"I'm happy to help you… but do you really think I'll be any use?"
Olivia's voice trembles with honesty. She knows she can't hurt Aeren. No weapon, spell, or surge of mana she has could even scratch him. Wanting him dead and being capable of killing him are two entirely different things.
Ellie turns her head sharply, confusion flickering across her face as she looks Olivia up and down—boots to hair—assessing her like an object rather than a person.
And then Ellie smiles. A small, satisfied, knowing smile. Because Olivia's body is useful. Not in strength. Not in magic. But as bait.
"Hm. You don't need to do anything," Ellie says lightly, almost cheerfully. "Just walk with me and distract him for a moment. That's all. I'll handle the rest." Before Olivia can breathe, Ellie grabs her wrist and pulls—hard.
Olivia stumbles forward, dragged as if she weighs nothing, forced toward the most dangerous being alive. "W–Wait—Ellie—stop!" Olivia panics, trying to wrench her hand free, but Ellie's grip is iron. "Let's plan first—just for a moment—we need a strategy—"
Ellie stops walking. Her head turns back slowly. Her eyes are irritated, sharp, and disturbingly calm. "Don't ever plan against Aeren," she says flatly. Olivia freezes.
Ellie continues, her voice dropping into a soft, cold whisper—like a blade sliding across skin: "The world tells him the moment you even think something. Before you finish forming the thought, he already knows. Every plan you make slips to him like a string tied to your skull."
Olivia's heart drops. Ellie leans closer, her expression steady, emotionless, yet strangely thrilled: "If you want to kill him… you must do it in an instant. Without thinking. Without planning. Without forming a single intention." A faint, unhinged smile curls her lips.
"Otherwise the world whispers it to him." Ellie squeezes Olivia's hand even tighter and starts walking again, pulling her forward. "Never try to plan against him," she repeats, her voice carrying an edge of something almost protective. "You'll die before the plan even finishes forming."
Olivia doesn't know anymore what she's supposed to do.
Ellie's words keep echoing in her head, sinking deeper with every step they take. Ellie speaks about Aeren as if she understands him better than anyone alive—better than Olivia, better than Samarth, better than the kings who tried and failed to kill him.
If Ellie knows Aeren that well…Then maybe—just maybe—she really has a chance to kill him. But can Olivia really help her? As they walk closer to Aeren, Olivia's doubts spiral. Her voice comes out small, trembling:
"Aren't you… being too reckless?"
Her legs still feel weak, barely recovered. She did nothing in this battle—only watched—and yet the pressure had nearly crushed her to death. Every step toward Aeren feels like walking back into the jaws of a beast.
Ellie doesn't slow down.
"Worry not. We can handle small things like this," she answers casually, as if walking toward a god of death is a minor inconvenience. Her tone carries no doubt—only absolute certainty.
They finally close the distance.
Aeren and Samarth stand frozen, staring at each other like statues—locked in some telepathic struggle neither girl can hear or understand.
Ellie and Olivia stop a short distance away.
Ellie's eyes sharpen immediately. She studies Aeren with terrifying focus. Her instincts scream at her to strike now—kill him now—because he is barely standing, his balance broken, his body weakened, his mind occupied.
He looks… vulnerable. More vulnerable than she has ever seen him.
Ellie's fingers twitch. Her breath quickens. Every part of her wants to move, wants to cut, wants to end him——but she forces herself to wait. She turns toward Olivia instead.
Olivia is trembling uncontrollably. Even from several steps away, the faint killing pressure radiating from Aeren is enough to shake her body into submission.
Ellie speaks softly but firmly: "You distract him. I'll sprint toward Aeren." Olivia swallows. Hard. Her body is still trembling. But she nods. Because there is no other choice remaining. No escape. No alternative.
Ellie looks at Olivia and gives her a small nod—an unspoken command—and then she leaves her there. Olivia stands frozen, staring at Aeren's back. He hasn't noticed her yet. Or maybe Samarth is keeping Aeren from sensing her at all. She watches Ellie walk away and vanish between the ruins.
Her throat tightens, tears almost rising. She clenches her fists hard to stop herself from crying. Her chest heaves with a shaky sigh. Ellie didn't explain anything. Not a plan. Not a signal. Not what Olivia is supposed to do if Aeren turns around.
Olivia turns her head to call Ellie back——but it's already too late. Ellie is gone. Her mouth hangs open as she stares helplessly at Aeren… and at the terrifying scene unfolding around him.
This is really happening. Still, she forces herself to move. Olivia starts walking toward him, each step feeling like walking through water. Her heart pounds so violently she wonders if he can hear it.
Aeren suddenly turns his head. He looks straight at her. His half-closed eyes lock onto her form, and her entire body shivers violently. Fear drowns her nerves. Her legs feel hollow. Her chest tightens with suffocating unease.
"Aeren, you look… kind of handsome," Olivia blurts out, not even aware of what she's saying. The words just spill out—desperation pretending to be bravery, panic disguised as flirtation. Aeren smiles slightly, genuinely amused by her words.
"Yes. You look beautiful too," he replies, as if they're exchanging pleasantries at a ball instead of standing in a ruined hall surrounded by corpses.
And in that same moment—unseen by both of them—the sword reaches his neck. A clean silver arc. A soundless slice. Aeren's head falls before he even realizes anything is happening.
Thud.
It hits the ground with a dull, final sound. Olivia can't believe her eyes. Just seconds ago, Ellie was beside her, speaking calmly— and now she is standing over Aeren's fallen body, sword in hand, her expression blank as a marble statue.
Aeren's head lies on the ground, his eyes still open, still half-lidded, still looking almost curious. Ellie actually severed it. But she doesn't stop there. Her blade keeps moving—cutting, slicing, shredding—again and again, swing after swing, strike after strike, each movement precise and mechanical.
She cuts Aeren's body apart: head, limbs, organs—everything. She leaves nothing. No flesh. No bone. No blood that could be salvaged. Just emptiness where a person once stood. Where a god once breathed.
Olivia witnesses all of it, frozen in place. Her legs give out. She collapses onto her knees, tears spilling down her cheeks uncontrollably. Aeren never even screamed. Never struggled. Never fought back.
She stares at the ground, trembling, sobbing silently as fear coils inside her chest like a living thing. She can't believe someone could be this cruel. Or that Aeren died without a sound. Without a word. Without acknowledgment.
"I won."
Olivia hears Ellie's whisper—spoken into thin air, as if she's replying to someone unseen. The words carry no triumph. No satisfaction. Just cold, emotionless statement of fact.
Olivia forces herself to lift her head. Ellie stands there, emotionless, her dress still pristine despite the massacre around her.
No joy. No relief. Just emptiness—the same emptiness that defines her entire existence. Behind her, Samarth—still possessed by the cosmic force—freezes for a moment… and then collapses to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.
The moment Aeren dies, the cosmic connection shatters. The Universe retracts. Reality settles back into silence. Olivia swallows her trembling breath and whispers, her voice cracking with something between rage and despair:
"Why go this far?"
Ellie turns her head slowly toward her. Her gaze is unsettlingly calm, almost blank—like someone who has never understood why cruelty should matter at all.
"You could have… just cut his head off," Olivia says, her voice weak, shaking with suppressed fury. "Left his body. I would have… I would have collected his blood. Studied it. Understood it."
Her hands ball into fists.
"But you ruined it, Ellie. You destroyed everything. Everything I wanted." Ellie raises an eyebrow, genuinely confused—as if Olivia is the one who sounds unstable. Unreasonable.
"Hm. Well, I don't know if he can regenerate or not," Ellie replies flatly, turning to face her fully. "So I didn't want to take the risk. I always planned to cut everything. Obliterate it completely."
She pauses, tilts her head slightly, and adds—quietly, almost politely, as if offering condolences:
"I'm sorry for your loss."
Olivia's voice shakes—not from weakness now, but from anger snapping loose inside her chest like a chain breaking.
Ellie blinks, taken aback for the first time. Genuinely surprised by the intensity of Olivia's reaction. The ruined hall is silent. The world outside is silent. Only Olivia's trembling breath echoes between them, heavy with accusation and pain.
Olivia steps forward, fists clenched, tears still clinging to her eyelashes, her entire frame vibrating with suppressed rage.
"What do you mean 'you didn't want to take the risk'?" she says, her voice cracking between fury and disbelief. "No one can regenerate after their head is gone, Ellie. No one! You're just—"
Her voice tightens, becomes almost a snarl.
"—just making excuses because you got what you wanted. Because you wanted to kill him so badly you didn't even care about consequences."
Ellie's eyes narrow slightly.
Just a twitch.
Barely noticeable.
But it's the first real reaction she shows—
as if she's genuinely insulted that Olivia dared accuse her of anything less than perfect control. Perfect precision. Olivia lifts her chin, breath uneven, trembling with the weight of all her desperation, all her lost dreams burning to ash.
"I wanted his blood," she says quietly, bitterly, her voice hollow. "Just once. Just something to prove he existed. To prove what I saw was real."
Her jaw clenches.
"But you—you left nothing. Nothing for me. Nothing for anyone." Ellie's stare hardens into something almost predatory. She tilts her head, as though Olivia is a child whining over a toy that never belonged to her in the first place.
"We're siblings," Ellie says calmly, her tone carrying the weight of absolute fact. "You can take mine. It's the same blood."
Olivia freezes.
That line—that infuriating, casual, dismissive line—snaps something inside her completely.
Her eyes flare with frustration, and her voice bursts out of her chest like a scream trapped too long:
"Shut up!"
Her voice echoes through the crushed hall, bouncing off broken stone and shattered dreams. Ellie doesn't flinch. Doesn't step back. Doesn't react like normal people do.
She simply blinks once, slow—studying Olivia with the unhurried patience of someone who has never truly understood why emotions should matter at all. Why attachment should bind anyone.
Olivia's breathing becomes ragged, almost hyperventilating. She wipes her face with her sleeve, smearing tears and dust, her entire being trembling with a grief so profound it manifests as fury.