"I will bring him to my kingdom. I will give him the life he wants. A peaceful life. Under my protection."
Erza's voice was steady, absolute, the voice of a queen who had made up her mind and would not be swayed by anyone or anything.
She held Yuuta against her chest, her arms wrapped around him with a ferocity that spoke of desperation, her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt as if she feared he might disappear if she loosened her grip. Her tears had dried on her cheeks, leaving pale tracks like rivers on a map of grief, but her eyes
those violet eyes that had seen centuries of blood and battle—burned with determination.
Isvarn's heart stopped.
His body, which had been still as stone, tensed. His silver hair, long and braided with strands of deepest blue, caught the dim light of the apartment. His violet eyes, sharp as swords and deep as the ocean, widened with something that looked almost like fear.
He had known this was coming.
He had seen it in her eyes since the moment she had emerged from the memories, since the moment she had looked at Yuuta's sleeping face and understood.
He had felt it in the way she held the human man, in the way her tears fell, in the way her hands trembled. But knowing something was coming did not make it easier to hear.
"No one will ever hurt him again," Erza continued, her voice rising, gaining strength with each word. The apartment walls seemed to absorb her declaration
the photographs of Elena on the refrigerator, the calendar by the door with its marked dates, the old books stacked on the shelves, all of them witnesses to a vow that would shape the future.
"Not the humans. Not the elves. Not anyone. He will live in Atlantis, in my palace, where my word is law and my power is absolute. He will want for nothing. He will fear nothing. He will be safe."
Isvarn's teeth clenched.
His jaw tightened so hard that the muscles in his neck stood out in sharp relief. His hands, folded behind his back, curled into fists so tight that his knuckles went white beneath his pale skin. He was a dragon of the old blood—one of the first, one of the strongest, one who had watched empires rise and crumble to dust. He had faced down enemies that would make lesser beings weep with terror. He had stood before queens and gods themselves without flinching.
But this...this decision, this declaration, this vow—made his blood run cold.
He knew that Erza would return to her word. Not because she was stubborn, though she was, and not because she was prideful, though she was that as well. He knew because of the dragon bond.
The reason dragons never fell in love easily was not because they were cold or heartless or incapable of emotion. It was the opposite. Their love was so different from any other being—any human, any elf, any creature that walked the worlds—that once they fell, they fell completely. Irrevocably. Eternally.
Once a dragon loved, they loved forever.
Even if heaven and hell separated them. Even if oceans and worlds and centuries stood between them. Even if the stars themselves burned out and the universe grew cold and dark. They would not be happy in heaven without their beloved. They would not find peace in hell without their beloved. They would wander the spaces between, searching, yearning, until time itself came to an end.
That was the gift and the curse of dragon love.
And Erza had fallen.
She had fallen for this human—this small, scarred, broken human who cooked breakfast and smiled too much and asked too few questions. She had fallen for him before she had known his past, before she had understood his pain, before she had witnessed the depths of his suffering. And now that she knew, now that she understood, now that she had seen the laboratory and the Death Well and the arena... she was ready to burn the world for him.
She was ready to destroy kingdoms. Topple empires. Spill blood until the oceans ran red. And if someone did not stop her now, she would likely kill them all—every enemy, every threat, every person who had ever hurt him.
Or she would be killed trying.
Isvarn stepped forward.
His boots—old leather, worn soft by centuries of use—made no sound on the wooden floor. His robes, deep blue and silver, brushed against the doorframe as he passed. He moved with the grace of a predator, the careful deliberation of someone who had learned, through long experience, that words could wound as deeply as any blade.
He chose his words carefully, weighing each syllable before he spoke, measuring each sound.
"My queen," he said, his voice low and respectful, smooth as aged wine. "It is not possible to bring him to the Atlantis Kingdom."
Erza's violet eyes narrowed.
The warmth that had been there moments before—the softness, the vulnerability, the grief—froze over. Her gaze became cold as winter steel, sharp as the edge of a blade. Her lips pressed together into a thin line. Her arms tightened around Yuuta's sleeping form, pulling him closer, as if she was already protecting him from Isvarn's words.
"I decided, Grandpa," she said, her voice flat, emotionless. "I already told you. I will bring him with me. No matter what."
Isvarn did not flinch.
He had faced her wrath before. He had watched her grow from a Toddler—small and weak and rejected, thrown into the Snow Forest to survive or die—into the most powerful being in existence. He had seen her at her worst, bloody and screaming, and at her best, cold and calculating. He knew when to bow and when to stand firm.
This was a time to stand firm.
"No, my queen. I am not questioning your decision." He held up a hand, palm out, a gesture of peace. "I am simply worried—"
"About whom?.....Elder?" Erza interrupted, her voice rising, cracking like ice under pressure. "Do not worry about Elder, Grandpa. I will take care of everyone. If they want blood, I will give them blood. If they want war, I will give them war."
Her voice was cold. Absolute. The voice of a being who had never lost a battle, who had never retreated from a fight, who had never been defeated. But beneath the coldness, Isvarn heard something else—a tremor, a crack in the armor, a hint of the desperation that lurked beneath.
Isvarn shook his head slowly.
His silver braids swayed with the motion, catching the light. His violet eyes, ancient and knowing, met hers without flinching.
"No, my queen. I am not worried about Elder."
Erza paused.
Her eyes, still narrowed, flickered with confusion. Her grip on Yuuta loosened slightly, as if his words had caught her off guard.
"Then whom?"
Isvarn held her gaze.
"Him."
The word hung in the air between them, small but heavy, simple but profound. It seemed to echo off the walls, filling the small apartment, pressing against Erza's chest like a physical weight.
Erza's expression shifted.
The cold fury that had frozen her features cracked, revealing something underneath—uncertainty, perhaps, or fear. Her lips parted. Her brow furrowed. Her eyes, which had been blazing with determination, softened.
"What does that mean?" she asked. Her voice was quieter now, less certain. "Are you worried that he will die by crossfire in War? Do not worry. I will take care of him. No one would touch him while I am alive."
Isvarn's teeth clenched again.
His jaw tightened. His hands, still folded behind his back, curled into fists so tight that his nails bit into his palms. He could feel his own heartbeat, slow and steady, the heartbeat of a dragon who had lived for thousands of years and expected to live for thousands more.
But beneath the steady beat, there was something else. Fear. Not for himself—he had long since stopped fearing for himself. Fear for her. For Erza. For the granddaughter he had watched grow, had trained, had loved despite everything.
"My queen," he said, his voice gentle but firm, "I believe you have forgotten what the Goddess said to the elf kingdom."
Erza froze.
Her body went rigid. Her hands, which had been holding Yuuta, loosened until his head slipped from her shoulder and rested against the cushion. Her eyes, which had been blazing with determination, widened.
The memory surfaced—not the sealed memories of Yuuta's past, but her own. The mountaintop. The altar. The sacred pond. The Goddess's luminous form, blazing with light and power. The words that had fallen from divine lips like stones dropped into deep water.
She had been there. She had listened. She had watched.
But in her rage, in her grief, in her desperate desire to protect Yuuta at any cost, she had pushed those words aside. Buried them. Ignored them.
Isvarn continued, his voice soft, almost gentle.
"I believe you were there, my queen. I believe you heard what the Goddess said." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "She mentioned that if Yuuta stayed in Nova—if he remained in this world, with its high mana and dense esper—the magic in the environment would likely reopen his sealed memories."
He stepped closer, his boots silent on the floor.
"The trauma would return. The pain would resurface. And it would be extreme."
Erza's face went pale.
The color drained from her cheeks, leaving her skin white as snow, white as the bone of the Dreadvex Ape's skull. Her lips trembled. Her hands, which had been holding Yuuta, fell to her sides.
She remembered.
She remembered the Goddess's warning. The queen's bowed head. The elders' troubled expressions. She remembered the Goddess saying that Yuuta needed to be sent to Earth—to the Cursed World, to the place of low mana—to live without worry, without fear, without the constant threat of his sealed memories breaking free.
But she was not going to accept that.
She could not.
She would not.
"You do not have to worry about it," Erza said, her voice strained, tight, as if the words were being pulled from her throat against her will. "I will make his room mana-free. I will make my whole palace mana-free. A place much like Earth. A sanctuary where the magic cannot reach him."
She looked at Isvarn, her violet eyes wide, desperate, searching his face for agreement, for acceptance, for any sign that he believed her plan could work.
Isvarn did not look away.
But his expression did not change.
"My queen," he said slowly, carefully, as if explaining something to a child who did not want to understand, "remember what happened when you tried to erase his memory. Remember how violently he screamed in agony. Remember how his body convulsed on the floor of the memory chamber. Remember how close he came to breaking completely."
Erza's hands trembled.
She remembered.
She remembered the sound of his screams....not the screams of the arena, not the screams of the Dreadvex Ape's fists falling, but something worse. The scream of a mind being torn apart. The scream of memories being ripped from their roots. The scream of a soul that had already suffered too much being asked to suffer more.
"Imagine," Isvarn continued, "if he were exposed to high mana. If the seal cracked. If the memories came flooding back—not one by one, not slowly, not gradually—but all at once. A tidal wave of pain. A hurricane of suffering. Every needle. Every burn. Every broken bone. Every moment of the laboratory, the Death Well, the arena. All of it. At once."
He stepped closer, close enough to see the tears gathering in Erza's eyes, close enough to see the way her breath caught in her throat.
"What do you think would happen to him, my queen?"
Erza did not answer.
She could not.
Isvarn's voice dropped to a whisper.
"This time, we helped him. We were there. We repaired the seal. We held him while he screamed. But what about next time? What if we are not there? What if we are too late?"
He paused.
"What if his mind shatters before we can reach him?"
His voice was soft, almost gentle, but the words cut like blades.
"He would lose himself, my queen. He would disappear. The man you love—the man who cooks breakfast for your daughter, who smiles at you, who holds your hand in the quiet hours of the night—he would be gone. And there would be nothing—nothing—that could bring him back."
Erza stood in silence.
Her face was hidden behind her hair—the long silver strands that had fallen forward, curtaining her expression from the world. Her hands hung at her sides, limp and useless. Her chest rose and fell with shallow, rapid breaths that seemed to cost her everything.
Isvarn's voice was soft when he spoke again.
"So please, my queen. Do not make him suffer more. He deserves peace. He has earned it. Let him have it."
Erza did not answer.
She stood without moving, without speaking, without breathing. Her body was a statue carved from ice and grief, frozen in the dim light of the apartment. Her eyes, hidden behind her hair, stared at nothing.
Then she stood up.
Her movement was slow, mechanical, as if her body was moving without her permission, as if she was a puppet and someone else was pulling the strings. Her legs trembled beneath her. Her hands, hanging at her sides, opened and closed, opened and closed, fingers curling into fists and then relaxing, over and over.
She walked toward the balcony.
Her steps were unsteady—not the confident stride of a queen who had never doubted herself, not the predatory grace of a dragon who ruled the skies. She stumbled once, catching herself on the arm of the couch, and kept walking. Her silver hair swayed behind her, catching the dim light of the apartment, trailing like a cloak of frozen water.
Her face was still hidden.
Isvarn watched her go.
He wanted to follow. He wanted to reach out. He wanted to hold her—the way he had held her when she was a hatchling, small and scared and alone in the Snow Forest, when she had cried against his chest and he had promised her that everything would be all right.
But he did not.
He knew his granddaughter. He knew that sometimes she needed to be alone. Sometimes she needed to rage. Sometimes she needed to fly.
Erza reached the balcony door.
Her hand, trembling, pushed it open.
The night air rushed in—cold and gentle, carrying the scent of the city below, the distant sound of cars and wind and the soft murmur of a world that did not know what had happened here tonight. The curtains billowed inward, brushing against her arms like the touch of a ghost.
She stepped onto the balcony.
The stars above were faint, hidden behind the lights of Luna City—the glow of streetlamps and apartment windows, the distant gleam of cars moving along distant roads. But Erza did not look up. She looked out—at the horizon, at the darkness, at the future that waited for her just beyond the edge of the city lights.
She let out her wings.
The white wings unfolded from her back—graceful as silk, strong as steel, wide enough to catch the wind and carry her anywhere she wanted to go. They stretched outward, filling the balcony, brushing against the railings and the walls. The moonlight caught them, illuminating each feather, each curve, each delicate line.
They were the wings of a dragon.
The wings of a queen.
The wings of a being who had never been grounded for long, who had always found freedom in the sky, who had always believed that there was no problem she could not solve, no enemy she could not defeat, no wall she could not break.
She stood at the edge of the balcony, her wings spread wide, her hair blowing in the night wind.
Isvarn watched from the doorway.
"You need time to think My Queen," he said.
It was not a question.
Erza did not turn around. Her voice, when she spoke, was barely audible—a whisper carried away by the wind, scattered across the rooftops of Luna City.
"Yes."
She stepped off the balcony.
Her wings caught the air, and she rose—higher and higher, into the night sky, toward the stars that were hidden but not gone. She became a shape of white against the darkness, a ghost against the city lights, a queen fleeing from a decision she could not make.
She disappeared into the darkness.
Isvarn watched her go.
He stood in the doorway of the apartment, his ancient body framed by the dim light within, his silver braids stirring in the wind from the open balcony. His violet eyes, sharp as swords and deep as oceans, followed her until she was nothing but a speck against the stars.
Behind him, Yuuta slept on the floor unaware of eveything.
His black hair spread across the pillow. His red eyes were closed. His chest rose and fell with slow, steady breaths. He did not know what had been decided. He did not know what had been almost decided and then set aside. He slept, peaceful and unaware, his sealed memories resting quietly within his chest.
Isvarn turned away from the balcony.
He walked to the couch and looked down at the human man who had changed everything. Yuuta's face was relaxed, free of the tension that usually marked his waking hours. His lips were slightly parted. His hands, resting at his sides, were open and still.
"You deserve peace," Isvarn murmured, his voice too soft for anyone to hear. "And she deserves to give it to you. But the world is not kind, and the future is not certain, and I fear..."
He did not finish the sentence.
He did not need to.
The night stretched on.
And the future, dark and unknowable, waited just beyond the horizon.
To Be Contiuned....