The violet sky trembled, crying out. Its shudders spread into strange distortions.
The ocean reached toward the heavens, fusing sky and sea into one. Glimmers of light shimmered, climbing upward to drape across the canvas of the atmosphere.
The music of the storm wind shrieked, slicing the air into fractured directions.
Clouds churned against the current, swirling upward into a chasm that pierced beyond the azure sky. Amid the brilliance of threefold lights, the figure of starlight emerged.
They cradled the frail body of the Exalt of the Stars, restoring the power that should have been his. Golden hair unfurled, muscles reformed, sinew and strength woven anew from points of light.
The wasted frame became whole again.
A handsome face took shape, sculpted as though from the original features of the Exalt of the Stars, perfectly proportioned as if molded from divine stone.
A long cloak, woven from luminous butterflies, now blazed with miraculous radiance.
The ordinary garment bore intricate symbols of ancient script, unreadable to all, its strokes flowing like endless ink, entwined with the designs of forgotten trees with no living archetype.
Golden eyes shone brilliantly, surveying all with majestic gaze, while threefold light encircled his body.
The stars had inherited part of their power, now gathering above the heavens, upon a single sky.
Yet even as his body recovered, the Exalt of the Stars sank into slumber within the arms of the constellation.
The southern star descended toward the burning earth. A massive man crashed onto the ground, tearing the land apart.
He raged wildly, hurling himself against the great army, crushing everything in his path with fists alone. His radiant form struck with such speed that in an instant the ground nearly collapsed into the deep earth—yet was halted by a single spear.
A long-haired man stood among the ruins, wearing a tattered black cloak over heavy bone armor. He strode forward, halting before the southern star.
With a flick of his hand, he pulled the spear from the clash.
An empty warrior clad in thin, shadowy armor lifted the long spear, preparing to throw. But the long-haired man raised his hand, halting the attack.
Darkness spread from every stone at his feet. The stench of death seeped into every corner, into every grain of existence.
The southern star could not comprehend this. With a roar, he struck the ground and lunged forward, fists blazing.
The assault was beyond prediction, catastrophic in force. The land shook violently, the air grew heavy, explosions snapping with each impossible movement.
The long-haired man smirked.
He leaned aside, evading the strike faster than sound, and swung. From the black mist, a bone blade appeared, cutting through the southern star in one swift stroke.
The light of the world dimmed, snuffed out in the span of a single breath.
The bone blade split the southern star in two. With a dangerous smile, the man lifted his eyes toward the sky again, proud and unyielding.
The northern star's cold gaze faltered. Reason offered no clear answer. Every choice led to a different end. Death could not be reversed, and above all, the duty remained: to open the path of escape for the Exalt of the Stars.
The sturdy figure's voice rang firm, commanding the eastern star:
"Rencia! From here on, you must carry the Exalt away! Do not falter—live, and protect him!"
With those words, he hurled himself at the countless warships, moving as if within the breath between heartbeats.
Brilliance flared, spreading into a storm of light. Amid the countless attacks of the Dungeon Organization, the radiant figure held still, smiling.
A young man, face like that of a maiden, supported the recovering Exalt, his gaze falling sadly upon the northern star.
Above, the radiant form unleashed annihilation in an instant. Light swept across the oceans, engulfing the Dungeon Organization's harbor, erasing tens of millions of lives along with himself.
In a blink, the eastern star surged forward, flying faster than sight. His body blurred into the colorless velocity of light, transcending time and space. The movement was swift—but the toll upon his body was dire.
The final radiance faded. Blood blinded his eyes, arms and legs twisted, weightless, broken.
He pierced through unseen boundaries.
Amid lingering smoke, a figure awaited them. A golden cloak fluttered in the wind as a deep, commanding voice lulled the eastern star into slumber.
"Welcome back… senior disciple."
…
In the distance, lights approached.
A convoy of carriages, escorted by mounted soldiers, halted before them. The young noble was seized immediately.
A hand rested firmly upon Victor's shoulder.
"From here, Rasentiven will take control. We'll proceed with negotiations to reduce the risk of war."
With that, Barrel mounted his horse.
"Victor, I'll take you to find a way to save her. Please, come with me. You also need treatment for your wounded hand."
Victor's dark eyes fell upon the blood-soaked cube in his palm before he climbed onto the horse. The outcome had strayed far from what he expected.
What should have been straightforward had become tangled—shaped by the hands of many. The Revolution's true strength lay not only in numbers, but in its hidden abilities, its supernatural knowledge, and its network of escape routes and systems.
Not only coachmen, but even professors, even soldiers within the army—anyone could be among them.
They could not be measured by ordinary means.
Victor pondered as the horse quickened through the night, across dry grass, over the black river, into the city.
Lights glinted in his eyes. Hooves thundered past shops and offices, across bridges, deep into the heart of the city.
He could not help but think of the path ahead—the need to seize power, to shape his own future. There were no shortcuts, no easy thoughts.
Observation had shown not only his weakness, but also the vastness of a world beyond reach.
He lifted his face to the night wind. He refused to be just another man in a city's shadow.
He was different—greater. None of these people had seen what he had seen. None possessed the breadth of knowledge he carried. They were but painted figures in a false world, like characters in a story.
The horses slowed, circling a marble fountain. The turbulence of thought settled into calm.
"We've arrived," Barrel said. "This facility was built to study miracles alongside history. Here, science seeks to understand—and perhaps control—the source of miracles."
Victor's eyes narrowed.
"Wait… you mean these powers could be controlled—without sacrificing life?"
"Perhaps. If we can understand their transformation from the original energy source, maybe we could control them… or even create them! No… I shouldn't say such things."
Barrel slumped, then quickly turned back, grinning awkwardly.
"Sounds absurd, doesn't it?"
"Of course. Pure fantasy. But I hope you'll tell me more later."
Victor's voice was calm. He cared little until he understood the full process of possession. Killing—he knew. Transformation, as Barrel described—this raised troubling questions, especially about Selith.
He rubbed his head, weariness setting in. Perhaps he should rest.
But if he could return with her, perhaps he would earn trust—and take one step closer to freedom.
Whether observation, test, or manipulation by Dengart, the path had brought him here.
Victor lifted his chin, proud despite the shadows in his gaze, and followed Barrel inside.
Barrel gestured eagerly, explaining:
"This room belonged to a professor forty years ago. He experimented with a drug to destroy miracle-power in humans. No evidence, no proof—but then, both he and the drug vanished. They say someone made sure of it. Incredible, isn't it?"
"…Was it a colleague?" Victor asked.
Barrel hushed him, whispering nervously.
"Rasentiven investigated, but only found a mystery. No exits in District Sixteen's underground. Unless a miracle-user intervened, it must have been a failed experiment gone terribly wrong."
"Then why tell me this?" Victor crossed his arms.
Barrel smiled weakly.
"Because it means this place isn't safe. And… professors here die mysteriously. The latest was a historian, found dead in a nearby alley."
Victor's expression sharpened.
"So the underground was built long ago, tied to governance. Why is it a Revolutionary refuge now?"
"You didn't grow up here. This was built in the age of dragon hunters, surviving until Ravenis fell. When northern Ravenis troops and wealthy migrants seized power, the last Ravenis ruler in Venn burned all records and died with his government."
Victor nodded slowly. "Then observe the people around you carefully. It may draw you deeper into this matter."
Barrel's shoulders slumped. "You're asking me to risk my life, aren't you…"
He continued gloomily, pointing out rooms and corridors until they reached a chamber upstairs. A middle-aged man awaited.
"Professor Rendel," Barrel said. "He's wounded at the hand. His companion remains sealed."
The professor rose politely, a refined man.
"Please, sit. Make yourself comfortable. Barrel, wait outside."
Victor sat, setting the cube beside him. Rendel examined his hand carefully.
"You're lucky—the bullet passed through cleanly. I'll prepare medicine. Bear with it."
Victor drank the familiar vial, watching green light knit flesh and sinew across his palm.
Astonishment flickered in his eyes. It worked exactly as it always had—yet it was still unbelievable.
He lifted the cube before Rendel's face. Shadows shifted within.
"Can you tell me more about this?"
"Of course. It's a Blood Soldier—military-forged, like a weapon."
"I must test something. Forgive me if it seems harsh."
Rendel raised a hammer high and brought it down. Bloodlight burst forth, splattering across the room. Cracks split the cube, and shadow leaked free.
Selith's radiant form emerged, unconscious. Victor rushed to catch her.
But the blood scattered across the floor stirred—gathering, forming something new.
"Get out! Now!" Rendel shouted.
Victor shoved the door open, carrying her into the hall.
He turned back to see—blood coalescing into a heavily armored knight, standing before Professor Rendel.
A sword of blood began to form, striking swift and true.
Barrel drew his pistol and fired.