Neuvillete's form began to unravel.
First the shimmer of scales. Then the pressure of his limbs. Then his gaze — ancient and unblinking — faded into the water like salt dissolving into the current.
He did not fall.
He simply ceased.
And the sea stirred.
The world held its breath.
Then… the water spoke.
Not from a direction — not from a mouth.
But from every current, every droplet, every silent part of Fontaine that had always been listening.
"The being who you just fought was never the Sovereign."
The voice wasn't loud. It didn't need to be.
It was truth given shape. It bent the space around them like a tide pressing into bone.
"The Iudex is a mask I carved for the gaze of the sky. While they watched him, I dissolved myself into what they would never see..."
"The sea itself."
"The current Neuvillete who is the Iudex is just a fragment of mine and still his own individual and very much worthy of the title of Sovereign."
The world shifted.
Orion felt it. Frieda did. Felix did. Even Elynas did — her breath caught as she clung to Orion's tunic. The waters didn't move. They watched.
And then the Sovereign asked:
"Do you understand now, Orion of Arian? This was never a battle. This was a weighing."
Orion stepped forward — Elynas still held in his arms. His voice came out cracked, but resolute.
"Then weigh me properly," he said. "Not as a Sovereign. Not as a ruler. As someone who looked at a child with a soul full of pain… and chose to protect her."
"You say she let a monster live," Frieda spoke next, stepping beside him. "But you've lived long enough to know this: pain twists people. She wasn't evil. She was lonely. She made a mistake — and then tried to make it right."
The water pulsed — listening.
"Is that so unforgivable?" Frieda whispered. "Even for you?"
The Sovereign's presence swirled, slow and unthreatening — like a cathedral breathing. The current responded, carrying a stillness that felt like attention.
"You chose mercy. You rejected the false Sovereign's decree. You stepped into judgment not with power… but with choice."
Felix let out a low rumble, slithering closer around the group.
"You put us in a cage," he growled, "and then asked if we'd bite the hand that held the key." He narrowed his eyes. "I'd do it again. Every time. Especially for them."
Orion looked upward — to nothing, yet everything — and said, quietly:
"I didn't protect her because I thought it would save us."
Orion continued.
"I did it because I couldn't watch another innocent suffer while I stood still."
The water shimmered — not as light, but as weight.
"Three souls."
"One of ice. One of fire. And one... still becoming."
"You are not what I expected."
Orion's brow furrowed. "What does that mean?"
"It means," the Sovereign murmured, "that the tides will remember you."
Frieda gripped Elynas tighter. "If you're done testing us, then let us go."
"You are free."
"But the sea does not forget those it has tested."
"When the stars fall, and the sky screams — when even the Sovereigns begin to drown in what they once commanded…"
"I will call."
Orion swallowed hard.
"Then call me," he said. "I won't run."
Silence.
And then — the Sovereign withdrew.
Not vanishing, not fleeing — but submerging. Returning to the currents it had always been. The pressure lifted. The light returned. The tide exhaled.
Elynas whispered, barely audible:
"Was that really… the ocean?"
Orion didn't answer right away.
He looked into the surrounding water — now still, now silent — and let out a breath that shimmered with a hint of frost.
"No," he said finally. "That was the Sovereign."
"I don't like him," Felix growled, low and bitter, his voice still reverberating with tension. His tail thumped the ground once, a quiet protest to a Sovereign no longer present.
Orion chuckled softly. "Neither do I," he whispered, and reached out to pat the dragon's head. Felix huffed, but leaned into the touch, his horns brushing gently against Orion's arm like a gesture of trust sealed in exhaustion.
From within his mind, Frieda's voice stirred like a breeze through melting snow.
"So… now that the message is delivered — should we move to Sumeru next?"
But Orion didn't answer right away.
He looked down at the child in his arms.
Elynas.
She had curled into him instinctively, like a withered flower trying to protect its last petal. Her clothes were threadbare, stained by seawater and sorrow. Her skin was pale beneath the grime, and her hair — once lively — was brittle and matted, tangled beyond repair. She smelled of earth and old tears, of things no child should ever have to carry.
And yet…
She was alive.
She was safe.
She was his responsibility now.
A weight — not of duty, but of choice — settled over him.
Orion glanced up, his voice softer than the sea.
"I think… we should rest first."
His eyes flicked toward the vast world beyond the tides, toward something warmer.
"Somewhere proper this time."
He looked back at her — this girl who had survived judgment and sorrow, and somehow still clung to hope.
Orion reached up and gently brushed a knotted strand of hair from her face. She blinked, meeting his eyes.
"Would you come with us?"
She didn't speak.
But her hand, small and trembling, reached up and held his tunic. Just slightly.
And that was enough.
Fontaine was bathed in soft golden light.
Rain had fallen earlier, but now the cobbled streets gleamed under the late afternoon sun, their puddles catching glimpses of sky and laughter. The steam from distant engines mingled with the scent of fresh bread and sugared pastries, and the Court of Fontaine — normally so cold, so precise — felt almost alive today.
Almost… gentle.
Orion stepped into the bustling plaza with Elynas holding his hand and Frieda humming softly inside his mind.
She'd just finished reciting a list of essentials they needed: food, clothes, rest, a bath, soap, more soap, soap that actually lathers, and probably more soap, given the state of Elynas' hair.
"You smell like you were raised by Specters," Frieda muttered aloud as Orion adjusted Elynas' cloak.
Elynas blinked, not offended, just confused. "What's a Specter?"
"Exactly," Frieda sighed.
Shoppers passed them without much attention, save the occasional glance at Orion's distinctive white hair or the girl whose eyes still bore shadows of something far older. But for once, no one recognized them as envoys. No one saw VlastMoroz's Envoy. No one bowed, or whispered, or judged.
They were just… people.
They'd booked a hotel room in the upper layers of the city — not extravagant, but warm, with soft bedding and walls painted in seafoam blue. The bath alone felt like a miracle; Elynas had disappeared in it for nearly an hour, and Orion was fairly certain at one point Frieda took over his body just to scrub her herself, muttering about tangled curses disguised as hair.
Now, clean, fed, and wearing actual new clothes — a soft white blouse, a light blue coat, and boots that didn't scream "survived death" — Elynas looked like a whole different person.
Still small.
Still quiet.
But alive.
Laughing even, when she saw Felix.
High above the city — balanced perfectly on the spire of Fontaine's tallest building — the frost dragon had curled himself like a cat, his wings tucked tight, snoring softly as the last rays of sunlight gilded his scales.
"How is that comfortable?" Frieda asked aloud, watching him from the reflection in a storefront window.
Orion shrugged, smiling faintly. "He likes the view."
They walked past a stand selling candied fruits dipped in honeyed glaze. Orion bought three. Elynas devoured hers in under a minute, then blinked at Orion with guilt. He handed her his.
She blinked again.
This time, her eyes welled.
Not from sadness. Just… from the unfamiliar feeling of being cared for.
She didn't say thank you.
She just held his hand tighter.
And that was more than enough.