LOCATION: SENSON DOCKS.
FIRST ONE'S FLEET FLAGSHIP—PRESENT TIME.
Angela: "Dictator Hera…? Are you alright?"
The Supreme Priest's voice arrived from far away, muffled beneath layers of memory and noise.
Angela: "You've been drifting in and out for several minutes now."
Hera abruptly tore herself free from the lapse.
A sharp inhale ripped through her lungs.
Her hand flew against her chest while ragged breaths staggered from her mouth one after another. Crimson eyes struggled desperately to regain focus beneath widened pupils swimming with exhaustion and confusion alike.
For a brief moment, she looked genuinely lost.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale—
Slowly, Hera pieced herself back together.
Her fingers rose toward the brim of her black peaked hat, carefully adjusting it until shadow once again concealed part of her expression from the world around her.
Then she finally turned toward Angela.
The Supreme Priest had been brought back to the fleet.
Back to the infirmary.
The infirmary.
The two women sat beside one another atop small wooden stools beneath the dim orange glow of hanging lanterns.
And directly before them was…
The bed.
Angela's complexion had gone ghostly pale ages ago.
Her trembling eyes remained locked upon the figure lying motionless atop the sheets, as though looking away might somehow make the sight even worse when she returned to it.
Then she noticed Hera staring at her.
The Supreme Priest stiffened immediately.
That gaze.
Titans above… that glacier-like gaze.
Hera's scarlet eyes pierced through her with such suffocating coldness it felt less like being watched and more like being condemned by death itself.
Angela quickly averted her eyes. She could not endure looking into them for long.
There was no warmth left within Hera Xyles right now.
Only frost.
It felt as though the air within the infirmary had thickened into swamp water.
Every breath dragged heavily through the lungs. Every creak of wood sounded drowned beneath the immense pressure of Hera's silent fury.
The Dictator growled low beneath her breath, violently uncrossing one leg and slamming her boot against the floorboards hard enough to rattle the stools beneath them.
Angela nearly flinched out of her skin.
Hera: "Tsk… Don't stare at him like that. Like he's some… some…"
Her voice strangled itself apart.
The bed remained motionless before them both.
Kaiser.
His body lay buried beneath sweat-soaked sheets and dim lanternlight, frighteningly still apart from the occasional twitch of pain rippling through his stomach. Tight white bandages swallowed most of his head whole, wrapping around his eyes, forehead, neck, and jaw in endless layers until he scarcely looked human anymore. Only his nose and mouth remained visible beneath the cloth.
Every breath entering his lungs seemed poisoned the moment it touched him.
The smell was unbearable. Almost abhorrent.
It was the sour stench of opened flesh left too long beneath summer heat. The smell of organs surrendering themselves to slow decay while the body housing them still clung to life. A nauseating mixture of copper, sweat, bile, rot, and medicinal herbs saturated the infirmary so completely that Angela could practically taste it coating the back of her throat.
Only a sleek black compression garment remained stretched over his ruined body now. His ceremonial robes had long since become worthless scraps drenched in gore.
Thin rivers of sweat crawled endlessly across his pale skin.
They gathered beneath his neck.
Rolled down his ribs.
Soaked through the mattress beneath him until damp, glistening patches spread outward like blooming fungal growths feeding upon the bed itself. The odor alone had lured several greedy flies into the infirmary already.
Tiny black scavengers.
Their tiny legs twitched eagerly whenever they landed upon the bedframe, drawn toward the rotting wound like worshippers gathering before some mutilated god.
Blink.
One breath passed.
A soft metallic hiss whispered through the room.
The flies simply ceased existing.
Hera's dagger had already left its sheath and returned to it.
Reduced to particles so impossibly microscopic that their remains floated through the lanternlight like drifting black pollen.
Angela never even noticed the motion.
Her attention remained hopelessly shackled to the true horror resting upon the bed.
The wound.
The glimmering violet-blue lunar threads stitched across Kaiser's abdomen trembled violently beneath the pressure of his failing body. They stretched from one side of the enormous gash to the other like glowing spiderwebs, desperately trying to hold together collapsing architecture. Each delicate strand pulled so tightly it looked moments away from snapping apart entirely.
The flesh surrounding the injury no longer resembled flesh at all.
It was butchered.
Blackened red meat curled outward around the split cavity in his stomach while dreadful veins of rot crept beneath the surrounding skin like worms burrowing through fruit. Thick black ichor continuously leaked from the depths of the wound in sluggish little streams, spilling across his waist and drying into the mattress below in ugly tar-like stains.
The injury looked less like a wound and more like something had attempted to hollow him out from the inside.
Angela's stomach twisted.
Angela: "Dictator Kaiser…"
She had never witnessed suffering this severe before.
Not even during the destruction of Senson.
The mere thought of experiencing such agony made ice slither down her spine.
Meanwhile, Hera's expression slowly unraveled.
The cold fury within her scarlet eyes dimmed just enough for grief to bleed through the cracks.
Carefully—far more carefully than someone like Hera usually touched anything—she slipped her fingers beneath Kaiser's fragile hand and held it against her palm.
Then she leaned closer.
Her glass prosthetic brushed softly against the edge of the mattress while her real hand rose toward his face, gently caressing the side of his cheek with aching tenderness.
She could not bear seeing him reduced to… this.
But abandoning him here alone would have hurt her even more.
Her lip quivered.
Hera bit down hard enough for her teeth to pierce vermilion flesh, the sharp taste of iron immediately flooding her mouth as tears threatened to rise again.
No.
Not now.
Hera: "Angela."
The Supreme Priest straightened instantly, nearly stumbling over herself before turning fully toward the grieving Dictator.
Angela: "Y-Yes, Dictator?"
Hera swallowed hard.
Slowly, almost uncertainly, she lifted her hand toward the center of her chest and pressed her palm against it as though attempting to physically steady the storm raging beneath her ribs. Her fingers curled weakly against the dark fabric of her uniform while her breathing turned shallow once more.
The words refused to come easily.
Hera: "I-I…"
Her voice cracked apart almost immediately.
The sentence withered inside her throat before it could fully emerge, forcing Hera to abruptly stop speaking altogether. She lowered her gaze toward Kaiser's unconscious body, jaw tightening while she fought fiercely to regain control over herself.
Inhale.
Exhale.
The lights above them flickered softly across her pale face.
Hera: "For the past several weeks… before this fleet ever reached the docks of this peninsula…
I've remained here. Beside him. I would not leave him."
A pause followed.
Long.
Heavy.
Hera: "And I still refuse to."
The confession lingered weakly within the suffocating infirmary air while the sound of Kaiser's strained breathing quietly rasped between them.
Hera's fingers slowly tightened against her chest.
Hera: "B-But…
I cannot bear it anymore. I cannot keep lowering my head against his chest only to wonder whether his heart has stopped while I sleep beside him…"
Her voice grew thinner.
Smaller.
Hera: "I cannot keep listening for breaths that may no longer come."
At last, she turned toward Angela directly.
Her legs shifted weakly across the wooden floorboards while tears shimmered helplessly inside those cherry irises of hers. Hera's watery crimson gaze locked desperately onto Angela's star-bright blue eyes.
Then she whispered:
Hera: "C-Can you…?"
Angela: "Of course. I will check."
The response arrived instantly.
Without hesitation.
Hera visibly gasped.
Her eyes widened slightly beneath the shadow of her peaked hat, genuine disbelief washing across her exhausted features. Only hours earlier, she had condemned this very woman as a traitor deserving execution. Only minutes ago, she had stared into Angela's soul with enough cold hatred to freeze the blood inside her veins.
And yet…
Angela still answered her to her desperate call...
Hera could scarcely comprehend it.
Hera: "T-Thank you…"
The words escaped her lips shakily.
Hera: "Thank you…"
Angela nodded firmly before carefully scooting her stool closer toward the bedside. Though fear still lingered within her posture, determination slowly overcame it. She inhaled deeply through her nose before gently lowering her head toward Kaiser's concealed torso.
The room suddenly felt deathly silent.
Hera could barely remain still beside her.
Hope.
Terror.
Anticipation.
Each emotion flashed frantically through her scarlet cherries like candle flames trapped inside a storm lantern. Her shuddering hands twisted tightly against one another while she stared at Angela with dire intensity.
Angela finally rested her head against Kaiser's chest.
Her lovely golden curls spilled softly across his ruined torso while she listened carefully for something hidden beneath the grotesque rot and tortured breathing.
The infirmary did not move.
Did not breathe.
Even the lanternfire above seemed afraid to crackle.
…
…
…
Beat.
Angela's head shot upward instantly. Pure shock flooded her milk-white features while her celestial blue eyes widened with sudden life. Her voice quaked with utter astonishment.
Angela: "H-He's alive, Hera! His heart still lives!"
A sharp gasp tore from Hera's lungs as she threw herself downward against Kaiser's chest without a second thought. Her shaking hands clutched at his soaked compression suit while she pressed her ear against him with frantic disbelief.
Then she heard it.
Beat.
The sound shattered her completely.
Tears streamed violently down Hera's pale cheeks as raw sobs ripped free from her chest one after another.
Not silent tears.
Not restrained tears buried beneath dignity and status.
Real tears.
True Tears.
Ugly tears.
The kind born from unbearable relief after choking in absolute terror for far too long…
Her body shook uncontrollably while fractured little hiccups escaped between each heavy breath. She clung tightly to Kaiser's body as though afraid the heartbeat might vanish if she loosened her grip for even a moment.
Herta cried.
And all Angela could do was stare.
Stare in complete stunned silence at the sight before her.
This was Hera Xyles.
One of the mighty Seven Elective Dictators. A woman feared across kingdoms. A woman spoken of like some untouchable divine authority standing infinitely above ordinary men and women.
Yet now…
There was nothing divine about her.
Nothing distant.
Nothing monstrous.
Only a grieving girl clutching the ravaged body of her beloved while crying into his chest like the entire world had finally stopped crushing her heart for one single fleeting moment.
Someone human…
Angela steadily lifted her hand.
The motion was dangerous. Angela understood that much the moment her frigid white fingers hovered above Hera's back...
And yet…
Angela could not simply sit there and watch her unravel.
Slowly—cautiously—her soft hand descended upon Hera's back. Her palm rubbed gentle circles against the broken woman while her gaze drifted once more toward Kaiser's massacred body lying atop the bed.
Hera stiffened immediately beneath the touch.
For one long, dreadful second, Angela feared she had made a terrible mistake.
Then the Dictator leaned into it.
Just slightly.
Just enough for Angela to realize how exhausted she truly was.
Hera Xyles had finally reached her limit.
The burden crushing her shoulders had become too colossal to carry alone any longer. Weeks of fear, fury, sleepless nights, and longing hope had hollowed her from the inside out until there was sparsely anything left beneath the armor besides grief.
Her fingers tightened around Kaiser's ruined hand.
Hera: "K-Kaiser…"
———
Several hours passed by beneath the strange hush blanketing the infirmary.
The silence no longer felt oppressive now. It had become something gentler. Peculiar. Like a heavy winter quilt draped over the room to shield its inhabitants from the horrors prowling outside the wooden walls.
The distant groans of the fleet creaked through the storm-black night beyond the infirmary windows. Somewhere far above, old ropes whined against masts while bitter ocean winds skulked across the decks like starving phantoms.
Inside this room, however…
There was only breathing.
Weak breathing.
Living breathing.
Hera gradually lifted her head from Kaiser's bosom, balancing the brim of her black peaked hat back into its usual pristine position. Even then, she refused to move her hand away from his rib cage. Her gloved palm remained firmly pressed against his torso, clinging to the beautiful rhythmic rise and fall beneath the compression wrappings.
Proof.
She needed proof he was still here.
Every second.
Without it, her thoughts immediately wandered toward darker places.
She sniffled quietly beneath her breath before rubbing her swollen eyes with visible irritation. Her nose had reddened slightly from hours of restrained sobbing, though she clearly despised every trace of weakness staining her appearance.
Bit by bit, the Dictator began pulling herself back together.
Her posture straightened.
Breathing steadied.
Hera eventually turned toward Angela once more, resting both gloved hands atop her knees while silently studying the stunning priestess beside her.
Hera spoke at last.
Her voice remained low and intense, though surprisingly delicate beneath the exhaustion weighing upon it.
Hera: "I imagine you are still wondering why I brought you here… correct?"
Angela nodded cautiously.
Hera's scarlet eyes drifted downward toward the Rocher Staff resting beneath Kaiser's bed. Ancient runes spiraled across its polished frame, faintly shimmering beneath the lanternlight like sleeping veins of starlight buried inside old bark.
Hera: "I saw what you did earlier. Your staff… your Blessed Tool.
The ability to invoke both restoration and decay through aura manipulation alone is not merely impressive. It is extraordinarily rare."
Angela lowered her eyes quietly toward her weapon.
Hera: "Which is precisely why I brought you here."
For the first time in hours, uncertainty crept visibly across Hera's face.
Pure uncertainty.
Hera: "Can you use it on Kaiser?"
Her voice nearly faltered.
Hera: "Heal him. Stabilize him. Awaken him. Anything at all…"
Angela's expression tightened almost immediately.
Thoughts raced frantically behind those bright eyes while she stared toward the grotesque ruin stitched together across Kaiser's guts.
The wound looked wrong.
Just wrong.
The blackened flesh twitched vaguely beneath the lunar threads binding it shut, almost as though something underneath the skin still writhed and breathed on its own.
Alive.
Hera noticed Angela's hesitation instantly.
Hera: "You do not believe it would work? Even so, there is no harm in trying. There must be something your Blessed Tool can do. Perhaps if we—"
Angela: "I-I do not know, Dictator…"
The uncertainty in Angela's voice caused Hera to stop cold.
Angela swallowed hard before continuing.
Angela: "This injury is unlike anything I have ever witnessed before. It feels as though the wound itself is alive. Breathing. Rotting. Changing…"
Her fingers trembled lightly against her robes.
Angela: "This is something far beyond—"
Jerry: "Beyond our understanding."
The infirmary died.
The calm fractured
The warmth ruptured apart like thin glass dropped into frozen waters.
The comforting silence rotted instantly into suffocating dread as something monstrous stepped across the room's threshold and poisoned the atmosphere simply by existing inside it.
It felt as if some colossal abyssal beast had dragged its shadow across the infirmary ceiling and devoured the room whole beneath leagues of black seawater and screaming souls.
A fiendish creature had made it's presence known.
A walking calamity clothed in human skin.
An omen
A devil.
A monster…
Yet in truth…
It was only Jerry Windfield.
The First Captain stood silently near the doorway, fresh from the devastation staining Senson Town behind him. Blood still darkened portions of his cloak in drying streaks while faint traces of sea rain clung to his hair and shoulders.
His expression was unreadable.
Angela's heart nearly stopped.
Terror surged through her entire body so viscously she tumbled from her stool without dignity, crashing hard against the chamber's floorboards. Panic consumed her immediately. She scrambled backward until her spine struck the bedframe behind Kaiser's body.
Sweat poured down her skin.
Her breathing collapsed into frightened little gasps.
Jerry stepped forward once, raising an eyebrow before letting out a small amused chuckle.
Jerry: "Well now… would you look at that. And here I was under the impression you had perished during the fallout.
Seems I underestimated you. My deepest apolog—"
Hiss!
Jerry abruptly recoiled mid-sentence.
Pain sliced through his arm hard enough to contort his face as his head snapped violently sideways toward the source.
Hera.
She had moved in the blink of an eye, hand now wrapped firmly around Windfield's forearm. Her crushing grip resembled an iron vice forged from despise itself. His bones groaned audibly beneath her thrusting fingers while the flesh within his arm compacted inward under immense pressure.
Jerry's once-starlit blue pupils dilated.
For the first time since entering the room, genuine unease flickered across his face. He almost looked frightened.
Her eyes looked dead.
Utterly dead.
And all that remained within them was despair… and hatred.
Cold.
Ancient.
Ageless
Bottomless hatred.
Her fingers pressed deeper into his arm.
Jerry tore himself free almost immediately before retreating several steps backward without thinking, placing a massive gulf of distance between them on pure instinct alone.
He could still feel her chilling gaze burning into his back. That death-like, murderous stare crawled across his spine like frostbite.
That hatred had arisen again.
Jerry: "What the hell is wrong with you…?"
Hera: "Do not walk into this room spewing your meaningless drivel…
Especially not beside the people your actions have damned."
Jerry opened his mouth.
Hera cut straight through him.
Hera: "So stay quiet… and shut the fuck up, you disgusting, foul animal."
Jerry fell silent…
Without sparing him another glance, Hera turned away completely before kneeling beside Angela. Her expression softened instantly as she extended a hand toward the trembling priestess.
Hera: "You have my apologies, Destinies. We shall continue this discussion another time. Until then, you may remain aboard this flagship until further notice."
Her eyes strayed briefly toward Kaiser's unconscious form. The sight alone nearly cracked her composure apart again.
Hera: "For now…"
A pause.
Hera: "I would like to be alone again."
Angela lowered her head at once.
For several moments, she remained motionless there upon the infirmary floorboards, silently weighing the sorrow lingering inside the room like thick funeral incense.
Then she nodded.
Slowly, carefully, Angela rose to her feet before turning toward the infirmary entrance. Her yellow curls swayed softly against her shoulders while the dim lights stretched long shadows underneath her form.
Each step she took sounded unbearably loud against the wet wooden planks.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Her breath abruptly caught inside her throat the moment she drew near Jerry Windfield.
The First Captain had not moved an inch.
He stood near the doorway like a carved monument dragged from the bottom of some forgotten abyss. Silent. Immovable. Colder than winter stone.
Even the lanternlight seemed unwilling to touch him properly.
Angela could feel his presence pressing against her skin like invisible ocean pressure threatening to crush her ribs inward. For one horrible second, terror nearly rooted her in place.
But she squeezed her eyes shut tightly and hurried past him anyway, clutching her robes as though they alone could shield her from the vile gloom hanging around his existence.
Jerry never looked at her.
Never spoke.
He simply remained there in silence, stiller than the fraudulent gold effigies erected in worship of the Lord of Prosperity himself.
Then Hera spoke again.
Hera: "Alone."
She said the word again… and Jerry understood.
A long, weary exhale escaped him as his brown features darkened beneath that same hollow shadow which had haunted him since the Lunar Isles. The same shadow born the moment the Titan of Banishment had laid his judgment upon him.
Jerry dropped his gaze slightly before turning away from the infirmary bed.
Only silence accompanied him as the infirmary doors groaned shut behind his departing figure.
And then…
There was nothing left.
Nothing poisoning the atmosphere…
Now only Hera remained.
Alone.
Alone beside the man whose heartbeat she had spent weeks listening and waiting for in the dark. The one she would never stop mourning for.
Kaiser.