Supreme Spouse System.

The Shelter Beneath the Ashes [Part-2]

"What do we do now?" Black finally asked, his voice quiet, uncertain. "Silver City is gone. Should we wait here for royal aid… or do we move to the next city?"

Leon's jaw tightened as he stood there, staring toward the broken ruins of what had once been a proud city. His golden eyes, dimmed by ash and grief, lingered on the crumbled horizon. His face was pale, but within it burned an unwavering resolve.

He already knew the King would eventually send aid. That was the official expectation. But deep down, a sliver of doubt pierced him—General Dire had warned that eastern border is already fall and if the eastern border had truly fallen, if Vellore had crushed Duke Edric's forces, then Silver City's fall might be seen as inevitable… or even total. To the capital, they all might already be considered dead. Ghosts of a lost front, not worth wasting royal resources on. Scouts had been sent for seeing any survivor… and if they lead them new near city only but they'd returned with nothing new. The silence was deafening. And too convenient. The timing, the war, the nature of the assault—it wasn't some wild attack. No. It felt orchestrated. The destruction of Silver City was no accident. It was a message.

"No, Black," Leon finally said, his voice firm as steel. "We don't wait for royal aid."

Black blinked, stunned. "Then… we move to the next city?"

Leon exhaled slowly, glancing toward the distant east. The dark clouds still hung heavy. "The nearest city is fifty kilometers away. We don't have the strength to make that journey right now… not in this condition. And the storm isn't going to hold back much longer." His voice lowered, grave. "We're not staying either. The King won't send help in time. There's nothing left here but ashes."

Kyra stepped closer, her green eyes glistening with water and worry. "Then where do we go, Leon?"

He turned, looking at them—not as a Duke, not as a war commander, but as the man they followed. A soft, knowing smile curved his lips, briefly pushing back the weight of the moment. "I know a place. Not far from here. Somewhere safe. Somewhere we can rest… eat… breathe. After that, we'll decide our next move."

"Where?" Rias asked, frowning, her crimson hair soaked and clinging to her cheek.

Leon looked at her but didn't answer directly. "You'll see," he said, voice calm. "Don't think too much. Just follow me."

No one replied. But slowly, silently, they all nodded. And then Leon took the first step forward.

The crowd began to part around him, like the sea bowing before its moon. Heads lowered in quiet reverence. No one spoke. No one questioned. They simply followed.

Leon walked steadily, the weight of leadership on his shoulders, his wives behind him—Rias, Kyra, Cynthia, and the others. The maids came next, then Captain Black, Ronan, and Johny. Behind them moved the worn citizens, soot on their faces. And at the rear, the soldiers—silent, scarred, determined.

And as Leon's boots pressed into the scorched ground—without warning—the first drops of rain began to fall.

It started soft. Just a few scattered drops tapping against steel and skin, barely enough to notice. But then the sky broke wide open.

The rain came fast—sheets of it, heavy and cold—soaking them to the bone in seconds. The soft patter turned into something deeper, louder. A rhythm. A pulse. Like the slow, steady beat of a funeral drum echoing across the ruined land.

But no one stopped.

They kept walking. Step after step through the downpour, through the ash, through the hollow ache in their chests. Each footfall landed with the weight of everything they'd lost, but not a single one of them faltered.

The storm washed over them, relentless, but they moved together—silent, soaked, unbreakable.

Leon didn't glance back. He didn't need to. He could feel them behind him. Every single soul still standing, still breathing, still following him forward.

And the sky… the sky felt alive somehow. Not just angry, not just cruel—it felt sorrowful. It mourned with them. It cried for Silver City, for the dead, for all the shattered pieces of a home that could never be rebuilt.

They walked east.

The ground beneath their feet began to shift—subtly at first, but unmistakably. It wasn't scorched anymore. Not like before. It rose gently now, the incline soft and steady, like the land itself was guiding them forward… toward something hidden. Something sacred.

The path narrowed as they moved, hemmed in by thick woods. The trees leaned close on either side, branches hanging low as if trying to shield them from the rain. It wasn't harsh here. Just quieter. Still heavy, still cold—but calmer. Like the forest understood their weight and wasn't trying to make it worse.

Rain slid down the leaves in long, delicate lines—rivulets that trailed like tears over bark, over skin. Everything moved slow. Gentle. Mournful.

Somewhere ahead, deeper in the trees, faint birdsong broke through the hush. Not ordinary birds. The sound was light, eerie, beautiful in that way magic always was. Feathers glinting softly even in shadow, catching what little light the storm allowed. They didn't sing like they wanted to be heard—just like they existed, and that was enough.

And in the distance, farther still, the spirit beasts stirred. Not prowling. Not hunting. Just watching. Quiet eyes in the dark. Their presence wasn't threat—it was memory. Something ancient, still, and knowing. They watched the travelers pass without moving, like silent guardians standing vigil over a land the human hadn't touched. Not yet.

Finally, Leon brought them to a end... They'd reached the foot of a cliff.

It rose high and sheer before them, gray limestone veined with moss and rain, the surface cold and slick. There was no sign of a road ahead. No path, no door, no cave mouth—nothing but solid stone.

Complete "THE END".

Behind them, the forest was closing in. The wind whispered through the wet leaves. The only sound was the steady hiss of rain hitting armor and earth.

By now, they were soaked straight through. Every last one of them. Their cloaks clung heavy against their backs. Water dripped from their weapons, their hair, the edges of their armor. Every breath came tight and chilled.

But still, they stood there. Waiting.

And Leon stopped.

Everyone stopped with him.

Ahead, there was nothing but rock. No trail. No cave mouth. Just solid cliff, tall and unmoving.

Cynthia stepped beside him, her voice soft but tight with tension. "This is it?"

Leon didn't say anything at first. He just gave a small nod and stepped forward, reaching out to place his hand on the wall. His fingers moved slow over the stone, dragging across it like they were searching for something invisible—lines only he could feel, something nobody else could see.

"Leon?" Cynthia's voice came softer now. She'd stepped in close behind him, worry crawling up into her throat. "There's… nowhere else to go."

He turned a little at that. Just enough to glance over his shoulder. A tired smile tugged faintly at the corner of his mouth—half-formed, barely there. "There's a way," he murmured. "Just wait."

He pressed his palm harder into the rock, right against a jagged ridge. Then he started moving it—slow, steady. A rhythm that didn't feel random. Press. Trace. Pause. Tap. Like he was drawing something out of muscle memory, something passed down, something he wasn't even thinking about anymore. Just doing.

Nobody said a word. They watched. All of them. Frozen in the rain as it kept hammering down—cold and constant, sliding down their necks, soaking through clothes, leaking into boots. Every inch of them drenched. The kind of rain that doesn't let up, doesn't even care.

The air felt thick. Heavy. Like every breath they pulled in had weight to it. Like it might not come back out.

"What's he doing…?" a soldier muttered under his breath from somewhere at the back. His voice barely carried under the wind and rain.

Leon didn't react. He just kept moving his hand, slow and steady, like the wall was alive under his touch. Like the motion mattered. And it did—every movement had weight. It wasn't magic that needed flash. It was memory. Family. Blood. A ritual that hadn't been spoken aloud in decades, maybe longer.

Then the wall gave a low, dull hum. Not loud. But deep. Like something underneath the ground had shifted.

Captain Black's shoulders tensed. His eyes narrowed. "My Lord… what are you doing'? Can tell us, please?"

Still, Leon didn't look away. His eyes stayed on the rock. His hand didn't move.

"Just… a second."

He drew the last mark with the back of his knuckles, finished it with a slow curve of his fingers. Then he pulled his hand away, and exhaled—quiet, steady, like he'd been holding it the whole time. Rain slid down his face, dripping from his chin as he looked back at the others. The smile was still there, but barely. It was tired. But it was real.

"It's done."

The silence that followed wasn't comfortable. It sat heavy. No one breathed. Even the storm seemed to wait.

Then the ground gave out a long, rough groan.

Someone gasped. The cliff face shuddered, and slowly—stone against stone—a massive slab began to pull back. It moved up and away with the sound of grinding rock, wet and loud. Behind it, darkness opened like a mouth, long and deep.

No one moved. They just stared. Eyes widened, disbelieving. Mouths parted. No one moved.

Leon turned to face them fully now. His hair was soaked to his scalp, sticking to his cheeks. His golden eyes still had light in them. "This safehouse… is a secret ancestral shelter. Built generations ago, by one of my forefathers—a Moonwalker haven meant for the citizens of Silver City in times of dire need. Hidden for true crisis. And it only opens… to Moonwalker blood."

He stepped to the open stone doorway, laying his hand on the frame as he spoke. His voice was lower now, but clear. "Inside, there's food. Shelter. Supplies. Everything we all need."

His eyes swept across the group. He tried to lift the mood, just a little, but it didn't take. The weight of the city—everything behind them—was still too heavy. The rain kept falling, cold and merciless.

"If you don't want to stay wet… come in." He didn't say more. He didn't need to.

He turned and stepped into the dark.

One by one, the others followed him in.

As they crossed the threshold, something changed. Their footsteps slowed. Their faces shifted—not relief, not yet—but something close. A first breath. The beginning of something else.

The stone walls were old, smooth from age, carved with care. And even though the storm still howled outside, the air inside was warm. Dry. Real.

Leon walked ahead a few paces, dripping, then raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

A spark. Then another.

Fwoosh.

Flames jumped to life along the torches lining the wall, one after another. The light rolled through the chamber in waves, chasing away the dark. The crystal orbs in the pillars blinked on, glowing soft and steady.

The room stretched far. Much farther than expected. Gasps filled the air behind him.

Stone benches. Blankets. Tables stocked with food. Bread sealed tight in oilskin. Dried meat. Clean containers of water. Along the edges—stone beds, simple and solid. Made for use, not comfort. But they'd last. And right now, that was enough.

Then behind them—the stone door began to close. Slowly. With weight.

It slammed shut with a deep, final thud.

The storm became a memory.

The sound of rain faded into nothing.

At the far end of the hall, more doors waited—arched, plain. Storage. Kitchens. Bathing rooms. Dormitories. Everything they would need to survive, carved here in secret, untouched until now.

Not pretty.

But it was all real. And it was theirs.

Leon turned back to face them all.

"We've been through a lot. In a single night, we've lost more than many lose in a lifetime… loved ones, homes, land," he said quietly, his voice firm despite the ache beneath. "I know you're tired. Soaked to the bone. Scared… and angry. But listen—while I still draw breath, you won't be alone. We'll talk about everything soon, I promise. But for now—use the rooms. Rest. Eat. The kitchens are stocked. Make yourselves comfortable."

He glanced toward Black, reaching into a storage ring in his left hand. From within, he pulled a 10 transparent bottle, thick and sealed with a golden cap. Inside the bottles full of pills —dense, glowing faintly with pale light.

He handed it to Black. "These are healing pills. Distribute them evenly. They'll help with wounds—cuts, burns, even internal strain."

Black accepted the bottle with a respectful nod. "As you command, my Lord."

Leon gave a faint nod in return. "Handle accommodations. I'm going to take a bath."

Black bowed, trying not to wince from his own bruises. "Leave it to me."

Without another word, Leon turned and strode deeper into the sanctuary, the strain in his muscles obvious with each step. His body bore the cost of his magic—burns along his arms, tightness in his shoulders, fatigue woven into his very breath.

But he didn't go alone.

His wives moved after him silently, without need for command—Rias with her crimson hair swaying gently; Aria regal and serene; Lira graceful, her silver locks glowing in the torchlight; Tsubaki walking with rigid discipline; Mia quiet but close; Cynthia calm and composed; Syra and Kyra close behind, matching pace with feline elegance.

The five maids—Fey, Rui, Lena, Mona, Mira—exchanged silent looks. Then, with a soft gesture from Aria, they followed.

Aria turned slightly, her voice warm. "Come with us."

She addressed Chloe and Lilyn, who still lingered near the others.

Lilyn hesitated. Chloe looked to her father.

Ronan met her eyes and gave a simple nod, pride in his expression.

Chloe flushed softly but stepped forward. Lilyn followed, pink blooming in her cheeks.

One by one, they disappeared into the inner chambers.

Behind them, the people of Silver City slowly began settling in. Soldiers unbuckled armor and helped civilians into dry robes. Children were wrapped in blankets. Soft murmurs replaced the sound of panic.

And outside, the rain kept falling.

But tonight… they had shelter.

They had hope.

They had him.

The night was long.

But Silver City lived on—in memory.

And now… They walked into their future—together.