Ash, who was already prepared to die, he who had accepted defeat for the very first time in his life, was completely stunned by the sudden appearance of a figure next to them.
That fragile hand—so thin and delicate that it almost seemed feminine—had effortlessly caught Dark Ash's descending hands.
And the moment that hand made contact, it was as if time itself had paused, for Dark Ash's hands completely froze in place, no longer moving an inch.
Ash, in his half-dazed state, actually thought the person who appeared was a woman, but that illusion shattered the moment he heard the voice.
It was definitely a man's voice, clear and composed, yet the tone it carried was unlike anything Ash had ever heard before.
It was soft, like a lullaby whispered across a quiet meadow, and yet it carried an undeniable authority that seeped directly into the soul. It was a voice that didn't scream or demand—but simply made you obey, not because it forced you, but because you wanted to listen.
