Rovareth Skywarden watched the scene unfold before him, his ancient eyes taking in every detail, every wound, every drop of blood staining the snow.
His aura was no joke—it was the kind of presence that made the air itself grow heavy, that made lesser beings forget how to breathe, that made the very trees seem to lean away from him. He was mixed blood, of dragon and elf, a rare union that had produced an Elgon—a race that was like dragon but not fully, like elf but greater.
He was the strongest warrior in Sylvaris, perhaps the strongest in all the elven kingdoms, and when he saw Sophia—his princess, his charge, the child he had watched grow from infancy—his breath caught in his chest.
She was growling like a wild animal. Her body was broken, her clothes were rags, her hair was tangled and matted with blood and dirt. She looked like a prisoner, not a princess. She looked like someone who had been thrown away and forgotten, like something that had been broken and left to rot.
Rovareth Skywarden rose. The movement sent shockwaves through the clearing, invisible waves of power that made the snow tremble and the trees groan. The Wingroars began to whimper, their massive bodies pressing low to the ground. Even the elven warriors, hardened veterans of a thousand battles, found it difficult to breathe.
He turned toward the Graduate Novens. They were human, and he could feel it—the weakness of their species, the frailty of their bodies, the stench of their cruelty. It radiated from them like heat from a fire, like smoke from a burning building.
"Disgusting humans," he said, his voice low, terrible, absolute. "Did you do this to her?"
The Novens could not answer. They could not open their mouths. His aura pressed down on them like a mountain, crushing their chests, squeezing their throats, stealing their voices. All six of them felt it—the unbelievable pressure, the power of an elf lord in full rage. It was the kind of power that made you understand, in the deepest part of your soul, that you were nothing. That you had always been nothing. That you would always be nothing.
Rovareth turned to his Underwarden.
"Take everyone into our custody," he said. "We will decide their fate in Sylvaris."
He turned away, his body trembling with rage, his hands clenched into fists.
The elf knights moved. They ordered their Wingroars to seize every human in the clearing, and the great beasts obeyed. Their massive claws closed around the Novens, lifting them off the ground, carrying them away from the snow. Two women, four men—all of them captured, all of them bound, all of them waiting for judgment.
Yuuta lay in the snow, unable to move, unable to understand what was happening. His body was frozen, not from cold but from fear. He could not run. He could not hide. He could only lie there, trembling, waiting.
One of the Wingroars approached him. The massive beast sniffed the air, then sniffed the child, its great nostrils flaring. It paused. It sniffed again. Then it began to lick him.
The tongue was enormous, longer than Yuuta's arm, and covered in tiny, sharp barbs. Even though the Wingroar did not mean to hurt him, the licking was like sandpaper against his skin. The sensation was strange, uncomfortable, but not painful. It woke him from his stupor.
"Sophia," he said, his voice small and confused.
He looked up.
He was surrounded by Wingroars. Dozens of them, their massive bodies blocking out the light, their golden eyes fixed on him. They were curious, sniffing him, licking him, nudging him with their great heads. They should have been aggressive—Wingroars were known to be hostile toward humans, to attack them on sight, to tear them apart with their claws and teeth.
But here they were, licking him like a pet dog.
Erza watched, her eyes narrowed. "Wait," she said, her voice sharp. "Wingroars are supposed to be aggressive toward humans. I have seen them tear apart grown men. I have seen them crush warriors in their jaws. Why are they treating him like this?"
Isvarn shifted uncomfortably. He could feel his secret slipping, could feel the truth pressing against the walls he had built. He had to say something.
"Wingroars are loyal to elves," he said carefully. "The Skywarden ordered them to capture humans. They are following orders, nothing more."
"But they are not capturing him," Erza said, her eyes fixed on the scene. "They are playing with him. They are showering him with affection. That is not capture. That is something else."
Isvarn had no answer. He had never seen anything like this before. Wingroars did not behave this way. They did not show affection to humans. They did not lick them. They did not nuzzle them. They killed them.
The other Wingroars began to gather around Yuuta, their great bodies pressing close, their tongues washing over his small form. They were gentle, more gentle than such massive creatures should have been. They treated him like a cub, like one of their own.
The elven knights did not notice. They were too focused on Sophia, too focused on the prisoners, too focused on the chaos of the moment.
But Rovareth Skywarden saw.
He saw the Wingroars surrounding the child, their heads lowered, their tongues moving. He saw them playing with him, showering him with love. He thought it was a small animal at first—a rabbit, perhaps, or a fox—something small and furry that had wandered into the clearing.
Then he saw the black hair.
He moved faster than thought. One moment he was across the clearing, the next he was standing in front of Yuuta. His body had simply appeared, as if he had teleported, as if distance meant nothing to him.
He looked down at the child.
Yuuta looked up at him.
He was small—so small, so fragile, so human. His black hair was matted with snow, his red eyes were wide with fear, his small body trembled. But he did not look away. He did not cry. He did not beg.
Rovareth reached down and lifted him into the air.
Yuuta kicked and squirmed, his small legs pumping, his arms flailing. He was like a fish pulled from a pond, gasping for air, struggling against a force he could not overcome.
Rovareth stared at him. The child had black hair and red eyes—the same black hair, the same red eyes that had haunted his dreams for years. But there was no fear in those eyes. There was no terror, no pleading, no desperation.
There was only defiance.
Rovareth's grip tightened.
He was kicking and squirming, his small legs pumping uselessly in the air, his arms flailing against the massive hand that held him aloft. Rovareth Skywarden stared at the child, his ancient eyes widening behind his mask. The boy had black hair and red eyes—the same black hair, the same red eyes that had haunted the dreams of elf kind for generations, the mark of something ancient and terrible. But there was no fear in those eyes. No terror, no pleading, no desperation. There was only defiance, burning bright and fierce like a flame that refused to be extinguished, like something that had been broken too many times to remember how to bow.
Rovareth observed him closely, turning the child this way and that, studying his features, his aura, his very essence. The boy was small, fragile, human—everything that the Skywarden despised. And yet there was something about him that made Rovareth hesitate, something that made him pause before crushing the life from this tiny creature.
"No," he said finally, his voice low, thoughtful. "He looks like the sons of Disaster, but he carries no aura to make him different. His features are entirely human. He is nothing special. Just another mortal. Or Am I Mistaken."
He turned to the Graduate Novens, who were still held in the grip of the Wingroars, their bodies suspended in the air, their faces pale with terror. The massive beasts had them by the scruffs of their coats, their great jaws clenched but not crushing, holding them like cats carrying kittens. Their legs dangled uselessly beneath them, kicking weakly at the empty air, and their hands were bound behind their backs with elven rope that glowed faintly with golden light. The rope pulsed with each of their heartbeats, tightening and loosening, reminding them that they were trapped.
The Skywarden's eyes fixed on one of them—a man of average height, five foot ten, with the pale skin and soft hands of a scientist rather than a warrior. His face was hidden behind a mask, but his eyes were visible, wide with a terror that went beyond reason, beyond training, beyond anything he had ever experienced. He had seen monsters. He had created monsters. But he had never stood before an elf lord in full rage.
"Is this human one of yours?" Rovareth asked, his voice cold, flat, absolute.
The man swallowed. His throat bobbed, and his voice came out as a whisper barely audible above the wind.
"Y-yes, Skywarden. He is one of our subjects. He belongs to the laboratory."
"No!" Yuuta screamed, thrashing in Rovareth's grip like a fish caught on a line, like a bird trapped in a cage. His small body writhed, and his voice was raw, desperate, torn from somewhere deep inside him, from a place that had been hurt too many times and was still fighting. "Yuuta does not belong to them! Yuuta belongs to Sophia! Sophia is Yuuta's sister! Sophia is Yuuta's family!"
Rovareth froze.
The name hung in the air like a challenge, like an insult, like something that could not be unheard, could not be unspoken, could not be taken back. His grip on the child's head tightened, his fingers pressing into the small skull with enough force to crack stone, enough force to make the bones creak and groan beneath the pressure. Yuuta gasped in pain, his breath catching in his throat.
"How dare you," Rovareth said, his voice deadly quiet, each word a blade, each syllable a wound. "A mere human. A creature of dust and weakness. How dare you speak our princess's name with your filthy tongue? How dare you claim kinship with royalty?"
Yuuta flinched as pain spread through his skull, white-hot and blinding, like something was trying to crack open his head from the inside.
Tears welled in his red eyes, spilling down his cheeks, freezing on his skin in tiny crystals. His small hands clawed at the massive fingers wrapped around his head, but he could not break free. He could not even budge them.
They were like iron bands, unyielding and cruel.
"It hurts," he whimpered, his voice small and broken, the voice of a child who had been hurt too many times and could not understand why it kept happening. "Yuuta is hurt. It hurts."
Sophia heard him.
She was lying in the snow, her body broken, her mind shattered, her limbs too weak to move. The healing magic was still working, the golden light flowing through her veins, mending her wounds, closing her cuts, knitting her flesh back together.
But it could not reach the place where her mind had been. It could not repair the damage to her thoughts, her memories, her self. She was lost in a fog of pain and confusion, unable to speak, unable to think, unable to do anything except feel.
But she heard his cry, and something inside her roared to life.
Her eyes snapped open, wild and unfocused, green orbs that had once been warm and bright now clouded with madness and pain.
She saw him—the massive elf holding her little brother, the cruel fingers pressing into his skull, the tears on his cheeks. She saw the fear in his eyes, the pain, the desperate need for someone to save him, the way his small body trembled with each sob.
She screamed.
"Ahhh... ahahhh... raahh..."
Her voice was raw, animalistic, filled with a rage that had no words, a love that had no bounds. It was not the scream of an elf. It was not the scream of a princess.
It was the scream of a mother who had seen her child hurt, the scream of a wolf who had seen her cub threatened, the scream of something that had forgotten how to be anything other than fury. The sound echoed through the clearing, shaking snow from the branches, making the Wingroars flinch.
She thrashed against the snow, her body convulsing, her arms reaching out, her fingers grasping at empty air. The healer tried to hold her down, tried to keep her still, but Sophia was stronger than she looked, stronger than she should have been.
She clawed at the snow, trying to reach him, trying to save him, trying to do anything except lie there and watch him suffer.
Rovareth's eyes went to her. He saw his princess—the child he had sworn to protect, the girl he had watched grow from an infant into a woman, the brightest star in the Sylvan court, the hope of their people—lying in the snow like a wounded animal. Her clothes were rags, her body was broken, her mind was shattered. She was more beast than elf now, more creature than royalty. She was lost.
His rage filled the air.
It pressed down on the clearing like a physical force, like a mountain falling, like the sky itself collapsing. The Wingroars whimpered, their massive bodies pressing low to the ground, their wings folding against their sides. The elves trembled, their silver armor clinking, their knees buckling. The very trees bowed, their branches bending, their leaves falling. The snow beneath his feet cracked and split, and the ground shook.
And it was all because of humans. All because of their cruelty, their greed, their endless hunger for power. They had taken his princess and broken her. They had taken a child and destroyed her. They had taken something precious and turned it into this.
"Inform the Queen of everything that has happened," Rovareth said, his voice cold, absolute, carrying the weight of judgment. "Hold an immediate trial for these creatures. We have enough testimony to condemn them all. Let them face the justice of Sylvaris."
The knights bowed, their silver armor clinking, and began to prepare for departure. The Wingroars shifted restlessly, their great claws scraping the snow, their wings half-spread, eager to be airborne.
Sophia was still screaming, still reaching for Yuuta, her arms stretched toward him, her fingers grasping at the empty air. Her voice was hoarse, cracking, fading, but she did not stop. She could not stop. The Underwarden lifted her gently, cradling her broken body against her chest, and carried her to her own Wingroar. The beast lowered its head, sniffing at the princess, and made a soft, mournful sound.
Yuuta watched her go, his red eyes wide, his tears still falling, his blood still dripping onto the snow. He struggled against Rovareth's grip, trying to reach her, trying to follow her, trying to stay with the only family he had ever known, the only person who had ever loved him.
"Sophia!" he cried. "Sophia!"
Rovareth punched him.
The blow was not hard enough to kill—the Skywarden needed him alive for questioning, needed his testimony, needed his broken body to serve as evidence—but it was hard enough to hurt, hard enough to make his head ring, hard enough to make his vision blur and his ears ring. Yuuta's cheek split open, and blood dripped down his face, mixing with his tears, staining the snow beneath him.
"Do not speak her name," Rovareth said, his voice cold, each word a hammer blow. "Do not defile her with your human tongue."
"Sophia!" Yuuta screamed again, defiant, desperate, his voice raw with pain and love.
Rovareth punched him again. Harder this time. The child's head snapped to the side, and more blood flew.
"Sophia!"
Another punch.
"Sophia!"
The blows rained down on the child's face, each one harder than the last, each one accompanied by the Skywarden's cold command to be silent. But Yuuta would not be silent. He could not be silent. Sophia was his sister, his family, his only reason for surviving. She had named him. She had fed him. She had protected him. She had loved him. He would not stop saying her name.
Not until he died.
Sophia saw him being beaten.
Her eyes were closing, her consciousness fading, her body slipping into unconsciousness. The healing magic had done what it could, but she was still weak, still broken, still lost in the fog of her shattered mind.
The Underwarden held her close, stroking her hair, whispering soothing words that she could not understand.
But she saw him. She saw the blood on his face, the tears in his eyes, the bruises forming on his cheeks. She saw the massive elf striking him, again and again, and she could not understand why.
She did not know that he was being punished for saying her name. She did not know that he was being silenced for loving her. She only knew that her brother was being hurt, and she could not save him.
"Yu... Yu... Yuuta..." she whispered, her voice barely audible, lost in the wind, lost in the beating of wings, lost in the chaos of the clearing. "Yuuta..."
Then her eyes closed, and she was gone.
Erza watched, her rage at its peak. Her hands clenched into fists, and her aura flickered around her, cold and deadly, hot and furious. The air around her crackled with power, and the ground beneath her feet began to freeze.
She wanted to break the memory, to shatter it into a million pieces, to reach through time and space and save them both. She wanted to tear Rovareth's throat out with her bare hands, to make him suffer as Yuuta had suffered, to show him what it felt like to be helpless and alone and afraid.
Isvarn grabbed her arm, holding her back, his ancient strength barely enough to restrain her.
"You cannot," he said. "This has already happened. You cannot change it. If you interfere, his mind will shatter. The seals will break. He will be lost forever."
The memory shifted.
The snow-covered mountains faded, replaced by the towering spires of the Sylvan Kingdom. The air was warmer here, thick with mana and the scent of blooming flowers.
The trees were ancient, their branches heavy with golden leaves, and the buildings were carved from living wood and gleaming crystal. Rivers of clear water flowed through the streets, and bridges of white stone arched over them.
This was the land of the elves—the most powerful nation on the continent, the direct rival of the Dragon Kingdom. This was Sylvaris.
Yuuta would be sent to Earth from here. His memory would be sealed. His past would be erased. He would become an orphan, a nobody, a boy with no past and no future.
Erza finally calmed down, thinking that everything was over. The nightmare had ended. Yuuta would be safe. He would grow up on Earth, far from the horrors of Nova, far from the laboratory, far from the pain.
She did not know what awaited him here. She did not know how humans were treated in the land of the elves. She did not know that not everything was meant to end peacefully.
Not for Yuuta. Not for her.
To be continued...