Atem's eyes opened slowly after five days of dreamless sleep. The air of the cave felt different now—not just heavy with magicules, but alive, as though it bent toward him. He sat up, his body moving easily, no stiffness in his limbs despite the long rest. His chest hummed, a steady thunder beating beneath his skin.
The first voice he heard was the Oracle of Eternity.
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Atem exhaled, steady and calm. "So it is done," he said softly.
The Oracle continued, her tone both matter-of-fact and strangely proud.
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Atem's brow furrowed. "That much…?"
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Atem looked at his hand. Blue sparks flickered briefly across his fingertips before fading. He clenched his fist, feeling the air itself ripple.
The Oracle's voice pressed on.
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Atem glanced to his side. The Dark Magician was still standing guard, staff in hand. He met Atem's gaze, his expression unreadable but his aura unmistakably stronger. His presence alone now felt heavier, more imposing.
"Stronger, then," Atem murmured.
<
Atem stood. His robes whispered as he rose to his full height, and for a moment the cave seemed to bow in silence. The magicules in the air bent toward him, pulled by the dragon's essence dwelling in his chest.
He closed his eyes and let himself feel it: the steady hum of power, the deep well of magic at his core, the quiet voices of his Spirit Deck pulsing with newfound strength. It was different, but it was still him. Pharaoh. Duelist. Now also a man carrying the storm of a True Dragon.
When he opened his eyes, they glowed faintly—gold with streaks of blue lightning.
"I see," Atem said quietly. "I am no longer the same man who entered this cave."
The Oracle's reply was calm, certain.
<
And so, Atem took his first step forward with Veldora's storm at his back, the Dark Magician at his side, and a world outside the cave waiting to test his newfound power.
For a long, thin moment the Cardinal world simply felt wrong. The air had lost a meaning it had always carried — a weight, a rhythm. The wards in small villages flickered. Hunters in the Jura stopped mid-step and frowned at how the wind no longer tasted like thunder. Then the message spread: Veldora's aura was gone.
News travels fast when the sky itself seems to crack. Each kingdom felt the shift as something urgent and dangerous. Leaders moved like pieces on a board, quick and careful.
King Gazel did not panic. He rarely raised his voice. He slammed his palm on the war table instead, and every map and marker clicked like bones.
"What do you mean it vanished?" he asked, flat and low.
General Harun shoved forward a dark stone that used to glow with the dragon's signature. Now it lay dead. "Majesty, the readings dropped at once. Not a fade — a clean cut. The resonance that matched Veldora is gone."
Gazel's face tightened. He folded his hands as if holding in a blade. "If Veldora truly died," he said slowly, "the Jura Forest will be a prize for every country that smells strength. If he was killed — by someone — then a power we do not recognize now exists and will not hesitate to use it. Either way, we prepare."
He pointed at the map. "Double patrols along the Jura border. Reinforce the northern forges and the watchtowers. Send runners to our allies. I want scouts in the forest within the day. If any army moves, we will be waiting. The people must not see weakness."
The generals moved quickly. Plans were passed, messengers readied. Gazel's calm voice hid a hard edge: the world had shifted and he would not be taken off-guard.
In the hall of Blumund, the king called for Fuze, the guildmaster of the Free Guild. The king's tone left no room for argument.
"Fuze," he said, "go to the Jura. Find out if Veldora is dead or taken. Bring proof. If someone did this, we must know who and how."
Fuze's jaw set. "Understood, Your Majesty. I will not bring rumor back as fact." He paused a moment and then added, "I will send three of our best — steady hands, sharp eyes. They'll investigate quietly and report only to me."
The king inclined his head. "Do it fast. If there's truth to this, we cannot let other powers act first."
Fuze left that hour with his three chosen adventurers — Kaval, who had tracked monsters through swamp and stone; Eren, a scout known for quiet steps and sharper questions; and Gido, a mage-hunter who could read a signature from a hair's breadth. They left under the guild banner, small and quick, meant to discover facts not start a war.
Velzard's tea went cold in his hands. He spoke the news as if testing the taste of it.
"That stupid brother of mine has died?" he said, voice low. "It seems… too soon."
Guy Crimson did not bother with soft words. "If his aura fell so suddenly, someone interfered. A seal doesn't just unmake itself. That tells me either a clever ritual or a foolish hero. Either way, the balance changed."
Luminous felt the hole in the air the way cats feel a new scent. She did not make a show of haste. She simply decided.
"No one else should know," she told her Hinata. "I will go to the Jura myself."
She packed lightly: a cloak, a fan, a single bottle of careful poison in case the truth was darker than a missing aura. Luminous liked to see trouble for herself; rumors and secondhand reports sat badly with her.
In the East the mood was quicker to hunger. Rudra's eyes flicked to the map where the Jura forest lay.
"If Veldora truly fell," he said to Velgrynd, "then the forest is up for grabs. We can move in and secure it before the others wake. A strong foothold there would be worth the cost."
Velgrynd considered. "It is an opportunity, yes. But be careful. If some power killed or moved my brother, they might have eyes on that area now. Moving too fast could bring a fight we are not ready for."
Rudra tapped a finger on the wood. "Then we prepare for both: scouts to test the perimeter and forces ready to move if all is clear. Faster than rumor, slower than greed."
The ripples spread far and wide.
Guild halls filled with whispers. Adventurers sharpened blades; scouts were hired. Contracts for "investigation" spiked overnight.
Markets cooled for a day as traders feared conflict. Merchants guarded caravans and demanded guards.
Temples filled. Priests lit candles and spoke of omens. Some said it was punishment; others said it was warning.
Mage towers ran wards and compared notes. Scholars argued over whether a soul could be moved. A few put out bounties for any reliable alchemical explanation.
Spies grinned. Where a power had faded, a thousand hands reached in the dark. Notices were sent to black-market brokers: find whoever touched Veldora. Whoever held that truth would be powerful.
By nightfall every capital was on edge. Guards were doubled or moved. Messengers flew with orders. Small, secret decisions were made in private rooms: one man bought extra grain for an army; another promised to fund a private scouting ship; a third arranged a quiet meeting with a Demon Lord's envoy. Fear mixed with appetite. Some rulers tightened their shields; others started drawing maps of advantage.
None of them guessed the real truth — that a Pharaoh in a cave now carried the storm beneath his ribs. For now the world reacted to the silence: preparing, probing, and priming themselves for whatever would come next. The next moves would be loud, messy, and full of danger.