[Location: Realm of Iofiel]
Suffice to say, Mikoto did not expect to be dragged into the presence of another Goddess anytime soon. But even as the realization set in, it hardly rattled him. This wasn't the first time he'd been forced into an audience with a higher being. The strangeness of it was familiar now.
For a long moment, he simply studied her. Searching for some small fracture in that serene façade. When none came, he released a quiet sigh, the sound heavy with disinterest.
"So this 'First Tree' you mentioned…" His voice broke the silence at last. "It's the source of everything? Every kind of power there is?" His eyes narrowed faintly. "And you're saying my connection to it is… strong?"
Iofiel's smile brightened, as though she had been waiting for that very cue. "Indeed." Her head inclined gracefully, the golden circlet at her brow catching faint light. "Your bond with it surpasses many. But, presently, that is of little importance—"
"No." Mikoto's interruption was sharp, his red eyes locked onto hers. "You dragged me here against my will. If you're going to beg for help, the least you could do is not gloss over the details."
For just a heartbeat, her smile strained—eyes twitching ever so slightly before recovering. "I am not begging," she replied, voice honeyed, almost too rehearsed. "But… very well. I am, after all, a fair and just Goddess." Her laugh followed, airy and melodic—something mortals might find soothing. But to Mikoto, it scraped along his nerves like nails on a chalkboard, insincere to the core.
"I will be brief, however," she went on, hands folding before her. "I will explain the Hierarchy of Magic. There are three branches mortals may know of. Scripta—the basic weave, accessible to even the most unrefined practitioners. Chorda—the more potent thread of spellcraft, requiring true harmony with magic itself. And lastly, Resonantia—the branch reserved for higher beings. Granted we Gods have power over the concepts we govern over but magic is a powerful tool. We wield it naturally, though it is not limited to us alone." Her wings gave the faintest shiver of light as she regarded him knowingly. "You, Executioner, have already dipped into that branch. You yourself have invoked spells from Resonantia."
Mikoto's brows knit together slightly, thoughtful. ("I have?") The thought lingered. ("Maybe she means Arcane Ascendance… those spells I pulled without thinking. They did feel instinctive, not learned.")
But something else tugged at him, and his eyes flicked up again, sharper this time. "Wait. How would you know that?" His tone was probing, the suspicion pressing into his voice. "How long have you been watching me?"
"Oh, not long at all," she answered with ease. "You see, Gods from other realms tend to gravitate toward Uhorus whenever the Festival of Octavia is held. It is… difficult not to take notice when mortals shine so brightly. You Untainted especially."
"Right," Mikoto muttered, dismissive, though his mind remained elsewhere—still circling that 'First Tree,' the Arbor Astrigaudium. The word clung to him, he couldn't shake it. He finally asked: "So then, what about the Nil's Schema? Where does that fit into your neat little hierarchy?"
Iofiel's lips curled again, though this time the smile seemed stretched thin, faint cracks showing at the corners. "Ah… that," she hummed, tilting her head as if explaining to a child. "The Nil's Schema draws from a withered branch of the Arbor Astrigaudium—Ramus Nullum. That branch broke away from the harmony of law long ago, consumed instead by trauma, by paradox, by warped personal expression. Unlike true magic, it does not invoke but hijacks—forcing reality to bend through contradiction. From this corruption also flow Ultra Vires and Dragonic Resonance."
Her explanation trailed, and Mikoto didn't miss how her smile faltered before sliding back into place. He ignored it, filing it away quietly.
"What about the base? The roots?" he pressed. "If the branches can fracture, what's buried beneath them?"
Her reply came with a sweetness too polished to be genuine. "The roots?" Her wings shifted as though to buy her a pause. "I suppose one could say they are a gateway… a door to something far more potent, and dangerous. But I daresay I've already shared enough." The words were smooth, but there was a sickly edge beneath them—as if even she disliked how much she'd admitted.
Mikoto didn't hide his dissatisfaction, but he let the subject drop. "Whatever." His hand drifted up to rub the back of his neck, and a loose strand of white hair fell against his cheek. "You said this universe is breaking down. That your realm is barely holding together. I'm guessing besides the calamities, it's got to be tied to the leylines, right?" His voice softened into thought, his gaze distant. "I don't know much, but… leylines store information. They stabilize entire realms. And here… it looks like they don't just channel mana, they sustain themselves with it. That would explain why mana feels so thin, why adults are weaker, and why the environment looks starved. The leylines are bleeding them dry."
For the first time, Iofiel's composure faltered—not the smile, but her eyes. They gleamed with the faintest flicker of surprise. "Yes," she admitted softly, "I am impressed, Executioner. I knew calling you was the right decision." Her smile steadied again, her tone regaining its pride. "You see, the leylines here teeter on the brink of collapse. The realms suffer for it. My realm suffers for it. The desolation you see is its reflection."
Mikoto hummed quietly, folding his arms across his small frame. "…So which calamity is it?" he asked bluntly. Then, almost as if his own thought struck him mid-sentence, his eyes narrowed further. "The dragons."
Her wings fluttered faintly, the glow around her head intensifying. "Correct." She sounded pleased. "The Red Dragon Ddraig and the White Dragon Albion. They tore their way into my realm, locked in endless combat. Their clash alone shattered balance, corrupting the leylines. And when they rouse from their slumbers to fight anew, the damage deepens. They desecrate what was sacred."
"If they're that much of a pain, wouldn't the Divine Principals let you step in?" Mikoto tilted his head, expression unreadable.
Her wings folded slightly inward, a subtle sign of irritation. "No. Their rules are absolute. Should I interfere directly in the physical plane, I would be forced to descend… stripped of much of my power. To them, no exceptions exist."
Mikoto's lips curled faintly, though it wasn't a smile. "So you came crawling to me."
This time, her smile broke for real—just a twitch, but it was there. "I wouldn't call it crawling…" she muttered beneath her breath, before quickly recovering. "But yes, it was imperative to contact you. Establishing a link was difficult, though. The Principals bind us tightly. I had to resort to… alternate methods, to let you know you were being watched."
"Shuten." Mikoto's response was immediate, his voice flat. "That's who you used." His fingers brushed against his temple, irritated. "I mentioned Oni one day, and the next day, one appears. Subtle manipulation, subconscious suggestion." He blew out a soft sigh. "Figures."
"Now then," Iofiel's voice rang softly again. "Since you already have an inkling of what the calamities are, you must understand—should they succeed in destroying one realm, they will not stop. They will simply move on to another, and another, until everything you know is erased."
Her smile wavered then, just slightly, softening into something almost somber—though whether it was genuine grief or a well-practiced affectation was hard to tell.
Mikoto tilted his head. "So what's strange about this one then?"
Iofiel's wings rippled faintly, feathers catching blue light . "The calamities follow a pattern. A cycle, Ddraig and Albion should not stir yet—they are meant to embody the second calamity, long after the first has run its course. And yet here they rise. Stirring, even as the first calamity is still underway within the realm of Uhorus."
Mikoto's brows knitted faintly. The name pressed into his mind like a puzzle piece snapping into place. ("So that universe… that's what it's called. Uhorus.") He exhaled quietly, thumb brushing against the cuff of his rolled sleeve. "So two calamities almost overlapping. That's not just strange. That's wrong. Wrong in ways that sound like more than just coincidence."
"Indeed." Iofiel nodded, her smile returning, though tight at the corners. "It disrupts the delicate equilibrium of the nine interconnected realms. The weave itself strains under such dissonance. And why it has unfolded in this way…" She paused, her gaze lingering on him, as if to test whether he could handle the answer. "We can attribute it to the hand of a Fate Walker. The one called Aegraxes."
The name struck him at once. A flicker of memory—the chaos at the academy, the demons' second assault, and that figure moving through it all with that unshakable purpose. He had something with him blade. A Divine Artifact.
("Right. That was him. Aegraxes.") Mikoto tucked the recognition away. No need to voice it. His gaze flicked back to her. "I see. Makes sense, I guess. But honestly…" He exhaled through his nose. "Can't say I particularly care for your little universe and its balance problems. Those dragons? I was already planning on putting them down. If I just let them roam, it'll bite me in the ass sooner or later."
The words landed dully, but the effect on her was immediate. For the briefest moment, her carefully fixed smile twitched again, trembling on the verge of breaking. She held it, forcing the corners back into place, though her knuckles whitened slightly where her hands were clasped.
"You have my thanks, Executioner," she said, voice still drenched in that poised cadence, though thinner now. "I have faith that you—"
"Yeah, no." Mikoto cut her off flatly. His delicate face remained neutral, though his eyes glinted with something mocking. "Not really here for a long, padded speech." He lifted two fingers in a lazy peace sign. "So… see ya."
Before she could reply, the air around him warped. A sudden pulse of pressure rippled outward as if space recoiled, and in the blink of an eye, his small form fractured into a burst of force—his consciousness tearing itself free from her realm entirely.
Iofiel blinked once. Then again, slower, her luminous wings folding tight behind her. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the faint hum of her aura.
"He… forcibly separated his consciousness from my realm." Her words were steady, but her expression betrayed the irritation behind them. The poise faltered, her hands unclasping. Her smile slipped for the first time, replaced by a pout that, for all her divinity, looked almost human.
("But I prepared a very important and inspiring speech for him!") Her thoughts rang sharp and brittle. ("How dare he just—cut me off like that!? Doesn't he know how many hours I rehearsed it in my head!?")
Her wings twitched, the glow around her dimming, and she let out an uncharacteristically petulant huff.
--------------------
[Realm: Álfheimr]
[Location: Heart Kingdom Outskirts]
[Virelheim Mountain Village]
It was a new day in the quaint village. The sun had only just begun to peek above the horizon, sending soft gold across the treetops, and yet the air was still sharp with cold.
To any ordinary eye, it might have seemed peaceful. Almost idyllic. But Gretel could not let herself be fooled by that calm veneer. The silence was thin, stretched taut. For beyond that treeline lay the Heart Kingdom's soldiers—an army clad in black armor—and worse still, the two Mortifers of the Retorta Guild who accompanied them.
She could not sleep knowing that fact. The knowledge gnawed at her like teeth on her stomach, leaving her restless, wound tight with unease. At any moment, she knew, they could march. At any moment, the silence could break, and everything—the homes, the fields, the people who had offered her a place—could be burned away in fire and steel.
Mikoto had told her he had a method of keeping watch over them. A safeguard, a way to track their presence even from afar. And though Gretel did not doubt his word, trust alone could not soothe her nerves. That wasn't because she distrusted him—it wasn't that at all. It was because she couldn't stop imagining the worst. Because she couldn't allow herself to be caught off-guard.
Her sigh came out heavy, fogging the cold air as she leaned against the railing on the second platform of the village. Her eyes fixed on the horizon where the first thin rays of morning light broke through the gray. Her limbs felt weighted, her eyelids heavy from lack of rest, yet she knew that even if she went to her bed now, she would not sleep. Her mind was too loud.
("They're being too quiet…") Gretel's brows drew into a frown. ("Not a single move toward the village. Not even the faintest sign of approach. It should bring me relief, but… no. Their silence unnerves me more than their presence would. Why wait? Why hide?")
Her hand rested near her hip where her rapier hung. The weapon felt heavier than usual, as though anticipating the blood it would have to draw. She was not one to seek out fights, but she knew well enough that when the moment came, she would have to stain the blade red. The thought left her chest tight.
Almost without thinking, her fingers drifted lower, reaching into the satchel tied to her hip. From it she pulled a small, rectangular black box. The weight was familiar—too familiar. She turned it in her hand, and inside she heard the faint rattle of a necklace shifting.
("This… this is what caused all of it. I was the one who stole it, and because of that, the whole village now bears the risk. Even if I hadn't known it belonged to the Retorta Guild, even if I couldn't have predicted this… the fact remains. This is my fault. My burden.")
Her frown deepened until her lips trembled at the corners, though she forced them still.
"Such a heavy frown, and so early in the morning."
The voice rose suddenly behind her, breaking the silence. Gretel stiffened at first as she tucked the box away, turning her head just enough before the speaker came into view. Footsteps padded softly along the wooden platform, unhurried, until the figure moved beside her, eyes too-red, smile curved sharp.
"Shuten?" Gretel murmured, brow arching slightly.
The Oni woman met her gaze with a look that unsettled Gretel more than she wished to admit. Her crimson eyes, vacant yet cutting, seemed to pierce clean through her skin, stripping away the layers until there was nothing left to hide. That stare gave her the uncanny sense of being seen—entirely, without shield or filter. Gretel's pulse quickened, but she did not turn away. She bit down on the unease and returned the gaze as evenly as she could.
"Greetings." Shuten-dōji's lips pulled into a serene smile, her sharp teeth just barely visible in the faint light. "The wind beckoned me hither. It always guides me where I am needed most." Her words were delivered like poetry, strange and airy, drifting past with a vagueness that made them hard to grasp.
"I… see," Gretel answered softly, offering a polite smile in return though her mind raced to decipher the statement. "But why are you up so early?"
"I do not sleep," Shuten replied without hesitation, her tone almost casual. "I meditate. A practice that clears the mind, though a tedious one. Tiresome and dull. And so I wandered, seeking… something more diverting. Something to cut the silence. Avia has been a joy to speak with, I admit, but she is an early sleeper. Too early for my taste."
"Ah." Gretel's expression softened slightly at the mention. "Well, she is quite old. But I'm sure she appreciated your company. Since her husband passed away last year… she's been lonelier than she would ever confess. Even if she smiles, it weighs on her."
"Hm. Indeed." Shuten's gaze flicked toward the rising sun, the light catching faintly on her horns. Her voice lowered. "Her soul is full of lament."
The words struck Gretel strangely, leaving her brow furrowing. She turned toward the Oni, confused, but Shuten only brushed past it with another smile.
"Pray, pay that no mind," Shuten said smoothly, her tone regaining its earlier playfulness. But her crimson eyes flicked back to Gretel with a sharpness that pinned her in place. "I am more curious about your thoughts. That frown of yours is not born of weariness alone. Tell me… what plagues you?"
Gretel hesitated for a long moment, the weight of the box still heavy in her satchel. At last, she exhaled, forcing the words out with a small frown. "Oh? It's nothing major… just those Heart Kingdom soldiers. And the Mortifers."
"I see," Shuten said, and there was a strange satisfaction in her tone, as though confirming something she had already guessed. "The men clad in black steel." She paused, as if tasting the words. "And the Mortifers… yes. I do recall meeting one, long ago."
Gretel's eyes widened faintly, her surprise too plain to hide. "…You've met one?"
"Indeed," Shuten murmured, her smile fading into something almost thoughtful. "They spoke of Salem, the seat they bore. They bested me in a duel. A rare thing, to be humbled. I had not known such powerful individuals still walked the realm."
"Salem…" Gretel repeated quietly, trying to search her memory. "I'm not sure where they would rank. My knowledge of the Retorta Guild is lacking. I only know bits and pieces—names, seats, code names. Not much else." Her gaze returned to the Oni, heavy with curiosity. "Still… from that short duel you had with Mikoto, it's clear you're strong. Stronger than most. If this Mortifer bested you, they must have been terrifying."
"Indeed," Shuten said again, with no trace of shame. "All the same, it was an embarrassing defeat." She tilted her head, her eyes softening in strange nostalgia. "Once upon a time, I was a terrible Oni. My power knew no limit. I took what I desired, broke what I wished, crushed all who opposed me. Nothing could bind me. No one could rival me. And then they appeared. A human." Her smile sharpened at the edges, though it carried no bitterness. "They beat me. They humiliated me. Reduced me to something less than invincible."
("She admits it so easily…") Gretel thought. ("She admits defeat without shame, as if it was a gift, not a wound. What kind of person does that?")
"But as they spared me, I but learned a simple thing," Shuten-dōji said. Her gaze stretched out far across the horizon as though searching for something long lost. "Loss is but another cycle. A truth as natural as breathing, as inevitable as the setting sun." She let the silence linger, her words hanging heavy in the cool air, before adding softly, almost as though to herself: "Though it took me many years—too many years—to see it for what it was."
Gretel frowned faintly, confusion flickering across her features. Why was this Oni woman sharing so much? Why peel back her thoughts, her history, in a moment so simple, so still? Gretel had no answer, only unease curling in her chest.
"In this dark and twisted world of ours," Shuten continued, her tone neither bitter nor mournful but matter-of-fact, as though describing the rhythm of the seasons, "you must be prepared to lose, and then lose again. This realm will do its best to strip you bare, to grind you into nothing. To take who you are, all that you cherish, and hollow you out until only a shell remains." Her head turned slowly, and those crimson eyes found Gretel again. "Those eyes of yours," she said, unflinching, "I've lived long enough to recognize the mark. To know the look of those who have already lost. And you… you've already lost."
The words struck like a blade driven straight through Gretel's chest. Blunt, honest, and yet accurate. She blinked rapidly, her throat tightening. How easily this woman saw her—through her composure, through her guardedness, straight into the wound she carried. She hadn't realized how much she had underestimated her. She couldn't form words. Silence was all she had.
Shuten's eyes softened—not in pity, but in a kind of acknowledgment, like a veteran recognizing the scars of another. "I see it has not yet broken you," she said, her tone slower now, almost contemplative. "But understand this: the losses will not end. They never do. They spare no one. For no person, no oath, no power can halt them." Her gaze turned back to the horizon. "The only question, then, is whether you are prepared to endure more. Whether you are prepared to let loss walk beside you until your final breath."
Gretel swallowed, the unease mounting. "…What do you mean?" Her voice wavered despite her effort to steady it.
A small hum rose in Shuten's throat, almost like amusement. "I know what lingers in your mind," she said calmly. "The safety of this village plagues you. You see the lives that may soon be lost, the ruin that waits like a shadow at the gates. And you feel it already, don't you? That break inside you. The shattering of knowing what may come."
The accuracy made Gretel's stomach turn. It was as though Shuten's words weren't guesses but truths plucked clean from her heart. The thought that this Oni could see her so completely, so unerringly, left her unsettled to her bones.
"I'll…" Gretel drew a breath, forcing the words past the tightness in her throat. "I'll merely do my utmost to protect this village. Even if that means… even if I must give my life for it."
Shuten tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. "But is that truly what you desire?"
The question pierced her, sharper than any blade. Her lips parted, and before she even realized it, the word left her in a breath.
"…No." Her eyes widened at her own admission. She hadn't intended to say it. But the truth was undeniable, pulled from her as easily as breath. Her gaze fell to the wooden planks at her feet, her hands tightening against the railing. "No," she repeated, softer. She hesitated, her lips pressing thin before she forced herself to speak. "I… still have accounts to settle. Things left undone. Wrongdoings I must atone for, debts I owe, people I…" Her voice faltered before hardening again. "There are things I want to do. Things I must do. But the fact remains that this village is in danger because of me. Because of my choices." Her head lifted, though she could not meet Shuten's piercing gaze. "So it is the least I can do. The smallest repayment I can offer—my life, if it comes to that."
For a moment, silence stretched. Then, unexpectedly, Shuten smiled. Not cruelly, but with a strange kind of approval.
"That is good," she said quietly. "Your conviction is not false. A soul adrift in guilt is still stronger than one that deceives itself. But hear me, girl: even so, you must ready yourself. Loss will come again. It always does. Nothing in this realm is certain—not power, not fate, not even we who believe ourselves untouchable. And certainly not you." Her eyes glimmered faintly as she leaned closer. "So do not cling to certainty. Do not cling to what you think you can preserve. What you must do is simpler, harder, and crueler."
Gretel frowned but asked. "…What is that?" Shuten's smile curved again, but this time it was almost solemn.
"Move forward. No matter the loss. No matter how much it tears from you. For that is all we who have lost can do. We—the so-called losers of this world. That is our only path."