Isolde Cromwell POV:

"Weakness is unacceptable."

I can feel a breeze.

Cool and almost soothing, ghosting across my skin.

Slithering over the slight burn I felt in my right underboob.

It's strange how I can sense it without really feeling it.

It sounds even more strange when I think about this notion out loud.

It feels like a distant memory playing out in the back of my mind.

I try to focus, to latch onto something real, something tangible, but all I find are fragments of thoughts and emotions swirling chaotically around…no, within me.

"Only the strong survive. Only the strong matter."

The world around me feels heavy and muted, as though I'm submerged in a deep, endless ocean, drifting away into a trench.

The cool breeze brushes against my skin, once again, eerily detached.

And then, like a blade's tip digging deep into my skin, I feel something graze me, tearing the serene, dream-like hazy surroundings into oblivion, along with the little respite I had somehow accumulated.

I felt a subtle, burning sensation beneath my right breast. Again.

Then it flashed.

Snippets. Of my life.

Flashing, like hundreds of Manaflies.

A warm wave hit me like a goliath into my side, underneath my right breast.

But the steady stream of memories had rendered me numb to constant, persisting pain.

A happy childhood.

...happy?

I can feel my brows furrow as I touch them.

When?

How?

Has the hundreds of years of my life really rendered me unable to recall such a major detail?

I pondered over it.

Pondered for seconds that flowed like the streams of Valemount, mixing in with others to form what felt – seemed like a river of past minutes…hours even, of constant thought.

"True strength above everything. Realise what it is."

The words felt distant. Lacking any real empathy.

But it's true. And sincere.

That is when I realised.

It was him. My father- after all. The sole dictator of who's whims I had directed my life to.

I can't recall a time when his words didn't dominate my thoughts, shaping my every action and decision.

Shaping me.

Even as a child, the memory of which is nothing more than a bittersweet longing, I was acutely aware of his scrutiny, his relentless push to mould us into paragons of strength and excellence. And everything superior.

Each successful step I took increased my exposure to the glaring light of his judgement.

My eyes suddenly trailed along a giant drop of rain that had suddenly started pouring, suspended in mid-air as I stared at it.

It was playing something. Like a memory recorder.

A knowing, bitter smile formed on my face.

My brothers—big brother Nacht and Lucian—and I…there was a time when we were inseparable.

We laughed together, shared secrets underneath the stars that lined the perpetually night-stricken sky of Lawold like a million glimmerstones, each other more beautiful than the other.

We dreamt of grand adventures.

We were inseparable.

Ready to face the world together.

But…

…after around 200 years of being born we realised.

Not everything is as convenient as we make it out to be.

Big brother Nacht was the first. Although the effect was subtle, it was there. But the most violent change occurred in Lucian…

A meritocratic method of treatment between siblings.

The shift was gradual, almost imperceptible at first.

Little comments, subtle comparisons.

Father would praise one of us for a particular achievement, a rare moment of approval that we all craved like starved Wujins.

But it came with an unspoken message: the rest of us were lacking.

A subtle hint of disappointment for the underperformers, avoiding looking us into the eye, not talking to them.

Mom followed suit.

It didn't take long for those moments of pure joy to be flipped on their heads and were replaced by a quiet, pervasive tension.

All I had wanted was to live a loving life with my family.

I remembered. This was when I became so competitive.

Father's favouritism was never hidden, never softened by parental love.

Being the little kids we were, we fell after it as he made it clear that only the strong, the best, deserved his attention.

Desperate to outshine the other, we transitioned from siblings who were inseparable, to rivals. Enemies, even.

I remember the first time I truly felt the sting of his pure, sheer disappointment.

I had worked tirelessly on a resurrection spell, pouring my heart and soul into it.

I thought, for once, I might have done enough to earn his approval.

But my best effort had only elicited a glance before he dismissed it with a curt. 'Lucian did it better.'

That moment had shattered something inside me.

The realisation that no matter how hard I tried, it would never be enough.

His approval was a mirage, always just out of reach, taunting me. Endlessly.

It was then that I started to measure my worth via his reactions, to see myself through the harsh lens of his expectations.

The distance between my brothers and me grew with each passing day. And while big brother Nacht moved to Central Academy in Gehenna, Lucian turned into someone we couldn't recognise anymore.

Further away from us, and closer and closer…to father.

He had the perfect talent.

And the slowly burning jealousy tinged every interaction with a quiet, unspoken competition.

The drop fell, and I turned around, seeing another droplet of rain. It had some other memories.

My mind drifted to where I was. Why I was here.

The dull ache below my right bust spiked suddenly and then died down, like a reindeer breathing its last few breaths before suddenly springing to life, taking a few desperate steps and then collapsing again.

Another memory flashed.

Nights. Spent lying awake.

Father's words replaying in my mind.

Over and over and over and over again.

Trying to figure out where I had gone wrong.

His validation became a gnawing hunger, like a constant itch that begs you to scratch it, driving me down a spiral of such general complacency that I don't even remember anything other than my training.

Sacrificed friendships, joy…even sense of self.

All in the pursuit of an ideal that seemed always just beyond my grasp.

Why?

Why something so meaningless?

Was a nod of acknowledgment, a brief flicker of something like pride in his eyes really worth it?

Maybe it was.

Maybe…deep inside me, it still is.

But…

…why am I having such thoughts? I never even had the notion of such thoughts…

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There was a dull pain in my right under bust, once again.

This time there was a deep-rooted clarity to the pain. As I touched it, I felt my skin that had slightly caved in and azure lightning was coursing all along the wide gash.

The breeze shifted once more.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to find some measure of calm in this turbulent sea of my head.

I understood in a moment of sudden sobriety.

Why was I questioning everything.

That human…Arthur Olvasen.

The cause of this irritating itch…pain in my side.

When I first entered the throne room, it was not much hard to guess why the human- Aksel Olvasen was sitting right next to my dad, the King of the entire Central Dominion.

The suffocating aura that the man emanated was enough to make us understand at a glance why or how we arrived in a situation where humans suddenly became highly revered guests.

And it wasn't something that bothered me much.

Despite seeing how this whole interaction with a human of all things was bringing him joy more than our progress ever did, I still felt good.

I had not seen him this ecstatic…happy in so long.

And when the first time the human royalty took the first step into the room, it was nothing short of…insignificant. Even though I had not arrived into the main dining section of the throne room, I could still feel it.

How minute and pathetic their reserves of arcanum were.

Yet father asked us to spar…have a mock duel with each other.

It was beneath us.

I didn't understand why he would say this.

Was his evaluation of our abilities so low that he considered us losing or us being so weak that we had to battle humans in a mock battle?

I had heard from dad about humans, and how ancient humans were strong, but this…boy- both of them, had nothing significant about them.

The one with white hair had a considerable higher amount but it was nothing outlandish.

Ordinary.

So ordinary that it was disgusting. Revolting.

I had carried this feeling out from the moment I had landed my eyes on the murky-golden haired boy to our spar as well.

He had a dull look on his face, both at the banquet and on the field as well. A boring look, that made looking at him even more revolting. To a degree that I felt the disgust creep up to my face.

But…

…why was it that Lucian told me off.

Did he realise it back then?

Has the chasm of difference in our abilities grown so wide that he could tell the real difference between our abilities from just a glance?

It makes a sour sensation settle in the back of my throat, however, at that time, all I felt was anger and frustration.

At the fact that not only Lucian was acting that way, but even father announced—announced in front of hundreds of people to Arthur that he should take it easy on me…!

It felt odd. At first, that is. Why would he say such things? To ridicule me?

I wondered at first, making me hesitate. That was why I ended up wanting a battle that involved Arcane Art, so I could show my father…show him that I was not a disappointment.

And had it not been the utter lack of presence from Arthur, I would have given it my all right from the start.

But I was wrong.

Wrong about almost everything. And admitting it felt like swallowing Naga's elixir.

It was only after half of our battle had commenced was when I realised…

…he was holding back. A lot.

It was not like he wasn't struggling. But instead, it was something more akin to him being curious to everything I was doing.

The lifeless grey voids that looked at everything with utter lack of interest or joy, were lit up. Like candles in the dead dark of the night. For a moment it was…gladdening.

Just…just for a fleeting moment, it made me feel like I was actually doing something right with my life. That perhaps, all this time I had devoted to my own growth had not been wasted.

Even as we fought more and more, bringing my frustration to a boiling point, I couldn't help but wonder. How could he not break a sweat…when his arcanum reserves are so pathetic.

Was it purely physical ability?

No- it was…I can't tell properly, but it wasn't just being physically gifted. There is something more. Something more…concealed.

Concealed beneath that unbreakable layer of composure.

And just when I thought I was finally pushing him into a corner, I saw his eyes that were shining with interest, turn dull again, losing the otherworldly…enchanting lustre.

The next few moments passed by in a blur. Gravehawk's middle section was pierced and vapourized by an attack so bright that I am sure it would have put the sunlit cities in the rest of Eden to shame.

And then I was flying. Trapped in the maw of a dragon made out of pure azure lightning.

The wound in my side festered once again and a hot jolt went down my spine.

I can still feel the electrifying breath of the…attack. Like it had a life of its own. Alive, and breathing.

As the memory replayed its final segments, the rain around me came to a sudden halt and I was once again in the dark, floating.

After a few moments, I felt ground, solidifying underneath my feet but unseeable by the naked eye.

And then, like a small hole giving way to a thin streak of light inside a box, I saw a needle-thin golden column of light illuminate the sepulchral ambiance of my surroundings.

The sight in front of my eyes twisted, like a towel being wrung to get rid of excess water and I felt something pull at me.

The column of golden light widened, and widened, until nothing in my vision was left out.

My chest felt tight and with a sudden, painful gasp, I felt my eyes – which I thought were open already – open once again.

A very familiar infirmary ceiling greeted me, bleak and simple in design.

My body felt alright, but my side was still burning with a rather intense pain.

I was thinking of moving…to remove the weight of the sweat drenched sheets from over me, when I heard a voice.

"Oh, you're awake."

The voice was not something I had heard a lot, but I could recognise it even without turning my head in the direction of the voice.

"I won't recommend sitting up, due to obvious reasons."

His lips moved slowly, and the way he talked was irritatingly slow…calm.

Crouching down, he placed a single blue-tinged black flower on the stool in front of the bed I was laying on and then bowed down in a slightly sardonic manner.

"See you tomorrow, princess. Get well soon."

As he turned, the muddled golden hair swished in tandem while his eyes stayed fixed on me until his head was totally turned away.

…

What in Hades' name was that…?

An odd feeling of revulsion and something else filled my chest.

I thought it would be different, but he just mocked me.

Me…!

There was no doubt about it. However, even I was able to understand just this much…

As I saw his back become smaller and smaller while he walked down the long hall visible from the side of the door, I realised it.

…he was not an ordinary human. He was a breathing, sauntering calamity. Even more so than his own father. There was a raw ferociousness to him.

I cannot discern my father's intentions completely, but I can at least tell it surely has something related to him.

Arthur Olvasen.

I felt my chest tighten once again.

Is this what envy feels like?

-----

Jayden Cromwell POV:

The encroaching twilight signalled the impending arrival of night.

A soft, unintentional chuckle escaped my lips as I reflected on my recent contemplation.

It may seem peculiar to express it thus, considering that Lawold is perpetually shrouded in darkness, never graced by the light of day— of the sun.

An unending night.

Not in the common philosophical musings of peasants, filled with gloom and nostalgic tales of days gone by, but a straightforward, literal darkness that accompanies the night.

The only variation the passage of day brings is the shifting shades of black, which now serve as our sole indicators of day and night in Lawold.

The fight between Lucian and Isolde versus Michael and Arthur was grandly eventful, and fruitful, to say the very least.

As expected, Lucian is indeed born with the highest potential our family has ever seen – be it the usage of our Arcane Arts, or physical abilities.

He is still considerably weaker than Nacht, but that doesn't matter. The disparity in abilities caused by the difference in age stays as limiting factors for a few fleeting years, after which they can surpass these temporary constraints and render such comparisons moot.

Good. Very good.

He has a good head over his shoulders as well. A sound mind and a talent for cultivating your own innate talent is the key to true strength.

The somewhat satisfactory feeling lodged like a bitter ball of gehenblut(1) in the back of my throat.

The cause of this was self-explanatory. My youngest—Isolde.

It would seem like she has yet to understand the glaringly obvious fact that the gifts she had received as just being the part of the lineage would only take her so far. The definition of true strength still seems so- so out of reach for her comprehension.

Just enough to make me lose most, if not all hope.

"You have seen what you needed to." My new friend, Aksel's voice was calm and heavy behind me as he indulged in our local delicacy – Glyphic Bloom Brew.

It was a rare beverage made from one of the rarest flowers that only bloomed in the deepest caves of Gehenna, which was where our Lord, the true ruler of our realm resided.

As he smacked his lips, I felt my forehead crease, as if tangibly pushing the thoughts up and stopping it from weighing down on my eyes.

"Indeed, my friend." I replied, breaking out of my 'furrowed introspection' – for the lack of simpler terms. "We both have. And I think it was marvellous. In any aspect that might be of concern, to the observer that is."

His lips perked up as he smacked them. The beverage was quite strong as it fed on a person's arcanum. The higher one's reserves were, the more ecstasy they would get from it. But Aksel seemed far from drunk- or lost in a self-absorbed state of blissful euphoria.

"So? Are we going ahead with my proposition?" He asked, then smiled from the slight opening as he raised the cup.

"Are you sure your wife will be okay with this?" I asked, raising a brow at him. It was fascinating to hear about her. But the more he talked about her, the more of cold sweat I could feel rolling down my back. Undoubtedly, Aksel was strong, but to think he has a superior who has an ironclad grip on his decisions.

Without waiting for a reply, I blithely continued. "As you said, she is unaware of the…proposition,—as you put it—that you have presented to me. I am sure such decisions would–"

He silenced me with a pretentious wave of his finger and then looked at the glowing cobalt blue liquid swivelling around the surface of the glass, leaving a glittery trail behind before receding like shore waves back into the main drink.

"She would not care about anything." He inferred with a twirl of his finger in the air. "As long as it has nothing to do with Arthur-"

"But this has exactly everything to do with him." I obtruded.

"Haste makes waste, is what they say on Earth." Aksel gave a sideway nod to his head and then looked at me, his tongue rolling beneath his upper lip. "She would not mind as long as Arthur is safe…and available to her."

"And you think this agreement between us would mitigate the opposite scenario?" I scoffed through my nose before looking out of the window once more. "This is ridiculous."

"On the contrary – to your expectations – yes, I think it will." The sound of the glass' base touching the table filled the air as he stood up. Walking over in my direction, he stopped and then looked out of the window, following my own line-of-sight before letting out a sigh.

"She is aware of Arthur's disposition. I don't think she will ever consider something of this nature to…hmm, let's say distract him." He continued talking, a spark running through his pale olive irises.

"Sif needs Arthur for her own…agendas, yes, let's call them agendas. And while I do not see my son as an object to be used to for my personal goals, sometimes little sacrifices are necessary." He paused and then laughed heartily to himself. "Although there isn't much to lose here. He has a gain in this as well."

What did he mean by that?

"I cannot imagine someone as talented as him could benefit from this. In any shape or form." I said my own piece of mind. "A dull woman only delays how fast the man can draw his sword."

As I said, Aksel let out a shaky breath.

"That extra…strenuous weight is what he needs to nurture." He glanced at me for a moment and then looked back at the serene stillness of the sea whose beauty was accentuated by the beautiful blue moon. "What do you think makes Arthur special? As you might have seen, it's not his explosive strength. As a matter of fact, he lacks it."

I paused and pondered. And then the right words flew right into my mind. It was something I had expected of my children, time and time again, but all of them failed to deliver. "An intrinsic adeptness for assimilating with anything."

He raised a brow with a proud look. "Yes. Just like a—"

"—A blade in forgery." I completed his sentence as he nodded and then looked out again.

"We both benefit from our…conducive arrangements."

Breathing out in utter tiredness, I blinked a few times. "We do. Things won't be hard on my side; however, it will be very messy on yours."

"You are confident about it?"

I huffed through my nose, once again. "Of course. And despite that…" I paused as the moon's light got stronger…or was it the night that got darker?

"…the weak people's opinions are like the background noise in what commoners call a "fair". So, you don't have to worry about it."

"Hmm." Aksel hummed and then shrugged. "I guess, on my side, it's more likely attributed to his lack of interest towards this. I am telling you right now, he would be unfazed to the decision."

"That makes our life easier. And would help me as well…in getting rid of useless junk that is."

He stayed silent and didn't say anything. Silence lingered for a moment.

Taking one last look at the moon's light, I straightened out my back and clapped my hands. The doors opened and 6 demonesses walked in. All of them were wearing short net smocks that reached until half of their thighs. The net fabric gave way to their bare bodies on the inside. Their hair was let loose and their eyes were milky…dreamy.

As I walked towards the exit door, I looked over my shoulder at Aksel who was standing there, half-plastered and half-dumbfounded.

"Enjoy the night, dear friend. The merger shall give very little leeway following this night." Finishing with a wink, I motioned for the doors to close as the demonesses started to strip. "Make it count."

As the double doors were pulled shut by the guards, I inserted a hand into my pocket and looked up at the ceiling. What I was doing was right. It always has been.

"One less piece of junk to worry about."

The words rolled off my tongue with an odd sense of relief. Like a burden had been taken off my shoulders that had been weighing down on it for a hundred years.

Now there's only one thing to worry about.

High Sovereign Brimstone's approval. Lord Morningstar himself.

> -----------------

> 1) Gehenblut is a very bitter plant nectar that's fed to prisoners in Gehenna. One of the worst punishments in the afterlife in the Islamic Religion (the key source/inspiration).