"Xeroth has to be stopped. If we don't, he'll unravel everything." Kale said.

"Does he, though?" Ikareia asked. "Must the rot be halted, the unraveling sewn? Tell me, young bladeweaver, what is decay if not the nature of all things?"

Kale frowned. "Decay isn't nature. It's destruction."

"Is it?" Ikareia's voice was soft, almost a whisper. She stepped closer, the light catching the crystalline facets of her eyes. "What is the difference, I wonder? Growth blooms, yes, but only to fall. Leaves wither, mountains crumble, even stars grow cold. Xeroth is but a whisper of truth—the end all things must meet."

"Not like this," Kale said firmly. "Not by his hand. It's wrong."

"Wrong?" Ikareia repeated, her tone turning curious. "And what is right, young bladeweaver? To hold the blade and cut? To choose which threads are severed and which are spared? To carry the weight of that choice, that wound?" Her gaze seemed to pierce through him, sharp as any blade.

Kale hesitated, the question cutting deeper than he expected.

"Xeroth's destruction is endless," he said at last. "If we don't stop him, nothing will survive."

"And what of the lives you will spend in the stopping? The threads unraveled by your hand, the songs silenced by your blade. Will their echoes comfort you, young bladeweaver, when the shards are spent and the sky is quiet?"

Kale's jaw clenched, but he didn't respond.

Ikareia smiled faintly, stepping back toward the shard at the center of the room. "Ah, silence. It is the sharpest answer of all, isn't it? Xeroth whispers the inevitable, Kale. But you—you sing the choice."

She turned her back to him, her voice soft as the light glinting off the shard. "To wield the blade is to bleed. And to stop the rot? You must cut deep."

Ikareia turned her attention to Liliana. "And you know this all too well, don't you? Liliana of the Scarlet Veil."

Liliana's eyes narrowed. "I didn't come here to be dissected."

"Ah," Ikareia said with a faint, knowing smile. "But that's the nature of blood, isn't it? It spills, it stains, it tells all. You weave power from its flow, shaping its purpose to your will. Or so you tell yourself."

Liliana crossed her arms. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Blood remembers," Ikareia continued. "It carries the weight of what has been taken, what has been spilled, what has been sacrificed. You know this. You've seen it in the rivers you've carved, the ties you've severed."

"I wield it. I control it. That's all there is to it."

"Do you? Control is a word mortals cling to when they fear the truth. Blood flows freely, does it not? It follows its own currents, its own desires. And when it runs, it runs red, regardless of intent."

"You think you know me?"

"I know what you've cut," Ikareia replied. "What you've healed, though… that is a quieter song. One with far fewer verses. You take, you shape, you claim. But have you ever given?"

"I give what's necessary. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Ah, necessity." Ikareia's crystalline eyes gleamed. "The word of those who tread the edge of choice and consequence. But tell me, Liliana, have you ever asked what your necessity costs? Not in blood. Not in power. But in what you leave behind?"

"I don't leave anything behind. Not if I can help it."

Ikareia's smile softened, a strange blend of pity and understanding. "And that is why you are bound, Liliana of the Scarlet Veil. Not by blood, but by the fear of what happens when you can no longer control it. The shards know your story. They see the unasked questions, the unspoken truths. And when the final verse of your song is sung…"

She paused for a moment. "Will it be a triumph? Or will it be a requiem?"

"If there's a final verse, I'll write it myself." Liliana said.

"Perhaps you will. Or perhaps the blood will write it for you."

Liliana stepped back, her expression hard as steel. "We didn't come here for riddles. If you have something worth telling us, say it."

"The shards tell all," Ikareia said, turning back to the glowing crystal. "But they demand blood, and blood demands truth. Whether you wish to hear it is no concern of mine."

Ikareia turned away. "But I have told you what you need to know. I have sung of what was and whispered what will be. It is your choice, Liliana of the Scarlet Veil, to listen to my song… or let it fade into silence."

Her gaze drifted over the group, her smile faint, fractured, and heavy with meaning. "But beware the paths you tread. Love is a blade sharper than any shard, and it cuts deepest when turned inward. To carry it forward is to carry a wound. And wounds, no matter how they are bound, bleed."

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"You walk a road built on sacrifices, each step cracking the earth beneath you. If you do not heed the fractures, you will fall. And when you do, what will remain? A barren world? An empty sky? A throne atop ashes?"

"What are you trying to say?" Kale asked.

Ikareia's eyes turned to him, piercing yet distant. "To forge a crown is to forge solitude. Is the world worth saving if it costs you everyone you love? Is a god's divinity worth it, if they stand alone amidst their kingdom of dust?"

"I'm not trying to become a god!" Kale snapped.

"To hold the shard is to hold ruin, young bladeweaver. To wield its song is to invite its cost. You say you walk to protect, to preserve. But tell me… can you shield the world when you are made of glass?"

"We're just trying to protect everyone!"

"Everyone," Ikareia echoed. "Would you extinguish every light, silence every song, if it meant saving just one? Would you unmake the world itself to spare her?" She gestured softly toward Liliana.

Kale froze, his breath caught in his throat.

"The shards hum with truth, young bladeweaver. The brighter the flame, the sharper its shadow. The closer you hold them, the more they cut. Can you hold your love without bleeding her dry? Will your protection become her prison?"

"Enough," Liliana said.

"Enough? The shards sing of more than enough. They sing of all that was, all that is, and all that will be lost. You are the song, Liliana, the bloodbound muse. Do you not feel it? Each note, a scar? Each refrain, a wound?"

Liliana's eyes burned with anger. "We came here for answers, not this."

"And answers I have given. What you do with them is your choice. But remember this, Kale of the blade and Liliana of the blood—songs linger, long after the singers are gone. The question is… what will yours leave behind?"

"Shut up!" Liliana said.

"Ah," Ikareia said softly. "So you do understand."

Kale stepped forward. "Stop talking in circles. If you have something to say, just say it."

Ikareia's gaze slid to him. "Straight lines are for the blind, young bladeweaver. The shards do not sing of simplicity. They sing of splinters, fractures, edges honed by choices. They sing of you."

"Enough with the riddles. Just say what you mean!"

"Say it? The shards never say. They slice, they cut, they reveal. Tell me, bladeweaver: what would you not sever? What star would you let fall to keep your light shining? What sound would you still, what world would you unmake to protect the one whose name lives in the hollow of your chest?"

Kale froze. "I'm not—"

"Not?" Ikareia echoed, her gaze gleaming like the edges of broken glass. "Not the blade that will carve through gods and mortals alike? Not the voice that will rise above the shards' song, bending it to your will? You think yourself the wielder, but the melody is already yours. Or perhaps… it is theirs. Hers?"

Liliana's voice cut in, trembling. "This is pointless. You don't know anything about us."

Ikareia turned to her, her expression softening in a way that only made her seem more unsettling. "Don't I? You, who weave threads of life only to pull them taut, binding him closer to ruin. You think to defy the shards' whispers, but you have already bled for him. You are the tether, the weight, the promise that keeps his blade aloft. The shards sing it."

Kale stepped forward, his voice trembling with equal parts anger and desperation. "If you know so much, then tell me how to stop it. How do I… how do I stop whatever you think will happen?"

Ikareia's voice softened to a near whisper. "To change the song is to break the strings. But would you know which string to sever? Could you cut the thread that holds your world together, bladeweaver? Would you even dare?"

Her gaze drifted. "The blade is always honest. It cannot lie. But it can only sing as long as there is a hand to hold it. When that hand falters, when the song fades… what remains, Kale? What remains?"

The silence that followed felt like a blade held to his throat. Kale found he had no answer.

Ikareia stepped closer, her expression distant and knowing. "Do you truly understand what you hold, Kale? Truly?"

"You said it's a shard of Yr's sword. Aeloria forged it into hers."

"Yes," Ikareia said. "Yr's blade—a song of severance, a question given form. But do you know its answer? Severance divides; it reveals by cutting away. It shatters the whole to show the truth within. Yr understood this, as she understood the weight of her choices. She severed gods, severed realms, severed existence itself. And what did she find at the heart of all things? Balance."

Her gaze shifted to Liliana, a faint smile brushing her lips. "But balance is not a blade, is it? Balance is a bond. A mending, a knitting together of what has been broken. Unity does not cut—it weaves. Lho, who sought to mend what Yr sundered, whose touch softened the harsh edges left in her wake. Together they sang: one to sever, the other to bind. Together, they created. Together, they destroyed."

Kale frowned. "What does that have to do with us?"

"You walk as Severance and Unity, two threads tangled in a song older than time. Severance to break, to divide, to free. Unity to bind, to heal, to connect. You are opposites, yet drawn to each other as the blade to its sheath. But what happens when the blade cuts too deep? What happens when the sheath can no longer hold it?"

Liliana crossed her arms. Kale looked at her and wondered if she understood what Ikareia was saying.

Ikareia chuckled. "I have told you what was and what will be. Severance and Unity cannot coexist without a cost. To unite, one must sever. To sever, one must unite. The song demands it."

She stepped closer to Kale, her gaze locking onto his. "You would sever the world to save her, wouldn't you? You would bleed the earth dry, silence every song, and break every bond, just to see her light remain. Severance does not only destroy others—it destroys itself. It carves away what it cannot hold, leaving only ruin."

Kale opened his mouth to argue, but no words came.

Ikareia turned to Liliana. "And you, Unity. You would bind what has been severed, even if it crushed you beneath its weight. You would take the shards of him, of this world, and weave them into a whole, even knowing it would never truly be whole. But Unity's mending is not mercy, it is suffering. It demands sacrifice, and your hands are already stained with it."

"Enough," Liliana said sharply.

Ikareia's voice softened. "To sever is to preserve; to unite is to destroy. You can be together, but not without a cost. One must fall. One must rise. Millions will die. Perhaps more. And when the song fades, and the shards lie spent, Severance and Unity will stand as one. The world will be in balance once more, but will it be worth it?"

Kale stared at her, his heart pounding. "What are you saying? That I'll fail?"

"Failure? Success? Such mortal concerns," Ikareia murmured. "The question is not if you will fall, Kale, but how far, and what you will bring down with you."

She turned, gesturing lightly to the shard at the chamber's center. "This song is yours to sing. Severance and Unity, bound by the thread of your choices. Will you cut the thread? Or let it strangle you?"

Kale stepped forward. "Look lady, I'm not here to—"

Ikareia's head turned sharply, her gaze snapping to a point in the distance as though she could see through the very walls of the temple. The gleam in her crystalline eyes shifted. Her lips curled into a faint, enigmatic smile.

"Ah…" she said, her voice low. "He has arrived."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.