"Vergil? How in the world did someone get their hands on that… What do you think, Lotus?" Yagura said, eyes fixed on his bandage-wrapped scimitar.
The entire Visionary squad lay scattered across the floor, still reeling from the aftermath.
"I thought you were supposed to be our extra protection!?" Heartz barked as he forced himself upright.
"I was," Yagura answered calmly. "I moved everyone who was in the blast zone before it hit. You're welcome."
Erenyx's hands trembled. She'd never witnessed power on this scale before.
"H-How… How is that possible?" she whispered, struggling to comprehend the amount of chi needed for what she saw.
"That wasn't just him," Zephyr said, dusting rubble off his coat. "That was the power of a Divine Artifact— The Heaven Piercer, Vergil. I don't know how he got one, let alone had the capacity to wield it, but… that weapon carries terrifying force."
His voice sank. "Almost as much as my own."
"Zephyr." Yagura shot him a sharp look.
"Yeah, yeah. I know." Zephyr sighed and helped the Visionaries stand. He stomped his foot, and the group vanished, reappearing inside his office.
A butler entered, offering drinks and pastries as they gathered themselves.
"So… what exactly is a Divine Artifact?" Erenyx asked, sipping her tea.
"Well, it varies," Zephyr began, leaning back. "But the simplest definition is a weapon forged by a Godsmith—something so exceptional it gains its own will."
Her eyes widened at that. Zephyr noticed.
"Something wrong?"
"No, nothing," she said quickly, taking another sip.
Zephyr continued, "I own one myself."
"ZEPH." Yagura's tone sharpened again.
Zephyr waved him off. "My naginata, Amaware, the Heaven Splitter, is the twin to his spear, Vergil. Though… to my knowledge, Vergil was destroyed fifty years ago."
His voice dimmed as old memories surfaced.
"What happened fifty years ago?" Loretta asked.
Zephyr shook his head. "That tale is for another day. But you'll hear it—trust me."
The door burst open.
Ahjma'il staggered inside, breath ragged, body trembling.
"S–Sir…" he managed.
Zephyr immediately stepped toward him, catching him by the arm.
"Easy, Ahj. Speak. What happened?"
Ahjma'il swallowed hard. "I… I couldn't revive the magician boy…"
The room froze.
Ahjma'il— the Ahjma'il— was a healer so revered he was said to pull souls back from beyond the veil. If he failed, that meant something unprecedented.
Zephyr blinked. "Wait—what? How?"
"I didn't have enough chi…" Ahjma'il rasped, still trying to stabilize his breathing. "The boy's body… it was completely obliterated. Not even blood remained."
Zephyr covered his mouth in shock. "Dammit… Where was he from?"
Yagura pulled out his device, scrolling rapidly. "Demivura… Land of Nirvana."
Zephyr exhaled sharply. "One of Mad Dog's people? Wonderful…"
Heartz frowned. "Who's Mad Dog?"
"Nos Valhalla," Zephyr corrected. "Land Master of Nirvana."
Loretta's reaction was instant—eyes wide, face draining of color.
"You're kidding. That psychopath!?"
"Exactly why I said this won't end well…" Zephyr muttered. He straightened, resolve stiffening his posture. "I need to make an announcement."
The Dawn Arena had been rebuilt, but no amount of stone or magic could restore the spirit it once held. The sun was gone now, replaced by twin moons drifting slowly across the sky, their pale light washing the arena in a muted glow. Not a sound rose from the thousands gathered. Even the wind refused to stir.
In the center stood the four Visionaries and the four winners of the first round, Zephyr Ceto, and three of his court angels— each of them carrying the heaviness of the moment like an anchor around their necks.
Zephyr stepped forward.
His voice, normally warm and commanding, trembled ever so slightly.
"Thank you all for coming," he began. "I know… this is not what any of us expected."
He approached the white coffin resting on the podium. Its surface glowed softly under the moonlight— too clean, too empty, a cruel reminder of what could not be recovered.
"The Land of Waves accepts full responsibility," Zephyr continued, each word burdened with sincerity. "Every wound, every life endangered at the Festival of Dawn… we vowed to shoulder that weight without exception. We believed we would always have the means to bring back whoever was lost."
His hand hovered over the coffin for a moment before he placed the white flowers upon it.
"But today… we have failed."
Behind him, Ahjma'il lowered his head. For the first time since following Zephyr, the healer felt hollow. His purpose— his pride— had shattered the moment he realized his chi wasn't enough. The guilt gnawed at him; his fingers shook beside his robes. He had sworn to protect life, yet now feared he had sparked a war that could consume two Great Lands.
Asura stood motionless, but inside he was unraveling.
The dragon's pride that once radiated from him had dimmed entirely.
He stared down at the red, thorned rose in his hand.
For a moment, he hesitated—then closed his fist around it.
Thorns bit into his skin.
Blood welled through his fingers.
Still, he didn't let go.
His chest ached.
His eyes trembled.
He'd meant to win… not destroy.
Zephyr's voice cut through the silence gently:
"Tobii Farewell was not simply a participant. He was a prodigy. A magician who might have shaped the future of his entire Land. A son of Nirvana… and a young man whose family trusted us with his life."
Zephyr bowed his head.
"We failed that trust. And for this loss… we accept full responsibility."
Asura stepped forward.
The sound of his footsteps echoed through the silent arena.
He placed the rose, still streaked with his blood on the coffin with trembling hands.
Then he knelt, head bowed so low his forehead nearly touched the stone floor.
No one breathed.
No one dared to.
After several long moments, he rose again, returning to the group without meeting a single person's eyes.
Zephyr exhaled slowly, then lifted his gaze to the stands.
"In honor of this young man," he said softly, "and in our shared grief… The Tournament of Dawn will pause for three weeks before proceeding to the semifinals. The Festival will continue, as tradition demands… but I ask you all—"
His voice cracked.
"Do not let this young man's name fade from your hearts."
He faced the coffin one last time.
"Tobii Farewell."
And the arena bowed in silence.
In the heart of Demivura, beneath lanterns dimmed out of respect, the Farewell household wept.
Their grief seeped through the walls, raw and unrestrained. Tobii's mother clung to the empty robe left behind from his journey, her cries breaking in uneven bursts. His father knelt beside her, shoulders shaking—not with anger, but with the crushing weight of a parent who failed to protect what mattered most.
But among them stood someone who did not cry.
Rhiin Farewell stared at the small shrine they had built for his brother, fists clenched so tight his nails cut into his palms. His breath trembled, not with sorrow, but with something darker—something hotter.
His brother's death had hollowed out a place inside him, and in that hollow space, rage took root.
"I swear…" he whispered, voice cracking but filled with certainty.
He stepped forward, touching the edge of Tobii's picture.
"I swear on your name… on our family… I will find the one who killed you."
He lifted his head, tears finally spilling—but not from sadness.
From fury.
"And I will not stop until he dies by my hands."
Rhiin's shadow stretched long across the room as the lantern flickered, his vow hanging in the air like a curse.
After the ceremony, Asura walked alone beneath the twin moons, their pale light doing nothing to ease the weight on his shoulders. His footsteps were slow, uncertain. The arena's silence still clung to him.
He had killed a man.
He hadn't meant to. He hadn't believed he could—not with Zephyr and Ahjma'il there. But belief didn't matter anymore. A life was gone because of him, and the truth gnawed at his chest with every breath.
Asura… what have you done?
The guilt felt heavier than any gravity he could control. He stopped walking, clutching his arm as if something inside him might split apart.
"Asura."
A voice cut through the night, cold and sharp.
Asura turned, startled— no one was supposed to be out here.
But someone was.
Isshinano stepped forward, already unsheathing both of his blades, the moonlight glinting along their edges. His face was hidden in the shadows, unreadable. Only his eyes were visible—two bright diamonds burning with intent.
Asura opened his mouth to speak, but Isshinano's voice struck first, quiet yet dangerous:
"You're a dragon… aren't you."
The air around them tightened.
Isshinano wasn't asking.
He knew.