WebNovels

Chapter 88 - Chapter 86

The voice came from behind—low, steady… yet threaded with a weight that only familiarity could bring. It carried the echoes of nightmares witnessed, horrors better left forgotten.

"Those are Abyssal things," the voice warned, calm but cold, as if naming monsters summoned shadows into the daylight. "Monsters dragged up from the deepest dark of a world never meant to brush against ours. They wear the shape of plants, yes—but it's a cruel deception. Where the Dark Tide's corrosive waves kiss the soil, they root themselves—parasitic, patient, insatiable."

The words hung heavy in the air, sinking into the bones of those present, making the very atmosphere thicken with foreboding.

Frieda spun around. Her eyes—wide, searching—locked onto the speaker.

Her voice cut through the charged silence like a blade, sharp and trembling with sorrow: "Felix…??"

The earth beneath them shuddered—not violently, but as if awakening from a long, haunted memory.

And then—he stepped forward.

A dragon.

Small, yes… but unmistakably a Frost Dragon.

Moonlight caressed his scales, each plate gleaming the purest white, catching the faintest sparkle like snowflakes caught under a frozen star. Resting upon his brow was no mere decoration, but a coronation—a crown of delicate feathers that whispered of ancient lineage and silent authority. His wings unfurled slowly, revealing thin, silken membranes that seemed almost fragile to the eye… yet held a gravity older than the mountains themselves.

For a moment, time held its breath. No one dared to move.

Then—

"It's the dragon from the modern legends…" a soldier breathed, awe and disbelief threading through his words. His spear slipped from his grasp, striking the ground with a hollow clang that echoed like a tolling bell.

Another voice, barely above a whisper, trembled:

"The same one who erased the Abyss's entire front line…?"

The dragon gave no answer. He did not need to.

Felix advanced.

The Abyssal things convulsed and turned into something else, Changing their appearance from the Secret Source Automation and Saurian to something wild, unraveling into snarled, vine-shaped monstrosities—black tendrils twitching and writhing, tasting the air with malevolent hunger.

"They bear only the likeness of plants," a voice murmured, swallowed by the dense tension. "A guise chosen to slither closer to the tree-like world… to drain it of its essence. To dissect it, consume it, and wear it as their own."

Felix's wings snapped open—a flash of blinding white against the creeping darkness—and he surged forward like a storm unleashed. In a swift, precise motion, his claws gripped three of the writhing Tenebrous Mimifloras, crushing them with unyielding strength.

The ground blurred beneath him as he ascended, hauling the shrieking creatures high into the bitter cold air.

"NO! Felix—come back!" Frieda's voice cracked, shattering with desperate urgency as it tore from her throat.

But he did not falter. Not once. Not even a glance backward.

Her voice faltered, nearly breaking under the weight of despair:

"Felix… did you not recognize me? I am… Frieda…"

Tears welled in her eyes, burning hot and relentless.

Then—

A shadow passed overhead.

With a single heavy thud, Felix landed behind her. No Abyssal beings clung to him. The ground trembled from the impact, reverberating through the very air they breathed.

"Frieda?" His voice carried surprise, soft and uncertain… but beneath it, a flicker of something far more fragile, far more human.

♦In the Long Distant future, In the tavern of Mondstad ♦

Venti's sigh drifted like a ghost, a whisper tangled in the winds of fate.

"Two years left... just two years until the tragedy that set everything in motion—the one that started it all back in the first chapter..."

♦Back in the past, where the story is taking place♦

Far away, deep within the Abyss.

Five long years had passed beneath its suffocating shroud.

But now, the darkness was once again swallowed by the shimmering glow of lavender flowers, casting a fragile light like hope's flicker in a tomb.

A tanned man with spiky white hair darted instinctively, seeking refuge behind Ashlyn's steady frame.

"Mommy... I'm scared," whispered Ash, his small hands clutching her like a lifeline. "Those things... they're here again."

Ashlyn's breath escaped in a tired sigh, her voice steady but laced with a weariness born of countless battles.

"How many times have I told you not to call me 'Mom'?"

She glanced down at him, a flicker of softness barely breaking through her guarded exterior.

"And those things? They can't touch you, not as long as you stay on the glowing field of flowers. Just don't look at them."

Her words hung between them, a fragile shield against the creeping terror lurking just beyond the edges of light.

Ash nodded, his small voice barely more than a frightened whisper, trembling with the raw edge of childhood uncertainty.

"I just don't get it... I was raised here," he said, eyes wide and searching. "These things don't scare me because this—this place—is all I've ever known. Just like you."

Ashlyn crouched down, her fingers brushing gently through his tangled hair—a rare softness in a world that rarely afforded comfort.

"Are you really this delicate because I spoiled you? Because I shielded you from the suffering that's been gnawing at the edges of our lives?" Her sigh was heavy, layered with exhaustion and unspoken regrets.

Ash's body trembled violently as he shook his head, voice cracking with a desperation that could tear through steel.

"No... I'm not scared," he pleaded, eyes flickering with something darker beneath the surface. "Please... don't throw me out into the darkness."

Ashlyn let out a soft, almost bitter chuckle, the sound barely rising above a whisper in the thick, heavy air.

"Then maybe," she said, eyes narrowing just the tiniest bit, "you should try being a little braver."

Her words hung there, sharp but laced with a strange kind of tenderness—like a warning wrapped in a dare.

In Nyxhara...

Five years had passed since the Great War scorched the lands and shattered kingdoms.

Just one month after the birth of the next Dragon King—a beacon of hope or a herald of more chaos, none could yet say.

Inside the grand Throne Room of AetherCastle, silence hung heavy, punctuated only by the faint echo of distant footsteps.

Queen Minerva sat stiffly upon the throne meant for Orion II Grusch, her posture regal yet burdened, a deep frown etched across her usually composed face.

"Is he still upset?" came a voice—calm, measured—as Neuvillete entered, his form still unmistakably human, still undeniably present.

Minerva's gaze sharpened as she adjusted her robes, a flicker of pain crossing her eyes.

"I can't blame him for being angry at Mother Rosen. It's my grandson we're speaking of. The wounds run deeper than I care to admit."

Her voice softened, but the weight behind it remained heavy, like the crushing weight of unspoken regrets.

Neuvillete inclined his head, a shadow of understanding passing over his features.

"Then I would like to offer my apologies as well," he said, his tone laced with something more than mere formality. "After all, I too was involved..."

His words trailed off, the implication hanging like a knife above the room's thickening tension.

Queen Minerva shook her head, her expression a mix of resignation and steely resolve as she rose from the throne.

"It's not your fault," she said, voice steady but heavy with bitter truth. "Mother Rosen... she orchestrated all of this. Her love may be fierce... but her sacrifices cut just as deep. I could never bring myself to mark a newborn's life with death."

She strode toward Neuvillete, the fabric of her royal attire whispering secrets of power and burden as she adjusted it with practiced grace.

"So," she continued, a hint of impatience threading through her words, "how are the peace talks progressing? I missed the meetings because of my son's tantrum—his fury is hardly fit for a crown—and I'm still catching up on what's been decided."

Neuvillete inclined his head in acknowledgment.

"Lord Seraphyx," he began, "Though the Dragon King is still young, his seven natures have surprisingly smoothed the path for the peace talks. His presence... it bridges divides that words alone could not."

Minerva's eyes flickered with cautious hope.

"People listen more willingly to those who reflect themselves. I pray that Raimei and Highfall can finally purge the hatred lodged deep within their hearts."

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