The valley still hissed with fading embers.
Where a sea of demons once stood, nothing remained, no ash, no bone, no shadow.
Only the faint scent of holy fire lingered, clinging to the air like a warning written by the heavens.
The warriors stared at Shino in breathless awe.
None of them had ever witnessed power like that, two flaming wings rising from his back like the spirits of forgotten seraphs,
and a single command turning an entire horde into nothingness.
Shino exhaled slowly, letting the last traces of fire fade from his blade.
"Alright, everyone," he said, his voice steady but tired.
"We continue our journey. Gather the horses.
We must reach the bridge before sunset."
Boots shuffled.
Armor clicked.
The warriors snapped out of their trance and rushed to prepare.
But Shino did not move.
His gaze drifted toward the makeshift graveyard, the scattered stones and freshly disturbed earth where fallen comrades rested.
A quiet shadow crossed his face, one none of them noticed… except Peter.
"Sir," Peter called gently. "We are ready."
Shino turned.
For a moment, something softer flickered in his eyes.
"Good," he said. Then, with a small nod, "And… well done out there. A clean strike, new one."
Peter straightened, pride stirring in him for the first time since joining the unit.
"Thank you, sir," he replied.
Shino's grip tightened faintly on his sword
and without another word, he mounted his horse, the others following close behind as the sun dipped behind the mountains like a dying ember.
(Capital of Valnic)
The sun hung at its highest point, pouring golden light over the kingdom of Valnic.
Marble towers gleamed. Banners fluttered lazily.
The entire capital basked in a glory that almost made one forget the wars raging beyond its borders.
In the palace garden, where trimmed hedges framed ancient statues of forgotten kings, Philip sat alone beneath a flowering tree.
For once, silence belonged to him.
The scent of lilies drifted around him as he closed his eyes and let the calm wash over the scars of battle.
Footsteps approached, soft, graceful, unmistakably royal.
Philip opened his eyes to see Queen Sarah walking toward him, her green gown brushing lightly against the stone path.
"I see you're enjoying yourself, Philip," she said, a warm but knowing smile on her lips.
"It must be back-breaking… all these wars you've been dragged into with my son."
Philip rose slightly in greeting, then relaxed again, offering her the seat beside him with a gentle gesture.
"Well… good afternoon, Your Majesty. Would you care to join me?"
His smile softened, almost boyish.
She sat beside him, her presence bringing a calm dignity to the moment.
"My back is still as good as ever, my queen," Philip said lightly.
Sarah chuckled—soft, melodic.
"Oh, please. You can say all that because my son has been the one holding you up in battle. Shino has been your backbone these past few years."
Philip lowered his gaze with a humble grin.
"Perhaps," he admitted, "but I fight beside him, not behind him."
"Yes, yes… Yeager has been helpful," Philip said, leaning back with a sigh.
"He has done greatly in the battles against the Hell creatures."
Sarah's expression dimmed, a quiet bitterness rising beneath her royal calm.
"And yet… he is still called an 'unfit' king."
Her voice trembled just slightly.
"All his efforts, all his victories, all his sacrifices… dismissed. Because of a choice they made?"
Philip's gaze fell to the garden stones.
He spoke with soft firmness.
"We do not question the choices of the Heavens or the reasons behind them," he said.
"We place our hope… and our faith… in what they have written."
He paused, then continued more gently.
"Besides, Shino has worked tirelessly to meet the responsibilities laid before him. Ever since their father, my brother—passed in the line of duty… it has been hard on both of them. Yet they have done everything they can. Everything."
Sarah watched him with an unreadable look, the sunlight catching the sorrow in her eyes.
"Your words never grow old, Philip," she said softly.
She rose from the bench, smoothing her dress, and began to walk slowly out of the garden, her figure framed by the shimmering palace light, regal but burdened.
As the garden sank back into its quiet breath,
a soft, familiar voice drifted through the stillness
gentle enough to calm a storm.
"Good afternoon, Uncle Philip."
The old man lifted his head, warmth rolling over his features like sunlight breaking through clouds.
"Well… look who it is."
A smile creased his face. "Elisa. How have you been? Come, sit with me, my dear."
She stepped forward with, grace and a gentle spirit. Red hair and brown eyes.
"Thank you, Uncle. I'm fine, sir."
Philip chuckled lightly, his eyes studying her with the affection of a father who never had the chance to be one.
"So… how are your parents?"
"They're fine, sir." She straightened her dress. "And work? How is it holding up?"
"Fine, my dear, fine."
He exhaled, leaning back on the wooden bench.
"It's been long since I heard from you, ever since you moved to the academy to study."
"Yes… it's been a year now," she said softly.
"But I'm back."
Philip nodded, pleased, but something sharper flickered in her eyes, anticipation… or worry.
"How is Shino?" she asked.
"He is fine," Philip replied, folding his hands calmly over his knee. "In fact, he is on a mission as we speak."
Elisa's brows lifted. "A mission?"
"Yes." His voice lowered.
"It was assigned by the Council—tracking a special-class demon, investigating the ruins of several villages. Shino volunteered the moment the scroll was placed before him."
A faint chill crossed her expression.
"I hope he's safe," she murmured. "A lot has happened since I left… the world feels heavier."
Philip rested a reassuring hand over hers.
"Do not worry, dear. Shino has become a great man. Stronger than even he realizes."
A gentle smile touched his lips.
"He can handle it."
"Thank you, Uncle." Elisa rose with a graceful nod. "I need to leave now. My friends are waiting for me at the library."
"Go on, my dear," Philip said, lifting his hand in a gentle wave. "Study well. And send my greetings to your family for me."
"They will. Goodbye, sir."
She turned, her steps light on the stone path as she made her way toward the garden gate. Sunlight filtered through the blossoms overhead, casting shifting patterns across her white dress. For a moment, Philip watched her, quiet, thoughtful before she disappeared beyond the arch of vines and roses.
The garden fell silent once more, the soft hum of the kingdom returning to its distant lull.
(Lazarus home)
The evening sun bled through the cracks of the wooden window, its dying light stretching across David's face like a fading blessing.
He sat alone in the quiet, his hands open before him—hands that had done something he still could not understand.
The memory of the morning replayed in his mind like a wound that refused to close.
A sharp, rhythmic sound broke through the silence.
Thud… Thud… Thud…
David rose and stepped outside.
There, beside the old stump, Lazarus stood with an axe in hand, each swing calm, clean, and cruelly precise.
The blade sank into the wood as if the logs willingly surrendered to him.
Lazarus wasn't even using full strength. The strikes were too effortless.
As David walked closer, something heavy washed over him
a pressure, like invisible chains pulling at his bones.
He stopped.
Tried to breathe.
Tried to understand.
Lazarus didn't turn, but his voice came low and certain.
"I see you felt something."
David swallowed.
"What… was that?"
The axe split another log cleanly before Lazarus finally looked up, eyes steady, almost knowing.
"That, David… is a presence."
He rested the axe on his shoulder.
"Every body that holds power carries an aura, an energy that leaks out into the world.
When you step into it… your own body reacts."
David looked at the ground, the weight still lingering on his skin like a cold hand.
"Presence…?" he repeated softly.
Lazarus nodded once.
"And the stronger the being… the heavier it feels."
"This is where your next training starts," Lazarus said.
He lifted the axe effortlessly and tossed it toward David.
David caught it, though the weight bit briefly into his palms.
"What am I going to do?" he asked.
Lazarus folded his arms.
"I want you to connect with your soul and this time, maintain the flow."
David scoffed lightly, but there was fear beneath it.
"Easy to say. You remember what happened last time."
"I do," Lazarus replied, calm and unshaken.
"But this time, don't let your emotions take control.
Let your mind guide the stream.
Clear your head…
focus…
and connect."
David nodded slowly.
"Okay then."
He stepped back, feeling the earth steady under his feet.
He drew in a long breath, then another, letting the world fall into silence.
The evening wind brushed against him; the scent of pine and dust filled his lungs.
He gripped the axe in his left hand, its wooden handle warm, almost pulsing.
His eyes drifted shut.
His breath softened.
His heartbeat slowed.
And in the quiet
He reached inward.