Eschewing the predictable route to Edensor Capital, Burn and Momo opted for a jaunt straight to the Elysian kingdom—a whimsical detour that turheir journey into a nearly 48-hour marathon, punctuated by necessary pauses for 'rest and other things'.
Burn seemed perpetually unfazed, while Momo, despite being about as fortable as a cat in a room full of rog chairs, didn’t voice a single pint.
Truly, the epitome of grader pressure—or perhaps she just lost her piment's number.
By the 40th hour, with the persistence of a particurly stubborn barhey finally caught up with the army anded by Yvain.
The young king, who seemed as knee-deep in paperwork in the middle of the war, was frantically gathering information as.
The Soulnaught army, a fearsome assembly of might and magic, stood ready, bristling with the raw power of seasoned warriors and magical adepts.
It was a sight to freeze the blood of their enemies: banners fluttering like the pulse of a dragon's wing, armleaming uhe sun in a silent threat, and the air thick with the promise of impending doom.
Yvain, fnked by an impressive cadre of generals freshly drafted from Edensor, mahe chaos with the fir of a circus ringmaster.
These generals brought not just additional muscle but a certain gravitas—after all, it's not every day that oo see su illustrious gathering outside of an epic bard's tale.
Marquis Reune was standing beside Yvain whehe grarance of Burn. With all the subtlety of a storm breaking, Burn strode into the strategy meeti, Momo cradled in his arms.
“Sir, th-this… His Majesty has…”
Marquis Reune’s mouth e.
The infamous Man Le Fay, known far and wide for her legendary strength, seemed to have taken a brief detour from her usual mystique to py the role of a distressed damsel.
As Burn carried her into the tent, her blonde hair swayed with a life of its own, catg the sunlight and scattering it like a persoe of fireflies dedicated to making her look good at all hours.
Her face, a masterpiece of fatigue touched with a charming blush, suggested she might have just run a marathon in her dreams.
Yet, despite appearing as though she might crumple at any moment from the sheer weight of her own eyeshes, there was an undeniable magic about her.
Her eyes, a blue so clear that the sky might file a wsuit for identity theft, peeked out from beh those shes, capturis and probably a few souls.
It was enting, really, how someone could look both like they needed a good nap and as if they might and the very stars to rearrahemselves with a mere flicker of those ceruleahs.
Truly, Man Le Fay, even in her most disheveled state, mao look ethereally beautiful—like a goddess who had decided to slum it with mortals for a day, just for the divine giggles—
“Master…?”
There she was, Man Le Fay, not just a figment of imagination but very mu the flesh, and looking like she'd just stepped out of an epic saga—albeit one about nappiies.
It had been three years since she vanished into whatever mystical sabbatical she'd taken, leaving behind nothing but whispered rumors and an unfilble void in leadership that Yvain had awkwardly tried to plug.
Now here she was, in the arms of Burn, who looked as if he'd wrestled a tornado and then ran a marathon through a sandstorm.
Disheveled? The uatement of the tury. Irritated? If looks could kill, his gre would have already set the tent on fire.
Yet, despite resembling a walking, grumbling storm cloud, Burn had the decy to deliver the missing entress like a courier with an express delivery.
Yvain, overe with emotion, dashed forward, arms outstretched for a reunion hug that would have made ematic history. "Master!!"
He excimed, tears practically f crystalliructures in his eyes.
GRASP!
However, the toug se tly paused by Burn’s palm, which met Yvain’s face with the subtlety of a stop sign.
“HMPH!”
“HWAT? L-LET ME GWPH!”
Burn, a tired spirit from behind Momo, whose arms g to him with the tenacity of ivy, effectively barricaded any further attempts at group affe.
The palm-faterface was a clear, if not particurly gentle, remihat personal space was still a cept, even in such heartwarming reunions.
“Get back, I’m tired.”
Yvain, halted mid-hug, his face squished ically against Burn's hand, could only blink in startled fusion, his emotional runtly cut short.
Ah, right, his master looked incredibly tired right now.
Burn breezed past Yvain, depositing Momo into the main chair with the casual air of someone dropping off dry ing.
“I’m taking over,” he decred with the kind of authority that suggested he wasn't just talking about the chair. “The Edensor delegation pack up their toys. Escort King Yvain and the Infich off the battlefield.”
“Gahad! Everyone, front aer in ten minutes—”
“Your Majesty,” Momo interrupted, her fig onto Burn’s sleeve just as he started to turn away. He swiveled back, a picture of impatience, but her gaze was filled with . “I saw everything. Will you be okay?”
Ah, the White Dwarf. The on so potent it could send the po oblivion with a mere sneeze of its full power.
A on harnessing the rage of a taielr core, so moally powerful and absurdly pact, you'd think it was a ic joke.
The sheer audacity to deploy such a universe-ending party favor on the ground was enough to make any sane person check if they’d actally wandered into a badly scripted sci-fi thriller.
Burn, faced with Momo’s wide-eyed worry, might have wao reassure her with something soothing—like how standio a on that could potentially vaporize them wasn’t the worst way to spend a Tuesday.
But really, what do you say in the face of such apocalyptic firepower?
What happened in the previous loop was merely a teaser, a mere tickle pared to the White Dwarf's full tantrum. Bsting off her head with that almost undodgeable power was using just 0.000000001% of its full capabilities.
To put that into perspective, that's like using a peashooter in a nuclear war—quaint, but hardly the mai.
It's crazy to think that such a on appeared this early in the game. It's like bringing a saw to a butter knife fight—overkill doesn’t even begin to cover it.
“Isn’t it better if you’re pletely out of my sight?” Burn quipped, trying to extricate his sleeve from her grasp.
Yet, Momo was not to be outdone. She switched tactics, grabbing his hand with an urgency that suggested she was ging to the st lifeboat on a sinking ship.
“I don’t want you to die, it’s different if it’s me. We still had time, so let me make an artifact to deflect the attack you receive to hit me instead. I… Caliburn… I…”
Her voice wavered.
As her trembling voice trailed off into uainty, the warmth from her hand crept into the icy aloofness of his, a stark trast that could have melted gciers—or at least thawed his chilly disposition.
Her expression was a live painting of desperation, eyes glistening with hysteria. The silehat followed was thiough to slice with a knife.
“Momo, did you fet something?” Burn sighed, his tone dripping with the kind of exasperation usually reserved for a parent who’s fou another fotten lunchbox.
With a slight maneuver, he brought Yvain into view.
The poor boy looked like he'd been caught in a rainstorm of his own tears, silently g as he eavesdropped on their versation.
The emotional weight of his first reunion with his master after such a long separation was clearly more than he had bargained for.
“W-what is going to happen? What is happening? A-are you going to die too? H-His Majesty Burn… Master too?”
Yvain stammered, his voice a shaky colge of fear and fusion. His questions hung in the air, eae yered with the kind of dread that could easily stab someone in the feels.
Here stood their young king, grappling with the potential loss of not just one, but possibly both of his mentors in one fell swoop—like his parents.
“...Ain…” Momo grasped her chest, grimag.
"Enough." Burn's voice was impatient. "Haven't you already rummaged through my memories? I’ve fought the White Dwarf before.”
The man sighed at her. “It’s not as dangerous as you.”
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