Hayama's slash swept through the air.
The light of the altar fell silent.
For a fleeting instant, no one understood what had just happened.
Then came the soft sound of something falling onto the marble floor.
Caelendir's head lay upon the altar's marble surface, yet his eyes had not closed.
His gaze remained fixed upon the sky above the arena, where the sacred radiance slowly dimmed into a pale orange dusk.
Hayama stood several steps away, his body half-covered in blood—some belonging to his opponent, some his own.
He sheathed his sword into the scabbard strapped across his back, then slowly turned toward the elven prince's collapsing body.
Beside it, Caelendir's severed head rested upon the marble, no longer carrying the arrogance it once held.
A dense white light gradually consumed Caelendir's vision.
And within that fading brightness, the image of a golden-haired child appeared before him. Standing quietly beyond a doorway, watching the back of an adult elf who stood before a blazing fire.
"Is that… me?" Caelendir thought. His pupils widened.
The altar with its six pillars of light slowly faded away, replaced by a room far too familiar to him.
An eclipse had come at noon.
The sundial still pointed toward midday, yet the world had suddenly darkened.
King Elenvar XVI shouted for every lantern in the kingdom to be lit at once.
But they were too late.
The light vanished before the lanterns could fully shine.
Caelendir's vision pierced through the veil of the past.
And then… those shadow creatures appeared.
The Noctyra.
Beings born from pure darkness. Their bodies resembled feline beasts with scorpion tails.
But the most horrifying thing about them was this:
They did not bring darkness.
They became darkness itself.
Elven children vanished beneath their claws before screams could even escape their throats.
Caelendir's voice trembled. His eyes grew wet.
That night, the entire Kingdom of Illyrien was swallowed by silence.
Every evening thereafter, the elves huddled beneath the safety of lantern light. Any moving shadow was enough to hold their gaze several seconds longer than it should have.
"What irony…" Caelendir whispered weakly. "The end of an Illyrien prince comes at the hands of someone who hides within shadows."
Hayama slowly approached him, then knelt beside the severed head whose eyes were beginning to lose focus.
The altar's light reflected against the black cloth still covering Hayama's face.
"You know… the night was never truly my place. And I don't hate the light, nor do I love the darkness."
That hoarse voice caused Caelendir's eyes to widen once more.
As though every assumption he had carried until now had been wrong.
"It's just… I never had anywhere else to go."
The weight in Caelendir's chest suddenly felt lighter.
A faint smile finally appeared upon his lips.
"So… you never truly hated the light after all?"
Hayama merely let out a long sigh.
As if that alone was answer enough.
Caelendir gazed deeply at him once more.
"Then allow me… to see your face before I leave."
Hayama stared at him for a long moment.
Silence.
Then, with trembling fingers, he slowly removed the black cloth that had always concealed his face.
The altar's light fell across bruised skin and weary eyes.
Nothing more than an ordinary human.
The face of someone who had lived far too long in solitude.
Caelendir froze.
His gaze softened.
A peaceful smile formed upon his bloodstained face.
"Now I understand why the light never truly hated you."
His eyes slowly closed.
Yet his lips still moved soundlessly.
Hayama leaned closer, bringing his ear near the elven prince who was preparing to walk toward a brighter light in another world.
"From this moment onward… we will no longer run from the shadows."
"And we… will walk… and live beside them."
At last, Caelendir became completely still.
The radiance of Aurora Sancta faded entirely.
Above the arena, sunlight finally returned to casting shadows behind Hayama's body—as though guiding the guardian of light onward, while leaving the wanderer of shadows behind in the same endless silence.
The entire Colosseum fell silent.
No cheers remained.
No cries echoed anymore.
Only the gentle sound of white crystal fragments drifting from the body of Prince Caelendir Elenvar.
His form slowly dissolved into glowing dust that danced toward the heavens, leaving behind both sorrow and a lesson:
That darkness was never meant to be the enemy of light.
His final words echoed within the hearts of every elf present.
Tears streamed down their faces as they watched their beloved prince gradually disappear, his peaceful smile remaining until the final particle vanished into the air.
For the first time in their history, the elves no longer feared the night.
Sang Libra slowly rose from her throne. A soft glow radiated from the golden scales in her hand.
"From this day onward, I shall become the guardian who watches over you from the heavens, O children of the Elves. Beginning tonight and forevermore, millions of gentle lights from the skies above shall accompany your nights… carrying on the will of your prince. Prince Caelendir."
Her voice echoed throughout every corner of the Colosseum.
Those words shook the hearts of the grieving.
Their sobs slowly turned into prayers.
Meanwhile, Yue stood upon the highest balcony, looking down upon the countless spectators with eyes no longer gleaming as brightly as before.
Within her thoughts, a question churned endlessly.
Could humans and mythological beings truly coexist one day… without spilling each other's blood?
A cool wind swept through the arena, stirring her remaining eight tails.
One had already been lost in the previous battle, and that loss still trembled painfully within her heart.
Yue lowered her gaze.
Every victory, it seemed, demanded a sacrifice.
And now she finally understood.
Understood what loss truly meant.
Something she had once only heard about in stories.
The kind of loss that tightened the chest and warmed the eyes without warning.
She stared quietly at the tips of her swaying tails.
"Is it possible," she whispered softly, "that losing someone you love truly hurts this much?"
For the Huli Jing race, death was never sudden.
They lived long lives, parting only through age or the natural flow of fate.
Never through bloodshed.
Never by watching a body collapse before their eyes.
But today, Yue had witnessed it all.
Her gaze drifted once more toward the fading remains of the elven prince, now turning into soft green dust carried gently by the wind—as though nature itself were lulling him to sleep with tenderness.
Yue watched the dust until it vanished completely from sight.
Her fingers brushed through strands of honey-gold hair that occasionally fell across her face.
"It seems… there are still many things in this world that I do not yet understand."