Chapter 74: Woes Of Solitude
"You're ok. You're ok. You're ok. You're ok. You're ok."
Eirian's voice broke as she pressed both hands over Caelus's wounds, golden-blue aura pouring into him in a desperate rush. Flesh knit where it could, blood slowed, but his body was a ruin of gashes and broken bone. She had never seen him this wounded—not Caelus, not him.
Her mind raced. Where are the others? Danyel… Xitgen… Decfare… I-te-em… Vddie… Joawl… The names echoed like bells tolling in her skull. Did they all fall? Who—what—could have torn through Caelus and six of their strongest?
She didn't have the luxury to dwell. Behind her, Civen and her two guards still loomed. Their presence was a knife at her back.
"Shit," she hissed under her breath.
Civen's step clicked against the floor. "If I may—"
Eirian's aura exploded outward, slamming all three back in an instant. The air itself bent under the pressure, an unrelenting star pressing down on reality. Her eyes glowed molten-gold, haloed in fury.
"Eirian, I truly do not—"
Then the light died.
Darkness swallowed the chamber whole, cleaving it apart. Each figure was split into their own abyss, walls of nothingness rising to cage them in solitude. Only Eirian remained paired—with Caelus cradled against her, his breath faint but present. Relief stilled her trembling hands as she sensed the new arrival stepping through the wall of absence.
The jackal-being's glowing eyes widened as they landed on Caelus's broken form. "What happened?"
"I don't know," Eirian admitted, her voice taut with restrained fear. "He just appeared here—like this." She pressed more aura into him, though her hands trembled. "Someone—or something—did this. And I don't know what happened to the others."
Dienari's ears flattened, his jaw tight. "Then we must move quickly. He won't survive without treatment. Something is preventing his recovery."
Eirian nodded sharply. "We'll get him to the healers. You stay here. Contain Civen. We'll finish this meeting today—tomorrow at the latest. But not now. Not like this."
Dienari straightened, his form a shadow against the darkness. "As you command."
Eirian gathered Caelus in her arms, cloak pooling over his broken body. For the first time in years, her command mask slipped. She pressed her forehead briefly against his.
"You're ok," she whispered again, though this time the words were for her as much as him.
Civen waited, hands folded neatly behind her. The darkness and Calmbrand had been unexpected, yes, but not unwelcome. If anything, it tilted the game in her favor. Force was not her first option—she had no true desire to test herself against Veltrisse's commander today. No, what she needed was far more valuable than the honor of killing the Calmbrand and Blade of the Dawn. She needed leverage. And with the Calmbrand bleeding on the floor, leverage had just presented itself.
As expected, the darkness ebbed like a tide, peeling back into the familiar chamber. Her two guards reappeared beside her—Keryna shifting her Ryun armor back into place with a scowl, and AAA-Ka-Nier's jawbone clicking faintly, annoyed at the interruption. They both looked to her for direction. Civen answered with only a subtle shake of her head.
Patience. This is not the moment.
Across the hall, Dienari emerged from the fading dark, his cloak dragging faintly against the floor. His glowing eyes fixed on her, unreadable but steady.
"My apologies," he said at last, voice even. "But this meeting will have to wait. Some… in-house matters require Commander Eirian's attention. You are free to remain in the designated guest quarters, or leave and return tomorrow."
Civen arched a brow, her tail flicking lazily. "In-house matters, is it? I hope our next meeting isn't this dramatic."
Dienari's ears twitched, but his face betrayed nothing.
A purr-like chuckle escaped Civen's throat. "Ah, One might think this was a test—of my patience, or my intent."
"Perhaps it was," Dienari countered smoothly.
That made her laugh, genuine this time, low and amused. "Sharp tongue, Minxphel. Careful—I might like you."
"You'll find I'm not here to be liked."
"Mm, a shame," she mused, turning gracefully. "Still, I'll stay. Running off after such an entrance would spoil the tone. Besides, I'd hate to miss what comes next." Her eyes glinted with promise. "I'll wait for your commander. Tomorrow, then."
Dienari inclined his head slightly, neither yielding nor challenging. "Tomorrow. And the guards will show you to your chambers. You are not to leave that area until the meeting tomorrow."
With that, Civen left, her personal guard falling into step behind her. Her smile lingered as they left the hall, more amused than frustrated. Yes, she thought. Tomorrow will be very interesting indeed.
Dienari sighed as they left. If only the connection to the gods wasn't lost. He would be praying for this situation right now.
The medic center was chaos—organized chaos, but chaos nonetheless. Lanterns burned bright along the walls, casting sharp light over rows of healers and nurses moving in practiced rhythm. Incense and the sting of disinfecting salts clung to the air, thick with the heat of too many bodies working at once.
Caelus lay on a central table, stripped of his armor, blood staining the linens beneath him. A half-dozen healers were already at work, hands glowing with Ryun techniques and steady streams of aura. One pressed runes into his chest to slow his heart's frantic rhythm; another slid a needle of pale crystal into his arm to flush toxins.
A doctor snapped orders sharply: "Multiple infections—two, maybe three sources! His blood is burning with foreign elements. Not just poison—this is layered. Some kind of plague-touched wound, and Ryun fever coiled on top of it. If he weren't Ranker-forged, he'd be dead already."
"Pressure's unstable!" a nurse shouted, pulling another band of aura tight over a bleeding gash. "It's fighting us—the fever has its own rhythm!"
But the most unnerving sight was his hand. Even unconscious, Caelus's fingers locked tight around his sword. The grip was white-knuckled, unyielding, the hilt buried against his palm as though welded to his bones.
"Can't pry it free," one of the nurses hissed, trying and failing to loosen his hand. "It's as if the weapon itself refuses to be separated."
A senior healer frowned deeply, sweat beading across her brow as she layered seals across his arm. "No, not the weapon. Him. He's clinging to it even in the dark. Whatever he faced… he carried it back with him through the blade."
Eirian stood at the edge of the room, cloak brushing the floor, golden eyes hard but shadowed with worry. She didn't interrupt—the medics needed silence—but her aura stretched across the chamber, both anchoring Caelus's life and pressing on every soul present: a silent reminder that failure was not an option.
After about thirty minutes, Eirian's voice cut across the bustle, low but commanding. "What's the problem? Tell me plainly."
The senior doctor glanced up, sweat still shining on her brow. "We're not sure, Commander. His system is overwhelmed by layered infections—one that looks like poison, another like a fever tied to Ryun. But the third…" She shook her head. "We don't recognize it…. But it seems to be blood…"
One of the younger nurses, still pressing aura into a wound, spoke hesitantly. "Forgive me, but… I've seen something similar before. Years ago, when I tended a faction struck down after opposing Rituain. Their soldiers showed symptoms like this. They called it Sryun. A sickness—or curse—that twists strength into something… hungry."
The word seemed to sink like a stone in the room.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Eirian exhaled through her nose, golden eyes narrowing. She had heard the term whispered in passing, in stories half-believed. But never had she faced it herself. And still, that didn't explain the blood.
"The foreign blood in his veins?" she asked quietly.
The nurse shook her head. "That, I cannot explain. It doesn't belong to him, nor to any being I've treated."
Eirian closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again. Sryun. Blood. Poison. It was worse than she feared. And there was still the sword.
Her gaze dropped to Caelus's hand, locked like iron around the hilt. The weapon pulsed faintly, a thrum of defiance every time a healer tried to touch it.
"If we leave it," the doctor said carefully, "and he wakes in a frenzy—"
"He'll swing until the walls bleed," Eirian finished for her. She stepped closer, kneeling at Caelus's side.
Her hands hovered over his aura unfurling in a slow, golden-blue tide. She let it wash against him gently—not the crushing force she'd wielded earlier, but warmth, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. Her fingers brushed over his knuckles.
"Caelus," she whispered, voice tender but firm, "you're safe. Do you hear me? You're safe. You don't need to hold on. Not here. Not with me."
The blade quivered faintly, a low hum of resistance. His grip tightened for a heartbeat.
She leaned closer, pressing her forehead briefly to his temple, her aura wrapping around his as if to cradle it. "It's alright. It's over. You're not alone. Let it go—I'll keep you safe."
Slowly, agonizingly, his fingers loosened. One by one, the death-grip unfurled until the hilt slid free into her waiting hands.
The room released a collective breath they hadn't realized they were holding. Eirian laid the sword aside carefully, her aura still cloaking Caelus like a shield.
"Good," she murmured, brushing damp hair from his forehead. "Rest now. I've got you."
The doctors returned to their frantic work, weaving aura into broken veins and carving runes to push back the fevers. But Eirian's focus lingered on the sword now resting beside her.
She knew this weapon. She had sparred with Caelus a hundred times, studied its weight, its rhythm, its aura. But now… it pulsed differently. A lethal chill emanated from it, the kind of presence that did not simply kill, but sought to end.
Her golden eyes narrowed, and she let her stat-eye unfurl across the blade. The truth carved itself into her vision:
[A Blade of the Chosen under Familiane, the Veiled Luminara, has been granted a special through-line towards death. Seven strikes of this weapon will reverse the notion of life and cease all who meet its conditions.]
Her breath caught. Familiane…. She was surprised by the callousness of the weapon under her blessing. The blade— It had become a death sentence. Seven strikes. Seven, and life itself would be undone.
She stared at it, her aura bristling instinctively against its chill. Caelus's fingers twitched faintly in his unconsciousness, as if even now he reached for it.
Eirian placed her hand against his chest to steady him. What did you face out there, Caelus? And why would the goddess grant you a weapon like this?
The steady hum of aura and the clipped voices of the doctors filled the medic hall. Eirian stood beside the bed until a shift in the air caught her attention. Dienari's tall frame filled the doorway, eyes glowing faintly.
She looked to a senior doctor, "His condition?"
One of the senior doctors looked up, face pale but resolute. "Commander, we'll do our best. Whatever he's carrying, it's layered and volatile, but… he isn't dying. Not yet. If we stabilize him through the night, he may hold."
Eirian gave a single sharp nod. "That will have to be enough."
She turned, her cloak whispering across the floor as she strode to Dienari. Together they slipped into the hall, the door closing behind them, leaving the fevered light of the medic ward. Neither spoke until they reached a smaller side chamber—a room once used for records, now empty save for a table and two chairs.
Only then did she exhale and face him. "Civen."
Dienari crossed his arms. "She stayed."
"Of course she did," Eirian muttered. Her eyes gleamed gold in the dim light. "It works in her favor. With Caelus down, she'll see opportunity in every shadow. She claims she wants alliance. Revenge. But she's not one to move without a dozen schemes in motion."
Dienari's ears twitched. "Do you intend to dismiss her outright?"
"No." Eirian leaned against the table, jaw tight. "We can't afford to—not when she carries knowledge of the Jujisns, not when she's gathering others under her banner. But I won't trust her. Not with civilians under my roof."
Dienari studied her quietly, then asked, "So. Do we bind her? Let her stew until tomorrow? Or do we press the meeting tonight?"
Eirian's eyes narrowed, calculating. Caelus unconscious. A cursed sword in my hands. Civen smiling like a cat in my halls.
"Neither," she said at last. "We let her wait. Tomorrow, she'll sit across from me again—only this time, we'll have our safeguards prepared. Oaths. Wards. Contracts she can't wriggle through. If she's genuine, she'll accept. If not…" A flicker of steel entered her voice. "Then we'll put her away."
Dienari inclined his head. "I'll make preparations."
"Do that." Eirian looked back toward the medic ward, voice softening for just a moment. "And pray Caelus wakes before then."
The hours crawled by in uneasy quiet. Reports drifted in—supplies tallied, guards rotated, the civilians kept calm—but nothing of consequence stirred. Even Civen, of all creatures, was proving herself a good kitty cat, keeping to her quarters with her two shadows. No posturing. No schemes—at least not openly.
But as the shadows of night pooled across Veltrisse, Eirian's chest grew heavy. She could not ignore it any longer: the six were most likely gone. Danyel, Xitgen, Decfare, I-te-em, Vddie, Joawl—names that once stood like pillars at her side now felt like empty echoes. That left only herself, Caelus, Dienari, and three others as true leading forces. Too thin. Far too thin.
She exhaled a weary sigh, brushing her fingers along her temple. This was supposed to be a simple gem hunt. Nothing more. Not… this.
Still, she needed answers. And if Caelus would not wake soon, then she would have to do what she loathed—reach past his walls and pull them. A violation of trust, yes, but necessity had no patience for fondness.
Her boots carried her back into the medic chamber, the air sharp with incense and herbs. The doctors moved slower now, their frantic pace replaced by quiet monitoring. One of them stepped forward, bowing his head.
"The procedure worked, Commander. Risky, but successful. We drained the corrupted blood, severed his aura from the worst of the fever. Not an easy task with one so powerful… but it held. The Sryun has fizzled away. His body has taken over, fighting off what remains of the poison."
Eirian's gaze softened as she approached the bed. Caelus lay pale but steady, his chest rising with even breaths. No fever. No aura storm. Just the calm of a body refusing to surrender.
She brushed damp strands of hair from his forehead and let out another sigh, quieter this time. "Good. No one is killing my shining blue knight so easily."
Her hand lingered at his temple, golden-blue aura pulsing faintly through her fingers.
Eirian placed her palms against his temples, her golden-blue aura unfurling like a veil. "Astral Concordance," she whispered, the skill's name slipping from her lips as instinctively as a prayer. Her power seeped past Caelus's battered aura walls—fragile from his wounds—filtering through in slow threads until the connection clicked.
The world warped.
It was like watching an old VHS tape: fuzzy lines, distortion flickering, sound warping in and out. Blurry, but enough to follow.
Seven of them marched forward, spirits high. The tower loomed in the distance, a simple objective, or so it seemed. Then chaos tore the landscape apart. A fight—violent, sprawling—shattered the terrain.
And then she saw her.
A rainbow-haired girl, wielding a damn minigun like it was a toy, mowing down her people. I-te-em. Vddie. Joawl. Cut down in an instant. Eirian's hands trembled, rage flashing through her aura. A child with a gun, and three of mine gone… Behind her, impossibly, a basketball court flickered out of existence— as if mocking her sanity.
The vision lurched. Danyel stayed behind with the wounded prisoners. Then the scene shifted—Familiane. Blurry, indistinct, but clear enough to grasp: the offer, the hints of an accord, even whispers of Civen's involvement. And the sword. A blade meant for slaying Jujisn, carved into fate itself.
The next images rushed in. A battle—long, drawn, brutal. Caelus stood like a mountain, holding against tide after tide. But there was a boy. Black hair, gray eyes. A nuisance in every frame, his presence needling through the fight. He also fought a being who summoned storms and an elf. Then—something more. Caelus clashing with the event itself—the Blood Prince.
Eirian's grip tightened. The vision wavered, the sheer force of the clash nearly kicking her out. How?! She braced, forcing her aura deeper, anchoring herself in his mind.
The fight dragged, each blow splitting mountains. The boy got a cheap, savage shot that carved his chest. And then—a strike from the Blood Prince. The boy staggered too, injured, bloodied, no longer smirking. For a heartbeat, satisfaction steadied her.
But then—
From the skies descended a monstrous machine, an all-white submarine-like vessel, its bulk reshaped into a colossal flying warship. Its banners whipped in the storm, painted with four red eyes and two inverted crosses slashed through the middle.
Even the Blood Prince faltered, confused at the sight.
A staircase unfolded—translucent, edges outlined in black flame—slamming into the ruined ground. A door yawned open.
From within stepped a man. Dark-skinned, robed in flawless white, hood raised, a long sword at his hip. His eyes had a blindfold over them, with a blinding white X, carved into his forehead, gleaming like a brand. He raised his hand, waved as though greeting an old friend, and spoke words lost to distortion.
The vision collapsed into static. Darkness swallowed everything.
Eirian jerked back, chest heaving, her aura recoiling. She stared down at Caelus's unconscious face, her heart hammering.
"What… the hell was that?" she whispered.
It was too much to process all at once—the rainbow-haired killer, Familiane's revelation, the nuisance boy, the Blood Prince, the ship, and the man with the blindfold. Too much. But clarity cut through the storm. She knew what she had to do.
"Dienari."
Her voice carried, steady and sharp, and the Minxphel appeared in the doorway within moments, cloak trailing behind him. His eyes flicked to Caelus before settling on her.
"My apologies for the inconvenience," Eirian said, voice quieter now, almost weary.
Dienari shook his head. "No inconvenience, Commander. This is my duty—the day I pledged to serve you and Lord Caelus, I accepted it fully."
Eirian's throat tightened briefly, but she gave a firm nod. "Good. Then hear me. Without going into detail, I've seen enough to know we can't delay any longer." Her golden eyes sharpened, blazing with fresh resolve. "Tell Civen the meeting resumes in ten. We'll finish what we started."
Dienari bowed his head, then slipped back into the shadows.
Alone again, Eirian's gaze fell on the blade resting at her side. The cursed edge thrummed faintly, as though aware of her intent. She lifted it up, the weight familiar but different.
"Caelus," she murmured, brushing her hand once more across his brow, "you won't be alone again. Not in this. These Jujisn will pay. All of them."
Her cloak fluttered behind her as she turned and left the medic chamber, the Blade of the Chosen gleaming faintly in her grasp, ready to carve their path forward.