Through the data obtained, Stella revealed a moment in time known only to a few beings.

  “Hm?”

  A woman lifted her gaze to the sky, squinting.

  The wind tugged at her coat, carrying the low growl of an approaching storm. She stood apart from her soldiers, gloved hands resting on the haft of her weapon. The fauchard’s blade leaned against the ground like a predator waiting to strike.

  Before her, slumped against a boulder, lay the cold body of a fallen beastman. She closed her eyes, bowing her head in silence, offering respect to a worthy opponent.

  She did not waste words. Her eyes, half-lidded but sharp, swept the horizon with quiet vigilance.

  Exhaling, she lifted Catharsis upright. The curved blade caught the pallid light, flashing red for an instant as though it were tasting the air. She watched it with the faintest of smiles—not pride, but recognition.

  “My Lady,” a voice called from behind.

  She did not answer immediately. Her fingertips brushed the weapon’s edge, a habit when lost in thought, before she finally glanced over her shoulder. Her expression was unreadable.

  “Mm.”

  One word of acknowledgement, nothing more.

  Her underling approached, breathing heavily after the brutal fight. His armor bore dents and was stained with blood, the weight of battle clinging to him.

  “We’ve killed every beastman who dared invade,” he reported grimly. “We offered surrender, but…”

  Her gaze hardened. She already knew.

  “…not a single one accepted.”

  She turned back toward the corpse of the beastman leader, sighing heavily.

  “Tell everyone… to return home.”

  The words were soft, nearly carried away by the wind, but the soldier caught them.

  “Yes, My Lady!”

  He hurried off, armor clattering with each stride.

  The Queen raised her head to the heavens. Dark clouds churned, swollen and heavy with storm.

  “I don’t like this…” she whispered.

  Alongside her army, she entered her kingdom.

  Fortified by colossal pillars and walls, the city was a bulwark no beastman could breach.

  These defenses were unique—born from the tireless hands of her daughter, who labored endlessly in her workshop to craft improvements that kept their people alive.

  As the soldiers crossed the ramparts, the Queen paused again, eyes on the heavens.

  Lightning flickered, but none struck. The silence was worse than thunder.

  Why does this storm feel so wrong?

  She had never feared storms. She had marched through thunder, fought under lightning. But this one pressed on her chest like a weight, whispering of doom.

  She tried to bury the feeling—until she saw it.

  A gap split the clouds.

  An eye opened.

  Colossal. All-seeing. Its gaze pierced the earth. And though its pupil had no mouth, the curve of it was a smile.

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  The Queen froze, her body locking entirely. The eye vanished in an instant, but terror rooted itself in her heart.

  We’re doomed.

  The thought echoed mercilessly. No strength she possessed could stand against such a being.

  Catharsis trembled in her hands as she tried to steady her grip.

  Too late.

  A jagged bolt of lightning speared downward, blinding white. The earth convulsed as it struck, three houses obliterated in a blast of rubble. Families were reduced to blackened silhouettes—charred where they stood, their final cries drowned in thunder.

  The acrid stench of smoke and burnt flesh rolled through the streets.

  The Queen staggered, horrified, then spun toward the gates. From beyond the walls came screams—raw, piercing, a chorus of despair bleeding into the night.

  Her dread hardened into resolve. She raised her weapon, pointing skyward.

  “Catharsis,” she whispered, “crush my enemy.”

  The storm roared in answer. Sunlight disappeared.

  The world sank into unnatural night. Lightning fell in relentless chains, demolishing homes, ripping craters into the earth.

  Yet amid the ruin, her fauchard blazed. Power surged through her, pulled straight from her core into the weapon. She spun it once, then stilled.

  Catharsis glowed ferociously, energy screaming at the edge of collapse.

  Static crawled across her skin, ozone burned her lungs. Every nerve warned of destruction—but there was nowhere safe.

  The ground split with each strike, streets collapsing into yawning pits. Underground would offer no salvation.

  Her aura flared, wild and unbound.

  Ignoring the devastation, she slashed toward the heavens.

  A crescent of yellow energy roared upward, vast enough to split the storm. For a brief moment the veil parted, revealing fragments of the thing above.

  But before she could comprehend, her vision blurred.

  Her body locked. Electricity surged through her veins, shutting her down completely.

  She never had the chance to regret. Her eyes closed—never to open again.

  May and Deveralna sat in silence, listening until Stella’s story ended.

  At last May spoke. “This woman… was she the Valkyrie?”

  Stella’s voice was quiet. “Valkyrie Skadii. My grandmother.”

  “I see…”

  The name weighed heavy, silencing them again.

  When Deveralna finally spoke, her tone was hesitant. “How did you piece this together? You said it was only flashes—images. I don’t doubt you, I just… don’t understand.”

  Stella nodded.

  “I already knew this story.”

  “What?!” Both women exchanged startled looks.

  “When I was trapped in the elemental realm,” Stella continued, “the phantom of my mother told it to me. Again and again. But her view was limited. She only managed to escape the city before it was destroyed.”

  Her frown deepened. “Now I understand why she said not a single survivor remained. They weren’t killed outright.”

  She glanced behind her, voice tightening.

  “They were dragged here—to serve as fuel for the pillar.”

  A sharp breath escaped her lips.

  “…What a tragedy.”

  Her eyes lingered on the cold remains of humans. Stella stared in silence.

  “You don’t talk often of your time in the elemental realm,” May said at last, arms crossed. “But don’t let this consume you.”

  Deveralna nodded in agreement.

  “She’s right. You never knew these people personally. Grieving is natural, but drowning in it will only slow you down.”

  Stella’s eyes glistened, words caught in her throat.

  Seeing her expression, May tried to shift the mood.

  “You? Speaking as if you know what that means?”

  “Huh?” Deveralna’s temple twitched.

  “For your information, I’m still the Queen of my people. I know what it means to misplace trust.”

  “Right.”

  They stood face-to-face, sparks of plasma and fire escaping between them. Deveralna’s tail slapped the dirt while May’s sword hand clenched tight.

  “Ha—”

  Stella exhaled a soft sound. Both women turned toward her.

  She laughed, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. “What even was that?”

  “Good. It worked.”

  The lamia nodded, her spirit lightened.

  “Thanks for playing along.” Said the redhead with a satisfied grin.

  Deveralna’s lips curved faintly. “For Stella’s sake, I can indulge you.”

  Their bond was strong. Stella knew it. These flare-ups were rare, and when they happened now, they were often deliberate—mock fights to mend the heart of the daughter who had lost too much.

  “Stella,” Deveralna said suddenly, her face turning serious.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m destroying this pillar. Just looking at it chills me.”

  “…I see.” Stella frowned.

  “I’ll incinerate the remains. We can’t leave these people here, even if it’s too late to save them.”

  May’s voice carried a trace of pity. “It’s the least we can do.”

  Stella thought for a moment, then nodded. “Alright. Go on. There’s nothing more to gain from it.”

  That was enough.

  Deveralna and May moved together. Plasma and fire joined in destructive harmony.

  Deveralna gathered crackling plasma at her fingertip, steadying her aim. May stepped forward, heat intensifying with each stride until the dirt beneath her melted. She rested a hand on her sword.

  At the right moment, Deveralna fired.

  A sphere of lightning shot forward—then arched over May’s head at the last instant.

  May drew in one smooth motion, her blade carving through the sphere. Hellfire burst outward, merging with plasma in a torrent of destruction.

  Flowers shriveled to ash with a shriek too unnatural to be mortal.

  The pillar cracked under the storm, splintering spine-like structures until they collapsed into flame and thunder.

  Watching the smoke rise, Stella felt only unease.

  Bones blackened, skulls split, then turned to ash. Empty husks, denied even peace.

  “Don’t look away.”

  She turned to May, who sheathed her blade with slow finality.

  “Your father said it best,” May continued. “We’re facing beings with no shred of remorse. This kind of sight should not surprise you. Hold your head high and witness it. Let these feelings pile up—then unleash them on the one responsible.”

  Standing before the inferno, May’s figure burned into Stella’s memory.

  “I…”

  Steeling herself, Stella pressed a hand to her chest.

  “I will.”