Icariel walked ahead in silence, his footsteps slow but steady. Behind him, Elena and Elif followed, casting one last glance at the adviser's lifeless body. Valandoa's blood pooled in the white basement, still and silent, the only trace of the chaos that had erupted minutes ago.
The three ascended the stone staircase—the same one they had descended when they first entered the hidden lower level of the castle. The air was heavier now, colder, as if the walls themselves mourned.
Elif walked just behind her mother, eyes locked on Icariel's back. Her lips pressed into a thin line as her small fingers gripped the hem of her dress. "I know it wasn't easy for him," she thought. "He was trembling... but he still did what he had to do."
She could still hear the sickening snap—the sound of Valandoa's heart being crushed in Icariel's hand. That sound wouldn't leave her ears.
"I've never seen anything like this… even Mother is shaken," Elif thought, her gaze drifting to Elena. Her expression remained composed, but her eyes—sharp and searching—betrayed a storm of unease. "She must be brimming with questions.What did he mean when he said he'd fooled our lie detection before?"
"And What's with that changed body of his? That strength, that speed… He casts spells like a mage, but that physique is like a superhuman's. No skills, only raw magic. Is it because of that golden light? Who are you really, Icariel? What are you hiding?"
As they neared the secret door Aelar had once opened—the one that led back into the main hall—Icariel suddenly stopped without turning around.
"Wait here for a bit," he said, his voice calm. "There are monsters in the hall—like the ones that came with that adviser. I'll handle them. Then we'll leave."
Elena nodded. "Just be careful."
Icariel nodded once, but before Elif could speak—"Icar—"—he was already moving.
The secret door creaked open. The castle's main hall lay in ruin—cracks everywhere, shattered glass glinting on the floor. Elven maids lay dead. Some barely clung to life. The air was thick with ash and death.
Nine crogs turned their heads as Icariel entered, their grotesque forms growling, drooling, eyes glowing with mindless aggression.
The voice spoke again, calm and clear inside his head. "You can take them easily."
"I know," Icariel replied aloud, eyes narrowed.
He was angry—at the adviser, at the monsters, but most of all... at himself.
The dried blood on his hand reminded him of what he'd done. But this wasn't the time to dwell.
"Spell: Spear of Flame," he whispered.
Heat surged outward in a sudden flare, lighting the hall like sunrise in hell.
Five flaming spears formed around him in a radiant arc—and the battle began.
Back at the secret doorway,The explosion rattled the stones beneath her feet, a shockwave of heat and force tearing through the air. Elif flinched instinctively as if the world had cracked open.
Elena instantly wrapped her arms around her daughter. The walls trembled. Screams echoed. Blood had already been spilled.
Elena's silver eyes darkened with worry. "We've never faced something like this before… Not inside our own lands."
"Is this what my husband endures each time he steps into battle? It's terrifying…"
"And Icariel…" She stared at the door. "I always knew he was special. Aelar told me he could cast spells in ways he'd never seen before, and his body is unique. But now, since that golden light came from his body… he's something else entirely. Another strength. Another form. An unknown."
"But if not for him… we would be the ones lying on the ground. If not for him… we'd be dead. He saved us. He deserves our thanks. No—he deserves more than that."
A second explosion tore through the silence, louder and closer. The ground buckled beneath their feet, ancient stone groaning in protest. Cracks webbed along the ceiling, sending down a fine mist of dust.
Elif, still holding onto her mother, whispered softly.
"I hope this is just a dream, Mom. I just want it to be over…"
Elena stroked her hair. "Don't worry, Elif. Aelar will take care of everything. And if we stay beside Icariel… we'll be alright. Let's have faith. Things will get better."
Elif nodded, tears in her eyes. But her voice trembled as she said:
"Mom… it's been bothering me. He looked really sad—more than I've ever seen him. When I saw his back, right after he killed the adviser… there was something about it. I don't know if it was grief, regret, or something else entirely. But it scared me."
"I keep wondering… did we act cold because of what we saw? Or because we didn't know how to handle it?"
"I just… I wonder if he's okay."
Elena's eyes widened.
The same thought had crossed her mind—but until now, she'd been too afraid to speak it.
"You're right, Elif. We've been so focused on the horror… we forgot about him. About how this all must feel to him."
Her gaze turned back to Elif, softening with a quiet resolve.
A deeper, thunderous blast followed. The walls groaned as if in pain.
Elena closed her eyes, a wave of guilt washing over her. "How could we have been so thoughtless? So selfish?"
"He saved our lives, and not one of us thought to ask if he was all right. He's only sixteen—just a human boy—yet he's carrying a burden far too heavy for someone his age."
She looked at Elif. Her eyes softened with resolve.
"When he comes back," she said, her voice gentle, "we'll start with a hug."
Elif nodded. "A real hug. From both of us."
Another boom. Then another. A final crash.
And then—silence.
The battle had ended.
Elena slowly opened the door, with Icariel saying nothing. What she and Elif saw froze them in place.
Bodies. Everywhere.
The corpses of monsters and elves alike littered the scorched marble. Flames curled around the once-pristine castle hall, dancing and crackling with hungry heat. And in the middle of it all—stood Icariel.
He stood still, like a statue amidst ruin, holding a spear of flame. Its blazing tip was embedded deep into the corpse of a Crog, the monster's charred body still burning in silence. But Icariel wasn't looking at the others. He was staring down at the lifeless creature before him, the firelight reflecting in his dark eyes.
His face wasn't twisted in horror or guilt—just still. Quiet. A sadness too deep for names.
Elif watched him and felt a tightening in her chest. A sorrow not for the death, but for the boy in the middle of it all. She stepped forward slightly, her lips parting.
"Icariel..." she whispered, too softly to be heard through the roaring flames.
His face—it hurt to look at. As if something precious inside him had shattered.
Elif turned to her mother, her voice trembling. "Mother… should we—"
But Elena didn't wait. Her silver eyes widened, and with a sudden movement, her legs sprinted forward. Her black dress and white-silver hair trailed behind her like a wave of moonlight breaking into fire.
"Mother?!" Elif called, stunned.
Elena ran through the heat, through the ash and the smoke, right up to Icariel—who turned in surprise, eyes widening.
"Elena? Hey—what are you—"
Before he could finish, she threw her arms wide and hugged him tightly.
The firelight wavered.
Icariel stood frozen, the spear of flame fading from his hand, vanishing into embers.
"Huh?" he muttered, eyes wide, arms still limp by his side.
Elena held him close, her eyes shut tight.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry if I acted cold to you down there. It's just… the shock got to me. Don't be too hard on yourself. You did what needed to be done. You saved us. He would've killed all of us if you hadn't stopped him first."
Her voice trembled now.
"You did what was necessary. I was wrong to look at you like that. Forgive me, Icariel, for showing such an unworthy side of myself. And thank you… truly, thank you, for saving my life—and my daughter's—again."
She pulled back just a little, just enough to look up at his stunned face.
"So please… don't look so sad. Like a child who's lost something precious. You haven't lost anything. You've given us our lives back. Please remember that."
Icariel's lips parted. His eyes blinked, unable to process what was happening. Flames flickered around them—and he saw it.
"Elena! Your clothes—!" The fire had caught the edge of her dress, burning slowly at the hem.
But she didn't budge.
Still hugging him. Still holding on.
From behind, Elif watched, her eyes wide. But then… a smile. A small, quiet smile spread across her face.
Icariel chuckled softly under his breath. He raised a hand into the air.
"Spell: Water Sphere."
A ball of water formed above them, glistening against the firelight. Then—FWHHSSHH—it splashed down like a small waterfall, extinguishing the flames in a hiss of steamThe fire was gone. In its place—only steam. And silence. He wasn't sure what burned more—the battlefield or what was left inside him.. Her dress, their hair—drenched now. But safe.
"You'll need new clothes," Icariel muttered, smirking faintly. "Teacher will definitely tease you if he sees you like this."
Elena let go of him, her face a little red but grateful.
"Thank you," she said softly.
"Thank me properly after we get out of here safe, okay?" he replied.
"Right." Elena nodded with a smile.
Elif called from a distance, "Despite the chaos, you finally seem in your right mind, Icariel."
He smiled, turned his back to them, and faced the castle doors.
"You were the ones acting different, not me," he whispered with a grin.
"Let's go."
As he walked, the voice came again.
In his mind, the voice returned.
"You were right," he whispered silently.
"There is no room for a pause."
"At least you understand that now," the voice replied. "But be careful— from here on, you can never be certain what those outside are truly capable of."
"Yeah, I know… I should always take the best choice for surviving. But now… with this new superhuman awakening..."
A grin curled at the edge of his lips.
"I think I have a few."
He was heading to the castle doors, Elena and Elif behind him.
But little did the boy know—
The doors he opened would not lead to safety…
But to the beginning of the end.