:: VALERIE DAVISON
The plaza had transformed into a grotesque eyesore of destruction. Shattered carriages lay broken, their debris mingling with chunks of collapsed buildings. Among the wreckage, yellow-clad bodies formed a macabre pattern - some unconscious, most dead with precise, fatal wounds. The civilians had wisely vanished, leaving only the aftermath of violence.
"Tell me," His voice cut through the scene, then paused deliberately. "Is this worth it?"
Arthur's voice pulled me away from the wrecked scene to him, but I couldn't focus on him. I could feel my cosmic energy depleting by the second, the drain like ice water trickling down my spine. My stats were steadily depleting as I maintained the upward flow of wind, keeping the spherical explosive projectiles suspended in the air.
My eyes drifted to the sky, past the tall, fancy hut-like rooftops of some still-intact restaurants. Above them, several dozen bombs hovered ominously.
With both arms stretched out, I visualized an invisible shield cradling the bombs in the sky, sustaining it through my wind manipulation—a very convenient skill I'd acquired.
"Who is your target? You can tell me that much, right?"
Arthur's voice came softer this time. I looked to the side through my peripheral vision and saw Arthur and one of the spies standing face to face.
Arthur's coat-like cloak, which had firm shoulders, was torn from the side and now hung behind him. His shirt was covered in small cuts—some even had blood stained—but he stood tall and firm.
The spy in front of him was tall and wore a yellow, fur-lined long coat with a hood that cast his head in shadow, revealing only a faded white mask and the eyes peeking through its holes.
Those eyes were locked on Arthur's, shaped into a mocking gaze, as if to say, Why are you asking such an obvious question?
"You," He drew out the vowel, emphasizing his answer with theatrical flair. The response confused but didn't shock me.
Arthur had always been mysterious to me. He cultivated an image of unreliability, always playing the fool when I am present. Yet with Professor Yates, he transformed into someone completely different. This duality had forced me to reconsider my judgments. His past remained a locked vault, and his deflection tactics only heightened the mystery. I feel that someone like him with secrets might bring some problems chasing his way, but this situation baffled me - I'd been certain they were after me.
I'd even spotted some individuals spying on us earlier, through the massive window inside The Palms, where we'd eaten. I'd assumed they were the usual spies sent by some competitor again.
But I never understood why they tried to compete with me. I am not competing with anyone. I am just a hardworking student, researching the nature of magic attributes and seeking to understand their existence.
"Why?"
Arthur's sharp question snapped me back to the present.
My focus returned to the bombs, a few of which were tumbling in the air. I concentrated on the wind around me and used even more stats to stabilize them. My body grew colder and colder as the cosmos consumed my remaining energy.
Then, the spy's eyes curved crescents at Arthur's question. A breeze lifted the hood from his head, revealing dirty blond hair tied in a ponytail. Strands fell loosely over his mask, which bore ritualistic markings. A giggle in his voice carried through the air.
"You should have paid more attention."
I noticed his gaze shift from Arthur to me—and my eyes widened. My vision blurred. A half-transparent figure appeared in front of me, distorting the scene with every inch of his body. A knife shimmered into view in his hand, aimed directly at my stomach.
Panic rose deep in my chest. For a terrifying moment, I existed in a void, straining to see anything in the absolute black. Then a muffled voice reached me:
"Well, our target was you, so it's all good."
My heart pounded violently, yet... no pain came. The darkness resolved into the black fabric of Arthur's coat as I realized he'd positioned himself between me and the blade.
"Damn it."
His voice was deep and strained, as if struggling to contain something boiling inside. Peering over his shoulder, I saw the truth: the knife buried in Arthur's abdomen instead of mine.
:: ARTHUR XANDERS
I had forgotten about the spy with the light-bending skill. He was just about to stab Valerie when I used every bit of my agility and, in an instant, moved in front of her.
Disregarding any barriers, the half-transparent spy thrust his knife toward Valerie's stomach. But the fool that I am, I rushed in blindly and stood between them.
The spy's face twisted, startled, but quickly shifted into a maniacal grin beneath his mask. He looked into my eyes.
"Ah. Look at that gaze... trying so hard to contain the pain."
He didn't question how I had appeared in front of him so quickly. Instead, he started spewing more of his manic drivel. Since I was their target all along, it worked out better for them if I was the one who got hurt.
"Sir Arthur!"
Valerie shouted my name from behind, and the words left my mouth on their own, despite my efforts to hold them back.
"Damn it."
Once again, I stifled another curse from slipping out like before. And why is she shouting so close to my ear? Her voice was so loud that it gave me a jolt of a headache.
I had already noticed that Ducas had dealt with all the hidden spies in the plaza, but my attention remained on the one who had just thrust a knife into my abdomen. I saw Ducas running toward us—unscathed, with not a drop of blood on him. He looked at us and suddenly froze mid-stride.
Why did he stop? I wondered.
"S-Sir Arthur?" His voice stammered, not matching his usual look. Then, just like Valerie, he shouted my name. "Sir Arthur!" He rushed toward us without even using any stats. Dumbass, it's not something to be so stunned about.
A headache was building fast. I ignored it and looked over my shoulder to speak to Valerie.
"Miss Valerie, blow up the bombs."
She didn't respond. Her eyes were still fixed on the place where the spy's knife had entered me. Annoyed, I looked down too, ready to see a gutted knife in my stomach—but I didn't want to look at it. Even the thought of a blade piercing me made my skin crawl.
Yet, strangely, it didn't hurt. A wound like this should have been excruciating, but I felt... fine.
That's also why both Valerie's and Ducas's reactions were starting to irritate me. I wasn't in pain.
Confused, I glanced again at my stomach. The knife hadn't pierced my body, but—
"What?"
The now fully visible spy, just as surprised, followed my gaze down to the space between us.
There, blocking the knife, was a white feather—a small, silvery-white one. It looked so fragile it couldn't even shift under a breath of wind. And yet, it was stopping the knife cold.
A regular-sized feather, glowing slightly, rested over my abdomen, right where the knife should have entered. Then, a voice echoed in my mind:
—My king.
Zoe? I responded instinctively.
Her sweet voice resonated again. It had been so long since I last heard it.
The connection between the feather's sudden appearance and Zoe's voice became obvious. She had acted on her own to protect me. I hadn't even known the skill would work like this.
Originally, no one else ever acquired this character skill, and I knew very little about it. I'd have to study the "Text" file thoroughly later.
I didn't know much about the "Zoe Heart" skill. All I remembered was that Dionysus once told, it was supposed to be a good one. It is a Passive skill, a character-linked one, and it has its own consciousness. That made it uniquely dependable.
Realizing the blade hadn't pierced me, the spy suddenly twisted the knife clockwise, then counterclockwise, trying to cut through the feather—but the blade didn't move.
Frustrated, he threw the knife aside and shoved me hard. Caught off guard, I stumbled back and crashed into Valerie.
She was deep in her own thoughts, and when we collided, she couldn't react in time. The shock interrupted her concentration, and her skill deactivated.
[The Existence 'Valerie Davison' has deactivated skill: Wind Manipulation Lv.2]
+
A notification screen appeared in my view.
"Sir Arthur."
Ducas's voice came again, unusually close, and I realized he was already holding me, keeping me from falling. He'd moved so quickly, none of us had even noticed. With all his stats above a hundred, he was truly a monster.
The spy ahead of me was already dead—his knees collapsed beneath him, a sword wound in his chest bleeding through his yellow coat.
I steadied myself, pushing Ducas's hand away and pushing off with my legs to stand. Regaining my balance, I looked up.
The bombs suspended in the sky were starting to fall.
My mind blanked for a moment, then snapped back into focus. If all those bombs dropped at once, the plaza would be obliterated—and I'd die along with it. A chill ran down my spine at the thought.
Then, Zoe's voice echoed in my head again—this time accompanied by the calming sound of rushing water, like a distant waterfall.
—I will protect my king, and anything else he wishes to protect.
I didn't fully understand what she meant—until the view started changing.
The sky was being covered by two immense, silvery-white feathered wings. Massive wings, each with layered feathers that spread wide, forming a dome above the plaza.
"Sir Arthur... y-your back…"
Ducas's stammering voice drew my attention. I turned to him—he looked stunned, somewhere between awe and disbelief.
He pointed behind me. I followed his gesture.
Two enormous wings had sprouted from my back, emerging cleanly from my shoulder blades—without so much as a tear in my clothing.
Realizing what was happening, I tried to take in the full scene.
Two mythical wings—grand and silver, shimmering in the light—were now spread wide from my back, forming a protective dome over the entire plaza.
Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.
The bombs began falling, slamming into the wings above. Each impact sent a numbing sensation through my body, like a thousand mosquito bites—or like being jolted by a stun gun.
My body jerked. I stood tall, fists clenched tight, eyes closed, jaw locked—trying to suppress the overwhelming sensation.
Then I took a deep breath.
Relaxing, I let my body settle, and opened my eyes. The strain began to fade.
+
[The Existence 'Valerie Davison' has used Active skill: Wind Manipulation Lv.2]
+
The message appeared, and instinctively, I glanced over my shoulder at Valerie, her hands extended toward the sky. Soon, the sound of bombs falling faded.
I tried to meet her eyes—to show some appreciation—but I think she avoided my gaze for some reason. Nevertheless, Valerie manipulated the wind, guiding the bombs down gently. She collected them in one corner of the street.
+
[The Passive Skill 'Zoe's Heart' is on cooldown.]
[Cooldown Period: 1 minute]
+
A slate screen appeared—its surface rippling slightly, like still water disturbed by a single drop.
It looked like I'd overused Zoe's Heart, but I am still glad it had activated when it did. It had been the right choice to acquire this skill. I'd need to thank Zoe properly—after all this.
+
[The Nubecula 'Who Likes Cigars And Candy' comments: "You never get tired acting like a hero?"]
[The Nubecula 'Gumiho' comments: "He was cool."]
[The Nubecula 'Who Likes Cigars And Candy' replies: "Yeah right. Pftt."]
[The Nubecula 'Whose Heart Bleeds For the Heartbroken' agrees with Gumiho.]
[The Nubecula 'Hwang Jini' comments: "It could have been strategically better."]
[Some Nubecula are pleased with your fight.]
+
+
[1,000 total points donated.]
+
My mood sank the moment those Nubecula comments appeared in front of me.
Here we were, fighting for our lives—and those supposed gods were watching it like a game show. Like entertainment. Who cares if the guy who tells riddles dies tomorrow? They'd just tune into another 'Tonight Show' and laugh again.
Heartless bastards. I knew they'd also suffered once, that they'd survived enough to reach some higher realm—but that didn't make it right. Every life is still precious.
Ducas and Valerie approached, pulling me away from the messages clouding my vision. Suddenly, fatigue slammed into me like a wave. Everything blurred, as if I'd been hit with a heavy dose of tranquilizer.
I raised my hand to my head, holding it tightly. I shook it, trying to clear the fog, but I stumbled—and Ducas caught me by the shoulders.
"There's still one left. Capture him." I forced the words out, ignoring the spinning world. The spy—the one who attacked me first—their leader—he was still out there. I couldn't let him escape and report back to whoever sent them.
"Sir Arthur, you need help, you look so pale—" Ducas started, but I couldn't hear much through the dizziness and cut him off.
"Catch him. Now." The more he talked, the more time we wasted.
He shifted me toward Valerie, who placed my arm over her shoulders and supported me. Then, like a ghost, Ducas vanished—and reappeared a moment later with the same spy, now restrained and struggling in his grip.
What a monster.
Despite the haze, I looked at the spy. He squirmed in Ducas's grasp, but it was hopeless. Ducas gripped him by the back of the neck and hurled him in front of me.
I stared down at him, forcing my eyes open, meeting his gaze with cold, steady intent.
"It's over. If you have anything to say, say it now."
My voice came out rougher, deeper, and hoarser than usual. Zoe's Heart is on cooldown, offering no help against the growing fatigue. False Awakening— the skill I didn't know much about—seemed more tuned to resisting mental attacks than physical exhaustion.
My eyelids grew heavier. Damn it. I am too tired.
"Heh… haha…" The spy laughed, his voice muffled through the mask. "That intimidating glare… You think you can scare me, kid?"
I didn't answer. Part of me wondered if this was going to turn into one of those moments—some cliché villain monologue. Why do they always laugh when they're cornered? Why the sudden philosophical advice at the end?
I could barely keep my eyes open.
The spy leaned in, eyes burning wildly behind the mask, his voice a low growl.
"You quit your job… and go back to wherever you came from. If you want keep living, that is."
+
[You have overused your stamina stat. You are severely exhausted.]
+
Those were the last words I heard.
That was the final message on my screen.
I had burned through all my stamina, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't hold my consciousness from fading away.
Damn it… I should've shared some stamina too…
That thought barely formed before consciousness slipped away..
****
My eyes fluttered. Struggling as if I am just waking up from a long night's sleep. I tried to open them fully, my brows furrowing in effort. A white blur passed with the random flutter of my eyelids, and slowly, the world around me began to come into focus.
A familiar plaster ceiling came slowly into focus—with an air conditioner at one of its edges. It was familiar—something I felt like I hadn't seen in weeks.
"Urghhh…"
The groan escaped before I could stop it, as a muscle in my left leg tightens up, the cramp radiating from calf to thigh like electric current. I dug my fingers into the familiar cotton sheets smelling faintly of the lavender detergent Mom insisted on buying. The pillow beneath my head yielded softly.
In my bed, I pushed myself up with effort, forcing strength through my arms while jerking my legs beneath the blanket to ease the cramp. I sat up straight, clutching my head as I tried to shake off the sleepiness.
The digital clock on my nightstand blinked 7:32 in blue numerals—far earlier than I'd normally wake.
"My head…"
I muttered, letting out a long deep breath. Finally, when the room's drunkenness faded away, I glanced around the room. The overstuffed bookshelf crammed with textbooks and some childhood trophies, the study alongside the window, there my laptop sat buried under a landslide of notes and energy drink cans.
"Another same old day, right?" I muttered, pausing to look at my favorite band posters that had witnessed countless late-night study sessions, my college poster, and a basketball poster directly across from my bed stared back at me—some NBA player I'd idolized frozen mid-slam dunk.
I threw the blanket aside, sat on the edge of the bed, and slipped my feet into the sandals waiting by the floor. Reaching over, I grabbed the water thermos from the small nightstand beside my bed.
I stood with the bottle in hand and walked over to the shelf, unscrewing the cap. My eyes wandered across the spines of the books.
– National College Entrance Exam: Previous Papers
– Advanced Mathematics
– Physics: Mechanics
– Computer Languages
I filled my mouth with water but didn't swallow. My thoughts drifted. There were many books like these—evidence of how hard I had studied to get into the college I wanted. I had sacrificed a fun teenage life, all those sacrificed weekends and holidays traded for academic excellence. but I achieved my goal. I guess it was worth it.
The cold water tingled through my body as I swallowed, trying to focus on the positives. I wanted to enjoy life too, but I didn't want to live it the way we used to.
A low laugh escaped me. What the hell am I doing? I felt stupid and kept thinking to myself as if having a conversation, explaining like this, like I am expecting someone to respond.
I looked at my laptop, tempted to open it and write something down to relive the moment—But I shook the impulse away. Something resisted being pinned down like butterflies.
Stepping over scattered books and a guitar on the carpet, I made my way to the door.
The hallway greeted me with its familiar gallery. I went past my sister's closed door, then a photo of reindeer running through a forest hung on the wall came closer. Opposite to it was a window with sunlight pouring in, revealing a beautiful garden and a road that wound past neighboring houses beyond our wall.
I walked through the sunlight as it spilled across the hallway. The hall ended, opening up into a living room. Our house is simple—one floor, four rooms: two in the hallway I just came from, and two down the other hallways in front of me.
The living room sat at the center. An LCD screen and a set of sofas filled one corner, a large dining table with chairs occupied another. A modest chandelier hung from the ceiling, and the kitchen was attached to the right side.
My parents used one room, my sister had her own, I had mine, and the last is the guest room.
I sat on the couch in the living room and looked around. Suddenly, I noticed how beautiful our house really is—decorated with gifts, ornaments, photos, and flower pots everywhere.
If only the people living in it were just as beautiful, running a finger along the dust on the mantelpiece—just as a voice sliced through my thoughts, snapping my attention back to reality.
"What happened?"
It was as filled with warmth, sharp as lemon zest voice—soft, warm, familiar. For some reason, it felt so comforting to hear it, like I hadn't heard it in a long time.
I turned my head and saw a beautiful woman standing behind the couch, smiling at me, her smile not quite reaching her worried eyes.
Fine lines touched the corners of her eyes, but her fair skin looked young. Her hair and black eyes are identical to mine. In fact, I had inherited most of her features.
Our eyes met briefly. Then she raised her eyebrows at me, her head tilting in that all-too-familiar way that demanded an answer.
"Nothing, Mom. My head just hurts," I shrugged, looking away to study a family photo on the wall—one taken before the occasional fights.
It was my mother. Concern appeared on her face as she moved with the efficiency of someone who'd raised two stubborn children, perching on the opposite couch and already reaching for the thermos in my hands.
"You want something?"
Her tone was both concerned and stern. She used to be gentle, but over time, she'd become stricter. Life in this house had changed us all, in our own way.
"Just warm water," I said, handing her the thermos across the coffee table. "This one's cold."
She took the bottle, giving me a mildly annoyed look before heading into the kitchen. When she returned, it was with a plate of neatly sliced apples, and she placed them on the table before sitting down again.
"How was your day?" she asked casually. It was an everyday thing for her to ask this as a mother.
"Exhausting," I muttered, sinking further into the couch. "I had to go for semester registration even though it's supposed to be a break."
Despite what I said, I liked going to college. I had worked hard to get into one of the top national colleges, and I usually enjoyed my time there.
Mom froze, apple slice halfway to her mouth. "College?" Her forehead creased in that particular way that meant she was either solving a difficult math problem or preparing for an argument. "How were your coaching classes?"
"…Which classes?" I asked, even more confused, my fingers twitched against the armrest.
"Your coaching classes. The ones you go to after your school. Arthur, you turn eighteen this December. Your exams are in two months—start taking this seriously."
She shoved the fruit plate toward me like both peace offering and rebuke, the apples' crisp flesh already browning at the edges.
I blinked. A hollow laugh escaped my lips.
What is she talking about? Coaching classes?
"What are you—"
I failed that exam after high school and dropped a year. I'm about to enter my second semester of college in January. Wasn't I twenty, home from my second semester? Why is she talking like I'm still seventeen?
I was about to ask—but she spoke first. Mom leaned forward, her worry shifting into that particular brand of clinical curiosity
"And did you sleep well? Are you still having those weird dreams again?"
"They're not weird… just different."
The words slipped out automatically. I'd said them countless times before whenever my parents asked about my dreams.
Wait. Dreams?
Not dreams—memories.
My thoughts tumbled. Images flashed through my mind—The island's emerald canopy rustling in an artificial breeze, the church with god-goddess statues its cold marble floors under my knees, the prison cells…
The Nubeculas tricking me into rescuing Daina and Charlotte. Acquiring Zoe's Heart. Bantering with Valerie. Slapping Ducas, Lisa in her office, Persephone leaning over me, her hair falling around my face like a curtain.
Memories spun chaotically inside my head, each one brighter and more real than before.
Suddenly, the world around me grew dim. Blurred.
"Wh-- ha---n-- s-n? A-- -ou al-ght?"
Mom's voice warped as if underwater, but it was warped, distorted. I couldn't see her face anymore. The world dimmed, spun, twisted.
Everything melted, like paint running off a canvas.
I felt her hand gripping my arm—but it was all fading. The color draining from everything. The reality peeling away from my vision.
And the world around me disappearing- only the terrifying sensation of reality itself unraveling also melted away.