Chapter 40

  Simon hurled one bolt of lightning after another at me. Not randomly. Not out of rage. Targeted. Precise. Mechanical.

  Like a clockwork device built for one purpose only: destruction.

  The bolts cracked through the dome, sizzled in the air, burned shallow trenches into the ground.

  I dodged—every time at the last possible moment.

  Not because I was faster than lightning. No being is.

  But because I recognized the rhythm.

  His movement.

  Every time he raised his index finger and pointed it at me—that's when the strike came.

  And I jumped aside, leapt high, ducked down, rolled across the floor.

  A dance with death. And I danced well.

  As I drew closer to him, each step grew heavier—not from exhaustion, but because of what I was doing.

  I didn’t want to kill him. Not yet. But he gave me barely a choice. Wasn’t this already serious?

  And if it wasn’t… then what the hell did he still have in reserve?

  I dodged another bolt, vaulted in a wide arc over him, and landed to his left.

  Instead of driving my claws deep into his chest, I veered slightly to the side and struck him in the shoulder with the flat of my claws. Not deep. Just enough to make him stumble. To make him feel me. A warning shot.

  He reacted with a pained flinch, stepped back—and I used the moment.

  With a shout, I summoned my sword. It appeared in my hand, born of smoke, woven from darkness, as always.

  I spun, let the blade slice toward his side—

  —and struck.

  A clean cut. Not fatal. But deep enough for him to remember just how sharp the line was we were both walking.

  Then… he did something that made me forget everything for a second. He raised his hand—

  and formed a shield.

  Not of metal. Not of artifacts. Not through a summoning.

  He shaped it from pure, raw mana. Condensed. Controlled. In a stability I had never seen before.

  The shield was transparent, flickering like northern lights, but I could feel it instantly:

  This wasn’t a toy.

  I struck the blade against it—

  and the impact hurled me like a projectile across the room.

  The crash threw me backwards, almost to the edge of the barrier.

  I rolled, gritted my teeth, and slowly pushed myself back up. A dull pain pulsed through my ribs. I growled.

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  What the hell was that?

  Simon stood calmly. The shield had already vanished. His staff glowed faintly. His robe was slightly torn.

  Blood dripped from his side. But he didn’t smile. He looked… calm. Almost empty.

  Then he spoke—with a voice that didn’t fit our situation at all.

  "You probably have questions, don’t you?"

  Just that one sentence. No mockery. No anger. Just… calm.

  I stared at him.

  I couldn’t bring myself to attack him. Not because I couldn’t. Not because I lacked the strength—hell, I could’ve forced him to the ground in that moment. But something held me back. Not fear. Not pity. It was the look in his eyes. A mixture of determination and hope. Hope that I would understand him. It felt like an invitation. A final chance to talk before everything was lost. So I stood still. My chest rose and fell heavily as the damage to my armor slowly began to mend itself, as if my demonic flesh couldn’t quite believe we had stopped fighting. I took a deep breath.

  “Why, Simon? I get that you find me repulsive. That, in your eyes, I’m no longer human. I’m a creature hunted in most kingdoms. But to just strike me from behind like that? After everything we’ve been through together?” I paused briefly, searching his face for any sign of regret. “I know there’s more to this. So tell me. Why?”

  Simon’s lips twisted into a thin smile, and for a moment it reminded me of Gravor—that mix of arrogance, inner conflict, and… fear. His eyes looked empty, like he was reaching deep within himself for words. Then he spoke. Calm. Clear. “I possess knowledge, Luken. Knowledge others envy me for.” He lowered his gaze slightly, as if admitting it out loud for the first time. “Knowledge that gets me shunned. That makes humans and elves afraid.” His voice nearly broke on those last words. “Even my own parents.”

  I felt a pang in my chest—an echo from my own past. That quiet sense of being lost. And in that moment, I understood better why he had never talked about his childhood. Why his eyes sometimes looked so ancient. But it wasn’t enough. I stepped closer. “What kind of knowledge, Simon? What are you carrying that makes others fear you?” He shook his head, sorrow etched into his face, as if even he no longer knew whether any of this was truly real. “You wouldn’t understand, Luken.” – “Yes, I would!” I cut him off—angrier than I intended. “Maybe I could help. Maybe we could help—you know, as a team. As friends!”

  But his reply was like a dagger, cold and final: “You can never help me, Luken.” Then, with a trembling voice, laced with a hint of madness: “Because I had a vision. A terrible vision.” His pupils were dilated, his fingers clenched tightly around his staff, as if he were back there—in that moment of revelation. “I saw something. Something dark. And it’s heading straight for Tirros.”

  I stood there, my cursed sword still loosely in my hand, my eyes fixed on Simon, whose words struck deeper than their content alone—because of the weight they carried. I had trusted him. I had fought at his side. I had seen him suffer, laugh, hesitate, and save us all. And now—he stood across from me, within this shimmering, pulsing mana-barrier, his voice barely sounding like his own anymore.

  He said he had knowledge. Knowledge others envied. Knowledge they hated him for.

  “I have knowledge, Luken,” he repeated, softer now, as if reminding himself why he had chosen this path. “Knowledge that turned me into an outcast. Someone who could never truly belong. Not really.” He didn’t look directly at me—more through me, as if seeing into a time when he had been a child. A boy with a gift no one understood. “By the time I was ten, they knew I was… different. My parents ignored it at first. Then they tried to fight it. And then—” his voice faltered “—they just left. Called it a hard decision. A choice. But I know what it really was. Fear. Fear of what I might become.”

  His hand gripped his staff tighter now, his knuckles pale and rigid. “I had teachers, but never at the Stormspire Academy. In secret. Outcasts, shadow-mages, visionaries. Some were mad. Others… saw things. I learned to see like they did. Not with my eyes, but with the essence of my soul. And what I saw changed me.”

  Finally, he looked up and met my eyes. For the first time, truly. No hesitation. No mockery. Just a deep seriousness, as if every word he spoke cost him a piece of his heart.

  “I had a vision. Not a dream. Not a prophecy like the believers claim. No. It was an experience. I was there, Luken. I felt the air. I smelled the burning wood. I saw the sky tear open. And I heard—” He trembled. A shudder ran through his body. “—I heard the voice. The voice of darkness.”

  I swallowed hard. Not because I didn’t believe him—but because I felt it. Something in his words, in his aura—it carried weight. It carried truth.

  “It’s coming, Luken. Something ancient, beyond our comprehension. It’s heading for Tirros. It won’t stop. It’ll take what it wants. I saw cities crumble, oceans evaporate, suns extinguish. And amidst it all—you stood there.”

  I flinched. “What?”

  “You were there. As a warrior. But also as a key. As… a vessel.” He took a long breath. “I know: If you live, Tirros falls. If you die… then everything is cleansed.”

  He let the last word hang in the air. And I felt my lungs tighten, like someone had stolen my breath.

  “And what does that mean?” I asked quietly. “You want to kill me… to stop it?”

  Simon closed his eyes for a second. Then, almost in a whisper:

  “I have to.”