The grand hall was alive with a sea of faces — from the brightest corners of Shiora to the shadowed edges of the realm. Even those who had barely escaped the Dark Lands had come, their scars hidden beneath celebratory smiles. A few beasts, once feared in legend, had slunk in among the crowd, not as predators, but as witnesses to history. All had gathered for a single reason: to see Nujah ascend to the rank of Shinrei.
From the gathering of the Firstborn Spirits, two figures stood out — Valuva and Death.
Naraka greeted them with a warm smile.
> "Welcome. Where are the other elders?"
Death, sharp and impatient, cut in before Valuva could speak.
> "Forget them. Where's the star of the day? I came to see him."
Valuva's voice tightened as she frowned.
> "I told you—this isn't the day for stirring trouble. Don't mind him, he's still acting like a child."
Her gaze softened as she turned back to Naraka.
> "The others will arrive within ten minutes. No chance they'll miss this day. Especially not Seluva."
At that, Naraka and Valuva both chuckled. Naraka's expression grew a touch more serious.
> "But this time, truly… keep them in line, Seluva. I can't always look the other way."
Valuva gave a light laugh.
> "Don't worry. Nujah already warned her not to cause problems for my mother. She won't jump on stage… probably. At worst, she'll just shout."
Naraka exhaled with a flicker of relief.
> "Very well. Death, shall we head to the stage?"
> "About time," Death replied bluntly.
> "Your seats are in the very front," Naraka said. "Vekhir will guide you."
> "Thank you, dear," Valuva said warmly, grabbing Death by the arm and dragging him away before he could protest further.
A small elf messenger hurried up, bowing.
> "I delivered your message, Mother Naraka."
> "Good," Naraka replied. "Are they behind the curtain?"
The elf giggled softly.
> "Yes, my queen. The moment I mentioned your name, they all took flight."
Naraka's eyes narrowed.
> "Understood. Vekhir—are evacuation protocols ready in case of an attack?"
> "Yes, everything is prepared," Vekhir answered.
> "Good. Stay far from the stage when it begins."
Moments later, Naraka stepped out before an ocean of souls. A microphone formed in her hand, woven from pure light.
---
Naraka's Address
The light shimmered at the microphone's tip like a living flame. Naraka lifted her head, meeting the gaze of millions with the dual weight of a queen and a mother.
> "Children of Shiora… honored guests… and friends who have carried half their hearts from distant lands to be here."
Her voice filled the vaulted chamber, every word resonating like a vow.
> "We are not gathered here merely to confirm a rank… but to remind ourselves of the purest power that flows in Shiora's veins."
In the front rows, the Firstborn Spirits leaned forward.
Seluva's hands tightened around the sign she carried — Light of Our Hearts. Her eyes brimmed with a love that seemed to reach for the man behind the curtain, her smile growing as she imagined him on stage.
Beside her, Soluva gripped her own wooden-framed sign — You Passed Every Test, Rookie. Her battle-hardened gaze was firm, her head tilted toward the curtain as if to say, You were made for this moment.
Miluva, standing just behind, nudged her sisters lightly.
> "Don't embarrass us," she whispered, though her own smile betrayed her eagerness.
Farther back, Valuva sat beside Death. Her gaze was cool, regal, searching for Nujah beyond the veil. Death said nothing, but his eyes never wavered from the curtain.
Naraka's tone deepened.
> "Shinrei… the word I use for my own children, born of my blood. Beings made to guard the light, to ensure no shadow can take root… my guardian angels."
The hall was utterly still. Elves traded silent glances. Dwarves leaned forward over their cups.
> "For hundreds of thousands of years, many have sought this strength. Thousands trained for millennia, fought endless wars… and yet, most were lost to darkness, or could not bear the weight. The highest rank a mortal could hope for was Hand of Naraka. Even then, they numbered fewer than ten thousand.
> "To them I once said: If you ever grow strong enough to bear the weight of the light… I will make you Shinrei with my own hands."
Her eyes locked on the curtain.
> "I have watched him for a thousand years. I've seen him bleed on countless battlefields, face his deepest fears, and love his siblings more than his own life. He has died many times… yet each time, he chose to return to Shiora.
> "In one of the first dark campaigns, when his army was shattered by a Dark Prince, he stayed behind to protect the people. He drew the enemy to himself, buying them time to flee. As death closed in, another prince emerged from the shadows with an impossible offer. Even accepting it gave him almost no chance to survive. But Nujah accepted… so that Shiora's light would not fade. And against all odds, he won."
Her voice softened, yet grew in power.
> "To be Shinrei is to fight for that light, even at the cost of your life. It is not merely strength — it is sacrifice, courage, and the refusal to kneel."
She raised her hand, her voice both tender and commanding.
> "And today… we take the final step of that thousand-year journey. Not just I, but the heart, soul, and light of Shiora stand with him."
Her tone dropped to a deep, resonant hush.
> "Before you stands the soul who has died thousands of times to protect us, yet never bowed. Shiora's new Shinrei…"
Her hand extended toward the curtain.
> "…Nujah. Shinrei Nujah."
Before the curtains rose, Herinhard placed a steady hand on Nujah's shoulder.
— "No matter what happens… there's only one thing you must do: stand tall and thank them all. Go on—good luck."
He withdrew his hand and stepped down from the platform. Maria smiled warmly.
— "We're here for you, brother. Always."
Mabaka grinned.
— "Show them whose brother you are!"
The others shouted with excitement as they left the stage:
— "Let's see you shine, star!"
At that moment, Naraka's commanding voice echoed from outside:
— "Shinrei Nujah!"
The curtains flew upward, and light poured over him. Gold and white merged into a radiant glow that bathed the entire hall. Nujah stood tall, Herinhard's words still ringing in his mind, drawing slow, deep breaths to steady the pounding in his chest. His cheeks burned with shyness, yet his gaze remained firm.
The silence broke when a familiar voice called from the front row. Seluva shot to her feet, eyes sparkling, lifting a sign that read "Light of Our Hearts".
— "There! That's our light!"
Her voice thundered against the domed ceiling. The Firstborn Spirits stirred, and soon the entire hall followed.
Soluva gave a proud nod.
— "You passed every trial, rookie—well done."
Miluva, half-smiling, leaned in.
— "Alright, alright… let the boy breathe first."
Valuva and Death remained seated, but their eyes weighed on Nujah like a heavy veil. The corner of Valuva's lips curved in the faintest smirk—his silent way of offering congratulations. Death inclined his head slightly, a gesture that spoke more than words.
Applause swelled into roaring cheers. Elves clashed silver bracelets together, dwarves stomped their boots in rhythm, and the sea folk raised their shells toward the light.
From her seat, the High Priestess gazed at Nujah. Her lips moved, soundless, but he could read them clearly: I'm proud of you.
Above, Naraka's first companion—a majestic white dragon named Aseriel, symbol of the Shinrei—soared in wide circles with the other dragons, their roars rolling through the air in salute. Naraka stepped forward, microphone in hand, ready to offer it to Nujah…
Then, his siblings entered the section reserved for Naraka's honored guests. That was when Nujah heard it—a single drop hitting the floor.
A sharp, acrid scent reached him, seeping from beneath the chairs. His body tensed.
He lunged instinctively, arms outstretched, but the bomb had already been triggered. The flash blinded him. In that instant, he managed only to seize Vercurius and pull him back.
The hall erupted into chaos. Screams, shouts, the panicked roars of dragons—everything blurred into a deafening storm.
Vekhir Tolen's voice cut through the mayhem:
— "Lightward! Naraka's Hands! All units—get the civilians out now! By force if you must!"
Naraka's glare swept the room before she snapped her fingers. Every potentially hostile presence vanished in an instant. She looked straight at Nujah.
— "Handle this, Nujah."
With another snap, she was gone.
Vercurius staggered, breath ragged, one side of his face slick with a black, tar-like filth that reeked of rot. The stench clung to him like it wanted to seep into his soul.
Nujah was at his side in an instant, hands steady despite the chaos. Channeling Maria's healing, he pulled the corruption out in slow, writhing threads, every fragment burning into harmless light before it could touch the ground. Relief flickered for a moment—until the shadows moved.
A sudden glint—too fast to stop.
The blade buried itself in Nujah's skull with a sickening, wet crack.
Vercurius's heart seized. For an instant, the roar of the hall went silent. All he saw was the red flooding down Nujah's face, the light in his eyes wavering.
"NO—!" The word was swallowed by the din.
Rage exploded through him. He caught his balance and snapped his fingers with a force that made the air shiver. Every spirit under his command surged forward in a roaring wave, striking at the attacker like a living storm.
The masked man advanced anyway, cutting through them as if they were mist. His voice, a cold, hollow whisper, slid into the space between heartbeats:
— "I'll settle for what I've taken."
And then he was gone—swallowed by the chaos.
Vercurius dropped to one knee beside Nujah, hand trembling only for a breath before tightening around the blade's hilt. He yanked it free, a burst of pure white light flaring from his palm and sealing the wound.
"Go," he said—low, fierce, and unyielding. "I'll handle the rest. Don't you dare come back without him."
Nujah's gaze locked with his—blood still in his lashes, breath unsteady—but he nodded.
The next heartbeat, he was moving. Faster than thought, faster than fear. The noise of the hall faded behind him, leaving only the pounding of his steps… and the shadow of the man who had dared to escape.