Inside the grand palace throne room, tension clung to the air like a thick fog. Lavish marble columns and stained-glass windows could not distract from the unease growing among the gathered nobles. The throne sat empty, a silent reminder of the king's absence. Whispers echoed from all corners of the chamber, sharp and low, like the hiss of unseen serpents.
"It's been over a week," muttered Lord Feran, glancing warily toward the guards at the massive doors. "And still, the lockdown hasn't been lifted. No one enters, no one leaves. This is madness."
His companion, the rotund and red-faced Baron Keld, leaned closer, his voice lowered. "You've heard the rumors, haven't you? About Princess Hisui?"
Feran's eyes narrowed. "Which one? That she's isolating the capital to perform some ritual?"
Keld nodded grimly. "A sacrifice… to a demon, they say. To cure the king—or to replace him. Who can tell with her these days? Ever since His Majesty fell ill, she's changed."
"You think she's lost her mind?"
"Or worse. That she's found it in some ancient tome best left forgotten."
Others nearby glanced toward the pair, their own conversations dying down as more heads turned. The fear was no longer just a whisper—it was swelling, a silent tide. Some looked toward the sealed doors, wondering if they were prisoners now. Others stared at the throne, dreading what might come next.
"She was always a strange child," someone else murmured. "Too clever. Too quiet. Now she wears the crown in all but name."
"And leads us to what end?" Feran whispered.
Silence briefly followed, heavy with unspoken dread—until another noble coughed nervously, and the murmurs resumed, darker than before.
As the nobles continued their discussion, the grand doors of the throne room suddenly creaked open. A soldier stepped forward and announced loudly, "His Highness, Queen Hisui, is entering!"
All conversations immediately ceased. Silence fell over the chamber like a curtain. Every noble turned toward the entrance and bowed low as Queen Hisui entered, flanked by Jura, Erza, and Mirajane. Her steps were calm, regal, yet there was a subtle tension in her expression. The nobles watched as she ascended the dais and took her seat on the throne. The three Fairy Tail mages stood silently nearby, ever watchful.
"You may rise," Hisui spoke, her voice composed.
The nobles straightened themselves, and the queen's sharp gaze scanned the chamber. "Now, report. What is the current situation within the capital?"
A stout nobleman stepped forward, his face lined with worry. "Your Majesty, the citizens grow restless under the ongoing lockdown. Fear has begun to fester. There was... an incident—a protest erupted at Market Plaza several days ago. We managed to suppress it before it escalated, but the tension is rising."
Hisui's brows furrowed. "Has there been any further unrest since then?"
The noble hesitated, then shook his head. "No, Your Majesty... not openly."
Another nobleman, younger and less restrained, stepped forward. "Forgive my boldness, Your Majesty, but... when will this lockdown end? The people grow impatient, and so do we."
Murmurs rippled through the gathered nobles. All eyes turned to Hisui, waiting. She opened her mouth to respond—but the throne room doors burst open again with a loud thud.
Striding in confidently was Victor, Hisui's fiancé.
"Yes, Your Majesty," Victor said mockingly, "I believe we'd all like to hear the answer to that question."
The room tensed as Hisui's gaze shifted to Victor. Calmly, she stood and addressed the room. "It will end when the danger has passed and normalcy can be restored. You have nothing to fear—I have entrusted this matter to Fairy Tail. They are already working on it."
She turned to Erza and Mira, who stood tall and proud. A few nobles visibly relaxed at the sight of two renowned S-Class mages. But Victor merely scoffed.
"Them? Working?" he said with a smirk. "From what I've seen, they've spent more time in their quarters than on the streets."
Jura stepped forward, voice steady. "You may rest assured, Victor-dono. We are not idle. The one leading the effort is elsewhere at this moment."
"And who might that be?" Victor asked with a raised eyebrow. "Or is this just another excuse?"
Erza stepped forward to answer, but Hisui raised her hand. Her emerald eyes locked onto Victor's. "Enough, Victor. If you have something to say, speak plainly and stop hiding behind sarcasm."
Victor's smirk widened. "Very well. I will. There is chaos in the streets. Fear in every corner of this city. And you, my Queen, have done nothing. I say what others whisper behind closed doors—you are unfit to rule."
The room gasped.
Hisui's expression darkened. "Don't think that just because you're my fiancé, you can insult your queen without consequence."
Victor stepped forward, his voice sharp. "This isn't an insult—it's a demand. Step down. Let someone capable lead this kingdom."
"Guards!" Hisui commanded, rising to her feet. "Seize him!"
No one moved.
She turned sharply. "I said, arrest him!"
Still, the guards stood frozen in place. No one responded. Victor chuckled.
"How pathetic. You can't even command your own soldiers. How can you command a kingdom?"
He clapped his hands. The doors opened once more. Over thirty armored soldiers and cloaked mages poured into the room.
"What is the meaning of this?" Hisui demanded.
Victor grinned. "What does it look like? This is a rebellion. Now—step down."
The nobles murmured, then one by one began voicing their agreement with Victor. The tide had turned. Hisui stood alone.
Near the throne, Mira clenched her fists. "This is bad. We have to do something."
"We can't," Jura said gravely. "The Magic Council forbids interference in political affairs."
"But if we stay quiet, she'll be overthrown!" Mira argued.
"She's right," Erza added reluctantly. "But if we act, Fairy Tail could be branded as traitors."
They stood in silence, watching the guards approach the throne.
Then—
CRASH!
A thunderous boom shook the chamber. The very ceiling of the palace cracked like glass. A deafening echo followed as pieces fell, dust billowed, and a shockwave knocked everyone to the floor.
The nobles and guards froze, staring at the heart of the chaos.
As the dust settled, the wreckage of the throne room slowly came into view. Chunks of marble and shattered pillars lay strewn across the floor. Amidst the destruction, two monstrous figures began to change, their twisted forms unraveling into human ones. One lay motionless, a katana embedded deep in his chest. The other knelt beside him, blood dripping from countless wounds, hand still gripping the weapon's hilt.
It was Rudra and Arthur.
Gasps rippled through the room. Even the rebellious soldiers paused, stunned by the sight.
Arthur coughed weakly, crimson staining his lips. His fading eyes turned to the man beside him. "To think... I'd die by my own creation," he muttered, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Rudra exhaled slowly, voice calm yet heavy. "Well... life's messy. Stuff happens."
Arthur chuckled, the sound more blood than laughter. "Still don't like your attitude."
Rudra didn't respond. Instead, he glanced toward the broken ceiling, where sunlight poured through the cracks and painted golden patterns across the ruined floor. A warm breeze brushed against his face.
"You know," Rudra said quietly, "you were being used by that wannabe god. Mundus. He manipulated everything."
"I always knew," Arthur replied, voice barely above a whisper. "But... I wanted revenge. And I was willing to ignore everything else to get it."
He coughed again, more violently this time. Blood dripped from his chin as he gritted his teeth. "Rudra."
Rudra turned to face him.
Arthur's gaze was firm despite the pain. "Take Rebellion... along with Gun Irony and Ebony. They're yours now."
"What?"
"I mean it," Arthur rasped. "We may not be blood... but the legacy of Sparda runs through you. I, Arthur Sparda, son of Dante, hereby name you... Rudra Sparda. The last of our kind."
Silence followed.
Rudra looked down at the dying man—his brother not by blood, but by fate. Slowly, he turned his gaze back to the broken sky above.
"So long, old man," he murmured.
Arthur's eyes dimmed. His body went still.
And then—black flames engulfed his corpse, crackling with unnatural heat as they consumed what remained of him. No one dared move. No one dared speak.
Rudra stood, blood dripping from his arms. He pulled Yamato from Arthur's chest with one clean motion, then reached down and picked up Rebellion. The blade hummed with latent power, recognizing its new wielder.
He took a long breath, then turned to face the stunned room. Every eye was on him—nobles, soldiers, rebels, and mages alike. Even Victor stood frozen, mouth slightly agape.
Rudra blinked, then broke the silence with a calm, deadpan question:
"…So. What did I miss?"