Vale’s trembling body leaned heavily against the cold, metallic table. His vision remained locked on the corpse before him, unblinking and unyielding. His breath came ragged and uneven, scraping its way out of his chest, yet he did not move. Terror wrapped around him completely, suffocating, paralyzing, an invisible set of chains forged from his own fear.

  Artoria’s eyes were open. They did not blink. They did not wander. They were fixed squarely on him.

  Ember hissed violently, wings flaring as the wyvern lowered its body into a defensive stance. The ravens echoed the warning, cawing sharply, feathers bristling, yet none of them dared to approach the corpse. Even they felt it, the lingering presence of something vast, something wrong.

  Seconds stretched. Those became minutes. Vale’s chest rose and fell erratically at first, then, slowly, his breathing steadied, as if his body finally remembered how to survive. His eyes never left the woman.

  'Her eyes…'

  They narrowed slightly.

  'They weren’t open before. Right?'

  With agonizing slowness, Vale raised his hand. His fingers trembled as he extended it toward her face, toward the pale grey skin that no longer looked entirely lifeless. The room seemed to hold its breath with him.

  Then,

  She blinked.

  Vale stumbled backward with a sharp gasp, panic surging through him,

  But before he could flee, a hand snapped shut around his wrist.

  Cold.

  Not decayed. Not rigid. Just cold.

  Vale’s eyes widened as terror flooded him anew, yet his body refused to obey. The invisible chains tightened, binding him in place. Even if she released him, he knew, he would not move.

  Slowly, Artoria rose. She sat upright on the table, looking down at herself with a distant, confused expression, as though awakening from a dream she did not remember entering. Her hand drifted across her shattered armor, fingers brushing cracked plates and torn sigils. Sorrow flickered across her face.

  Then she turned.

  Her gaze fell upon the broken blade resting beside her.

  It was no longer black. No longer corrupted. Its surface gleamed with a deep golden-white sheen, celestial steel restored, untainted. She stared at it for a long moment, something fragile and aching stirring behind her eyes.

  Vale watched her, his mind racing, thoughts colliding in a storm he could not untangle.

  Ember let out a low, threatening roar. The ravens shifted, wings half-spread, ready to strike if forced. All of them understood the same truth: attacking her would be a final act of desperation.

  Artoria’s gaze lifted. It found Vale.

  She stood.

  Her remaining hand closed around the hilt of her sword, while the other, still gripping Vale’s wrist, slowly traced upward along his arm. Her touch was hesitant now, uncertain. When her fingers reached his cheek, she paused. Her face drew closer, eyes wide with something like childlike curiosity.

  She opened her mouth.

  No sound came.

  Her brows knit together. She pulled her hand back slightly, touching her own lips, confusion rippling across her expression. She tried again, mouth opening, breath drawn, yet again, nothing.

  Her body began to tremble. Not with rage. Not with malice.

  With fear.

  Not fear of Vale. Not fear of the room.

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  Fear of silence.

  She reached toward him once more, then hesitated. Her hand fell back to her chest as she stumbled against the table behind her, as if suddenly unsure she was allowed to exist.

  Silence consumed the room.

  Vale could not speak.

  Artoria could not speak.

  Even Ember and the ravens fell quiet.

  Then,

  Reality folded.

  A tall woman appeared between them without warning. Deep brunette hair framed pale skin, her eyes shimmered, shifting endlessly in color. Alexandria.

  Vale barely registered her presence, his focus was still trapped on the woman who should not have been alive. Alexandria, however, saw everything. She immediately stepped forward, placing herself between Vale and Artoria, body tense, stance protective, power coiled and ready to erupt.

  Artoria’s face lit with sudden relief. She reached out toward Alexandria instinctively,

  “Get back!” Alexandria shouted.

  The word struck like a blade.

  Artoria froze. Her eyes widened in shock as she staggered backward, disbelief rippling across her face. Alexandria glanced over her shoulder briefly, checking Vale’s condition, before turning back, her expression hardened, gaze sharp and unforgiving.

  Artoria hesitated… then reached out again, slower this time.

  “Get back, monster!” Alexandria snapped.

  The word shattered her.

  Artoria recoiled as if struck. Her hand fell limp at her side, her eyes paling as sorrow flooded her expression, raw, immediate, overwhelming. She stared at Alexandria, then at Vale, then at the ground, shoulders trembling.

  Vale’s breath hitched. He wanted to speak. To scream. To say something.

  He could not.

  Artoria drew her hand to her chest, fingers clutching at the remnants of her armor. Her gaze lingered on the floor as she clenched her teeth, pain etched into every line of her face.

  Then,

  She vanished.

  No flash. No sound. No distortion.

  Just absence.

  The room felt colder without her.

  Vale remained frozen in place, heart pounding, the echo of her sorrow lingering like a wound that refused to close.

  After several long seconds, Vale’s legs finally gave out. He collapsed onto the floor, palms scraping against cold metal as his breathing came in heavy, uneven gasps. Ember rushed to his side at once, nudging him insistently with his snout, while the ravens circled low before settling near him, cawing anxiously.

  The door burst open.

  Multiple figures entered in rapid succession, already in combat formation, Callum at the front, blade half-raised, Evelyn and Yuki flanking him with abilities primed and eyes sharp. The tension in the room spiked instantly, the air thick with expectation of violence.

  Vale did not react.

  He stared blankly at the floor, eyes trembling, breathing still ragged, entirely unaware that anyone had entered at all. His world had narrowed to a single, unbearable point.

  Alexandria stood near him, watching with an expression that hovered somewhere between concern and pity. She did not move.

  Callum stepped forward, his attention immediately drawn to the iron dissection table. The place where he had laid Artoria’s body with his own hands. His fingers slid slowly across the cold metallic surface, tracing its edge as his eyes narrowed.

  Empty.

  His jaw tightened.

  Evelyn and Yuki noticed Vale then, but neither moved toward him. Their focus was elsewhere, on the absence. On what should not have been possible.

  Slowly, Callum turned back. His voice was calm, but strained beneath the surface.

  “What happened?”

  Vale lifted his head. His gaze locked onto Callum’s face for a long moment, unfocused, distant. When he finally spoke, only a single word escaped him.

  “Artoria.”

  Callum froze.

  For a heartbeat, he did not move at all. Then disbelief crept across his features, subtle at first, before his breath caught. He turned back toward the table, hands trembling as he touched it again, as though expecting reality to correct itself.

  “Impossible,” he murmured.

  Evelyn stepped closer, eyes narrowing. “What’s wrong?”

  Callum did not answer her immediately. Instead, he knelt down to Vale’s level, studying him carefully, then looked back up sharply.

  “Notify everyone,” Callum said, voice suddenly hard. “That blight has escaped. It is now our highest priority.”

  Evelyn stiffened, clearly startled by the urgency, but she trusted Callum’s judgment. Without hesitation, she turned and left the room, Yuki following close behind.

  Alexandria remained.

  She watched the two of them in silence for several moments before finally speaking.

  “Who is this Artoria?”

  Callum exhaled slowly and stood. He did not meet her eyes at first.

  “She was the second strongest Pendragon in history,” he said quietly. “A hero among heroes. She fell during the era of Dagon’s descent into madness.”

  His vision darkened as the memory settled into place.

  “Her cause of death was never confirmed,” he added.

  A pause.

  “Until today.”

  Alexandria absorbed this in silence. She knew the name Pendragon well, everyone did. They were legends. Heroes who had shaped entire eras. Children of Arthur Pendragon’s legacy, the lineage that once rivaled even Dagon himself.

  Slowly, she nodded.

  Callum bent down again and grasped Vale by the shoulder, helping him to his feet.

  “What are you going to do with him?” Alexandria asked, her tone cautious.

  Callum sighed, exhaustion bleeding into his voice. “I’ll take him back to his room. Later, I’ll question him about what happened here.”

  Vale allowed himself to be guided, his steps slow and unsteady. His body still trembled, but not from Artoria anymore.

  As they left the room, a realization settled deep into his mind, cold and unmistakable.

  That crowned spawn.

  That bloody angel with wings of screaming infants.

  He knew it.