WHU headquarters felt different.
Heavier.
Julian's death could no longer be contained.
In the central hall, heroes stood in tense circles. Voices rose. Accusations followed.
"Sebastian acted too fast!"
"He didn't even try long enough!"
"Julian was one of us!"
"And if he hadn't acted? Asher would be dead!"
"He had no choice!"
"He always has a choice!"
For the first time in WHU history, doubt spread openly.
Not about the enemy.
About their leader.
Sebastian was not in the room.
He had already left.
He did not defend himself.
Some decisions cannot be explained.
They can only be carried.
Elsewhere—
Asher walked slowly down the medical corridor.
Every step felt heavier than the last.
He stopped when he saw her.
Julia.
Julian's younger sister.
She was sitting outside the infirmary room, hands trembling slightly. She hadn't been told yet.
She looked up when she sensed him.
"Asher? What happened?"
He opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
"…Julia…"
His voice broke.
Her expression changed instantly.
"What is it?"
Asher's eyes filled.
"Julian… during the battle…"
Silence.
Julia stood up.
"What about Julian?"
Asher forced the words out.
"He's gone."
The world seemed to freeze.
Julia stared at him.
"No."
"Asher, stop."
"Don't joke about this."
"He was infected… the poison took control… Sebastian—"
Her knees gave out.
She fell to the floor.
"My brother…"
"He promised we'd stay together…"
"He said we would both survive this…"
Asher dropped to his knees too.
"I couldn't save him."
"I couldn't save Vincent either."
"Everyone dies… and I'm still here."
Julia looked at him through tears.
They were both shaking.
She pulled him into an embrace.
Not because she forgave him.
Not because she understood.
But because grief doesn't need permission.
Two broken people.
Holding each other in silence.
Hours later—
Emergency alerts rang again.
Second wave detected.
Poison concentration rising.
Asher stood.
His tears had dried.
Something else had replaced them.
Steel.
He walked toward the battlefield.
Other heroes followed.
Sebastian was already there.
The mist was thicker now.
Darker.
Breathing felt like inhaling needles.
One by one, heroes began coughing.
Their veins darkened faintly.
"Fall back!" someone shouted.
Sebastian raised his voice.
"All units, retreat immediately!"
"This is an order!"
They hesitated—
But obeyed.
Because the poison was already affecting them.
All of them.
Except Sebastian.
The mist touched his skin—
And did nothing.
Asher noticed.
"…Why isn't it affecting you?"
Sebastian didn't answer.
Because at that moment—
The mist parted.
Miasma stepped forward.
Poison moved around him like it was alive.
Like it recognized him as its origin.
"Sebastian…"
His voice echoed unnaturally.
"Blood never forgets."
Sebastian stood still.
Miasma's gaze shifted briefly toward Asher.
"Asher…"
"He will grow stronger."
"Stronger than you."
"Stronger than me."
A pause.
"But Lord will stop him."
"Or perhaps…"
A faint, knowing smile.
"Perhaps Asher will choose darkness himself."
"Prepare yourself for that possibility."
The mist thickened.
The air trembled.
Everyone waited for Sebastian's response.
He stepped forward.
Calm.
Steady.
He looked directly into Miasma's ancient eyes.
"Asher will grow stronger."
"Yes."
"He may surpass me."
"He may surpass you."
"He may make mistakes."
"He may touch darkness."
His voice deepened.
"But you miscalculated one thing."
"Asher is not alone."
"Power may test him."
"Pain may break him."
"But I will remain by his side."
"If he falls into darkness—"
"I will bring him back."
"If the world turns against him—"
"I will stand against the world."
"And if one day…"
Sebastian's eyes sharpened.
"If one day he stands before me as my enemy…"
A long silence.
"I still will not kill him."
"Because I am not his opponent."
"I am his friend."
The mist shifted.
For the first time—
Miasma did not immediately respond.
Something unreadable flickered in his ancient expression.
"…We shall see," he said at last.
Then he stepped backward into the poison—
And vanished.
The mist slowly pulled away.
Sebastian turned.
Asher was staring at him.
Not with fear.
Not with doubt.
But with something fragile—
Hope.
And hope…
Was something even Miasma had not calculated.