The dining hall still carried the scent of roasted bread, honey glaze, and steeped black tea.
Morning light spilled through the tall arched windows, filtered by long ivory curtains that stirred lazily in the breeze. Silverware rested untouched on porcelain plates. A half-empty goblet of wine caught the sun and fractured it into blood-colored reflections across the polished oak table.
King Malakor sat at the head of it all.
He had finished breakfast moments ago.
His posture was straight, composed—every inch the sovereign—but the faint shadows beneath his eyes betrayed a night without rest.
Narin entered without hesitation.
His footsteps were steady, unhurried, echoing softly across marble tiles. The guards at the entrance lowered their heads and withdrew. The servants froze for only a second before the king’s gaze swept across them.
It was a silent command.
A single look and they all understood.
Chairs slid quietly. Shoes whispered against stone. In less than two heartbeats, the vast dining room was empty.
Only two remained.
King and Investigator.
Malakor leaned back slightly in his chair, fingers loosely interlaced before him. His eyes fixed onto Narin with calm authority.
“I suppose,” he said, voice smooth but heavy beneath its surface, “you have good reasons to come to me this morning.”
His gaze sharpened.
It locked onto Narin—who stood opposite him across the table.
Narin’s eyes were empty at first glance but something faint flickered behind them.
Something unreadable.
Malakor frowned faintly. For a fleeting moment, he felt as though he was staring into a lake that reflected no sky.
Narin inclined his head slightly.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
His voice was steady. Calm. Almost too calm.
“In order to fulfill your long-held desire and end your suffering… I would need to hear Your Majesty’s long forbidden story.”
The words landed softly.
Yet they struck like a hammer.
Malakor froze.
His fingers tightened subtly.
For several seconds, he did not speak.
His gaze drifted—not away, but unfocused—as if looking into a memory rather than at the man before him.
The room felt suddenly smaller.
Then—
His eyes sharpened once more.
They locked onto Narin.
There was something almost malicious in that stare now. A silent warning. A challenge.
You dare?
Narin responded with a faint smile.
A few seconds passed.
Then the king’s gaze softened.
And he exhaled.
It was not merely a sigh.
It was the sigh of someone who had been holding their breath for years.
“I…” His voice faltered.
His hand rose slightly to his temple, fingers brushing against his own brow as if steadying himself.
“Me and Malena… are the same soul.”
Silence followed.
“You can call it… Twin-Soul Resonance.”
He let out a hollow chuckle, devoid of humor.
“A spirit that is too powerful cannot reside in a single physical body. Like iron that is too hot for a vessel to withstand.”
His eyes drifted toward the window, sunlight touching his cheek.
“When we were born… the mana within us was so intense that it tore our identities into two from the very first moment we opened our eyes.”
His voice trembled faintly.
The king swallowed.
Tears began to gather slowly in his eyes, but he did not wipe them away.
“We were separated not by choice… but by survival.”
His hands clenched over the table now.
“Yet we couple share feelings… but cannot get close to each other.”
His jaw tightened.
“If we are too close, a mana conflict will occur. Excruciating pain… uncontrollable surges… it can even destroy the surrounding area.”
His fingers trembled, at this point his voice dropped lower.
“We tried everything.”
He let out a broken laugh.
“We were able to hide it with everything we could have done.”
His eyes returned to Narin’s.
“You might have already figured out and connected everything you got by now… haha.”
The laugh that escaped him was pitiful.
It cracked midway.
It sounded like something tearing.
Narin’s expression did not change.
He simply listened.
King Malakor no longer resembled the radiant ruler Narin had met yesterday.
There was no glory now.
Only an image of a broken man.
A man exhausted beyond pride.
A man searching not for a solution—
—but for an end.
The reason was clear.
They must have already tried everything.
Silence lingered.
Narin suddenly stood.
The chair legs scraped softly against stone.
He turned toward the door.
But before his hand reached the handle—
Malakor spoke again.
“If there something you could do…”
His voice was quieter now.
Hollow.
“Then go to my room.”
He did not look at Narin.
“I keep the stone that seals half of her soul in there…”
The words fell heavily.
“…in there.”
He stared at the table instead.
As if ashamed.
As if afraid to see Narin’s reaction.
Narin paused.
For a brief moment, something flickered in his eyes.
Then—
His voice emerged.
And it carried a strange, uncanny rhyme—subtle, almost musical.
“I need to know the queen side.”
He opened the door.
“Your Majesty, I shall take my leave.”
And he walked out.
The corridor felt colder as he approached the queen’s chamber.
The guards stepped aside without question.
When he entered, he found her seated by the window.
She was still in her pajamas—soft white silk loosely wrapped around her slender frame. Her long hair fell freely over her shoulders, unbound and slightly disheveled from sleep.
Morning light framed her figure.
For a moment, she looked less like a queen—
—and more like a fragile woman suspended between existence and memory.
She did not turn immediately.
But she knew it was him.
“Your Majesty,” Narin spoke gently, stepping forward. His boots barely made a sound.
“You must already know what I came here for.”
She slowly turned her head.
Her eyes were rimmed red.
“I ask with my deepest concern… please tell me your side of the story that was buried deep in your grave.”
The word grave made her flinch.
Queen Malena stared at him.
Her expression was a mixture of disbelief and restrained grief.
Her lips compressed tightly.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
She opened her mouth.
No sound came out.
She closed it.
Her fingers gripped the fabric of her sleeve.
She tried again.
Nothing.
A tremor ran through her shoulders.
Only on the fifth attempt did her voice finally emerge.
“You must have already heard from him.”
Her voice was soft and fragile.
“But if you were to know my side… then you would only be listening to my desire.”
She lowered her gaze.
“My desire.”
Her fingers pressed against her own chest.
“My darkest and deepest desire…”
Images of Malakor flooded her mind—his younger smile, his determined gaze, the warmth they once shared from afar.
Her breathing grew uneven. Tears spilled freely now.
She began sobbing helplessly.
“Please…” she whispered.
“Choose my death over his life…”
Her voice cracked.
“So he will have a complete soul… and erase all pain.”
Her hands trembled violently.
“I am willing… to sacrifice my entire identity. My memories.”
Her head lowered.
“To become a new heart for Malakor.”
The air in the room felt unbearably heavy.
As expected—
The king's desire too was…
Narin understood both of them.
Every piece now connected.
He understood.
But he did not know what to do.
To be precisely—
What he had to do.
He stepped closer then bowed deeply.
“Her Majesty.”
His voice was firm and clear.
“I will do my best.”
He straightened slightly.
“But that is only what I can swear on my life.”
He met her tear-filled eyes.
“Her Majesty… do not lose hope.”
For a moment—
Something flickered within her.
A small, trembling light.
Hope.
She watched him as he turned and walked toward the door.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
His presence—
It reminded her of what Malakor used to be.
Back when they could suppress the flaws.
Back when they could walk side by side without collapsing the world around them.
Hope.
They both had already lost it long ago during their journey.
Yet an unknown wanderer had stepped into their path—
And waved a small lamp.
Offering them another light to hold onto in their dark and cold journey.
Narin returned to his tower room without speaking to anyone.
The corridors blurred past him—stone pillars, hanging banners, armored guards bowing as he passed—but none of it truly registered in his mind. His steps were steady, yet inwardly his thoughts churned like a storm contained within a sealed vessel.
When the heavy wooden door of his chamber closed behind him, the faint echo lingered longer than usual.
He did not remove his robe.
He did not sit immediately.
He stood in the center of the room, staring at nothing.
Then slowly, he exhaled.
And sat.
The chair creaked faintly under his weight. Sunlight filtered through the tall narrow window, falling across the desk in pale strips. Dust motes drifted lazily in the beam—small, meaningless particles dancing in a world unaware of catastrophe.
All the way to his room he had thought of all the theories and possibilities to solve this situation.
And yet—
Even with all the knowledge he possessed, it was not enough.
No.
That wasn’t accurate.
He had found several theories that could work.
But they were not something he was willing to give to them.
His fingers tapped lightly against the desk as he began organizing his thoughts again.
The first viable theory—
The Forging of Unity.
Create a new vessel, a body capable of housing two powerful spirits without tearing itself apart.
A semi-mechanical construct.
A hybrid of steel and mana circuits.
It would work. No—it could work.
But the cost—
He closed his eyes briefly.
They would lose their humanity.
They would exist as something beyond man... or beneath it.
It was not a good solution.
And it was not his right to strip them of what little normalcy remained.
The second theory—
Stabilize the connection.
Create a device capable of regulating the mana resonance between them.
If he could balance the mana flow between their souls—
They could stand side by side.
Perhaps even touch without pain.
Live quietly and happily.
But the calculations were unforgiving.
The complexity required was astronomical.
He lacked the experience.
He lacked the knowledge.
It might be possible—
But not by him and not now.
And that—
That was his biggest problem.
He was limited by his knowledge.
He pressed his fingers against his temple.
Yet—
He was not limited by ideas.
That thought lingered.
Slowly, Narin leaned back into his chair and closed his eyes.
Silence.
The ticking of time faded.
The room around him began to dissolve—not physically, but perceptually. The edges of furniture blurred. The sunlight dimmed. The air itself seemed to stretch thin.
Then—
The world vanished.
Only he remained.
And in that void—
Two streaks of light.
They stretched across the darkness like twin comets—one gold, one silver.
They were drifting apart.
But they were meant to intertwine.
I could feel it.
The golden thread pulsed warmly, steady yet strained.
The silver thread shimmered softly, fragile yet resilient.
They were beautiful and yet so tragic.
Narin stepped forward into the void.
The air distorted around him. The dust that had once floated in sunlight froze mid-air, suspended as if time itself had been pinned in place.
He extended his hand.
His fingers brushed the golden thread first.
Warmth flooded into him.
Then the silver.
Coolness, sharp and clear.
The moment his hand grasped both—
Ideas surged.
Not just the ones he had already considered.
Not just the ones he had discarded after a second’s thought.
But countless variations.
Fragments of solutions.
His mind expanded.
Then—
He opened his eyes.
The room snapped back into existence.
The dust resumed its fall.
The sunlight returned.
His breathing was calm.
“This,” he murmured softly, “seems to be the best solution.”
He stood at once.
The chair scraped sharply across the stone floor.
Without hesitation, he strode out of the room.
King Malakor was in the middle of a council meeting when Narin arrived.
The chamber was filled with nobles and ministers. Maps were spread across a long table. Voices overlapped—trade disputes, border defenses, harvest yields.
But as soon as the king saw Narin’s expression—
Malakor raised his hand.
Silence fell instantly.
“All of you,” he said calmly.
“Leave.”
No protest. No question.
Chairs moved. Papers were gathered hastily. Within moments, the room was empty once more.
Only the king and Narin remained.
Malakor did not wait.
“Speak.”
Narin stepped forward.
His voice was clear, direct.
“Both of you must sacrifice a portion of your power by connecting your excess mana to the Ironspire Kingdom’s Iron Network.”
The king’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Narin continued.
“Your resonance produces overflow—unstable mana pressure. If redirected and distributed across the kingdom’s Iron Network infrastructure, it can be grounded.”
He gestured faintly, as if tracing invisible lines in the air.
“The network already runs beneath the city—structural supports, transport rails, defensive pylons. Iron is an excellent mana conductor when treated properly.”
He met the king’s gaze.
“That is—”
King Malakor’s jaw tightened.
“I have already thought of that.”
His voice was low.
“It will result in killing my people. The output is too much for them to withstand.”
His fingers dug into the armrest of his chair.
“It is still too much.”
Narin tilted his head slightly.
But his gaze wasn’t truly on the king.
He was looking past him.
Beyond his flesh. Beyond his bone.
He was looking at the golden thread connecting him to the silver one somewhere else in the castle.
“That is why I am here,” Narin said quietly.
“Like you said when we first met, Your Majesty.”
His eyes returned to the king.
“I will take both of your mana.”
The air grew still.
“And reduce the overall quality of it until it can be safely transmitted to the kingdom.”
Silence.
“You will die,” King Malakor said without hesitation.
Narin frowned slightly.
“I too have many things in my life that I would certainly regret if I die right now,” he replied calmly.
His voice deepened slightly.
“Just like you, Your Majesty.”
He stepped closer.
“Just like how you still care about your people and let yourself suffer…”
His hand pressed lightly against his own chest.
“I too have something that I care for.”
A flicker passed through his eyes—brief, intense.
“Something that I would let myself suffer for.”
His words carried weight.
It was not loud but immovable.
The king’s body trembled once.
Just once.
It was small—but undeniable.
He stared at Narin for several long seconds.
Then—
He nodded slowly.
“I will prepare the room for that,” he said.
“And inform her.”
Narin raised a finger.
Stopping him.
“I will inform her myself.”
His voice left no room for refusal.
He turned instantly and walked toward the door.
Queen Malena was seated by her window again when he arrived.
This time, she had changed from her sleepwear into a simple pale-blue dress. Her hair was half-tied, though strands still fell freely around her face.
When she saw him, she stood abruptly.
Her eyes searched his face.
He did not waste time.
He explained everything.
Her expression hardened as he spoke.
Her brows drew together.
Her fingers clenched into fists at her sides.
“It sounds… reckless,” she whispered.
Her voice trembled.
“What if it fails again?”
There was fear in her eyes.
Fear of disappointment.
Fear of another shattered hope.
Narin’s expression turned completely blank.
But she did not notice.
He stepped forward slowly.
He placed his hand gently on her shoulder.
His palm was warm and steady.
“Do not lose hope,” he said softly.
“As long as you live, you should believe in it.”
His thumb pressed lightly, reassuring.
“And keep moving forward.”
She looked up at him.
There was something in his gaze—calm certainty.
At the corner of his mouth, the faintest curve appeared.
So slight it was almost imperceptible but it was there.
For the first time in a long while, Queen Malena’s shoulders relaxed.
She inhaled deeply then nodded.
“I will put my trust on you.”
Narin returned to the king without pause.
The corridors felt emptier now—quieter, as if the palace itself sensed something immense approaching. Tapestries stirred faintly in a wind that did not exist. The iron chandeliers above gave a low metallic hum, almost imperceptible.
King Malakor was waiting.
He stood near the tall window of his private chamber, hands clasped behind his back, gaze distant. When Narin entered, he did not turn immediately.
“It is time,” Narin said calmly.
Malakor exhaled through his nose.
Without hesitation, he summoned a guard with a single sharp knock against the wooden table.
“Evacuate the palace,” the king ordered.
His voice returned to that commanding, sovereign tone. Firm. Absolute.
“Everyone. No exceptions. Move them beyond the outer gates.”
The guard stiffened.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Boots thundered down corridors soon after. Orders echoed. Doors opened and shut. The palace shifted into hurried motion.
Narin remained still, listening to the fading footsteps.
When silence finally settled once more, he stepped into the center of the king’s chamber.
He lifted his hand and began to write with his finger.
As it moved through the air, glowing lines followed. Intricate from the point of his touch—script layered with geometric precision. Circles within circles. Sigils interlocking like clockwork.
The temperature in the room shifted.
The air thickened.
Unlike any spell he had used before, this was vast.
It expanded.
Spreading across the floor, climbing the walls, tracing along the ceiling. The luminous formation grew until it covered the entire chamber in a web of radiant symbols.
King Malakor watched in silence.
His jaw tightened slightly.
The light reflected in his eyes.
Narin’s expression did not change. His movements were fluid, measured. Every line he drew was deliberate.
When the final arc sealed into place with a faint resonant hum, he lowered his hand.
“Do not step outside this formation,” he instructed quietly.
Then he walked toward the king’s desk.
The stone.
It lay there.
Dark. Dense. Slightly warm to the touch.
The fragment that sealed half of Queen Malena’s soul.
Narin picked it up carefully.
For a brief second, he felt it.
A faint pulse.
He closed his fingers around it.
Then he turned and left the chamber, allowing his mana to flow subtly through the corridors as he moved. A thin invisible trail followed him like the tail of a comet.
A trace. A pathway.
He entered the queen’s chamber next.
Malena stood waiting.
She had already composed herself, though her hands were clasped tightly before her.
When she saw the stone in his hand, her breath caught.
Narin said nothing.
He began writing again.
The same immense spell formation unfolded across her chamber—script blooming across walls and floor, weaving into a mirrored counterpart of the king’s.
The air grew colder.
Silver light shimmered faintly in response to the stone.
When he finished, he allowed another strand of mana to stretch outward from this room as well, linking it invisibly to the king’s chamber.
Then he left once more.
The east wing.
The secret chamber beneath it.
The captain’s story echoed faintly in his memory.
Stone steps spiraled downward, the air becoming damp and metallic with each step. Torches along the walls flickered uncertainly as if reluctant to illuminate what lay below.
When he pushed open the heavy iron door at the base—
He paused.
So this is it.
The chamber was vast and circular. The ceiling arched high above, carved with ancient patterns.
And there—
Arranged carefully across the stone floor—
Fragments of broken marble.
Large pieces. Small shards.
Yet despite their destruction, they were positioned with deliberate intent.
Star-Surrounded Moon.
Narin’s eyes narrowed slightly.
He walked slowly into the formation.
Even shattered, the marble hummed faintly.
The mana... it was subtle—but undeniable.
They were not ordinary statues.
They were conduits.
Despite being broken, they continued to absorb excess mana in the surrounding air, storing it within their fractured cores.
“So this was how…” he murmured softly.
He stepped toward the center of the formation.
His mind reconstructed the past.
In the garden, under the night sky, the statues once stood intact—forming the Star-Surrounded Moon configuration. Excess mana drained outward from the king and queen, siphoned into the marble.
At the center—
Connected through underground channels—
The queen’s grave.
It is a storage reservoir.
A stabilizing vault.
The statues were fail-safes—additional buffers in case the grave reached capacity.
They could stand side by side because the formation bore their burden.
Until that night.
Narin crouched slightly, running his fingers along a broken marble surface.
What happened?
Several possibilities surfaced.
Perhaps they weakened.
Perhaps their mana output suddenly surged beyond calculated limits.
Or—
The connection between them intensified.
Too much and too close.
Their souls almost merging into one physical point.
If that had occurred—
The backlash would have been catastrophic.
He inhaled slowly.
To prevent that, King Malakor must have sealed half of Malena’s soul.
A desperate act.
An incomplete solution.
The king likely rushed here that night, carrying the sealing stone, tears blurring his vision, attempting to store excess mana directly into the formation.
But moving intact statues would have drawn suspicion.
So he destroyed them publicly—
And relocated the fragments secretly.
A clever lie...
Lethe’s Dew…
Memory prevention and preventing further instability.
And the queen—
Her body wasn’t entirely physical.
She was more manifestation than flesh.
A spirit anchored to partial reality.
That explained the unnatural cold, the mirror anomaly, the inconsistencies.
Everything aligned.
Narin stood.
He began modifying the formation.
His fingers moved swiftly now.
He altered the flow, redirecting pathways, strengthening conduits. He inscribed additional symbols over the marble debris, binding them to his earlier trace lines.
The chamber vibrated faintly.
When he was finished, a faint current of mana flowed behind him like a tether.
He left the chamber and moved toward the graveyard.
The sky above was pale blue.
Wind brushed gently across the tombstones.
Before the queen’s grave, Narin stopped.
The stone surface gleamed faintly under daylight.
He knelt.
Placing his palm against the grave, he closed his eyes.
All the mana traces he had created—king’s chamber, queen’s chamber, east wing formation—he gathered them now.
Thin threads of invisible light converged around him.
Gold.
Silver.
Faint iron-gray from the network beneath the kingdom.
He drew them inward—
And guided them into the grave.
The air trembled.
He began writing again.
This time—
Quintuple overlapping spell frames.
Five massive formations layered atop one another.
Each rotated in opposing directions.
Each inscribed with stabilizing sigils.
Sweat formed faintly at his brow, but his hands did not falter.
The runes flared brilliantly once complete, casting radiant light across the graveyard stones.
He inhaled once.
Deep.
Then—
Without hesitation—
He sent his mana through the formation.
A signal.
Calling both the king and the queen to begin the process.
The moment Narin released the signal—
It came like a flood breaking through a dam.
Mana from the king and queen surged through the pathways he had carved, rushing along the invisible traces threaded through the palace, the east wing, the garden beneath the earth, and finally converging into the queen’s grave.
Even with the grave acting as a resting point—an anchor to slow the surge—the pressure was overwhelming.
Gold and silver currents collided within the spell formation, spiraling violently before being drawn into Narin’s body.
His back straightened.
His fingers trembled only once—then steadied.
He absorbed it all.
The sensation was indescribable.
It was like molten metal being poured into veins.
Like swallowing lightning.
He took their mana and steadily began converting it—refining it—forcing its resonance to align with his own frequency. Their spiritual signatures resisted at first, flaring brightly, but he pressed down on it with sheer will.
At the same time—
He forced excess mana outward.
Through the trace lines.
Back through the marble fragments.
Into the Iron Network beneath the kingdom.
He intentionally reversed the mana flow, sending it through long, inefficient pathways to create friction and loss. Energy bled away along the distance, dispersing into manageable currents.
Eventually—
It degraded into mana so gentle that even ordinary people—those who had never touched magic—could unconsciously absorb it like fresh air.
But this method was dangerous.
He had to maintain focus in two directions simultaneously.
One—
Internal.
Converting their mana into his own without letting their resonance overwrite him.
Two—
External.
Controlling the output flow so it did not surge uncontrollably into the kingdom.
Two raging rivers.
Yet his gaze remained expressionless.
Hours passed.
The sun climbed high, then began its slow descent.
Sweat soaked through his robes. His breathing grew shallow, but steady. The graveyard air thickened, shimmering faintly. Grass flattened under invisible pressure.
The mana density grew so heavy that if an ordinary person had stepped within fifty meters, they would have collapsed instantly.
In the palace—
King Malakor gripped the arms of his chair inside the spell formation.
His jaw clenched as waves of power left him.
Beside him, in her own chamber, Queen Malena knelt, hands clasped tightly, her silver aura trembling.
“It is too much…” she whispered faintly.
Yet there was no sign of stop from Narin.
He continued.
He held the sealing stone tightly in his palm. Its dark surface burned faintly, resisting.
Several more hours passed.
Queen Malena’s body began to fade at the edges.
Her face turned pale.
Not transparent—
But fragile.
As though one more breath might scatter her.
She had nearly lost all of her mana.
At that precise moment—
Narin opened his eyes.
There was no hesitation.
He crushed the sealing stone in his hand.
It shattered with a sharp, ringing crack.
Silver light exploded outward like a star bursting open.
Half of her soul had returned.
The force shook the graveyard. Birds erupted from nearby trees in startled flight.
Narin immediately sent a final surge of his own mana outward—a clear signal.
Stop.
In the king’s chamber, Malakor gasped sharply.
The flow ceased.
Silence.
He looked down at his hands.
He flexed his fingers.
There was warmth. A strange sensation filled his chest.
He touched his own heart.
It beat steadily.
Alive!
He did not know how to describe it.
Across the palace, Queen Malena inhaled sharply.
She pressed her palm against her own cheek.
Her skin felt solid.
Her body was real.
Tears spilled from her eyes instantly.
She did not even attempt to stop them.
In the graveyard—
Narin still sat before the queen’s grave.
His breathing slowed.
He exhaled deeply.
Then his body swayed.
And he fell forward onto the ground.
His deep blue hair was a mess, clinging damply to his pale face.
His limbs felt impossibly heavy.
As if the entire weight of the earth had chosen that moment to press down upon him.
The world felt distant.
He felt inexplicably lonely.
Too exhausted to think.
Then—
A translucent screen appeared before his blurred vision.
[ Congratulations! You have completed the challenge: 3 ]
Another followed.
[ The Core is impressed with your performance. ]
[ You will be teleported to a new area for next challenge in 10 minutes ]
“…Impressed?” he murmured faintly.
A breath escaped him.
Then he laughed.
It sounded almost crazy.
But it was full of relief.
Because—
Back then, uncertain of how the Core judged choices, he had prepared.
Three safeguards.
First—
He created a new skin of the soul.
A shell.
A false will layered over his true one—constructed specifically to deceive the Core’s evaluation. A fabricated intent at the spiritual level.
Second—
He forced his true will into an unchosen state.
Neither siding fully with the king nor the queen.
A buffer.
A paradoxical spiritual alignment capable of holding both possibilities simultaneously.
Third—
At the deepest core of himself—
He intentionally emptied his will until his soul resembled still water.
Zero.
Without preference. Without bias.
It was why he had seemed strange and detached at times.
His body moved not by personal desire—
But by universal alignment.
Becoming one with circumstances itself.
Footsteps approached.
Two sets.
King Malakor and Queen Malena arrived at the graveyard.
They ran to him.
Malakor knelt first, carefully lifting Narin’s shoulders.
Malena supported his other side, her hands trembling.
They helped him sit against the queen’s grave.
His face was pale. His lips dry.
His eyes barely open.
King Malakor looked at him and smiled warmly.
Tears shimmered in his eyes.
He could touch her now.
He reached with his free hand and cupped Malena’s cheek.
She did not burn him. She did not tremble.
She leaned into his touch.
He let out a shaky laugh.
“I can stand beside you,” he whispered to her.
“I can… hold you.”
Malena sobbed openly now, clutching his hand tightly.
They looked back at Narin.
Overwhelmed.
There were no words enough.
Queen Malena knelt closer to him.
“We have never asked your name, wanderer…” she said through tears.
Her voice trembled but carried sincerity.
“Please tell us your name.”
“Our savior.”
Narin slowly lifted his head.
His vision was blurred.
He could not see their faces clearly.
But he could feel their joy.
It warmed him faintly.
He smiled softly.
“My name is Narin…”
His voice was frail.
Barely above a whisper.
“Narin Wong-sura.”
A final notification flashed.
[ You will be teleported to a new area for next challenge in 3… 2… 1 ]
[ Teleporting user to Challenge: 4. ]
His body began to fade.
Light particles lifted from his skin like scattered stardust.
Malena gasped, reaching forward.
“Wait—!”
But he was already disappearing.
Before they could thank him.
Before he could hear their gratitude.
And then—
He was gone.
King Malakor and Queen Malena stood before the grave.
Silence filled the graveyard.
The air felt lighter.
As if a long winter had finally ended.
They looked at the empty space where he had been.
It felt unreal.
Like a nightmare had been chased away by a passing lantern.
Queen Malena pressed her hands against her chest.
“Narin… our savior…” she murmured softly.
King Malakor remained silent.
He stared at the grave.
Relief. Joy. Disbelief.
All tangled within his heart.
And the image of Narin was forever carved there.
