his chest, arms curling around his waist. "I thought we lost you," she murmured. "I thought when you left for Brune, that you'd never come back."
Adriel said nothing.
But his hand remained on her head, and his silence said more than words ever could.
Tina watched them, expression unreadable for once. Something softer flickered in her gaze. Jealousy, maybe—but tempered now. Weighted with understanding.
She took a step back toward the door.
"I'll leave you two," she said, voice lighter but more distant.
"No," Adriel said, surprising both women. "You stay too."
Tina blinked. "What, you want me to stand here while you shower?"
"I want you both to stay," he corrected. "Because whether you realize it or not, you two are some of the only reasons I'm still standing."
Mila looked up, wide-eyed. Tina... smiled.
It wasn't smug.
It wasn't playful.
It was real.
He started toward the bathing chamber, his steps heavy, leaving behind shredded armor and blood-streaked boots. Just before stepping through the threshold, he paused.
"And for the record," he added, not turning around, "I would have chosen to survive even if no one was waiting for me."
"But knowing you were..." He looked over his shoulder.
"It mattered."
Then he was gone, the steam of the bath chamber curling out into the dimly lit room, leaving Mila and Tina standing together in silence.
Mila exhaled shakily, cheeks still red.
Tina chuckled under her breath.
"You're in love with him," she said, not teasing—just stating.
"...I don't know what I am anymore," Mila whispered.
Tina didn't respond.
But she stayed.
They both did.
Because for all his strength—for all the gods and horrors he'd faced—Adriel was still a man.
And he needed people beside him.
Even if he didn't ask for it.
Especially when he didn't.
Zhcted – Royal Wing, Outside Adriel's Private Quarters
Lim had made it a habit.
Every three or four days, she'd quietly enter Adriel's vacant chamber to tidy up—not because anyone asked her to, and certainly not because she missed him.
She told herself it was simply protocol. Respect. Nothing more.
The fact that she still kept every single plushie he'd sent her? Coincidence.
Today was no different. Or so she thought.
With her arms crossed and duty on her mind, she walked through the main doors only to stop short—eyes narrowing at the sight of two very familiar Vanadis seated on the edge of his bed.
Tina glanced over first. Smirk already in place. "Oh, hello Lim."
Mila blinked. "Wait—Lim? You're on cleaning duty again?"
Lim blinked. "You're here? Both of you?" Her voice was tight, cautious. Then she eyed them closely. "...Why?"
Tina crossed her legs in that infuriatingly elegant way. "Wouldn't you like to know."
Mila blushed. "We're just waiting."
Lim furrowed her brow. "For what?"
A faint splash echoed from the adjacent bathing chamber.
Lim stiffened. "Wait. That sound..."
Another splash. Steam curled from the doorway.
Her pulse accelerated.
"No way," she whispered.
Tina's grin widened.
Mila nervously bit her lip.
"Don't—don't tell me he's—he's back?! Now?!" Lim's eyes flared with sudden panic.
Tina gave a mock gasp. "You mean you didn't know? Oh dear, what scandalous timing."
"You've been here this whole time and didn't tell me?!" Lim snapped, face turning a shade of crimson not found in nature. "I—I was just going to tidy the room! I didn't know he—!"
Then she froze again.
Another splash.
A memory surfaced.
Not one she wanted—but one that refused to fade.
The night after the hot spring retreat in Rodnick. When he—despite being pushed away—had left a tiny, hand-stitched bear on her nightstand.
She still had it.
Hugged it at night when no one watched.
Her legs moved before her brain did.
"Wait—Lim—!" Mila cried.
"Hey now, this isn't your typical plushie mission—!" Tina added, half rising.
But it was too late.
Lim stormed past them, threw open the bath door—
And tackled him.
"Wha—GACK!"
Adriel didn't even have time to shout before he found himself pressed against the marble of the steaming shower walls, a fully-armored Limalisha hugging him like her life depended on it.
Water splashed in all directions. Soap clattered to the floor. The Hacker-woven curtain fell with a dramatic plop.
"What the hell?!" Adriel sputtered, half-slipping, arms shooting out to steady them both. "LIM?! WHAT ARE YOU—?!"
"I'm sorry!!" she cried, face buried in his shoulder.
His brain short-circuited.
The woman who had stared down battalions without flinching.
The sword-arm of Elen Viltaria.
Was now crying into his neck. In his shower.
"I didn't mean to fear you! I didn't—I swear I didn't—" Her voice cracked with every breath. "I couldn't control it. One moment we were talking, and the next... I was terrified."
Adriel's hand trembled as it hovered over her head.
"...Sentry," he whispered under his breath.
She kept speaking—rushed, panicked, desperate.
"You kept sending me plushies. Even when I avoided you. Even when I said nothing back—why? Why would you still do that?!"
"...Because I know you like them," he said quietly.
She froze.
And then her grip tightened.
Mila stood just outside the door, face scarlet, fists clenched at her sides. "Why does she get to cry on him in the shower?!"
Tina leaned in next to her, arching an eyebrow. "Well. I wasn't expecting this."
"Why did I wait?!" Mila hissed. "I saw him first!"
"And yet she's first to the finish line," Tina mused.
Inside the shower, Adriel gently pulled Lim back.
Water streamed down his face, across the new scars on his chest, and dripped from his still-perfectly handsome jawline—because of course, his face had zero damage.
"Lim," he said calmly. "You're soaked. And I'm very naked."
Her eyes widened.
She looked down.
And bolted out of the shower like she'd been struck by divine lightning.
SLAM.
She pressed her back to the wall, steam rising behind her as her mind rebooted.
"I—I didn't—he was just there—"
"I SAW EVERYTHING," Mila cried, half sobbing and half laughing. "YOU TACKLED HIM! IN THE SHOWER!"
Tina was laughing now. "Oh, this is the best day."
Adriel, inside the shower, sighed and leaned back against the wall.
His voice echoed out like a war-torn whisper of defeat.
"...I'm starting to miss the Russian Sleep Experiment."
Harem and Echi animes make no fucking sense, he thought.
10 Minutes Later
Adriel stepped out of his quarters fully dressed, clean, and finally... finally feeling like a human again. The black, patch-repaired tunic hugged his torso like armor reformed, reinforced with Hacker-encoded threads. His gauntlets—the living flame of Huo Huan ribbons—twitched slightly as if acknowledging the still-hovering awkwardness from earlier.
His hair was damp. His patience, tested.
And trailing behind him?
Three shadows.
Make that three very persistent shadows.
Mila clung to his left like a Koala who'd just survived a political assassination. Her hand hadn't left his wrist since the "shower event," and her cheeks still flared pink anytime he so much as glanced at her.
Tina walked on his right, arms linked through his like they'd been married for six years and were on their way to a gala. She smiled at everyone they passed. Poised. Elegant. Dangerous.
And Lim...
Lim trailed directly behind, still visibly shaken from her act of war in his bathroom. She had dried off, pulled her hair back into a neat tie, and wore an expression so neutral it practically screamed internal panic. The faint redness at the tips of her ears told the real story.
Adriel's stomach growled.
Loudly.
It echoed off the high-vaulted marble halls like a thunderclap of biological rebellion.
Tina blinked, tilting her head. "Oh dear. Is the hero famished?"
Mila looked up. "We should've made him eat first! I told you he looked pale!"
"I'm always pale," Adriel muttered under his breath.
"Still." Mila squeezed his wrist.
Tina's smirk widened. "Then perhaps we should fatten him up. I hear roasted Orlean fowl is the king's pick tonight. Very juicy."
Lim coughed. "Don't say 'juicy.'"
"Oh my, did that bother you, dear Lim?" Tina batted her lashes.
"I don't want to talk about juice right now," Lim said through clenched teeth, eyes locked somewhere three feet above Adriel's shoulder.
"I think this is about the shower again—"
"IT'S NOT!"
Adriel raised a hand, stopping at the foot of the dining chamber entrance. The giant golden doors shimmered faintly in the candlelight ahead, muffled voices buzzing inside. But behind him?
Three women stood in various stages of emotional combustion.
"...Okay," he said, turning to face them. "Real talk."
All three froze.
"I appreciate the escort. I really do." He nodded toward the hall. "But you guys are acting like I'm about to disappear again."
"You did disappear," Mila said softly. "Six months."
"You went completely AWOL," Lim added, arms crossing beneath her chest, face turned aside. "You literally disappeared, we only heard from you in reports."
"I never said I was going to abandon ya'll," he admitted.
Tina, shockingly silent for a moment, simply looked at him. "...You weren't just fighting Darks, were you?"
He said nothing.
She sighed. "Of course not."
A breath passed between them.
"...So," Adriel said with a faint grin, trying to cut the tension, "is this the part where you all fight over who gets to sit next to me at dinner?"
"Yes," said all three.
Deadpan. In perfect sync.
Adriel blinked. "You—what?"
Mila raised a hand. "I already claimed his left."
Tina's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"
"It's closest to his heart!"
Lim stepped forward, finger raised like she was issuing a battle command. "I was literally on his heart less than fifteen minutes ago—"
"THAT WAS AN ACCIDENT!" Mila and Tina shouted.
"Was it?!" Lim fired back.
Adriel stared at the ceiling and muttered, "I survived Loki, Ultron, Thanos, two wars in two different dimensions, survived the literal concept of The End, and broke the mathematical concept of a Inaccessible Cardinal and Mahlo Cardinal... just to deal with this."
The doors to the dining hall cracked open.
A royal butler peeked out. "Sir Adriel, the meal is ready. The king is... absent again, but Lady Sofya has been expecting—"
"Sofya's in there?" Tina perked.
"And she made extra dessert," the butler added helpfully.
That was all it took.
The three Vanadis broke into a speed-walk warpath down the hall, each trying to subtly hip-check the other aside while still pretending they were sophisticated nobles. Mila grabbed his hand again. Tina latched to his elbow. Lim used military precision to edge forward half a step.
Adriel sighed.
"This is my life now for the next few minutes."
His stomach rumbled again.
But behind the exasperation, he smiled.
Just a little.
Because after six months of silence, betrayal, and bleeding in shadows—he was home.
Or at least close enough.
And the chaos?
Felt just a little bit like healing.
Zhcted – Royal Palace, Grand Dining Hall
The moment the towering gilded doors of the dining hall swung open, a gust of warm spice-laced air greeted them. Roasted meats, baked root vegetables, cream-stewed grains, and spiced fruit glazes filled the long polished table like a tribute to the gods.
But it wasn't the food that made Adriel stop.
It was her.
Sofya.
She stood beside the far window, half-silhouetted by the twilight spilling across the floor. Her long golden curls shimmered like a waterfall of light. She held a wine glass in one hand—untouched—and her other rested lightly on the back of the chair nearest the head of the table.
She hadn't noticed him yet.
Not until Mila, unable to help herself, whispered, "He's here."
Sofya turned.
Green eyes widened. Her lips parted.
And for a moment, the entire room seemed to exhale with her.
Her wine glass slipped from her fingers.
It didn't shatter. The Hacker-coded flooring twisted midair and caught it gently in a magical shimmer before it could fall—Adriel's subtle failsafe for dining decorum.
But Sofya didn't notice.
She was already moving.
No hesitation. No formalities. Not even the soft kindness she was so known for.
She crossed the room like a force of nature.
And stopped.
Just in front of him.
Adriel looked at her, unsure what to expect.
A slap?
A lecture?
Another teary confession?
Instead...
Sofya placed a hand gently to his chest. Her fingers spread over the black fabric of his rebuilt tunic, as if searching for proof that he was really there. That he was whole.
"You're here," she whispered. "You're real."
Adriel gave a faint nod. "I—"
But her arms wrapped around him before he could finish.
A slow, deep embrace. Not desperate like Lim's had been. Not flirtatious like Tina's hovering had become. And not clingy like Mila's affection.
This was reverent.
Soft.
Like someone embracing a lost loved one returned from war.
He felt her shoulders shake.
And knew—without words—that she'd cried for him too.
"You were gone," she said into his collar. "You said nothing. We all thought—" Her voice cracked. "We all feared the worst."
"I didn't want to bring it here," he whispered. "The darkness. The enemies. The weight. I wanted you all to have peace."
She leaned back just enough to look him in the eye.
"And did you?"
He didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
She smiled sadly. "You poor, foolish Guardian."
Tina coughed from behind him. "I mean, he's still pretty, but he looks like he's gone through four hells and back."
Mila elbowed her. "Don't be rude. He's just cleaned up!"
"Exactly! Prime time to fawn over him."
Adriel sighed. "Please don't start again."
Lim approached a little slower, this time not red-faced, though her voice was quieter. "It's... good to have you back."
Sofya slowly withdrew from the embrace, but not before gently brushing a lock of wet hair from his forehead. Her eyes searched his features—looking for pain, for exhaustion, for anything he wouldn't say out loud.
She found it all.
And said nothing.
She just smiled.
"Let's eat."
She gestured to the table with all the practiced grace of a queen, stepping back beside her seat. The other Vanadis took that as their cue.
In the span of ten seconds, Adriel suddenly found himself pulled to the chair between Tina and Mila—with Lim claiming the spot just across from him and Sofya sitting at his left flank like a vigilant priestess.
He didn't fight it.
Didn't argue.
Because after six months of carnage, of fire, of being alone with his symbiote armor and dying gods...
This?
This chaos?
This warmth?
It was the first time he'd felt again.
He picked up a spoon.
And took the first bite.
Mila beamed.
Tina leaned close. "Is it good?"
Adriel paused, then nodded. "It tastes like peace."
Sofya's eyes shimmered.
"...Then we made it right."
Moments Later
Plates clinked, wine flowed, and for a time, it was quiet—too quiet.
They didn't speak, not right away.
Not out of discomfort, but because no one wanted to break the illusion of peace that had finally settled.
Adriel sat back in his chair, spoon in hand, eyes scanning the spread before him like he couldn't quite believe it wasn't an illusion. His body had fed itself off ambient energy and survival protocols for so long, the rich scent of real food nearly overwhelmed him.
He took another bite.
A roasted potato glazed with something sweet.
He exhaled through his nose—barely audible.
Then Mila leaned in again, her fork halfway to her mouth. "So... you going to tell us how you ended up looking like a walking corpse two hours ago?"
Adriel gave a tired smile. "Subtle, Mila."
She grinned, unrepentant.
"I fought someone," he began simply. "In the Smoldering Gorges."
Lim stiffened. "Another Pure Dark?"
"Yeah," Adriel said. "His name was Wenren Yixuan. He was... different."
"How different?" Tina asked, not mocking this time—genuinely curious.
Adriel turned his eyes toward the firelight dancing across the candlelit walls. "He didn't fight to kill me. He fought to delay me. To hold me in place. And not because he believed in Sentry. But because his family was threatened. His people."
The table fell silent again.
He traced a thumb along the golden-red ribbon looped around his left gauntlet.
"He was a fire-wielder. Probably one of the most powerful martial artists I've ever faced. Even nerfed as I am, it nearly killed me."
Mila's voice was soft. "But you won."
He nodded. "Barely."
"Is that where those came from?" Sofya asked, pointing gently to the ribbons.
"Huo Huan," Adriel confirmed. "A fire spirit. Loyal to him. But after the fight... I think it understood why I was there. It accepted me. Even bonded with the Hacker skill." He tapped his wrist lightly. "I think that's why I'm still walking."
Tina leaned on one elbow, her gaze unreadable. "Did he give them to you? Or did you take them?"
Adriel met her eyes. "He chose to leave them."
Something in the way he said it silenced the table again.
Lim reached slowly for her cup, brows furrowed. "Then... why did you come back now? After all this time?"
Adriel hesitated.
The answer burned behind his tongue. He could've told them everything—that Wenren's final breath revealed the truth, that Sentry had staged everything, that he planned to make Zhcted a stage and Adriel the finale.
But not yet.
Not until they were all there.
Not until Elen and Tigre returned from the strategy hall. Not until Fine finished inspecting the northern quarter defenses.
So he answered honestly—but incompletely.
"I had a realization," he said, voice low. "One I can't share yet. But it made me stop. Made me look back. Made me come home."
Sofya looked at him for a long time before speaking.
"You don't have to share everything tonight," she said gently. "But I hope you will, when you're ready."
He nodded. "I will."
Mila swirled her spoon through her stew, then muttered, "You could've told Tina or Fine. They where the only ones you spoke with before disappearing again."
That turned a few heads.
Tina didn't flinch. "He saved my life. If you want to be jealous, Mila, I can write you a letter about it."
"You would!" Mila snapped, half a bite away from pouting.
"I'm writing it now," Tina smirked.
Lim shook her head, smiling faintly. "You two haven't changed."
"No, we have," Adriel said softly. "We've all changed. The war did that. So did time."
Sofya reached across the table and took his hand. Her touch was featherlight, but steady. "And now that you're back, we have a chance to heal."
Adriel stared at her hand for a moment.
Then at the four women around him.
Each one had cried in his absence. Each had carried guilt. Each had suffered in silence, believing they had failed him—or that he had abandoned them.
And he?
He had punished himself more than any of them ever could.
"I know why it happened," he said at last. "The fear. The way you looked at me that day. I understand now."
Mila leaned forward. "What do you mean?"
Adriel gave a rueful smile.
"I'll explain later," he said again. "Once everyone's here. There's too much to say. And I want Elen, Tigre, Fine... all of them to hear it too."
Tina sat back in her chair. "So you're going to keep us on edge all night, huh?"
"Consider it payback," Adriel said, teasing just slightly.
Sofya's laugh was soft, but it rippled around the table.
The tension broke.
Just like that.
For the first time in what felt like forever, they ate like a family. Laughter stirred between bites. Stories began to emerge. Mila recalled the time Tigre burned soup. Lim muttered about catching a mouse in Elen's boot.
And Sofya?
She just watched him.
Watched the way he smiled—hesitant, but sincere.
Watched the way he breathed—not burdened, but steady.
Watched the way he sat—not like a soldier guarding his flank—but like a man easing back into a world that might finally let him belong.
And in her heart, something bloomed.
Something soft.
Something like hope.
After the last sip of wine was taken and the final bites of dessert vanished into empty plates, the table slowly began to quiet again—not from sorrow this time, but from a kind of mutual contentment.
Adriel leaned back in his seat, the warmth of food and quiet camaraderie settling into his bones like a long-lost comfort.
Lim was telling Mila something mildly embarrassing—likely involving Tigre. Sofya's delicate laugh hummed beneath their bickering. And Tina, arms folded behind her head, reclined like a queen perfectly satisfied with the chaos she'd helped stir.
Adriel smiled, quiet and genuine.
Then he rose.
The room stilled again, not in alarm, but in curiosity.
"I'll be back shortly," he said. "Just... need a moment to myself."
"You sure you'll be alright?" Sofya asked gently.
He nodded. "I just want to walk. Let everything settle."
Lim stood as if to follow, but paused halfway, clearly conflicted.
Tina, ever blunt, leaned forward. "You're not ditching us again, are you?"
Adriel gave her a look. "I haven't even finished my second cup of tea. I'll be back before it's cold."
That seemed to satisfy them—for now.
With one last glance, he turned and left the grand hall.
The corridors outside were quiet again. The walls of the palace no longer echoed with war, not tonight. Just soft torchlight and the sound of his own footsteps as he wandered without a destination.
He exhaled slowly.
He didn't lie to them.
He had come back because of what Wenren said.
Because of the final words that still lingered like ash in his chest.
But also... he had returned because he couldn't stay away any longer.
Not from them.
Not from this.
He walked past a mirrored corridor, briefly catching his own reflection in a gilded frame.
Gone was the war-beaten shadow of six months ago. Now clean, dressed in royal black, with his symbiote subdued beneath the armor, and the Huo Huan ribbons flickering like a heartbeat on each wrist.
He looked like himself again.
He didn't feel like it.
Not yet.
But the voices behind him—Lim, Mila, Tina, Sofya—they were pulling him back.
Maybe that was enough.
He turned toward the east wing heading to the quiet corridors of the palace. He turned another corner, passing a row of tall windows that overlooked the moonlit gardens.
Then—Footsteps.
Light. Familiar.
And a voice.
"Adriel!"
He froze.
Titta.
She jogged up beside him, a soft smile brightening her face, brown curls bouncing with every step. Her priestess robes were half-wrinkled, her eyes still puffy from sleep.
"I was just getting Tigre up," she explained, breathlessly. "He sleeps like a bear now, honestly." She paused. "But I... I'm really glad to see you."
He blinked. "You're... not mad?"
She tilted her head. "Mad? Why would I be mad?"
"I disappeared," he said simply.
"And you saved all of us before you did that," she replied, her voice warm. "You saved Alsace, remember? You stopped that entire horde—and that dragon thing. You even helped rebuild the city. That's not something I can ever forget, no matter how long you're gone."
He smiled—just a little.
Titta stepped closer, placing a hand over her heart. "I always believed you'd come back. Even when the others... hesitated. I prayed for it."
Adriel's expression softened further. "Thank you, Titta."
Behind her, slower, quieter footsteps echoed.
Tigre.
He had stopped just a few paces away, arms tense at his sides. His face was unreadable—stiff, serious, weighed down by months of guilt that hadn't faded even after all this time.
Adriel met his eyes briefly.
Tigre looked away.
But Titta didn't flinch.
She glanced between them, then looked up at Adriel again.
"I'll go," she said with a knowing smile. "You two probably need to talk."
Adriel nodded. "Thank you."
She gave Tigre a brief squeeze on the arm before disappearing back down the hall, her robes whispering behind her.
The silence that followed was colder.
Tigre stood there, unmoving.
Adriel didn't press him.
Didn't speak.
Eventually, Tigre broke the silence himself.
"...You look like hell," he said, his voice strained.
Adriel chuckled once, but there was no humor in it. "You're not wrong."
"I—" Tigre started, then paused, taking a breath. "I've been trying to think of how to say it. How to even start to apologize. But every word just feels... empty."
Adriel looked at him, arms folded. "Then don't use words."
Tigre blinked.
"Don't apologize," Adriel continued. "Not with speeches or formality. Just... don't make the same mistake again."
Tigre's mouth opened, then closed. He nodded slowly.
"I didn't mean to say what I did. About the 'Dark.' I didn't realize how far it would spiral—how much it would cost you."
"It wasn't just you," Adriel said calmly. "I walked into Sentry's trap thinking I could bear it all myself. And I didn't account for how fragile the thread between trust and fear really was."
He stepped closer.
"But you were my ally," he said. "I treated you like a comrade, a brother. And when it mattered most... I let you carry a weight you couldn't hold."
Tigre looked down. "I never wanted to betray that trust."
"I know."
A long pause stretched between them.
Then Tigre met his gaze again.
"...Did you win? Out there?"
Adriel's jaw tightened.
"I survived."
Tigre swallowed. "And the enemy?"
"One of them," Adriel said, voice dropping low. "A warrior. Wenren Yixuan. Stronger than any of us expected. He wasn't evil, Tigre. He was just trapped. Like the rest of us."
He paused, eyes distant.
"I didn't get answers. But I got something else. A gift."
Tigre's gaze dropped to Adriel's forearms where the glowing ribbon gauntlets shimmered faintly with residual firelight.
"He gave you that?" Tigre asked.
Adriel nodded. "And his life."
Neither of them spoke for several seconds.
Then Tigre exhaled sharply. "You've changed."
Adriel tilted his head. "So have you."
"Six months of silence will do that," Tigre muttered.
"Six months of fighting gods will do worse."
That pulled a small smile from Tigre. "You came back though."
"I needed to see it for myself," Adriel said. "That maybe... not everything was broken."
Tigre looked up again.
"You're not," he said. "And neither are we."
Adriel didn't answer.
But he didn't need to.
For the first time in months, the silence between them wasn't made of guilt.
It was understanding.
And they both decided to take a stroll together.
The moonlight traced the stained-glass windows in fractured colors, scattering soft reds and blues across the tiled floor as Adriel and Tigre walked side by side. No guards. No politics. Just two men who had once shared bread as "prisoners" under Elen's command—men who, for better or worse, had been pulled into something larger than themselves.
Adriel kept his hands in his coat pockets, the Huo Huan ribbons pulsing quietly with each step.
Tigre rubbed the back of his neck. "You know... Elen still has that teacup. The one you cracked."
Adriel arched a brow. "You mean the one she said was 'irreplaceable Zhcted heirloom' and then dropped five minutes later?"
"That one," Tigre smirked. "Turns out she glued it back together. Keeps it in her room."
Adriel exhaled a soft breath through his nose. "That woman... even in chaos, she clings to sentiment."
Tigre shrugged. "You're one to talk. I heard about the plushies."
Adriel narrowed his eyes. "Who told you?"
"Titta. Then Mila. Then Tina. Then Sofy. You're not exactly subtle, you know."
"I was trying to stay connected," Adriel muttered.
"By sending tactical bear reinforcements?"
"I enchanted the third one. It barked if touched."
"That explains the scream I heard down the hall that one night," Tigre laughed. "Lim never figured it out."
Adriel chuckled despite himself, and for a moment the war, the betrayal, the loss—it all fell quiet.
"...I missed this," Tigre said softly, looking ahead. "Not the war. Not the pain. Just this. Talking like idiots. You being cryptic and sarcastic. Me being perpetually sleep-deprived."
"I never asked you to carry all of that."
"You didn't have to," Tigre replied. "I chose to. And I'd do it again."
The honesty hit harder than Adriel expected.
They stopped in front of a wide balcony arch, moonlight bathing the stone in silver glow. From here, the city stretched far below—rooftops flickering with torchlight, the banner of Zhcted still waving over the highest tower.
"I've asked myself a hundred times what I would've done differently," Tigre continued. "If I could go back. Say something else. Hold my tongue. Trust harder."
"You wouldn't have changed anything," Adriel said, staring over the edge. "Because Sentry would've found another way."
Tigre looked over. "You're sure it was him?"
Adriel nodded once. "The fear. The shifts. It wasn't coincidence. He weaponized doubt. Turned it into a script. And we played it."
The silence pressed between them again, heavier now, tinged with shame neither of them voiced.
Then Tigre said, "But we're rewriting it now, right?"
Adriel blinked.
"That's what Hacker does, doesn't it?" Tigre added. "Rewrites the impossible. Changes the rules."
Adriel looked over slowly—and gave the faintest nod.
"That's the idea."
They stood there a while longer, the night cool against their skin, the warmth from the dining hall lingering behind them like a memory.
Tigre eventually glanced back toward the corridor.
"You think the girls are okay?"
Adriel sighed. "Physically? Yes. Emotionally?"
He shook his head.
"I left a mess behind, Tigre. All the strength I used to fight outside the walls... I should've used some of it to fight for what was in here. I was too focused. Too scared to look back."
"They'll forgive you," Tigre said. "If they haven't already. Pretty sure they'll do it in a heart beat."
"That's not the problem," Adriel muttered. "The real question is—can I forgive myself?"
Tigre didn't answer.
Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out a flask.
Adriel blinked.
"...Is that?"
Tigre nodded solemnly. "Elen's secret winter brew. Strong enough to cure heartbreak. Or kill you, depending on your constitution."
Adriel hesitated.
Then reached for it.
The flask clinked between their hands.
They drank.
And coughed—almost in sync.
"Holy fuck," Adriel wheezed. "That's straight up poison."
He's starting to miss is Detoxification skill in this moment.
"She adds honey now," Tigre said, wiping his mouth.
Adriel handed it back. "She always did overcompensate."
Tigre looked at him then. "So what now?"
Adriel's gaze returned to the stars.
"Now? We gather the others. We prepare. Because the curtain is rising. And Sentry wants a finale."
Tigre nodded. "Then let's not give him the one he wants."
Adriel looked at him—really looked at him.
And smirked.
"We won't," Adriel said quietly.
They turned back toward the palace.
To Be Continued...