Chapter 63: Calm before the storm (3)
The room sank into a suffocating silence as those two words echoed like a curse.
Kurt and Victoria’s bodies stiffened. Mechanically, they turned their heads toward the source of the horrifying plea.
"C–Clark..." Victoria’s voice cracked as she stumbled forward, her trembling hands reaching for him. "Can you hear me?"
Tears slid down her cheeks, falling onto Clark’s charred, broken face.
Densdor sat calmly by his side, as if nothing about the situation was unusual, while Kurt hovered helplessly behind Victoria, unable to move closer.
"The elven healers will be here soon, so—" Kurt began.
"K–kill me..."
The words slipped out again, weaker this time, but laced with the same unbearable despair.
Victoria froze. Her breath caught in her throat, and she sank into the chair behind her as if her legs had betrayed her.
"Hey, Clark—it’s me, your bestest friend, Densdor~ remember?" Densdor chimed, his tone maddeningly light. He pulled a potion from his storage ring, its glass shimmering faintly. "You’re hurt just a teeny tiny bit, but we’ll patch you right up, okay?"
With a cheerful grin, he tilted Clark’s head and fed him the golden liquid. "This one’s pretty expensive, y’know? You’ll feel better in no time!"
Kurt’s stomach twisted as he watched the unsettling display.
’Who’s more pitiful? The boy begging for death, or the one smiling through grief as if it doesn’t exist?’
A gentle tug at his robe broke his thoughts. He looked down to see Victoria’s swollen, tear-stained eyes staring at him.
"Kurt..." Her voice trembled.
He froze. What could he possibly say? That Clark would survive? They both knew that was a lie. That he wouldn’t? Even he wasn’t ready to accept that.
"What are we going to do?" Victoria whispered. "How did he end up like this? Why didn’t we go after him when he left? Why—"
Her stifled sobs burst forth, filling the room with their raw weight. Kurt pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as his eyes lingered on the two boys—the dying one and the smiling one.
Densdor, his grin unshaken, dabbed at the edges of Clark’s lips with a handkerchief, wiping away the dribble of potion. His gaze was fixed only on Clark, unwavering, almost obsessive.
Then—
*Knock* *knock*
The low sound at the door fractured the tension.
Kurt and Victoria lifted their heads, and moments later, the door creaked open.
Three elves stepped inside, their presence as serene as moonlight. Cloaked in emerald robes threaded with silver, they carried an air of quiet authority. The fragrance of herbs and earth followed them, softening the heavy air just slightly.
The tallest of the trio—a female with hair the color of spring leaves—spoke first, her voice calm yet commanding.
*We came as quickly as we could."
Her sharp gaze swept across the room and fell upon Clark. For just a heartbeat, her composure faltered.
"...By the gods."
The other two elves immediately set down ornate cases that unfurled into intricate arrays of glowing runes and crystalline tools. A soft hum filled the air as healing magic pulsed faintly from the runes, casting warm golden light across Clark’s broken form.
Victoria gripped Kurt’s arm desperately. "They’ll... they’ll save him, won’t they?"
Kurt said nothing.
The lead elf knelt beside Clark, her hands glowing faint green as she placed them over his chest. Her expression hardened.
"This boy... He’s clinging to life by threads thinner than slivren silk. If he hadn’t already chosen to endure, he would have slipped away long ago."
Densdor’s smile brightened unnaturally. "See, Clark? Even she says you’re strong! You’re not going anywhere, my friend."
But Clark’s cracked lips moved weakly, barely audible—
"...Kill... me..."
The elf froze, her glowing hands trembling for just a moment before she forced her magic deeper.
"Do not speak," she commanded softly. "If you value him, pray. The rest is beyond your control."
The room fell into silence, broken only by the low hum of elven magic as it wove its way through the air, bathing everything in a faint green glow.
Soft murmurs passed between the assisting elves as they carved glowing runes across what remained of Clark’s battered body, their hands steady but their voices edged with worry.
Densdor hummed along carelessly, as though this were nothing more than a pleasant tune in the background of a normal day, his cheerful notes a jarring counterpoint to the desperation in the room.
Hours bled into hours. The candles sputtered down to stubs, and before long, dawn’s first light spilled weakly across the floor.
Victoria, drained from crying, had fallen asleep against Kurt’s chest, her fists still clutching his robe even in slumber. Kurt himself hadn’t closed his eyes once; his gaze never left Clark, as if willing the boy to pull through by sheer force of will.
Finally, the green light dimmed. The lead elf—her brow damp with sweat—pulled her hands back, her expression grim.
"...It is not enough," she whispered.
Kurt straightened immediately, his heart sinking. "What do you mean?"
She shook her head, strands of hair falling loose from her braid. "The damage runs too deep. We can keep him tethered, but we cannot restore what has been broken. His body resists even our highest-tier spells."
Victoria stirred awake, her eyes widening with panic. "No... no, you have to save him!"
The elf met her gaze, and though her voice was steady, sorrow weighed every word. "If we attempt to force the healing further, his soul will tear apart. This is beyond our station."
The two assisting elves exchanged uneasy glances but said nothing, their silence speaking volumes.
"...So what now?" Kurt asked, his voice low, calm only on the surface.
The lead elf exhaled slowly and rose to her feet. "We will need to bring him before the High Circle. Only the elders—those who’ve touched the source of the World Tree—may have the power to mend a body in this state."
Victoria’s hands trembled as she clutched Clark’s limp arm. "The High Circle...? That means—"
"Yes," the elf confirmed. "We must take him to the heart of our lands. Immediately."
Densdor finally stopped humming. For the first time, his smile faltered just slightly—though whether from worry or excitement was impossible to tell.
"Well, Clark," he said softly, patting his friend’s charred shoulder, "looks like you’re about to meet the highest of highs. Don’t go dying before then, alright?"
The elves began preparing a transport array, the air thickening with ancient power as sigils spiraled into existence beneath Clark’s body.
Kurt tightened his hold around Victoria and muttered, almost to himself, "The High Circle... if even they cannot save him..."
He didn’t finish the thought.
Because no one in that room was ready to hear the answer.
Before they could leave, Victoria asked hesitantly, "W—will they allow him in?"
The lead elf faced her, her expression ridden with worry. "He’s not going to be thrown a buffet, but we aren’t heartless enough to turn away someone in....this state."
Victoria nodded and buried her face back in Kurt’s chest.
A small sigh escaped from the elf and she instructed her subordinates to finish up the transport array.
"I would have loved to come with you, but the academy would come looking for me soon and I have alot to do before then!"
A bright light enveloped the room and the elves alongside Clark were transported to the elven domain.
.....
In the empty void at the heart of the galaxy, voices stirred—voices so vast and terrible that a single syllable could unravel worlds.
Now, those voices echoed through the silence, heavy with dissatisfaction.
"What is the meaning of this?!" a voice thundered, shaking the void. "The teleportation arrays meant for our descent have all been destroyed!"
"I told you that Voxliak child was incompetent," another voice sneered. "Were it not for the respect I once—no, used to have—for the Ecridian forces, I would have erased that planet from existence ages ago!"
"Once had?" A mocking laugh echoed, dark and jagged. "Hah! Don’t flatter yourself, Qktivar. You couldn’t even defend your own domain when the lowest-ranked official paid your galaxy a visit eons ago!"
The void convulsed as Qktivar’s voice deepened into a snarl. "Xrentoka... don’t test me. You’ve barely been in this order a few eons, and you dare speak as though we’re equals? Hah! You have no idea how vast this cosmos truly is."
"Oh, but I do," Xrentoka shot back smoothly. "Remind me—how many Eidosian Cores have you absorbed? Because I’ve claimed twenty more than you. So tell me, how does it feel, senior, knowing your ’junior’ will always eclipse you?"
The fabric of space shook violently, power gathering for an outburst—
"Enough."
The single word silenced everything. The void itself recoiled as the master’s voice spread through existence.
"I will not tolerate petty squabbles among my subordinates. Juniors will respect their seniors, regardless of their accomplishments. Is that understood?"
"Y–yes, master," Xrentoka answered quickly, his earlier bravado stripped away.
"Our descent to Planet Lytherra will be suspended... for now."
No one dared to protest.
"The divinity I sensed there could not be traced to the planet’s core. Which means its source lies beyond—millions of years distant from this point in space."
A meek voice finally asked, "Th-then... what are we to do, master?"
"...We move to Ynervia. The siege will resume there."
Gasps and murmurs rippled through the assembly until a higher-ranked voice braved a reply.
"Master, with respect... we’ve already lost our hold on that galaxy. And the Queen—Castilla—has exterminated every trace of our influence over the last decade. Forgive me, but... this path feels unwise."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Not even the void itself dared to stir.
Then the master’s voice returned, calm yet heavy with finality.
"I have heard... her daughter has finally emerged from seclusion."