LOCATION:THE VOID CASTLE
The boundless crimson void offered no gravity, no horizon, and no escape. Elya floated in the thick, blood-red expanse, his body weightless, his consciousness suspended in a state between existence and nothingness. The air itself felt heavy, humming with an ancient, oppressive energy that vibrated against his very soul.
Then,two humanoid silhouettes drifted into the space, flanking him like silent judges.
To his left stood a figure of blinding, pristine white—radiant, yet cold and clinical. To his right drifted a figure of absolute, consuming blackness—shifting like smoke, radiating a heavy, violent warmth. They had no faces, yet Elya could feel the immense weight of their collective gaze pressing down on him.
"You speak of a quiet world, Elya," the White Figure spoke first. Its voice didn't echo through ears; it resonated directly inside his mind, sounding like a chorus of distant, flawless glass. "You claim your hands are shaped to build a sanctuary of peace. But a sanctuary cannot be built with the bricks of a slaughterhouse."
Elya frowned, his weightless form drifting slightly in the red mist. "Everything I do... is to bring an end to the chaos. To ensure security."
"A lie wrapped in righteousness," the White Figure countered smoothly, its light flaring with an uncomfortable intensity. "The peace you claim to seek is nothing but a mask. A grand illusion to hide the rot underneath. Look into your own depths, Witch. You do not crave tranquility. You crave retaliation. You wear the armor of a savior, but your heart beats to the rhythm of revenge."
"That's not true," Elya denied instantly, his voice tightening as his analytical calm began to fracture. "I am logical. I eliminate threats before they can destroy what is left. It is a necessity."
"And a beautiful necessity it is," the Black Figure rumbled from his right. Its voice was a deep, gravelly purr that felt like a comforting embrace from a shadow. It drifted closer to Elya, its smoky form swirling protectively around him. "Why do you let the light mock you, boy? The world is a predator. Peace without power is just a slow execution. You do what must be done. To erase your enemies is to ensure your survival. Your anger is justified. Your malice is your sharpest tool. Do not let it deny your nature."
"He speaks for your ego, not your reality," the White Figure interrupted, drifting directly in front of Elya, cutting off the crimson view. The figure's presence grew suffocatingly heavy. "You claim you fight to protect. Yet, look at the trail you leave behind. Look at the child who looks up to you."
Elya's breath hitched in his throat. Mira.
"Because of your crusade, because of the dark gravity of your choices, that little girl knows no true stillness," the White Figure whispered, the words striking Elya harder than any magical physical blow. "She lives in the shadow of your violence. You brought her into a warzone under the guise of sanctuary. Because of you, and the vengeance you hide behind your mask, Mira does not have peace. She never will, as long as you harbor the monster within."
"Stop," Elya hissed, his fists clenching in the weightless void as a spike of raw, unbridled emotion cracked through his logical mind. "I am keeping her safe. I am all she has."
"You are the anchor dragging her into the abyss," the White Figure stated coldly.
"Ignore the phantom, Elya," the Black Figure hissed in his ear, its shadowy hand resting gently on his shoulder, pulling him back into the dark comfort. "Burn the world if you must. As long as you stand at the top of the ashes, she will be safe. Let the revenge consume you. It is the only truth."
The red space began to fracture, hairline cracks of blinding white and deep black tearing through the crimson sky as Elya's internal turmoil pushed his consciousness to the breaking point.
The cracks in the red space shattered like glass.
With a sharp, gasping breath, Elya's eyes snapped open. He bolted upright in the bed, his chest heaving as cold sweat poured down his neck. The quiet, familiar sights of the bedroom rushed back to greet him, but the weight of the White Figure's words still felt like an iron band wrapped around his chest.
He looked down at his trembling hands, the echo of the Black Figure's comfort still lingering like a phantom itch on his shoulder. He slowly ran a hand through his hair, trying to force his analytical mind to regain control, but the unsettling truth had already been planted.
LOCATION:THE STUDY ROOM
The heavy oak door of the study clicked shut as Ban stepped out, the metal handle of the first aid kit rattling softly in his grip. The sudden silence left behind was suffocating.
Nana remained seated, her chest tight with a lingering anxiety. The air in the room still felt faintly charged with the residual heat of Elya's collapsed energy. She took a slow, grounding breath, her eyes scanning the quiet room, until they caught on something lying in the dim shadow beneath the edge of the desk.
It was an old journal. Ban must have accidentally knocked it from a low shelf in his frantic rush to grab the more medical supplies.
The spine was heavily weathered, the dark leather scuffed and frayed at the corners. It looked ancient, yet intensely personal. Driven by a quiet curiosity, Nana stepped forward, knelt down, and lifted the book from the cold floor. The parchment felt thick and textured beneath her fingertips.
Slowly, almost reverently, she opened the cover.
The first few pages immediately caught her off guard. The pristine, flawless witch she knew today completely vanished from the paper. Instead, the early pages were filled with the messy, unpolished strokes of a child's hand.
On the left page, there was a crude, colorful ink drawing. It depicted three stick figures holding hands beneath a sky dominated by massive, hand-drawn stars. On the right, the handwriting was large, uneven, and laced with simple, innocent errors. Nana's eyes softened as she read the faded ink:
Dear Mama,
The elders say you went to live among the stars. I look up at them every night from my window. I am leaving this note here because I know when the night is quiet, you will come down and read it. I am practicing my mudra every day, just like you wanted. I am being a good boy. When I grow up, I want to use my power to make peace with the humans, so no one ever has to be sad or hurt again. I miss you.
A heavy lump formed in Nana's throat. The image of a young, vulnerable Elya, staring up at the night sky with absolute, unwavering childhood faith, felt entirely alien compared to the cold man resting in the other room.
She turned the page.
The transition was sudden, and it sent a cold shiver down her spine. The colorful drawings vanished. In their place were sharp, erratic ink sketches of spreading fires, collapsing structures, and chaotic shadows that seemed to bleed across the parchment.
The handwriting had begun to change. It was tighter, faster, the letters leaning forward with a frantic urgency. The innocence was gone, replaced by the first cracked fractures of disillusionment:
They do not want peace. Kindness is met with iron, and mercy is rewarded with betrayal. I watched them today. The cycle does not break because the sins of man are a constant. They do not fight for survival; they fight to consume. It is a sickness born within them. A quiet world cannot be built on wishes. The bleeding never stops.
Nana's breath hitched. She could almost feel the phantom weight of whatever tragedy had forced that young boy to grow up too fast, ripping the pen from his hand and replacing it with a weapon.
With trembling fingers, she turned to the final written pages.
Here, the journal completely transformed. The pages were immaculate, free of stains or frantic smears, but they felt utterly devoid of warmth. The handwriting had matured into the flawless, sharp, clinical script Nana recognized instantly. It was perfectly spaced, accompanied by precise geometric diagrams and abstract equations tracking the flow of his early Arcanum.
At the very bottom of the page, a single paragraph stood out, written with absolute, chilling finality:
True tranquility is an impossibility under the current framework of free will. Because humans are fundamentally flawed, they are the architectural cause of their own death. They will always march toward their own ruin, dragging everything else into the abyss with them. Therefore, to maintain absolute peace, there must be absolute dominance. The chaos must be suppressed by a higher order. Nature must be controlled. Their choices must be restricted. It is the only logical solution.
Nana slowly closed the book, the heavy leather cover sealing the words back into the darkness. She stood there in the quiet study, pressing the journal against her chest as the sheer weight of what she had just read settled over her.
The White Figure's words from Elya's unconscious mind seemed to echo silently in the empty room. The little boy who wanted to make peace with the stars had completely buried himself, leaving behind a Witch who believed the only way to save the world was to conquer it.