Emilia sat quietly in her room, next to her window. Her pen resting beside the finished letter. From below the Cadenza Court, faint strains of music floated upward, filling the air with a gentle rhythm. On the bed, Astria sprawled out, a book covering her face as soft, snores echoed across the room.
Emilia’s gaze lingered on the letter she’d just written, her fingers brushing over the parchment’s edges. She leaned back in her chair, a soft sigh escaping her lips.
“Would he really listen to me?” she whispered to herself, biting her lip. “Does he even receive letters? Writing to important people is so exhausting”
Suddenly, she let out a squeak and covered her face with her hands.
Astria jolted awake, the book tumbling onto the floor. In one swift motion, she pulled a knife from her boot, her sharp eyes darting around the room. “What’s wrong, Emilia?” she asked, her voice thick with alertness.
Emilia quickly shook her head, her cheeks flushed. “Nothing! It’s nothing!”
Astria sighed, slipping the knife back. She flopped onto her bed, brushing her fingers over the bow resting beside her. “Are you ready? You know you have to practice for the big day.”
Astria groaned as Emilia tugged at her arm, trying to pull her up. “Yes, so there's no time to rest. I've finally gotten Master Andrew to recommend me to play for his VIPs"
"Yeah, give me a second. You did interrupt my rest earlier," Astria yawned. "Your plan seems to be working, I'm happy for you"
“Yes, It is all going according to plan,” Emilia said, puffing her chest proudly.
Astria finally stood, stretching her arms over her head before fixing Emilia with a pointed look. “Don’t forget you have that little concert for the court as well?”
“I haven’t forgotten,” Emilia replied with a grin. “It’ll be amazing to perform for the court one last time.”
Astria tilted her head, her expression softening. She placed a hand on Emilia’s shoulder, her voice quieter this time. “Look, it’s not safe heading there alone. I’ve been protecting you all this time, and you know I won’t be allowed to follow you when you meet these lords.”
Emilia placed her hand over Astria’s, lowering her head for a moment before looking back up with resolve. “I’ve already made plans for that,” she said firmly. “I know it’s risky, but I need to do this. I really want to be an adventurer... but I can’t, not yet—not with my duties here. So I’ll do my very best to make things right, Astria. You've got to trust me.”
Astria’s lips curled into a small smile as she touched Emilia’s cheek. “Of course I trust you. Your plans have never failed before.” She turned, grabbing her bow and arrows and then plucking her red hat from the post of the bed as she adjusted her red coat. She paused with a sigh. “Yeah... I can’t wait to get rid of this thing.”
Emilia chuckled, crossing her arm with Astria’s as they walked together toward the hall. Their footsteps echoed in unison, mingling with the music that grew louder as they approached.
Side by side, they descended the grand stairs of the Cadenza Court, their hearts set and ready for another splendid performance.
*
Pasta crashed onto the snow, his bare chest heaving with every breath. His muscles ached, his body trembling, yet he sprang back to his feet, eyes locked on Tori’s scythe as it hovered midair.
Tori lounged beside a boulder, one hand propping up her head while the other casually held a sandwich. Her gaze lazily drifted toward the other side of the clearing, where Kabal and Falcon were sparring. Kabal hurled his massive axe at Falcon who held it by the blade and pushed him back.
“You can’t master the second power in just a week, Pasta,” Tori said evenly, though she softened her tone. “It’s unheard of. The method I taught you... well, it’s as effective as it gets.”
Pasta didn’t respond. The air around him warped as the world lost its colour. He stayed frozen as Tori’s scythe sliced closer, grazing his cheek. A thin line of red bloomed before he collapsed backwards into the snow, his senses crashing back to the real world.
Tori took another bite of her sandwich. There were two ways to awaken the second power—by achieving unnatural speed or harnessing high-disrupting energy. The first path was logical, but the second? Impossible. A disrupting energy could shake one’s very core, leading to instant death.
With a sigh, she stood, walking toward him. She crouched and tossed a coat onto his chest, her voice low. “You’re stronger now, Pasta. I can see it. But Emilia needs you, and we don’t have time for any more practice.”
Pasta sat up, pulling the coat around himself as his shoulders slumped. He exhaled deeply, staring at the overcast sky above. “Yeah, you’re right,” he whispered. “Emilia does need us... and we still need to find Mr. Swordsman.” His brow furrowed. “And I still need to work on my skills—ugh, what to do, what to do...”
Tori eyed him. “Didn’t you hear a word I just said?”
Pasta cracked a sheepish grin. “I did, but what’s the point of all this if I don’t push myself further? That’s it—I’ll head to the coliseum!” He clenched his fist, determination flashing in his eyes.
Tori tried to smack him upside the head, but Pasta caught her wrist mid-swing, leaning closer with a mischievous smirk. “Hear me out. If I can hold my own there, I’ll get the confidence I need. I can finally take down Jinni—and that dumb Ryder guy.”
Tori exhaled a long, suffering sigh. “You just want to go to the coliseum, don’t you?”
Pasta grinned wider. “Maybe. But still,” he said, voice softening as he met her gaze, “I need this. With your help, I learned how to manoeuvre the second power—even if just a little. That’s more than enough for now, and I’m really grateful, Tori.”
Her lips twitched upward. “You’re welcome.”
Before she could blink, Pasta leaned in and snatched the rest of her sandwich, devouring it in one bite.
Tori froze, face turning pale as she stared at the spot where her meal had been. “You... you didn’t just...”
Pasta shot to his feet, chewing noisily as he turned toward Kabal, who was now sprawled on his back, groaning in defeat beneath Falcon’s majestic figure, his wings flapping in the wind.
“Let’s head out, guys,” Pasta said through a mouthful of food. “We’ve got a party to attend!”
Falcon nodded as Kabal muttered something incoherent from the snow.
Tori glared daggers at Pasta. “You owe me another sandwich,” she hissed.
Pasta only grinned, brushing off the snow and throwing his coat over his shoulders. He turned to face the horizon, the same reckless fire burning in his eyes.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll make it up to you after I win this coliseum thing.”
Tori shook her head, muttering under her breath as she followed him. “Why do I put up with you...”
The three figures—Pasta, Tori, and a reluctant Falcon—marched onward, their path carved into the endless blanket of snow leaving Kabal on the snow, still grumbling to himself.
*
Jinni sat on a silk pillow, the soft hum of wind rustling through the little cherry blossom trees surrounding him. Petals drifted to the polished floor, collecting near the ornate chess table at the centre of the room.
From behind, a woman’s slender arm snaked over his shoulder, her fingers brushing against his chest before her lips ghosted along his ear. Fox's ears twitched atop her head, and her tail swayed as she hugged him from behind, the faint scent of jasmine lingering in the air.
“I am not here for games, Shinari,” Jinni whispered, turning slightly to glare at her, his voice a low growl. “The situation is spiralling out of control.”
“I see,” she whispered, dragging her hand through his dark long hair with deliberate slowness.
Jinni’s expression darkened. “That girl is clever—using the Court of Cadenza as a safe haven. The lords are outraged by that. Even with Darius gone, chaos still spreads like wildfire.”
“Hmm,” Shinari hummed, her lips curling into a sly grin as she nipped at his ear again.
Jinni snapped, grabbing her wrists and forcing her down against the floor. He loomed over her, pinning her hands with a strong grip. “Stop this nonsense and give me a real answer,” he demanded.
Shinari’s pink eyes glimmered with mischief as a breathy laugh escaped her lips. “The little cub bares fangs, interesting,” she said, snapping her fingers.
A piercing pain erupted in Jinni’s skull. He gasped, his hands faltering as he stumbled back, clutching his head as though it might split open. His vision swam, and his feet gave way.
Shinari rose approaching him as her fox tail flicked behind her, and her voice dripped with sinister amusement. “Do you forget, Jinni, who gave you life after death? Who granted you the chance to seek revenge against the Supreme and the people of the White Rose?” She said, her tone colder now. “You’re nothing but a pawn in my game. So act like it.”
Through the blinding pain, Jinni’s fingers curled around her throat in defiance. He lifted her off the ground, her bare feet scraping against the floor as his sword hovered inches from her glowing eyes. Blood trickled from his nose, yet he remained fixed on hers.
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“I am no one’s pawn, Shinari,” he said, his voice dropping into an ominous whisper. “While I fight to build a nation—while I break myself out there—you sit here playing chess and sipping tea.” His grip tightened as Shinari’s breath hitched. “Our deal was clear. You help me exact my revenge with the Demon King’s strength, and I help you claim the Nine Realms. That was the agreement. This was never about you controlling me.”
With a grunt, he threw her back to the ground. Shinari landed with a muffled thud, petals scattering around her as she propped herself up, rubbing her throat with a smirk.
Jinni sheathed his sword and strode toward the door, his steps heavy with fury. He glanced back. “It was a mistake to come here,” he said coldly. “Even if I have to crush one of the greatest noble courts to get what I want, I’ll do it. And there’s another issue—one involving an old comrade from this body’s past, I'll handle that myself without the need of a crazed creature like yourself.”
He opened the door, the light from outside spilling into the room as he disappeared without another word.
Left alone, Shinari sat up, her lips curling into a sly, knowing smile. Her slender fingers reached for the chessboard, nudging her king forward with a soft click.
“What kind of monster did you create, Master Tankenu?” she whispered, her laughter ringing through the room. Cherry blossoms danced around her, swirling in the air.
*
The roar of the waterfall thundered through the clearing, drowning out the gentle hum of morning life. Hades sat beneath its torrent, bare-chested, the water pounding against his scarred skin. His body bore fresh wounds—some deep, others shallow—that sent thin ribbons of crimson weaving through the pool below. Eyes closed, legs crossed, he clung to a fragile stillness.
The temple loomed above him, weathered and ageless, a silent witness to the relentless days that had passed. All around, golden leaves swirled through the air, carried by a soft breeze under the bright sun.
Hades exhaled sharply and opened his eyes, their cold focus locking onto the temple’s steps. A week—seven days of unforgiving training under Madame Lin’s watchful eye and Lily’s ceaseless taunts and skilled swordsmanship. All to strip away what remained of weakness. To resurrect the man he used to be.
Rising slowly, Hades strode to the edge of the pool. His soaked feet sank into the soft earth as he picked up his black tunic, the fabric still damp from yesterday's sweat. As he began fastening it over his shoulders, a faint jingling noise broke the quiet—a soft chime of bells.
He froze.
“Gotta finish the look, right?”
Hades turned, one brow twitching upward. Lily crouched beside him, grinning ear to ear. Her hands gripped the brim of a familiar straw hat. She held it out to him with an exaggerated flourish, her eyes glittering with amusement.
His fingers brushed the worn edge of the hat, hesitant. “How?”
Lily leaned back on her heels, that grin never faltering. “Anything destroyed by the third power can be restored. Items, people, you name it. Guess you’re lucky. This is your favourite after all.”
Hades’ lips curled into a faint smirk as he took the hat, turning it slowly in his hands before setting it atop his head.
Lily wasn’t done. From behind her, she dragged out a dark bundle wrapped in cloth, its edges frayed and stained. She held it up, reverently.
“Can't forget this, right?.”
The blade.
Hades took it wordlessly, the weight of the dark blade settling against his side like an old companion returning home. He strapped it across his waist, the motion smooth, mechanical—his mind already ahead.
A shadow fell across the clearing. At the temple’s exit stood Madame Lin, her small frame framed by the rising sunlight. She said nothing as Hades approached, merely watching him.
He stepped past her without a word but then paused, his sandals grinding softly against the stone. Over his shoulder, his voice came low and sharp. “I believe you still hold something that belongs to me.”
Madame Lin chuckled—a sound like dry leaves caught in the wind. From her bag, she drew a sweater, the fabric folded neatly, as though it had never seen the dirt. “Not a single scratch on it,” she said.
Hades caught it midair as she tossed it to him, sweeping it over his shoulders. He didn’t look back.
The path before him stretched out, winding into the distorted forest, as he took slow steps with a clear purpose deep in his mind. Find the siblings and kill his best friend.
*
In a forgotten corner of the Fourth Realm, the tavern air hung heavy with smoke and murmured tales. Shadows swayed on warped wooden walls, flickering with the candlelight. The clink of tankards faded as adventurers and travellers hunched over their tables, their faces obscured by hoods or low-brimmed hats, eyes drawn to the centre of the room.
A bard perched on a three-legged stool, a worn lute cradled in his arms. A sly grin tugged at his lips as he plucked a single haunting note, a sound that crawled up spines and lingered in the stillness. Behind him, drummers, a flautist, and a fiddler waited, their instruments poised like weapons.
The bard’s voice broke the silence, low and teasing. “Friends and foes,” he began, his gaze hooking the room with practised charm. “Have you heard the tale that even the bravest won’t speak by firelight? A shadow that walks, a storm that follows, and a cry—soft as a whisper—that seals your fate?”
A hush fell. A few patrons shifted uneasily, eyes darting. The bard rose, boots tapping the creaking floorboards, his lute weaving a mournful tune.
“Some call it myth. A fancy tale to frighten babes and fools. But we know better, don’t we?” His voice dropped as he moved between tables, the melody curling into dark corners. He paused beside a grizzled mercenary, his fingers teasing the strings. “The storm-bringer walks, they say. A straw hat to shadow his face. A blade black as sin. And when he comes…”
A faint drumbeat joined the lute, steady as a heartbeat on the brink of breaking. The bard straightened, his voice sharp and clear.
“…you’ll hear the cry.”
The fiddler’s bow screeched across the strings, and the melody swelled, dark and tempestuous. Tankards froze mid-air as shivers crawled across the room.
“Now listen,” the bard called, spinning back to the centre. “And perhaps you’ll know how the Weeping Swordsman became more than legend.”
The music roared like a gathering storm, pulling the room into its haunting embrace.
“Oh, gather 'round, ye brave and bold,
A tale of shadows, dark and cold.
With straw-capped head and steps so slow,
Where the storm clouds churn, he’s sure to go.
They say his blade drinks men like wine,
A thousand souls in blood entwined.
Coliseums fell to his vengeful cry,
And towering beasts? They learned to die.
Oh, weep, weep, the swordsman comes,
Thunder drums, the stormcloud hums.
Hear the soft cry—he’s drawing near,
Run, ye cowards, your death is here!
Some call him a scourge, a demon’s kin,
With a ghostly face, a devil’s grin.
They say his blade, as black as night,
Brings ruin swift and ends all fight.
Through fields of war, where warriors fell,
The ground still reeks of his cursed spell.
And in the wind, the whispers plead,
‘Beware the man who makes the storm bleed.’
Oh, weep, weep, the swordsman comes,
Thunder drums, the stormcloud hums.
Hear the soft cry—he’s drawing near.
Run, ye cowards, your death is here!
From village to village, the tales grow wild,
He’s fate’s own shadow, doom’s lost child.
Did he laugh? Did he cry? None can say,
For those who saw him... are gone today.
Oh, weep, weep, the swordsman comes,
The stormclouds rage, the thunder thrums.
Hark! The cry, so soft and clear,
The end is nigh—the blade is here.”
*
Far within the deep depths of blinding snow, where the large crows flew like shadows in the storm, their cackles cut through the howling winds—relentless, eternal, undeterred by the biting cold.
A lone figure trudged forward, his hands holding down the wide brim of his straw hat as he approached the towering fortress walls. High above, men peered through their scopes, their fingers trembling as they rang the iron bells to signal all hunters on deck.
“Another one with a straw hat?” Neil, a general said, his eyes widening as he saw no one there. Then snapped back to reality when the walls crumbled like biscuits as the man stepped through the gates.
Hades stood still. His gaze cast downward, his sweater swaying in the swirling breeze of destruction as hunters fell from the crumbling walls and stones burying unconscious men.
He raised his head to see the band of hunters coming near. With just a step, they all fell. Their weapons clattered to the snow-drenched ground.
One persisted, shaking his head. With a roar he swung onward, but to no avail. His blood stained the pristine snow as Hades crossed over his severed head.
Above, archers and riflemen released a volley of death, arrows and bullets cutting the air. Each shattered halfway as if struck by in invisible metal net.
He walked past them, causing the buildings they once were atop to shatter into dust. Every hunter left their buildings of pleasure to protect the forte. But the overwhelming power they felt, made their knees tremble. As some did nothing but let the swordsman pass.
Their fists clenched so tightly, that their blood slipped out. While others chose death over cowardice.
Hades strolled to the castle and walked through the stairs. The guarding hunters gave him way. Outside the storm grew fierce, thunder raging and strokes of lighting forked across the heavens like a battle of between dammed Celestials.
Inside, the castle bore fresh scars. The walls were torn asunder, and debris lay scattered, the aftermath of chaos. A blood stain remained on the wall, the reflection darker. Hades paused, scanning the destruction. A faint smirk tugged at his lips. Pasta is alive, good. He thought.
Suddenly, a chain blade shot toward him, slicing through the air. Hades twisted his sword and struck it into the floor, his hand shooting out to grab a giant figure rushing at him. His fingers clamped around Bastian’s face, pinning him in place as stone cracked beneath the pressure. Hades leaned, his eyes flicking toward the others—Ryder and Zephyre.
“Where are the siblings,” he said, pressing Bastain’s face. Rocks shattered to the floor as the man tried to free himself.
Ryder smirked. “And why should we tell you?”
Above them, a giggle echoed—a soft, teasing chime. Lily sat perched on the ruins of a chandelier, swinging her legs as she bit into an ear of corn. “You’d better listen to him,” she said, voice light yet mocking. “He’s not in the mood for games.”
Zephyr’s glare shot upward. “You…”
Lily tilted her head innocently, biting down again. “Yes, me.”
Hades crushed Bastian face to dust, and turned to Zephyr. She gasped as he pulled her forward, a sword edge kissing her throat. Her fierce eyes were now filled with terror as Hades looked down to her. The energy surrounding him was so intense that she was finding it difficult to stay conscious.
“Who gave you permission to turn away from me?” Hades whispered, his voice a low murmur that carried the gravity of death itself. With a flick of his wrist, he cast her aside, the ground rupturing with spikes of stone towards him.
Ryder’s arms trembled as he outstretched them, his face drained of colour. The castle shook, stone pillars disintegrating the moment each appeared. Hades' sword was already drawn to Ryder’s throat. The hunter’s knees nearly buckled as the blade traced a slow circle, a hair’s breadth from his skin.
“I’ll repeat myself,” he said, voice low and ominous. “Tell me… where are the siblings?”
Ryder turned to Zephyr—she sat, unmoving, her eyes wide with shock. For the first time, she was broken.
He turned back to Hades, breath shallow, words shaking. “You see… we don’t know. The girl was taken, and the boy… he’s with the blue-masked hunters. That’s it.”
Hades let him fall to the ground, turning his gaze to Lily, who jumped lightly from her perch. She landed beside him, giving Ryder a mock wave.
“Bye-bye,” she said with a smirk, skipping after Hades.
“The siblings aren’t together,” Hades whispered, his steps echoing ominously. “If they were, Pasta would have challenged the hunters to protect Emilia. Which means…” He paused, his eyes narrowed. “He’s either training or has finished it. I have a good idea where to look.”
Lily crossed her arms as she fell into step beside him. “Okay, but how do you know they were telling the truth?”
Hades didn’t spare her a glance. “When faced with death, even the proudest man remembers his humanity,” he whispered. “Had I sensed the faintest lie in his voice…”
He stepped through the shattered castle doors, his coat billowing like shadows in the wind. “…this whole town would be reduced to rubble.”