AEGIS OF THE DAWN — HEADQUARTERS OF THE ANGEL RACE
Golden light radiated from the stained glass windows depicting the Archangels. In the center of the magnificent main hall, ten white-winged figures stood surrounding a giant mirror that reflected the sparring sessions in the courtyard below.
The Ninth Leader, Shalara, stood beside a figure with wider, more radiant wings—the First Leader of the angel race. His face wasn't fully visible, only a firm silhouette behind the light emanating from his body.
His bright blue eyes never left Sylvaine, who was honing her swordsmanship in the courtyard below.
"Her progress never ceases to impress me," said the First Leader, his voice deep and authoritative. "How is her angelic power developing?"
Shalara nodded respectfully. "She is developing very rapidly, my Lord. In just a few months, she has nearly matched her mother's progress in her time. However..."
"However?" The First Leader turned, his brow furrowed.
Shalara sighed. "However, she still cannot enter Sacra Mode. If she could, her power would increase dramatically."
The First Leader sighed. "Understandable. The demon blood factor within her may be hindering it. It will take time to purify her completely."
They fell silent for a moment, watching Sylvaine finish her training with a flash of light emanating from her sword. A blinding white glow illuminated the courtyard below before slowly fading.
"There is one other matter," said the First Leader, his eyes still on the mirror. "The demons who tried to intercept Sylvaine's retrieval. Bellarion, you faced them. What is your assessment?"
Bellarion, standing in the back row, stepped forward. His massive body was still clad in heavy armor, but his eyes—his eyes were different than usual. There was respect there.
"They are strong, my Lord. Especially that one—Raiden Belphegor. He fought like a monster. I haven't encountered an opponent like him in a long time... not since..."
The First Leader nodded slowly. "And the other one? The young demon who protected Sylvaine?"
Bellarion paused for a moment. "He... is different. I cannot explain it. But there is something inside him. Something... unexpected."
The First Leader did not respond. His gaze shifted to Shalara.
"How is the search for Varavium's location progressing? They have been causing us considerable trouble."
Shalara bowed her head. "Our search teams have been trying to find them, my Lord. And we will surely find them."
The First Leader turned away. The light from his wings was blinding, obscuring his face.
"Do not disappoint me, Shalara."
He walked away, leaving the room in silence.
---
SOME MOMENTS LATER — THE COURTYARD BELOW
Sylvaine was cleaning her sword with a white cloth. Her movements were slow, full of concentration. Around her, other angels were training, but she paid them no mind.
Shalara approached her.
"Your training was good today," she said, her voice not as cold as usual.
Sylvaine didn't turn. "Still lacking. I am still too weak."
Shalara placed her hand on Sylvaine's shoulder. Her fingers were cold, but not as usual—almost... gentle.
"About that matter... have you accepted it?"
Sylvaine stopped. Her hand paused from wiping her sword.
She looked at Shalara. Her eyes were teary, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks.
"Not yet, Aunt... because I still feel Leon..."
Her voice broke. Sobs could no longer be held back.
SLAP!
Shalara's slap echoed through the hall.
Some of the training angels turned their heads, but quickly looked away.
Sylvaine held her reddened cheek. Her skin stung, but she was no longer crying. Her tears had stopped.
"Do not let yourself be deceived by those memories," Shalara said, her voice turning cold again. "You must forget him."
Sylvaine looked at her aunt. Her eyes were still red, but there was no fear. No anger.
Only conviction.
Shalara sighed. She would never understand this girl.
"Prepare yourself," she said suddenly, her voice turning firm again. "We will represent the angel race at the Sacred Races Assembly in Drakharys City—the city of dragons."
Sylvaine nodded obediently.
But in her heart, her conviction that Leon would come did not waver.
"He will come," she whispered to herself. "I know it."
---
NOCTURNE'S END — AN OLD WAREHOUSE
In an old warehouse hidden in Nocturne's End, three figures met in the dim light of a lamp.
They sat around an old wooden table, maps scattered before them.
No one spoke. Only silence, staring at each other.
Outside, the night wind rustled. The lamp on the table flickered, almost dying out.
One of them moved their hand, picked up a pen, and began writing something on the map.
The other two observed.
No words were spoken. But somehow, the room felt... warm.
Not because of the lamp.
But because of their presence.
=== CHAPTER 25 END ===