"As I mentioned before, I learned everything on my own," Erza said, her voice distant, as if she were speaking from across a vast chasm of time.
"I was truly alone. My mother saw everything, but she did not know how to protect me. Her decision seemed right to her—the Edict of Silence, the exile within the palace walls.
But the one thing she never considered was how it would impact me. How the silence would seep into my bones. How the emptiness would become my only companion."
She paused, her fingers tracing the rim of her teacup.
"I was so lonely that I made friends with the stars." A small, bittersweet smile touched her lips. "Each star became my friend. I would look up at the night sky and talk to them—tell them about my day, about the books I had read, about the dreams I could not escape. They were the only ones who listened. The only ones who did not turn away."
Yuuta could see it in his mind—a small girl with silver hair, pressed against a cold window, her breath fogging the glass, her violet eyes fixed on the distant lights of the sky. A world where no one spoke to her. A world where each day stretched into an eternity of silence.
"And so the Eight years passed," Erza continued. "I learned to live that way. My eyes became dead. There was no hope in them, no light, no expectation that anything would ever change. The only source of happiness I had was my mother."
She looked down at her hands.
"She could not speak to me openly—the Edict forbade it. But she found a way. She sent letters to my chamber, late at night, when the guards were asleep. We talked for hours through those letters. She told me stories of the kingdom's history, of the great queens who had come before, of the wonders of the world beyond the palace walls. She told me tales of adventure and magic and love."
Erza's voice softened.
"Even though I never heard her voice again—not after the Edict was passed—I treasured those letters. They were my only connection to her. My only proof that someone still cared."
Yuuta felt a warmth spread through his chest. A mother who could not hold her daughter, reaching out through ink and paper. A daughter who had nothing else, clinging to every word.
"But not long after," Erza said, her voice trembling, "they took that away too. They took my only source of happiness."
Yuuta's breath caught. "What?" he asked, the word barely a whisper.
Erza's jaw tightened. "A plague came."
She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice was different—harder, colder, as if she were forcing herself to remember every terrible detail.
"It crept across the mountains like a living shadow, silent and unstoppable. There was no warning, no messenger who rode ahead to sound the alarm. One morning, the border forts simply stopped reporting. The scouts who were sent to investigate never returned. And then the refugees began to arrive—those who had survived, though barely."
She took a breath.
"The plague did not just kill. It corrupted. Dragons who fell to it did not die. They changed. Their eyes turned black, empty, like windows into a void where nothing lived. Their scales darkened, cracking as if something inside them was trying to tear its way out. Their roars became something else—something that sounded almost like words, but in a language that made your blood freeze and your mind recoil."
Yuuta felt a chill crawl up his spine.
"The corrupted dragons turned on their own kind like Mindless beast. They attacked villages, refugee camps, military outposts. They tore through soldiers who had fought beside them for centuries, ripping them apart with claws that had once been used to build, to protect, to love. There was no reasoning with them. No mercy in their eyes. They were mindless, driven by nothing except the need to destroy."
Erza's hands clenched into fists.
"Entire towns vanished overnight. The shadow would roll in like a fog, and when it lifted, the town would be gone. Not destroyed—not burned or broken—but simply... erased. The buildings would still be standing, but there would be no people. No bodies. No blood. Just empty streets and open doors and the smell of something rotting that you could not identify."
She looked at Yuuta.
"Within the first week, we lost thousands. Mixed-blood dragons who had been born in the outer provinces and different race. Elves who had sought refuge in our kingdom after their own lands fell to darkness. Ogres and goblins and dwarves who had lived in Atlantis for generations, who had sworn fealty to the crown, who had fought and bled and died for a kingdom that could not protect them."
Her voice cracked.
"The city fell into ruin. The outer districts were abandoned, their walls crumbling, their streets overgrown with black vines that seemed to pulse with a heartbeat of their own. The refugee camps were the worst. Thousands of survivors huddled together, waiting for help that never came. And when the corrupted dragons attacked—" She stopped, her jaw tightening. "There was nothing left. Just blood and broken scales and the silence that followed."
She took a breath.
"No spell could stop it. No magic could slow it. The elders tried everything—ancient rituals that had not been performed in millennia, forbidden incantations that had been sealed away for good reason, sacrifices to gods who had long since stopped listening. Nothing worked. The shadow plague devoured everything in its path."
Yuuta listened in silence, his heart pounding, his throat dry.
"The kingdom was dying," Erza said. "And no one knew how to save it."
She paused, her eyes distant.
"Upon hearing the cries of her people, my mother decided to take immediate action. But before she did, she sent me one last letter."
Erza's voice cracked. She closed her eyes, as if reading the words from memory.
"I am sorry, my little princess, it must be hard to live your life in loneliness, I am So SORRY my little spirit. Your mother is nothing but a failure—a failure who could not even protect her own little star from her own people, please fogive me, My little princess and promise me...tomorrow, no matter what happens, no matter what you hear, do not come out of your room. Promise me, my little ice spirit."
Yuuta's throat tightened.
Erza opened her eyes. They were wet, but she did not let the tears fall.
"The next day, my mother stood on the Grand Balcony of the Crystal Spire. Below her, hundreds of thousands had gathered—dragons and elves and ogres and goblins, royals and slaves, nobles and commoners. They had come seeking help. Seeking justice. Seeking someone to save them."
She paused.
"And my mother did. She used Zani."
Yuuta's blood ran cold.
"The forbidden power," Erza continued. "The power that had been sealed away for centuries. The power that could make imagination become reality. But it came with a cost—a cost greater than anyone could imagine."
She looked at Yuuta, her violet eyes hollow.
"My mother did what she thought was right."
Erza's voice dropped to a whisper, as if she were speaking of something sacred, something that should not be spoken aloud.
"She raised her arm to the sky," Erza said, her voice low and steady, though her hands trembled slightly.
"The shadow was crawling toward the capital—not like a wave, not like a flood, but like something alive. Something that knew it was being hunted. The tendrils moved with purpose, with intelligence, reaching out, grasping, searching for the heart of the kingdom. It was as if the plague itself had become aware of my mother's presence. As if it feared her."
Yuuta leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his red eyes fixed on her face.
He did not speak. He did not move. He barely breathed.
"She used her mana core as a medium to draw out Zani. Zareth's power." Erza's voice dropped, becoming almost reverent. "The power that had been sealed away for centuries, forbidden to all but the most desperate. The power that could make imagination become reality—but at a cost that no one could truly understand until it was too late."
She paused, her fingers tracing the rim of her teacup.
"The moment she touched it, the sky went dark. Not the darkness of night—not the soft, silver darkness of stars and moon. This was deeper. Older. The kind of darkness that existed before the first light was born, before the first fire was kindled, before the first breath was drawn. The kind of darkness that remembers when the world was empty and silent and waiting for something to begin."
Yuuta felt a chill crawl up his spine.
"And then the eyes opened."
Erza's voice trembled.
"Dozens of eyes. Hundreds. Thousands. They spread across the sky like a plague of their own, each one red as blood, each one weeping crimson tears that evaporated before they could fall. The tears hung in the air for a moment, glistening like rubies, before dissolving into mist. The pressure was unbearable—like standing at the bottom of the ocean, like being crushed by the weight of a mountain, like the entire universe was pressing down on your soul."
She looked at Yuuta.
"The dragons in the crowd fell to their knees. The elves covered their ears, though there was no sound to block out. The ogres and goblins and dwarves wept without knowing why, their tears mixing with the blood-red mist that filled the air. It was like a god had entered the mortal world—not a gentle god, not a merciful god, but something ancient and terrible and utterly indifferent to the lives of those who knelt before it."
She paused.
"The shadow plague tried to flee."
Yuuta could see it in his mind—the tendrils recoiling, twisting, desperately trying to escape. They had no eyes, no mouths, no faces, yet he could feel their terror. They had come to devour the kingdom, and now they were being devoured in return.
"The eyes in the sky followed them," Erza said. "The red tears fell like rain, and wherever they touched, the shadow dissolved. Not burned—not destroyed—but erased, as if it had never existed. The tendrils screamed—not with sound, but with something deeper, something that echoed in the souls of everyone who heard it. And then they were gone."
She took a breath.
"The sky devoured them. Left nothing behind. No trace. No aftermatch. Just emptiness."
She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice was softer.
"And then the sky vanished."
Yuuta blinked. "Vanished?"
"The light cut through the darkness," Erza said. "The clouds parted. The sun returned. The whole of Atlantis—citizens and soldiers, nobles and commoners—they celebrated. They cheered. They wept with joy. Strangers embraced each other in the streets. Parents held their children close. The army raised their weapons to the sky and roared their triumph."
Her voice hardened.
"But my mother collapsed."
Yuuta's heart stopped.
"Using Zareth's power destroyed her core," Erza said. "Her crown tumbled from her head, clattering against the marble floor. The sound echoed through the sudden silence—a small, fragile sound, like a bell ringing at a funeral. The guards caught her before she fell, but she was already gone. Not dead—not yet—but slipping away, like sand through fingers, like water through cracks in stone."
She took a breath.
"The kingdom went silent."
Yuuta could see it—the celebration dying mid-cheer, the smiles fading, the joy turning to horror as the Queen's body was carried back into the palace. The crowd parting like water before a ship, their faces pale, their hands pressed to their mouths. The silence spreading outward, wave after wave, until the entire capital was holding its breath.
"She fell into a deep sleep," Erza said. "A sleep of death. For the rest of her life."
A tear slipped down her cheek.
Yuuta wanted to reach out, to hold her, to say something that would make the pain stop. But he knew there were no words for this. He could only listen.
"I was supposed to follow my mother's promise," Erza continued, her voice trembling like a leaf in winter. "I was supposed to stay in my room, no matter what I heard. But the crying—the mourning—the whole kingdom was weeping, and the sound carried through the walls, through the corridors, through the sealed doors of my chamber, through the Edict of Silence that had kept me prisoner for so many years. It was everywhere. I could not escape it. I could not hide from it. It seeped into my bones like the cold, and I knew, even before I left my room, that something terrible had happened."
She closed her eyes, and for a moment she looked like the child she had once been—small and frightened and utterly alone.
"I was fourteen years old. I knew what was happening around me. I understood, for the first time, that the world was not safe, that the people I loved could be taken from me without warning, without reason, without mercy. I understood that promises could not protect anyone, that walls could not keep out grief, that the silence I had been forced to live in had not prepared me for the sound of a kingdom weeping for its queen."
She opened her eyes, and they were wet with tears she had not shed in centuries.
"So I broke my promise. I left my room. I went to see her."
Her voice cracked again, and Yuuta felt his own throat tighten.
"What I saw was a nightmare."
He leaned forward, his hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white, his heart pounding.
"My mother was sleeping in an ice cocoon," Erza said, and the words came slowly, painfully, as if each one cost her something she could not afford to lose. "The very thing I had created. The very thing I had taught her. She was sleeping, but she was not breathing. Her chest did not rise. Her lips did not move. Her eyes were closed, and her face was peaceful, but she was frozen—frozen to death, forever, trapped in a sleep from which there was no waking."
She paused, and her voice dropped to a whisper.
"The ice was clear as glass, and through it, I can see from distant they were kept in Royal Hall, I could see her silver hair, her violet eyes, the small smile that had always been there when she looked at me, the smile that had been my only comfort in the long, lonely years of silence. She looked like she was dreaming. She looked like she would wake up at any moment and call my name, and the nightmare would end, and everything would be as it had been before."
Her tears fell freely now, and she did not wipe them away.
"But she did not wake up. She would never wake up."
She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice was raw, ragged, torn from somewhere deep inside her.
"I broke down. I wept. I called for her, over and over, but she did not answer, I thought maybe i was little far away from her so, I moved toward her. Calling her name.. 'Mother! Mother!' My voice echoed through the hall, bouncing off the crystal walls, returning to me empty and hollow, like a prayer offered to a god who had stopped listening long ago.
My legs shook when I tried to walk toward her. But I fell Yet I crawled across the marble floor, my knees scraping against the stone, my hands reaching out, desperate to see her face one more time, desperate to touch her hand, desperate to feel the warmth that had been stolen from me, that had been taken by the very power I had taught her to use."
She paused, and her voice hardened.
"The guards stopped me."
Yuuta's heart ached, but he did not speak.
"They could not speak to me—the Edict of Silence was still in effect, still binding, still crushing me under its weight. But they pushed me back.
Their hands were rough, impersonal, as if I were nothing more than a piece of furniture to be moved out of the way, as if the years of loneliness and silence had made me invisible even when I was crying at their feet. I crawled forward, and they pushed me back. I crawled again, and they pushed me again. I wept at the entrance for hours, and no one came to help me. No one pitied me. No one cared. I was alone, as I had always been alone, as I would always be alone."
Her voice hardened further.
"Until my siblings came."
Yuuta's blood ran cold.
"They spoke to me for the first time. I had never heard their voices before. They had always ignored me, acted as if I did not exist, walked past me in the corridors without a glance, without a word, without a single acknowledgment that I was their sister, that I shared their blood, that I had been born of the same mother who now lay frozen in ice before us. But now, they had something to say."
She looked at Yuuta, and her eyes were hollow, empty, like windows into a room where no light had ever entered.
"'This is because of you,' they said. 'Mother grew weak because of you. She fell into death because of the spell you taught her. This is your fault. All of it.'"
The words hung in the air, heavy and sharp, like blades waiting to fall, like sentences waiting to be carried out.
"The nobles watched. The elders watched. The guards watched. No one defended me. No one spoke for me. They stood in silence, their faces cold, their eyes hungry, waiting to see what would happen next, waiting to see if the weakest dragon in the kingdom would finally be put down like a wounded animal, like a curse that had finally outlived its usefulness."
She paused, and her voice dropped to a whisper.
"They were like hungry wolves. They had found their excuse. They had found their chance. They were going to kill me, To put Blame on me."
Yuuta's fists clenched so hard his knuckles went white, but he said nothing.
"Finally I couldn't handle it anymore and my mind shattered," Erza said, and her voice was barely audible now. "Beyond recovery. Beyond reason. The years of silence, the years of loneliness, the years of being told that I was worthless, that I was weak, that I should never have been born—it all came crashing down at once, a wave of grief and rage and despair that swept away everything I had built to protect myself. The walls I had constructed around my heart crumbled like sand. The ice that had kept me frozen, that had kept me safe, that had kept me from feeling the full weight of my grief—it shattered into a million pieces, each one cutting deeper than the last."
She looked at her hands, and he saw them trembling.
"And for the first time—"
Her voice was barely a whisper now, a breath, a ghost of sound.
"My aura released."
Yuuta felt a chill crawl up his spine, a cold that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.
"It exploded."
To be continued...