The room fell silent.
Not empty—but heavy.
As if the very air had thickened with the weight of everything that had just been said.
Soren didn't respond immediately.
He couldn't.
Because if what Ysmera said was true… then everything he had believed until now—every "truth" taught by his own kind, by society, by history itself—was built on something distorted.
"…That's insane," he muttered at last.
Ysmera did not react.
"Is it?" she asked calmly.
Soren's jaw tightened.
"You're telling me humanity—the very people being hunted, attacked, killed—are actually the ones… manipulating the narrative?" His voice rose slightly. "That we're the ones pushing this hatred?"
"Not all humans," Ysmera corrected.
She leaned back slightly, her posture elegant even in stillness, one finger idly tracing a small arc in the air.
"But those in power?" she continued. "Those who shape history, who control information, who decide what is taught and what is erased…"
Her eyes met his.
"They know exactly what they're doing."
Soren's fingers curled slowly into his palm.
"…Why?" he asked again, quieter this time.
Ysmera answered without hesitation.
"Control."
A simple word.
But it landed like a blade.
"Hatred is one of the easiest things to manufacture," she said. "Give people a common enemy, and they will unite without question. They stop asking why."
Her gaze drifted briefly toward the window, where moonlight spilled faintly across the floor.
"They accept war."
War.
Soren said nothing.
Because part of him—
A part he didn't want to acknowledge—
Understood.
He had seen it himself.
In his own life.In the way demons were spoken of.In the way no one ever questioned it.
They were evil.
That was enough.
"…Then what about the attacks?" Soren pressed. "The villages destroyed? The people killed?"
Ysmera closed her eyes for a brief moment.
"War breeds monsters on all sides," she said quietly. "Demons are not innocent. I never claimed they were."
Her eyes opened again—sharp.
"But neither are humans."
That answer… didn't comfort him.
It made things worse.
Because now there was no clear line.
No simple "enemy."
Just… conflict.
Messy. Complicated. Endless.
Soren let out a slow breath, dragging a hand through his hair.
"…This is ridiculous," he muttered. "How am I supposed to even process this?"
"You don't," Ysmera replied.
He looked up.
"You choose."
The words were immediate. Certain.
Soren frowned. "Choose… what?"
Ysmera studied him carefully.
"Where you stand."
Silence.
"You carry the Eye of Ruin," she continued. "Whether you like it or not, you are no longer just a piece on the board."
Her voice softened slightly—but the weight remained.
"You are now one of the factors that can decide the outcome. The question is… which player will you allow to move you?"
Soren's chest tightened.
"…When you put it that way, Lady Ysmera, it gives me a very unpleasant feeling."
He let out a bitter laugh.
"Facing reality rarely tastes sweet."
Ysmera returned calmly.
"When the war begins—and it will—you will be forced into a position."
Her gaze sharpened.
"Humanity.""The demons.""Or something else entirely."
Soren felt a chill run down his spine.
Because deep down—
He already knew.
There was no path where he could simply… stay out of it.
Not anymore.
Not after everything.
"…And you?" he asked suddenly. "Where do you stand?"
Ysmera paused.
For the first time—
She hesitated.
"I stand," she said slowly, "where the balance remains intact… for now."
Soren frowned. "That sounds like you're avoiding the question."
A faint smile touched her lips.
"Perhaps."
She rose gracefully from the sofa.
"But unlike you, Soren Noctis… I have had centuries to decide. And even now, I can remain on the sidelines."
Her gaze lingered on him.
"But you… with your fleeting human lifespan…"
She didn't finish the sentence.
She didn't need to.
The meaning was clear.
The words struck him again.
Centuries.
So it was true.
She wasn't just long-lived.
She was ancient.
"Get some rest," Ysmera said, turning slightly toward the door. "Your life is about to become far more complicated."
"…You're leaving already?"
"For tonight."
"Lady Ysmera—wait. One last question."
Soren abruptly stood from his seat.
"…Can a dragon's heart really restore a human's life?"
Ysmera paused at the doorway.
"I know how it sounds," Soren continued quickly. "It's like asking whether consuming a human could nourish someone. I would be disgusted hearing it myself."
His gaze dropped to the floor.
"…But I'm desperate."
A brief silence.
"…Someone is on the brink of death," Ysmera said quietly. "And you're grasping at anything that might save them."
She tilted her head slightly.
"Elara, I presume?"
Soren looked up.
"…Yes. So please."
Ysmera's silver eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, fixed ahead.
"…It is true," she said at last. "A dragon's heart can restore life."
Hope flickered—
Only to be tempered by her next words.
"But you would need to obtain one without provoking the wrath of my kind."
A pause.
"And the one who marked you…" she added softly, "…would not allow it so easily."
Soren froze.
And with that—
She left.
Soren slowly sank back into his seat.
The house felt quieter now.
Too quiet.
---
A refined woman stood in silence, an orb of mana hovering just before her face.
It rotated slowly above her palm.
At first glance, it seemed ordinary.
But upon closer inspection—
The orb contained two opposing forces.
Ice and fire.
Intertwined.
Not clashing, not canceling each other—but coexisting, compressing into a single, unstable core.
Its density increased gradually, emitting a suffocating pressure into the surrounding air.
A terrifying display of control.
Because such a thing… should not exist.
Not under the established laws of magic—especially within elemental theory.
"…Mystic."
A voice whispered into her mind.
She didn't flinch.
"Stalker," she replied calmly. "Is there a new instruction from the boss? The interception of the elves' movement hasn't even begun yet."
A brief pause.
Then—
"The boss said: abort the mission. Return to HQ immediately."
Mystic narrowed her eyes.
"…That's unusual," she murmured. "I don't recall him ever canceling an operation."
"The board has changed," Stalker answered, his tone as vague as ever.
Mystic said nothing.
But she understood one thing clearly.
Something significant had happened.
—
What Mystic experienced… was not unique to her alone.
Across distant lands and hidden corners of the world, every member of Black Vow received the same command.
Different circumstances.
Different locations.
But the same message.
Return to HQ. Immediately.
—
Days later.
In a place unknown to most of the world—
A towering structure rose before Mystic's eyes.
A solitary spire, piercing the sky.
Silent.
Unwelcoming.
"Let's head in together."
A voice called out to her.
Mystic turned her head.
Leaning lazily against a nearby wall was a familiar figure, stifling a yawn.
"…Lancer."
She studied him briefly.
"How are you holding up?"
Lancer smirked.
"Want the good news or the bad news?"
"Just say it," Mystic replied flatly, clearly not in the mood for his antics.
Lancer chuckled.
"I'm fine, for now. Oh, the guy I found? He's a perfect candidate for my successor."
Mystic processed that.
…So that's the good news.
"And the bad news?" she asked.
Lancer's grin widened slightly.
"The guy I found… is a perfect candidate."
Mystic frowned.
"…What?"
Lancer's voice dropped, quieter now.
"So perfect… that he's the reason all of us got called back by the boss."
---
Inside, every member of Black Vow had already gathered.
With the arrival of Lancer and Mystic—
They were complete.
Ten of the most elite criminals, branded and hunted by every kingdom.
Well, nine to be precise with Faux is now gone.
"Always together, huh? What are you two—lovebirds?" a woman's voice mocked from across the room.
Mystic didn't even glance at her.
"Still better than you," she replied flatly. "At least I'm not unwanted."
"Tch. Sharp-tongued as ever."
At the center of the room stood a man.
Dressed in a fine suit—clean, composed, almost too refined for someone leading a group like this.
He stood atop a slightly elevated circular platform, like the core of the entire chamber.
The commander of it all.
His eyes were closed.
Then—
"You've come… Mystic. Lancer."
His voice was calm.
Measured.
Unquestionable.
"Boss," Mystic greeted.
The room stilled.
As if waiting.
Then—
Slowly—
His eyes opened.
A faint blue glow seeped through first—
Then fully revealed itself.
His irises burned with an unnatural light, intricate patterns forming within them—like laws etched into existence itself.
Something… absolute.
Lancer exhaled softly, a grin tugging at his lips.
"…Axiom."