Levy: "I'm fine, okay?! I'm fine…"
Levy's messy scarlet curls spilled across her pale face like strands of soaked thread, clinging to skin already marred with bruises and cuts.
Her voice cracked through clenched teeth as she hissed in pain, forcing herself upright on the narrow bed. Her hands trembled slightly as she scanned the room with sharp, disoriented eyes.
There were only five to six Shining Crusaders present.
Only five to six.
Five to six…
The thought lingered for a fraction of a second longer than it should have, like a whisper brushing against the edge of her mind.
Levy quickly shook her head, pushing it deeper into the locked recesses of her consciousness and sealing it away.
Not now.
The room itself was small—a wooden lodge tucked away from the ruins, built from pale birchwood that still carried the faint scent of sap and smoke.
Long tables lined the interior, cluttered with bundles of dried herbs, half-labeled bottles of alcohol, and crates overflowing with medicinal supplies. The lodge was not within Senson Town… or whatever was left of it now. It rested near the outer edges of the Diex Peninsula, far enough to avoid immediate annihilation.
The peninsula itself had not suffered the same direct collapse as its cursed heart, yet it was still choking under the consequences of proximity.
Jerry's tide had flooded the land until it bowed under its own weight
Soil drowned in excess water that did not belong.
What remained was an oversaturated landscape of ruin: swollen earth, collapsing vegetation, and heavy, saturated mud mounds that swallowed what once stood proudly above ground.
The once-whimsical peninsula now looked like something half-dreamed and half-decayed.
The fruit.
Apples. Cherries. Bananas. Pears.
Some lay half-buried beneath the drenched earth, their swollen skins split apart like ruptured organs.
Others had been crushed beneath collapsing debris or dragged into the ravenous seas during the battle.
But none of them remained sweet.
The monstrous tide had overfed the land itself, stuffing the roots with such vile surplus that the orchards could no longer breathe properly. Every branch, every petal, every shuddering patch of soil had become bloated with gluttonous hydro.
The fruits no longer ripened naturally. They simply rotted alive.
Levy rubbed at her aching eyes, her wounded hand slowly reaching toward the oak cabinet beside her bed.
One of the nearby Crusaders immediately noticed the movement and hurried forward, carefully lifting her pearly white glasses before placing them into her palm.
Levy grunted quietly.
Her bandaged fingers trembled as she slid the spectacles over her bruised face, drawing in a slow, restrained breath while peering through the polished lenses.
Still…
Five to six.
No.
Just five.
The blankets shifted softly as her fist tightened beneath them, knuckles grinding together hard enough to make the healing wounds in her arm sting.
Another Crusader stepped forward carefully.
His torn black cape swayed behind him in exhausted motions, streaked with dirt, dried blood, and seawater. The dim lanternlight reflected against his pale blue eyes.
Morgel Truice.
The Health Specialist of the Shining Crusaders.
Morgel: "Captain, you need rest. These wounds are lethal. The more you move, the more suffering your body will endure."
Levy: "I'm fine…! Someone just get me my boots already. I need to check on the—"
Morgel's gloved hand abruptly shot forward, planting itself firmly against her shoulder before forcing her back into the mattress. The wooden bedframe creaked sharply underneath the impact.
Morgel stared down at her with narrowing eyes.
Morgel: "You are not fine."
Levy froze.
Her shoulder trembled beneath his grip as her scarlet pupils widened ever so slightly. The room was suffocated with silence as Morgel's expression darkened.
Morgel: "None of us are."
Levy stared at him for several long seconds.
Then her gaze gradually lowered toward the blankets pooled around her waist.
Pain surged through her body with every tiny movement she made. Brown and gray stitches stretched beneath the thin white gown wrapped around her frame, threatening to split back open.
Her lips parted weakly.
Levy: "How many?"
Morgel: "What?"
Levy suddenly moved.
Her scarred arm surged upward, trembling fingers curling around the silver collar of his coat before violently yanking him downward to her eye level. Levy's wide scarlet eyes bored directly into Morgel's soul. The fear inside them was unbearable.
Levy: "How… many?"
Morgel: "Levy…"
A furious scowl smeared across her face as her grip tightened harder and harder around his collar, wrinkling the fabric beneath her shaking fist.
Her breathing became rapid.
Levy: "TELL ME!"
Silence consumed the lodge.
Even the waves outside seemed to stop.
Then Morgel finally answered.
Morgel: "Twenty-five… out of thirty."
That was the ratio.
Five alive.
Twenty-Five dead.
⸻
After hearing the number, Levy refused to speak to anyone.
She remained in bed for hours afterward, trapped beneath layers of white blankets and dull lights. Sleep came eventually… but only in fragments.
Thin, miserable fragments.
Her eyes would drift shut for a few fleeting minutes before snapping back open again moments later, her body jerking against the mattress as if she had fallen from someplace high above the clouds.
Then the cycle would repeat.
Again.
And again.
By the time the afternoon arrived, sweat clung heavily to her scarred skin despite the cool breeze leaking through the cottage walls.
Outside, the skies were beautiful.
Golden sunlight poured across the Diex Peninsula in shimmering curtains, illuminating the wounded coastline. It was as if the heavens themselves had chosen to ignore the catastrophe that had transpired there only days prior.
The distant waters glittered softly beneath the radiance, rolling against the muddied shores with deceptive calmness.
Levy had eventually requested to be taken outside.
At first, Morgel refused.
Then, after several hours of watching her slowly suffocate inside that tiny room, he reluctantly gave in.
An old oak chair had been placed near the front of the lodge amidst a quiet field of delicate pink flowers. Their tiny petals danced gently beneath the wind, swaying back and forth in soft little waves like miniature oceans blooming from the earth.
Morgel carried Levy there himself.
The cottage door creaked open as he stepped outside, boots sinking slightly into the damp soil before he lowered her gently into the chair.
Levy let her shoulders rest against the timber backrest, feeling the warm air stray across her icy skin.
It felt nice.
Warm.
Peaceful.
But Levy couldn't have cared less. Her mind was somewhere else entirely.
Names.
Richard Buckley.
Hares Will.
Diaona Featherine.
Corsette Petals.
Eiston Adar.
One after another, they wandered through her skull like funeral bells tolling across a never-ending cathedral.
Charles Mousier Marksman…
Crack!
Levy suddenly slammed her fist against the chair's armrest with violent force, the wood splintering loudly beneath the impact. Fresh blood immediately burst from her porcelain knuckles, spilling down the sides of her hand in thin crimson trails.
Morgel sprang into action.
Morgel: "Levy!"
He grabbed both of her arms at once, locking them down before she could strike the chair again. Panic flooded his features the moment he saw the blood.
That same horrible shade of dry crimson.
That same color he had spent days trying to stop from pouring out of the survivors.
Levy struggled fiercely against his restraint, tears finally spilling down her face as her breathing shattered into ragged pieces.
Morgel: "Stop! Please, stop!"
But she couldn't.
She just couldn't…
The Shining Crusaders had survived everything.
They were legends.
Wanderers who had crossed the entirety of the Realm of Rage for centuries, navigating through kingdoms of plague, living forests, flesh-starved deserts, and countless other hells hidden beneath the realm's skin.
They had saved thousands.
Protected thousands.
Buried thousands.
And after all of that suffering…
All they needed was one final completed expedition.
One more journey, and they would finally earn recognition from Theordiex himself. The Titan's colossal stone eyes would finally descend upon them. The Shining Crusaders would finally be acknowledged by Order itself.
…
Until now.
Morgel: "LEVY! STOP—!"
BOOM.
A gigantic lance of bright-blue lightning screamed into the freed heavens, splitting through the skies with enough force to rattle the coastline itself. A grotesque ring of blackened ink exploded outward around it, splashing across the air like the entrails of some ruptured abyssal beast.
Levy stilled.
The radiant pillar twisted viscously beneath the azure veil above, spiraling upward in maddening coils. The foul liquid beneath it began to spread across the earth.
Festering black fluids gnawed through the mud and roots alike, releasing sweltering plumes of teal-green vapor into the wind. The fumes smelled rotten—like drowned flesh left to decay beneath summer heat.
Morgel recoiled immediately, pinching his nostrils shut as revulsion twisted across his face.
Morgel: "What in the Titans' name…?"
Levy: "I-I've seen this before…!"
The memory struck her all at once.
August Morginstein.
That same eruption at Senson Town.
That same bloom of lightning and ink splitting apart the ground itself as the little girl crawled back into the realm of man.
Levy slowly rose from her chair despite the agony ripping through her stitches, her horrified stare locked onto the dying center of the blast.
Levy: "No…"
Dark-grey mist curled across the impact site in sluggish waves, devouring the ruined earth beneath its haze. The world grew strangely quiet again, save for the distant cries of gulls and the bubbling hiss of corrupted mud.
Then A silhouette appeared.
Tall.
Slender.
Wrapped beneath a hooded black cloak that swayed against the sea winds like funeral drapery.
Morgel stepped forward, positioning himself between the figure and Levy without hesitation. His gloved hand tightened around the sheath of his Blessed Tool as tension flooded his body.
Morgel: "Hello?! Who's there?!"
One step.
Cleave!
A violent flare of golden fire erupted through the smoke, cleaving the haze apart in a single incandescent flash.
The silhouette fully revealed itself.
A young boy.
His ragged black cloak billowed ominously behind him, snapping against the coastal winds beside short curls of deep brown hair. Dirt and dried blood stained nearly every inch of him.
Yet his eyes… his eyes still gleamed.
Pristine golden pupils shimmered beneath the sunlight like polished jewels dredged from the bottom of a sacred sea. Around each iris rested a vivid teal-green ring that glowed faintly against the exasperation consuming his face.
His once-pale skin was scarred by bruises, cuts, and half-healed wounds stretching across his arms and throat. His breathing was uneven. Like every inhale hurt.
His shaking fingers tightened around the hilt of a long iron blade—the Calypso Sword shining dimly within his weakened grasp.
Then he spoke.
???: "Stay back. Both of you… stay back."
His name…
Was Johnathan Omenstar.