Chapter 61 – Forgotten Memory
The door opened with a breath of flame.
A warm, almost sweet scent escaped, mingled with the smell of burnt stone and ancient magic.
The hall was vast, silent—like a forgotten sanctuary.
Pillars of red onyx supported a ceiling studded with molten gems, where reflections of fire danced.
Each stone seemed to breathe, each light pulsed like a heart.
When Seth stepped inside, the first thing he felt was the warmth.
Not burning—soft, enchanting, almost alive.
The air vibrated with an ancient presence.
And at the center of that sea of gold and light, she was there.
Flora.
The Queen of Dragons.
He hadn't expected… this.
Not that almost unreal beauty, nor that sadness flowing from her like a silent wave.
Her hair—long, incandescent orange—fell in cascades around her, like a celestial flame untouched by time.
Each strand caught the light from the ceiling gems, as if all the fire of the world had taken refuge within it.
Her skin, pale and radiant, seemed made of porcelain and sunlight.
She looked as though she didn't belong to the mortal world.
But it was her eyes that struck Seth.
A deep blue—not the blue of water, no, but of the sky after the storm, where everything feels cleansed and suspended.
A blue that held too much: wisdom, sorrow, emptiness.
Upon her head rested a crown of gold, finely wrought, adorned with rubies, sapphires, and diamonds—each one glowing with a different light, like a chorus of crystal voices.
And yet, behind all that splendor, there was something broken.
Seth's heart tightened for no reason.
A fleeting déjà vu, irrational—like he'd seen that face before, in a dream, in a memory. His instincts whispered.
Around her, the air trembled, woven with magic so ancient it seemed to breathe with every heartbeat.
He thought he heard faint murmurs—echoes of dragons, or perhaps of memories.
And when Flora finally turned her head toward them, Seth's body went rigid.
Her gaze passed over Alma, then Damian… and stopped on him.
The world froze.
The light dimmed.
The warmth turned heavier, oppressive.
Seth felt something stir within him—a note, an energy, a hidden flame that recognized, against his will, the one before him.
But the thought never finished.
Alexander stopped in his tracks.
His steps echoed faintly in the silence as he raised a trembling hand, almost hesitant, and whispered:
— Flora… it's me.
No answer.
Only the light shimmered, clinging to her pale skin like glass.
Flora was motionless, sitting among veils and precious stones.
Her beauty seemed unreal, almost inhuman.
Alexander took a step closer.
His face hardened, his eyes clouded with unspoken worry.
— Flora… can you hear me? Ah, I see. You still don't want to talk to me.
Still nothing.
Not a blink, not a breath.
She was there—but not really.
Behind him, Seth, Alma, and Damian stood frozen at the threshold, unable to speak.
The heat of the room choked them, the weight of the magic pressed down like a mountain.
Alexander knelt slowly, placing a hand on the crystal floor.
His voice softened, almost breaking.
— I came with help. Humans from Etheria… I needed warriors strong enough to make sure you'd be safe...
The word hung in the air.
Still no movement.
Then, with a discreet gesture, he motioned them to approach.
The three advanced slowly.
Their steps echoed strangely in the heavy air.
Flora didn't move.
Only her hair stirred, brushed by an invisible breeze.
Alma lowered her head, awestruck.
Damian studied the walls, avoiding the Queen's eyes, uneasy yet mesmerized.
But Seth couldn't move.
He kept staring—again and again—without understanding why.
And then, she saw him.
Their eyes met.
A suspended instant.
A heartbeat—and then everything changed.
Flora's pupils contracted sharply. Her body stiffened. Her lips parted as if to speak, but no sound came out.
An expression of pure horror crossed her face—
as if she had seen a ghost.
No—worse—as if she recognized something she believed lost for centuries.
Her breathing quickened.
Her fingers trembled.
The bed shook under a sudden wave of heat, gems blazing red, and tears began to flow from her eyes.
— Flora, are you all right?! Alexander shouted, alarmed.
But she couldn't hear him.
Her eyes stayed locked on Seth, wide, terrified, filled with a sorrow no words could describe.
She tried to speak, but her throat convulsed in a dry gasp.
— What's happening?! Damian barked, hand on his dagger.
— She… she's looking at us, whispered Alma, trembling.
Seth took a step back.
His heart pounded violently.
He didn't understand.
Why the fear? Why that look piercing him like a blade?
A strange warmth began to pulse beneath his skin, as if something within him was answering her silent call.
And suddenly, Flora's eyes glazed over.
Her head fell to the side.
The torches died out at once.
The light of the gems faded.
A dull thud—the sound of her body collapsing softly onto the sheets.
— FLORA! Alexander cried, rushing to her.
He caught her in his arms, his face twisted with anguish.
A faint warmth still radiated from her—but her mind seemed… gone.
Lost in another world.
— What did you do to her?! I saw how she looked at you! Damian snapped at Seth.
— Nothing, you idiot! Seth shouted back, trembling. I… I didn't do anything, I swear!
Alexander pressed his forehead against hers, eyes closed.
A broken whisper escaped his lips.
— No, not again… please, not another relapse…
The entire hall trembled with a magical echo.
A shiver ran through the pillars, as if the palace itself was mourning its queen.
Seth stood still, staring at Flora in Alexander's arms.
And deep within, without knowing why, he heard a voice awaken—distant and soft.
A voice he had never heard before, whispering through the silence:
— You've returned…
---
Meanwhile, in the Palace of Atlantis (North)
Water streamed over the onyx tiles, leaving bluish trails that shimmered in the dark.
Agnor's bath chamber, carved into the black marble of Atlantis, was lit only by a few floating orbs of light.
Their reflections broke on the water's surface like fragments of the moon.
Agnor, naked, stood before a shattered mirror.
Each droplet falling from his hair left a turquoise trace on the floor.
His skin, marked by long scars, radiated an eerie blue glow—like a magical flame refusing to die.
He slowly lifted his gaze to his reflection.
— …Pathetic. Pathetic… pathetic, he muttered.
His face, tense, seemed both human and monstrous.
The veins on his neck pulsed with energy, each heartbeat illuminating his skin with spectral light.
A voice echoed in his head—deep, cold, almost familiar.
"You almost died, Agnor."
He clenched his fists.
The mirror's frost cracked under the surge of magic.
— I survived. That's all that matters, he hissed.
Memories struck like blades:
Merlin's mocking smile.
The blood, the pain, the defeat.
Then Loki—appearing.
The moment replayed vividly: Loki saving him, only to slam him brutally against a wall, eyes blazing with rage.
— "Don't toy with me, Agnor. Our pact is sealed by blood. You won't die until I decide it. And if he finds out, he'll kill you himself."
— "…I had no intention of it…" he'd answered with a smile.
— "You lie. Listen carefully—if you think you can escape us by dying, you're wrong. Even if you descend into hell, I'll follow you there."
Then Loki had beaten him again and again, until Agnor's blood stained the ground.
But he'd stayed silent.
Because in the shadows, he'd understood.
When Loki left, Edward came.
Silent, the old man placed a hand on his forehead and said softly:
— "Do not worry. He saw nothing. I sealed my memories."
And suddenly, it all made sense.
Agnor burst into laughter—a hoarse, almost painful laugh.
— Loki… Merlin… the Illuminati… you have no idea who you're dealing with. I'll slaughter you all, one by one, and then… you'll understand who I really am.
His laughter echoed through the marble halls, fading into a harsh sigh.
His gaze hardened, a spark of madness glinting within.
He placed his hand on the icy mirror.
A blue light flared, snaking across the glass in runic patterns.
Each symbol lit up, forming a circle of pure, living magic.
In his reflection, behind him, a faint, spectral figure appeared—like an echo of himself, the other self he'd once tried to imprison.
— And you, Degel…
He spoke the name with disgust and delight intertwined.
— You're the only piece missing…
He stepped back, lifting his right hand.
His aura exploded outward, violent, crushing the air around him.
The light orbs burst one after another.
Only the blue glow of his magic remained.
— I'll destroy you all. Every last one of you.
His voice grew into a growl.
— You thought to use me? Control me? Me—Agnor?… It's only a matter of time before I kill you all.
The water around him began to freeze.
Shards of glass rose, forming a cloak of icy energy around his body.
His eyes turned silver.
A crack split the wall, stone fracturing under the pressure of his magic.
"Jade…" whispered a faint voice—admiring, almost reverent.
Agnor closed his eyes, a predatory smile curving his lips.
— Let them pray to their gods, let them hide in their temples… Nothing will save them.
Then he laughed again.
A manic, thunderous laugh that roared above Atlantis.
In the fractured mirror, his reflection smiled before he did.
And for a moment, it seemed as if another consciousness, lurking in the depths of his soul, was answering him.
— Soon, Agnor. Soon, the world will burn as I do.
---
At the same time, in Etheria
The silver towers of the Academy gleamed under the sunlight, and the wind swept through the open arches of the training hall.
Sparks of light, metal, and fire illuminated the individual chamber number 99, where a rare, fierce battle was raging.
Magical traps ignited in a thunderous uproar.
Bolts of energy, blades of air, enchanted chains, and fireballs flew in all directions.
And yet, one lone figure moved at the heart of the storm.
Her steps were sharp, swift, rhythmic.
Sweat matted her brown hair; her vivid green eyes followed every incoming strike.
A blade of light in one hand, a magical seal in the other.
Each breath she took matched the pulse of the surrounding magic.
It was Tara.
Her blade sang, cutting through three projectiles before she pivoted, slipping under a volley of flames.
Her foot struck the ground, releasing a runic circle—a perfect counter-spell that shattered the remaining traps in a burst of golden dust.
Silence fell.
Tara panted, shoulders trembling, gaze fixed on the debris of the last trap.
Then she dropped her weapon, straightened slowly, and muttered to herself:
— Still too slow… always too slow.
A calm voice echoed behind her.
— Too slow? If that's your slowness, I'd hate to see your true speed.
She startled slightly and turned.
In the doorway's shadow stood Valtherion, her instructor—one of Etheria's most respected mages.
His gray eyes gleamed with genuine astonishment.
— In three months, you've risen from 238th place… to 10th in Class C, he said, stepping forward.
— Even the professors talk about you in the halls. You've become… a phenomenon. Your progress is abnormal.
She wiped the sweat from her forehead, embarrassed.
— I just train, that's all.
— No, Valtherion corrected. You're transforming. At this rate, you'll be in the top five of your class within a month… maybe even reach Class A soon, given your monstrous stats.
He reached for the training console, silent for a moment, then drew out a sealed silver envelope.
— This is for you.
Tara took it carefully.
The seal glowed softly—the emblem of the Class S Council.
Her heartbeat quickened.
— …A summons? she asked hesitantly.
— Yes. From one of the Twelve S-Ranked members.
— Who? And why does he want to see me?
— Lucius—the Eleventh Seat of the S-Ranks. The reason isn't written. But the Council wants you at the Silver Pavilion tomorrow, at ten sharp.
Tara froze, fingers trembling around the letter.
A mix of curiosity and unease filled her.
— Why me? I don't even know him, she said softly.
— Maybe someone's noticed you. Maybe they want to test you. Or… recruit you, Valtherion said with a faint smile.
— Either way, don't take it lightly. You've become a force in Etheria, Tara. The Council's eyes never fall by accident.
She nodded, her gaze drifting to the window where the wind stirred the Academy banners.
The sky was a deep, mystical blue.
Memories rose: Seth laughing, Kael reading in silence, Alma talking too loudly.
She had lost sight of them all, each following their own path.
— …Seth, she whispered.
— What did you say? asked Valtherion.
— Nothing.
She tightened her grip on the letter.
— I won't stay behind them, she said under her breath.
Valtherion smiled.
He knew that spark—the one burning in souls destined to mark their age.
— Then prove it tomorrow.
Tara nodded, then turned back toward the arena.
The training device was off, but she stepped inside again.
Slowly, she raised her sword toward the light.
The wind rushed through the arches, lifting her cape and shaking the torches.
Her gaze hardened.
— I won't fall behind… Seth, Kael…
And with those words, she reactivated the magic circles.
The traps roared back to life.
But this time, her steps did not falter.
To be continued…