[One Year of War Later]
The war had lasted an entire year.
One year of blood.
One year of smoke.
One year of watching people arrive at the medical tents alive...
...and leave inside body bags.
The battlefield had long since stopped resembling a battlefield.
It was simply a vast stretch of ruined land covered in trenches, barricades, destroyed vehicles, scattered weapons, and countless medical tents.
Inside those tents, doctors and medics moved constantly.
There was no time to rest.
No time to grieve.
No time to think.
Only the next patient.
[Doctor 1]: Close the wound! Now!
[Doctor 5]: Someone help me hold him down!
Doctor 11: I lost another one!
The cries of the wounded mixed with the shouting of the medical staff.
Abertha stood among them.
A cigar hung loosely from the corner of her mouth.
Her eyes were bloodshot.
Her hair was disheveled.
Her coat was stained with blood that no amount of washing seemed capable of removing anymore.
She looked across the rows of wounded soldiers.
Then toward the rows of bodies waiting to be identified.
She had stopped counting the dead a long time ago.
Fifteen days.
That was how long she had been awake.
Fifteen days without proper sleep.
And when exhaustion finally became too much—
She had died.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Twenty times in total.
Sometimes from exhaustion.
Sometimes from injuries.
Sometimes because she had deliberately killed herself just to trigger her ability and reset her body.
It worked.
Her body returned.
Her fatigue vanished.
Her wounds disappeared.
But her memories remained.
Every death.
Every scream.
Every face.
Every name.
None of them disappeared with the reset.
[Doctor 11]: Lady Abertha!
Abertha slowly turned her head.
[Doctor 11]: Sorry to interrupt your smoke break, but we need you at Tent Nine!
Abertha took another drag from her cigar.
Her eyelids slowly lowered.
She looked at the shovel lying beside one of the supply crates.
[Abertha]: Just take that shovel...
A tired breath escaped her.
[Abertha]: ...and split my head open.
The doctor froze.
[Abertha]: My eyes are starting to close.
She pointed toward the shovel.
[Abertha]: I need a reset.
The doctor stared at her.
Then at the shovel.
Then back at Abertha.
He had long since learned not to question her.
A moment later—
THUNK.
Abertha's body collapsed.
Silence.
The doctor waited.
One second.
Two.
Then—
Abertha suddenly inhaled.
Her eyes opened.
She stood up.
Picked up her medical bag.
And walked toward Tent Nine.
[Doctor 11]: ...I don't think I'll ever get used to that.
Abertha didn't answer.
She was already gone.
[Tent Nine]
The moment Abertha entered, she was surrounded by wounded soldiers.
Dozens of them.
Some were screaming.
Some were unconscious.
Others were simply staring at the ceiling, waiting for someone to tell them whether they were going to live.
Abertha immediately began working.
Her hands moved faster than thought.
She stitched.
She disinfected.
She stabilized.
She transferred wounds.
She forced failing organs to continue functioning.
Her Arts spread through the tent like invisible warmth.
One patient stopped bleeding.
Another's shattered bones began knitting together.
A third opened his eyes after being unconscious for hours.
Abertha barely acknowledged any of it.
Her attention remained on the next patient.
Then the next.
Then the next.
Eventually, she looked toward the casualty board hanging near the entrance.
The numbers had been updated again.
She stared at it for several seconds.
Then quietly spoke.
[Abertha]: 2,456 lives...
Her fingers tightened around the medical instrument in her hand.
[Abertha]: That's how many we've lost while I've been here.
A pause.
Her eyes moved across the tent.
[Abertha]: Let's hope I don't have to add another.
She turned back toward the wounded.
And continued working.
Because there was still someone breathing.
And as long as someone was breathing—
Abertha had work to do.
[Rhodes Island Landship]
Far from the front lines, the landship continued moving through the war-torn landscape.
Inside the command section—
Protector stood silently beside Theresa.
He had become her personal bodyguard.
A position he had never expected to hold.
For most of the past year, Protector had been moved constantly between the front and rear lines.
Whenever Babel needed someone strong enough to break through an enemy formation—
He was sent to the front.
Whenever the wounded needed to be evacuated—
He was sent to the rear.
Whenever a defensive position was about to collapse—
He was there.
For an entire year, he fought without stopping.
Until, one month earlier—
His body finally reached its limit.
He had suffered injuries severe enough to nearly kill him.
Even his monstrous endurance had failed him.
For the first time since joining Babel, Protector had been forced away from the front lines.
Theresa had personally ordered it.
Now he remained beside her.
Watching.
Waiting.
Protecting.
Protector glanced toward Theresa.
She was reading a report.
Her expression remained calm.
But Protector could see the exhaustion in her eyes.
The faint shadows beneath them had grown darker over the past few weeks. She had barely slept, and yet she continued reading report after report as if nothing were wrong.
Beside her, Protector stood silently.
Then his voice came through the small device attached to his throat.
[Protector]: You... should... rest.
The voice was harsh and distorted, broken by static.
His own voice had been taken from him long ago.
Oripathy had slowly eroded his throat until speaking naturally became impossible. The device now attached to his neck was salvaged from the remains of his old mech—the Teekaz knight that had been destroyed during one of his many battles.
It was crude.
Uncomfortable.
But it allowed him to speak.
Theresa smiled faintly without looking up from the report.
[Theresa]: So should you.
Protector said nothing.
Neither did Theresa.
For several seconds, the only sound in the room was the quiet rustling of paper.
Protector eventually looked toward her.
Theresa continued reading.
[Protector]: Rest... or I... tell... Amiya... no bedtime.
Theresa stopped.
Slowly, she looked up at him.
[Theresa]: Kal'tsit taught you that.
Protector immediately avoided her eyes.
Theresa stared at him for a moment.
Then she smiled.
She closed the report and stood.
[Theresa]: Well, then let us get some rest.
She walked toward the door.
[Theresa]: Both of us.
Protector followed.
For a brief moment, the hallway was quiet.
Their footsteps echoed through the landship.
Then—
Protector stopped.
His hand slowly tightened around the handle of his shield.
The metal creaked beneath his grip.
Theresa turned back.
He didn't answer immediately.
His head tilted slightly, listening.
The damaged speaker at his throat crackled.
Theresa's expression changed.
Protector stared into the empty hallway.
[Protector]: Too much.
A pause.
The speaker hissed again.
His shield came up.
[Protector]: Someone is dying.
Theresa's eyes widened.
Protector took one slow step forward.
[Protector]: And... they are not alone.
The moment the words left his damaged speaker—
Twenty shadows emerged from the darkness.
They surrounded them.
No footsteps.
No warning.
No sound of movement.
They simply appeared.
Each figure wore a dark veil that concealed their face, leaving only the faint glimmer of their eyes visible beneath the fabric.
Their horns had been cut away.
Not broken.
Not filed down.
Cut.
The wounds had scarred long ago, leaving each assassin permanently stripped of the most recognizable symbol of their Sarkaz identity.
Every one of them held a blade.
Every blade was stained with fresh blood.
Theresa's eyes moved across them.
Twenty.
A full squad.
She recognized their attire and why they were here.
The veils.
The missing horns.
The silent discipline.
Her expression hardened.
The assassins said nothing.
They simply watched her.
The Deathveil Assassins had once been Sarkaz warriors who served beneath the King of Sarkaz.
Then came the betrayal.
They had taken up arms against their own lord and master.
Unable to forgive themselves for raising their weapons against their King, they abandoned their former identities.
They cut off their horns.
They covered their faces.
And they took a new name.
Deathveil.
They no longer considered themselves worthy of being called Sarkaz.
They were kingslayers.
Kin-slayers.
Warriors who had turned their blades against their own lord and master.
So they hid their faces behind veils and buried their former names beneath the scars where their horns had once been.
And now—
They had come to kill the Sarkaz King.
At the front of the formation walked one of them.
His face was hidden beneath a hood that hung heavily around his shoulders.
He stopped several steps away from Theresa.
The other nineteen assassins remained completely silent.
Their blades were already drawn.
Their bodies were tense.
Yet none of them attacked.
The hooded assassin lowered his head.
[Assassin]: Your Majesty...
His voice trembled.
Not with fear.
With shame.
[Assassin]: We do not ask for forgiveness.
He slowly raised his blade.
[Assassin]: Our crime is unforgivable.
Theresa stared at him.
She recognized him.
Then another.
And another.
She knew their faces.
Their voices.
Their names.
She had fought beside some of them.
Fed some of them.
Spoken with some of them.
They had once been her people.
[Assassin]: But this must be done.
His grip tightened around his sword.
[Assassin]: For the future of the Sarkaz.
Theresa looked past him.
Toward the Doctor.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she smiled.
It wasn't an angry smile.
It wasn't even a sad one.
It was the same gentle smile she had given him countless times before.
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
[Theresa]: So you chose this.
The Doctor said nothing.
Theresa's eyes softened.
[Theresa]: I see.
Protector stepped in front of her.
His shield slammed against the floor.
[Protector]: You... will... not... pass.
The Deathveil assassins drew their weapons.
Twenty blades flashed beneath the dim lights.
Protector's mechanical heart began beating faster.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
His body was already exhausted.
His Oath was already cracking beneath the weight of everything he had endured.
But he remained standing.
Because Theresa was behind him.
Because Amiya was somewhere on this landship.
Because he had sworn an oath.
And because a Wendigo who had survived countless battlefields had decided that this was where he would make his stand.
The first assassin lunged.
Protector's shield moved.
CRACK.
The assassin was thrown across the hallway.
Three more came from different directions.
Protector caught one blade against his shield.
Another pierced his shoulder.
The third buried a sword into his side.
He didn't move.
His fist closed around the assassin's wrist.
[Protector]: One... more... step.
He crushed the man's arm.
Then another assassin struck.
A blade entered Protector's eye.
His head jerked backward.
Black blood ran down his face.
He still didn't fall.
Instead, Protector grabbed the assassin with both hands and slammed him against the wall.
Another blade came down.
Then another.
His fingers were cut away one by one.
First the little finger.
Then the ring finger.
Then the middle.
Then the index.
Pieces of him fell onto the floor.
His shield slipped from his hand.
His mechanical heart began to malfunction.
Tick.
Tick.
Ticktickticktick—
An assassin drove a sword through his chest.
Protector staggered.
The blade tore through his armor.
The mechanical heart inside him was ripped from his chest.
It landed on the floor.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Still beating.
Still working.
Still refusing to stop.
Protector collapsed to one knee.
The Deathveil assassins surrounded him.
One raised his sword.
Protector looked at him.
Then opened his mouth.
The assassin hesitated.
Protector lunged.
His teeth sank into the man's throat.
The assassin screamed.
Protector tore him down.
Another assassin stabbed him through the back.
Protector turned.
His remaining teeth closed around the second assassin's neck.
He dragged the man down with him.
Two Deathveil warriors died beneath him.
Only then did Protector finally collapse.
His enormous body hit the floor.
His head rolled away from his shoulders.
The mechanical heart continued ticking beside him.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Silence.
Theresa stared at him.
Her expression finally broke.
There was no answer.
The Deathveil assassins stepped over his body.
Theresa slowly turned toward them.
And the woman who had spent her entire life trying to prevent bloodshed finally raised her weapon.
But suddenly.
The door behind Theresa opened.
And Amiya entered.
The assassins had not noticed her yet.
Theresa froze.
Amiya stood in the doorway, holding a small book against her chest.
[Amiya]: I was looking for you.
She smiled.
[Amiya]: I wanted to read you a bedtime story.
Theresa's heart sank.
She immediately moved toward her.
She knelt.
She gently placed her hands over Amiya's eyes.
[Theresa]: Don't look.
[Theresa]: It's all right.
Her voice remained gentle.
Even as blood ran across the floor behind her.
[Theresa]: Just close your eyes.
She stood.
And placed herself between Amiya and the assassins.
[Theresa]: Stay behind me.
The Deathveil assassins advanced.
Theresa raised her weapon.
[Theresa]: You will not take another child from this world.
The battle began.
The hallway became a storm of blades and Arts.
Theresa fought not because she believed she could win.
She fought because Amiya was behind her.
Every strike that came toward the young girl was intercepted.
Every assassin that reached them was driven back.
Theresa's body began to fail.
Originium crystals tore through her flesh.
Blood stained her clothes.
Her breathing became weaker.
Still—
She stood.
Still—
She protected Amiya.
And somewhere beyond the battlefield, the Doctor watched.
The Doctor who had once fought beside her.
The Doctor who had once dreamed of saving the world with her.
The Doctor who had now chosen a path that would leave Babel shattered.
Theresa looked at him.
Their eyes met.
And despite everything...
She smiled.
Her weapon fell from her hand.
She staggered.
A blade pierced her.
Amiya screamed.
Theresa fell to her knees.
But she still reached backward.
Her hand found Amiya's face.
She gently covered the girl's eyes again.
[Theresa]: Don't look at me.
Amiya began to cry.
Theresa's smile returned.
[Theresa]: You still have your story.
She looked toward the Doctor.
For a moment, there was no King of Sarkaz.
No Babel.
No war.
No betrayal.
Only two people who had once believed in the same future.
Theresa understood that she could not change what had already happened.
But perhaps she could change what happened next.
She reached toward the Doctor.
[Theresa]: I forgive you.
The Doctor's expression changed.
[Theresa]: I know you wanted to save everyone.
Her voice became weaker.
[Theresa]: Even if you forgot how.
The light of her Arts gathered around them.
Memories began to surface.
Babel.
Kazdel.
The Doctor.
The Sarkaz.
The war.
The people they had lost.
The promises they had made.
The promises they had broken.
Theresa looked at him one final time.
[Theresa]: If you cannot carry all of this...
Her hand touched his head.
[Theresa]: Then forget.
The light grew brighter.
The memories began to disappear.
Not because Theresa hated him.
Not because she wanted revenge.
But because she still believed the Doctor could become something better.
Someone who could walk into the future without being chained to everything that had come before.
The Doctor's memories were washed away.
The truth.
The pain.
Babel.
Theresa.
Everything.
And Theresa...
smiled.
[Theresa]: Live, Doctor.
Her hand fell.
The light vanished.
Amiya cried out.
The woman who had dreamed of peace finally became silent.
On the floor beside her stood Protector's broken body.
His severed head lay several meters away.
His mechanical heart continued ticking.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Then—
It stopped.
And with that sound...
Babel lost its King.
The Doctor lost his past.
Amiya lost the person who had raised her.
And the Sarkaz lost the last hope of ending their hatred without bloodshed.
[Chapter end]