The heavy conversation from earlier still lingered in the air.

  Tidewhisper remained quiet for a moment, then finally spoke, breaking the silence.

  “Your Majesty,” he said softly, yet firmly, “there is something I still don’t understand.”

  The Komodo Dragon King turned toward him.

  “Why did you help us?” Tidewhisper asked. “You said even the heat and cold outside your kingdom can harm your kind. Yet you left the Dragon Kingdom before knowing Severus, before knowing Pyrope’s state, before knowing anything.”

  Rhaikor straightened, as if anticipating the question.

  The King sighed, then reached behind him and unfolded a thin cloak—dark, flexible, woven with metallic threads.

  “…Because of this.”

  The cloak rippled slightly, though there was no breeze.

  “This,” the King explained calmly, “is Fifth. The Numbered Weapon of the Dragon Kingdom.”

  Rowan leaned forward, eyes narrowing.

  “What does it do?”

  He flicked the fabric lightly.

  “This cloak manipulates air within one meter around the wearer,” the King explained.

  “Not full wind control, but enough to change movement. Enough to fly. Enough to move silently… or loudly, depending on intent.”

  The air around him rippled—soft, circular waves forming a shield-like pressure before dissolving in seconds.

  The air shifted—gentle, controlled, contained.

  Even Lira could feel the slight pressure.

  “With this, I can travel far outside the kingdom.”

  Tidewhisper lowered his eyes.

  “So that is how you reached us so quickly…”

  But the King wasn’t done.

  He set the cloak aside and his tone grew heavier.

  “There is something else you all must know. Something I finally confirmed after seeing Severus’s attack with my own eyes.”

  The room grew still.

  The King glanced at Rhaikor—who gave a small nod—and then continued.

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  “During the battle,” he said, “Severus used a blade that… flickered.”

  Lira frowned.

  “Flickered?”

  “Not like light,” Rhaikor answered. “Like existence itself. A blade that could not decide whether it was there or not.”

  Tidewhisper inhaled sharply, realization forming in his expression.

  The King confirmed it with a quiet, steady voice:

  “That phenomenon matches only one relic in recorded history.”

  He looked at Pyrope, Rowan, Lira—and finally Tidewhisper.

  “Eleventh. The Void Sword.”

  The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

  The King continued slowly:

  “It does not cut flesh. It cuts space. It opens a void. Anyone who enters… sees nothingness. And the only way out is to cut another exit.”

  Rowan swallowed.

  “So Severus was using… that thing?”

  “Yes,” the King said. “But none of you recognized it. Only Rhaikor and I understood what we witnessed. Even then, I withheld the truth until I could confirm it.”

  Tidewhisper exhaled.

  “As the stronger the Numbered Weapon… the heavier the downside.”

  The King nodded.

  “Correct. And Eleventh is one of the most unstable.”

  The atmosphere thickened, each revelation adding another weight.

  But the King wasn’t done.

  “There is more,” he said. “Something I learned only through ancient literature.”

  Everyone looked up.

  “Beyond Stage Five… there exists another stage.”

  Pyrope tensed.

  “Stage Six.”

  The King’s voice lowered. “A stage beyond body harmony. A stage where one connects to the world itself.”

  Lira’s breath caught.

  “Connect… to the world?”

  “Through understanding,” the King replied. “Through clarity. Through a form of awareness lost to time. Stage Six individuals, according to ancient writings, learned truths of nature, elements, and the world’s structure.”

  He paused, letting the words settle.

  “And when Severus used that shadow bind…”

  Everyone reacted in shock—except Pyrope, who stared at his lap, remembering it vividly.

  “…I understood. It was a crude form of element manipulation. Something impossible for a normal Stage Four.”

  Tidewhisper’s eyes widened.

  “Then… Fifth manipulates wind. Eleventh manipulates space. And Severus manipulated shadows…”

  He stepped back slightly, realization hitting him.

  “That means the numbered weapons were designed to manipulate elements too.”

  The King nodded.

  “That is one conclusion I also reached.”

  Tidewhisper looked down, whispering:

  “…Created by Stage Six. Ancient individuals who understood the world deeply enough to craft these weapons.”

  Silence fell.

  A silence not of disbelief—

  but of understanding.

  The King continued:

  “Each kingdom received one relic. Their creation process was never recorded. Only fragments remain. And there are many truths we still do not know.”

  He exhaled slowly.

  “The world is full of unknowns. People live peacefully because they do not know what sleeps beneath them. Disasters come without warning—earthquakes, eruptions, vanishing lands.”

  Pyrope felt his chest tighten.

  Every new truth felt like another burden placed on his shoulders.

  Rhaikor finally stepped in.

  “My King, I believe this is enough. We have stayed outside the kingdom for too long. We must return.”

  The King nodded, then turned toward the exit—but he paused before stepping out.

  His gaze fixed on Pyrope, voice unexpectedly gentle.

  “Especially you, Pyrope,” he said. “Something is wrong within you.

  This burden… is not yours to carry.”

  Then he left with Rhaikor, and the room fell into a heavy silence.

  A silence filled not with fear—

  but with knowledge the world was never supposed to know.