Chapter 61 : Turning Point (2)

“Aley, you’re glowing?” exclaims Valentin, his eyes wide open.

“I’m glowing.”

“You’re glowing,” adds Elvie, completely in parrot mode.

“My eyes hurt...” Alfira grumbles, turning her head away, half-blinded.

That’s when I realize it’s not stopping. The light keeps intensifying, and honestly, I’m starting to freak out a little. Then, thankfully, it finally subsides.

Valentin doesn’t miss a beat. “So, what was that, an ad for Christmas lights?”

“We’re going in. Now.” I cut him off, clearly not in the mood for more jokes.

We move forward cautiously, heading toward the dungeon’s center. The air grows heavier, humid. The rock feels cold, almost oppressive. And this damn darkness... we can barely see.

We decide to advance into the dungeon’s central chamber. The air grows thicker, damper, almost sticky. The stone beneath our feet is icy, and the echo of our steps resounds. No embellishments here: just a raw, natural chamber where the darkness is so dense it’s almost tangible. It’s sinister.

“Great vibes,” mutters Valentin. “You think they considered adding chandeliers to warm up the atmosphere, or was that too much to ask?”

I ignore him. Honestly, I’m too focused. At the center of the room, where a gigantic and terrifying dragon is supposed to be, I only see a figure... and not at all the one we were expecting. A human. Frail. Small. No sign of a dragon anywhere.

“Men are born free, yet everywhere they are in chains,” murmurs a deep and terrifying voice. It comes from this figure.

I frown. “Yeah, so what? Who are you, Jean-Jacques Rousseau? Drop the dramatic intro and get to the point.”

“Death is nothing to us, who are born mortal, destined to die from birth. My mistress aims to repair humanity’s greatest weakness: to create a world of peace where we will no longer be the political animals we have always been,” the voice continues, utterly impassive.

I say nothing, but honestly, this whole speech is already getting on my nerves.

We move closer, and finally, we can make out the figure better. The person is entirely shrouded in a long gray cloak, visibly in poor condition. The fabric is torn everywhere, trailing on the ground like an old rag. Not exactly impressive.

Then, without warning, the figure suddenly raises its right hand in a sharp, almost theatrical gesture. The cloak falls.

“Ah!” Valentin jumps. “What was that? A magician’s entrance?”

“Lumos...” he murmurs immediately, as if trying to conjure something.

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An immense light bursts to the ceiling of the cave, illuminating the entire room in an instant. This time, we can clearly see who’s in the center.

A young girl. Blonde.

Not a kid, though. A woman, but with that youthful air that makes you hesitate between finding her adorable or creepy. She’s wearing a black military uniform, perfectly tailored. The skirt, a deep black, stops at her thighs, paired with dark boots trimmed with fur at the top.

“Oh wow, it’s a fashion show now,” mutters Valentin, half-amused, half-wary.

Her uniform is adorned with medals—at least ten—that glint in the light. Not trinkets, but war decorations. Unlike this world’s medieval vibe, her outfit stands out completely. She looks like she stepped straight out of our time, like a corporal ready for battle.

Her jacket, white and fur-lined, rests casually on her shoulders. She’s not even wearing it properly. The kind of arrogant class that makes a statement.

Her face, though, is of icy beauty. Her piercing blue eyes are like blades, and her blonde hair falls in immaculate locks. In short, she looks more like a weapon of mass destruction than a human.

“I... I haven’t trembled this much since Elvaristria,” I mutter under my breath, almost to myself.

Her weapon completes the picture. A lance. But not a regular lance. This one is entirely mechanical, a complex assembly of raw metal. It looks hastily cobbled together, with nails driven into it here and there, like someone fused a crossbow and a siege weapon into a single deadly tool.

“And here I thought my magic bat was stylish,” sighs Valentin.

On her head, a corporal’s cap with a military insignia sits proudly. Diamond earrings complete this almost divine look.

She takes a step forward, and her voice rises, cold and calculating:

“Solfège Di Carnaris, member of the Ten Knights of Voltruite, in the direct service of Her Majesty Altruista Si Voltruite, second princess of the kingdom.”

“Okay... so your name’s Solfège,” I say, clearly unimpressed despite the growing tension in the room. “And what do you want, Solfège?”

“Her royal majesty desires an equal world, and for this, she requires the magical power of the gods. Yours.”

I frown. “And what does she plan to do with this magical power, huh?”

“She will become the emissary of the stars, the one shining brighter than any star in the sky.”

I let out a loud sigh. “Yeah, great. We have no reason to agree, so scram with your stars.”

“This nonsense will not work on me.” Solfège’s voice is sharp, almost mechanical. “For days, we have been watching you. You stray further from your goal, while the world is about to die at the hands of the Supreme Will of the World.”

I frown, struck by her words. “The world is about to perish—” But before I can finish, in a flash, she disappears. A split second later, she’s there. Right there. Her lance, cold and lethal, is pointed at my throat.

I step back a millimeter. No more. “You... You’re serious?!”

Her gaze is fixed on me, devoid of emotion yet full of unwavering determination. Her piercing blue eyes cut through my soul as if I were already dead.

“I-I’m a god. How did you move so fast without me—” My brain races. What is this speed? It’s not normal.

“Gods,” she begins calmly, “are prideful of their strength. They lounge. Make up stories. They live in an illusion... One where they believe they have nothing left to conquer, having already obtained everything. And in this illusion, they sink into endless despair.” She presses the lance slightly, just enough to remind me she’s in control. “But we mortals... We become stronger than anyone in no time at all. Because such is our ultimate will: to survive.”

Her voice is as icy as her gaze.

I grit my teeth. “I was mortal once, in case you forgot. You seem to know me well in Voltruite, by the way.”

“You are but a shadow of what you once were.” She doesn’t back down an inch, her biting tone leaving no room for escape. “Voltruite, the land of forging and weapon craftsmanship... By whom do you think it was founded, you fool?”

I swallow hard. Her lance doesn’t move a millimeter. “What do you mean?”

“It was founded by the disciples of Veron, the dwarven god. The god of the forge.” She pauses, her gaze darkening even more. “It is said he was savagely murdered by the god of hatred.”