Vastarael sat in silence, his gaze fixed on the flames. It was a story of pain, loss and unrelenting vengeance .
Her words echoed in his mind: Scourge of Nemesis. Dynasty Starisnova. Blessed by the Star.
Vastarael wasn't one to flinch at the darker aspects of life. He had seen enough of Earth's cruelty to know that the world rarely spared anyone. Yet, Narisva's story stirred something deep within him.
There was no justice in it, no fairness, only raw survival and vengeance. Narisva's tale was a perfect testament to that. The girl had been born into a world that demanded so much of her and gave her so little in return. A legacy she neither chose nor could escape. The betrayal, the loss, the suffering... it was all carved into her very existence. And when the world pushed her into the darkest corner, she pushed back harder.
And she won. And after everything, she couldn't rule the world. Because she felt empty afterwards.
The firelight reflected off Narisva's eyes as she summoned a faint shimmer of energy flickered, and pulled forth a weapon unlike any Vastarael had seen before. Sure, he saw it but seeing it so close...
A two-meter-tall double-bladed scythe materialized in her grip, the surface of its blades rippling like the fabric of the cosmos. The metal glowed faintly, an ethereal sheen of starlight coursing through its form. Its design was mesmerizing, both beautiful and ominous. It felt alive, almost breathing, pulsating with the energy of a forgotten era.
"This is my life force," she said plainly, running her fingers down the scythe's shaft. "If this weapon is ever destroyed, I will die. My soul has no Soul Energy left to anchor me to this world. It's all been poured into this. I don't have my own life. All of it comes from the Celestial soul sealed within this weapon. The more souls and energy I absorb into it, the stronger I become. And I don't have a heart. I sacrificed it to wield this power."
The weight of her confession hung in the air but to her utter shock, Vastarael didn't flinch or react with sympathy. Instead, he gave her a calm, almost casual response.
"Neither do I."
Narisva's eyes widened. "What?"
Vastarael chuckled softly, leaning back on his hands as though he'd just told her a harmless secret.
"I don't have a heart either," he said, tapping his chest lightly. "Go on, use that vision of yours. See for yourself."
Hesitant, Narisva activated her enhanced vision, her Mystic Eyes flaring faintly as she peered into his body. Her breath hitched.
There was no heart beating in his chest, no organic organ pumping blood. Instead, what she saw defied comprehension. She saw nine glowing pseudo-cores, faintly incorporeal, pulsing with a rhythm of energy that mimicked life. The pseudo-core radiated with Soul Energy, regulating his blood flow and sustaining his body in ways that should have been impossible.
"I lost my heart to a Winter Labor. I also don't have a left arm. What you see here"—he raised his bionic sapphire arm, the smooth surface glinting in the firelight—"is a replacement Erna made for me. Took a while to get it right but hey, it works."
Narisva stared, still trying to process everything. But then Vastarael's gaze met hers, and he added, almost as an afterthought;
"Oh, and these Mystic Eyes of mine? They're permanently active. You see, my real eyes... I lost them to a memory of my mother. She slashed them before she vanished after I slashed her. I didn't even get to see her die."
Narisva stood there, stunned into silence. Slowly, the pieces began to fall into place. They were both broken in ways that mirrored each other.
They were stripped of parts of themselves, forced to rely on substitutes to keep moving forward. And yet, neither of them had let it break them completely. They had each forged their own identities out of pain and loss, masking their true feelings with carefully crafted personas.
She spoke softly, the cockiness in her tone replaced by something more genuine.
"You hide your pain behind humor and teasing. And I... I do it with disdain and arrogance. It's easier to pretend we're unshaken, isn't it?"
"It is," he admitted. "But that's who we are. We've both made peace with it. And I think we're damn proud of it."
"Same here."
Narisva's scythe rested against the log beside her as she gazed at the fire, her thoughts far away. For once, her cocky demeanor softened into something more vulnerable, and her voice, when she finally spoke, was laced with envy and quiet longing.
"I envy the Richinarias," she admitted, her eyes flickering to Vastarael. "And the Mintheris Dynasty too."
Vastarael tilted his head, curious but silent, waiting for her to elaborate.
"They're neutral. Out of all the Dynasties, they stay out of the chaos. They don't interfere with wars or politics. The Richinarias are the wealthiest Dynasty in Spheraphase, sitting on mountains of fortune they don't even need to flaunt. And the Mintheris... they have the World Tree Mintherenia, endless natural resources and a balance with nature that the rest of us can only dream of."
She sighed, running a hand through her hair, the flames casting flickering shadows across her face.
"But more than that... they raise their children well. They have stable families, no internal conflicts tearing them apart. They're... whole. And then there's you. You're perfect."
Vastarael blinked, startled by her sudden admission. "Perfect? I don't think anyone's ever called me that before."
Narisva didn't return the smirk.
"You are. You were born into peace, away from conflict and danger. The Richinarias kept you safe, kept your family intact. And yet, despite all that, you're still strong. Even now, in the middle of this Epoch Cycle, you're holding your own. You're... good."
Narisva's eyes dropped to the fire, her fingers curling into her palms as she added, almost in a whisper.
"I'm jealous of you. Of your family. Of what you have. And I'm not ashamed to say it."
For a moment, Vastarael was silent, studying her carefully. Then, leaning forward slightly, he spoke, his tone light but filled with a genuine offer.
"What if you stayed with the Richinarias for a while?"
Narisva looked up, startled. "What?"
"After the Epoch Cycle is over. You said you envy how the Richinarias live. So, why not experience it for yourself? You're not the heir of Dynasty Starisnova. You're not tied to their obligations or their politics. You could stay with my family, see what it's like firsthand."
Narisva frowned, her brows furrowing in doubt.
"Would they even agree to that? I mean, I'm... me." She gestured vaguely at herself, a faint trace of her usual cocky demeanor slipping back in. "It's not like I scream 'Richinaria material.'"
"I'm the heir of Dynasty Richinaria," he said simply. "Apart from my parents, no one can defy me. If I say you're welcome, you're welcome."
Narisva's lips parted, her sharp tongue momentarily silenced by the sincerity of his offer. For a long moment, she stared at him, searching for any trace of mockery or hidden motives. But all she found was the same calm, steady resolve that had carried him through every challenge so far.
Her voice softened, her words almost tentative.
"Thank you... Vastarael. I mean it."
He shrugged, his smirk shifting into a gentler smile. "It's nothing. Besides, who knows? You might even like it."
Narisva chuckled softly, shaking her head as she stood, picking up her scythe and resting it against her shoulder. She glanced toward her tent, her demeanor shifting back to her usual composed self.
"We'll see about that. We should sleep. We'll need to figure out our next move tomorrow."
"Goodnight, Narisva," Vastarael said, leaning back with his hands behind his head, his smirk returning. "Try not to dream about how perfect my life is."
She rolled her eyes but allowed herself a small smirk of her own as she turned away.
"Goodnight, Vastarael."
As she disappeared into her tent, Vastarael remained seated by the fire, his smirk softening into a thoughtful expression. He glanced at the flames, the warmth casting a quiet glow over his features.
"Goodnight."
Then, with a stretch and a relaxed sigh, he prepared himself to rest, the faint sounds of the neat forest night surrounding him.
"The stars look beautiful tonight. Wish I could tell this to her before she slept. She really deserves that name. Starisnova. Blessed By The Star."
His tone was uncharacteristically tender, the teasing edge he so often carried replaced by something softer. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he closed his eyes, letting the peaceful night settle over him.
Unbeknownst to him, Narisva's enhanced hearing caught every word. She paused, sitting on her sleeping bag, her scythe resting beside her. Her fingers brushed lightly against the weapon's intricate handle, but her focus was entirely on what she had just overheard.
For a moment, she stayed still, processing his words. Then, a smile slowly spread across her lips. She shook her head lightly, a quiet chuckle escaping her, staring upward toward the fabric ceiling.
"Vastarael can be quite romantic sometimes, huh..."