The pressure was gripping, a menacing weight of power that seemed to suffocate the entire room of the massive castle. No one dared to speak, their breaths caught in their throats, as if the very air had turned solid under the overwhelming presence. Every flag, every banner in the hall seemed to tremble slightly, vibrating with the intensity that saturated the space. Shadows stretched across the ornate walls, cast by the flickering torches, giving the hall a sense of movement, as if the castle itself was aware of the impending storm. Then, Lyoth's presence became absolute—he seated himself on the throne, a living embodiment of authority and terror combined, and the room seemed to shiver in acknowledgment.
The flags swayed subtly, as if leaning toward him, encircling the king's throne in a silent, almost reverent siege. A shiver ran down the spines of all present, for none dared to meet his gaze. Lyoth's eyes swept the room with quiet intensity, then finally rested on Zeiris. "Speak," he commanded, his voice low and chilling, resonating like distant thunder. His daggers, sheathed but ever-present, glinted ominously under the torchlight, tucked neatly within his dark coat as though they themselves were sentient extensions of his will.
Zeiris stepped forward, a smirk ghosting his lips, his movements deliberate and precise. "Long time no see, brother," he said, his voice laced with a mixture of casual familiarity and the subtle sting of threat. In the blink of an eye, a flicker of blackness surrounded him, and Zeiris found himself standing within the Death Reaper's presence. His heart raced, and his eyes widened in shock at the sheer speed and power that had drawn him in. "So fast," he whispered, his voice betraying his awe.
Lyoth's gaze remained steady, piercing, and unreadable, yet not entirely hostile. "Why do you come here?" he asked, his tone even but laced with curiosity and latent caution. "Weren't you banished long ago?" The question hung in the air like a suspended dagger, sharp and waiting.
The Death Reaper stared back at him, his eyes like pale fire, hungry and assessing. He was one of the favorites of Xeudeus, yet here he was, confronting Lyoth with neither fear nor hesitation.
Zeiris's lips curled slightly. "Brother, do you really think I would not come to meet my siblings? The dearest ones?" His voice carried a strange mixture of warmth and menace, a contradiction that unsettled even the seasoned soldiers standing near the walls.
Lyoth's expression did not change, though his mind was quick, calculating. He knew Zeiris was dangerous, cunning, and clever, yet there was undeniable usefulness in his presence. Sometimes the most dangerous allies were also the most indispensable.
The Death Reaper spoke, his voice heavy as rock, vibrating with a weight that made the floor beneath them tremble slightly. "Where were you all this time? You returned from nowhere, without warning."
Zeiris laughed softly, a sound that seemed to ripple through the room like wind through dry leaves. "Big boy, I missed you too." He reached into the folds of his dark coat and produced a black orb, its surface swirling with energy, dark yet alive. "Here, take this. You have several cuts that need attention. This will make you stronger, better, and overall more useful."
As the orb made contact with the Death Reaper, it unleashed a storm of energy, dark yet invigorating. His wings, damaged from prior battles, transformed, healed instantaneously, while an aura of raw power enveloped him. Every cut, every tear in his form vanished, replaced by reinforced strength. He felt an overwhelming surge, a force that resonated through his body, igniting a hunger for destruction. The air quivered around him as he flexed his renewed power, testing its boundaries.
Zeiris's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "I was gone, not because I wished to leave, but because it was part of the plan—a plan executed flawlessly. And now…" His words faltered as Lyoth began to rise from his throne, stepping toward him with a silent authority that seemed to bend the air itself.
Lyoth's voice, calm yet imbued with an unsettling weight, cut through the tension. "Don't worry. This is your castle as well. Just… don't leave this time." The words were almost miraculous, astonishing from someone so egotistical and dangerous. Zeiris's smirk widened, though a flicker of genuine surprise crossed his eyes.
The Death Reaper could feel the energy coursing through him, his exoskeleton-like body feeling stronger than steel, his very being humming with destructive potential. The ground beneath him seemed to respond, vibrating subtly, acknowledging the surge of power. He spread his immense wings, their shadows casting over the room like looming storms, and flapped them with raw force. Rising high, he could see Lyoth and Zeiris walking out through the grand gates, observing him with a mix of curiosity and approval.
"He is much faster now," Lyoth remarked quietly, almost to himself. "But this is nothing compared to what awaits when the Master is awakened. That… is where true strength lies." His eyes shone, locked onto the horizon of possibilities, contemplating futures that no one else could even perceive.
Meanwhile, far from the shadows of the castle, in the city of Wingman, another presence lingered in quiet contemplation. In the room of one of the most respected teachers, Celitha, the atmosphere was heavy with fatigue. She sat slumped in her chair, rubbing her eyes with long, slender fingers. The candle on her desk flickered, casting faint shadows that danced like restless spirits. Her thoughts were scattered, drifting through memories of battles fought, students lost, and a city teetering on the edge of ruin.
The door knocked, breaking her reverie. Luxorious entered, his movements smooth and deliberate, settling into the chair across from her with an air of composed intent.
"Huh… Luxorious. Why are you here?" Celitha asked, her voice tinged with exhaustion, though curiosity sparked faintly beneath her weariness.
"I need a favor," he said simply, eyes meeting hers with a seriousness that seemed to pierce through the dim candlelight. "It has been a long time since we last met."
Celitha leaned back, sighing heavily. "Nothing much… I am tired. It feels like I have little time in this room, and after the complete ruin of this city, I may live somewhere else… somewhere beautiful."
Luxorious's eyes softened slightly, but his expression remained thoughtful. "Beauty… it is just a mere concept, a fragment of what humans crave. No matter how beautiful or ugly you are, you will always seek what is opposite, or you will change for others. Humans are inherently untrustworthy. Those who seem good often act solely for themselves. Their lives are guided by the search for peace and purpose, by meanings that do not exist in this world—or in us."
Celitha frowned, confusion and despair mingling in her features. "Then? What should I do? How am I supposed to live?"
Luxorious leaned forward, his voice softer now, almost a whisper of guidance amidst the chaos. "Find someone who can love you. That is your purpose. A meaningful, relentless pursuit of life through love—nothing else can guide you as profoundly."
Celitha chuckled lightly, a hint of irony in her tone. "You've become quite the saint, Luxorious. That's what happens when you live as a loner."
"I have never been loved, nor have I ever been betrayed," he admitted, his tone somber yet resolute. "And for a loner, that is fine. It cuts through humanity cleanly, without compromise."
Celitha's eyes softened, and she nodded slowly. "Alright… then, what is it you need help with?"
Luxorious stood, the weight of his presence shifting the room's atmosphere subtly. "The thing I was about to ask… you already know, in a sense. Figure it out yourself." With that, he moved toward the door.
"Celitha, wait!" Her voice rose in urgency, but the door closed firmly, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Slowly, realization dawned. He was sending her away, urging her to leave this place, to go somewhere far from the ruin and despair that had taken root in the city. The candle flickered once more, and Celitha's mind raced, piecing together his cryptic words into a purpose she had not yet fully understood