Vale stood motionless, his gaze fixed on the floor as though it might swallow him whole. A silent fear clung to his expression, subtle yet overwhelming. The dream lingered in his mind like a stain that refused to fade, replaying itself in fragments he could not fully grasp.

  What was it?

  He did not even know if the figure in the dream had truly been him. Vale had never been able to see his own reflection, not in mirrors, not in glass, not even in water. His appearance had always been something others described to him, never something he could confirm for himself. Yet in that dream, he had seen himself.

  That alone unsettled him.

  And then there was the angel.

  No, that thing.

  The bloody wings, the cries, the transformation.

  It had to mean something. Dreams did not feel like that. Not so vivid nor deliberate. He wanted to believe it was a hallucination, his mind fracturing under strain, exhaustion, and fear. That would have been easier. Comforting, even.

  But he could not deny the other possibility.

  What if it had meaning?

  What if the angel had reached out to him?

  No… that did not feel right.

  Vale’s thoughts shifted, circling another explanation, one far more disturbing. What if he had not dreamed at all? What if he had done what he had done before, what he had done to Alexandria, and to Artoria?

  What if he had entered someone else’s memories?

  The thought sent a chill down his spine.

  If that were true, then the implications were terrifying. It would mean he had reached into someone’s past from an immeasurable distance. Someone still alive, or something pretending to be. Someone powerful enough to be touched across such a void.

  Vale remained silent for a long while, his mind grinding through the possibility. Eventually, exhaustion forced him to sit down. He lowered himself onto his bed slowly, as if afraid sudden movement might shatter him.

  Ember immediately climbed into his lap, resting his head there and closing his eyes with a low, comforting huff. The ravens fluttered closer, landing near him, pecking gently at his sleeve and shoulder in quiet reassurance.

  Vale barely noticed.

  His hand moved on instinct, stroking Ember’s fur as his thoughts continued to churn.

  'Was it a memory?'

  He lingered on the idea, dissecting it. The more he examined it, the more inconsistencies appeared. In the dream, he had a reflection. He had two real arms. His eyes were black, not pale white. He was certain he had cast a shadow. Nothing matched his current self except his skin tone.

  What were the odds that he had lost all of those things?

  The doubt grew heavier with every passing second.

  Eventually, he exhaled and dismissed the thought. Whatever it was, he lacked the information to understand it now.

  Then, a familiar metallic voice broke the silence.

  “I heard the blight was revived.”

  Vale looked up to see Chrome approaching, the small spider-like construct clicking softly as it moved. The machine paused, allowing Vale time to register his presence.

  “I assume,” Chrome continued evenly, “that you were involved.”

  Vale did not respond at first. His expression darkened, regret creeping across his features.

  “What happened?” Chrome asked at last.

  Vale’s eyes widened slightly. He looked away, down at the floor, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he hesitated. Then, quietly, he spoke.

  “I don’t know how it happened.”

  He swallowed.

  “I entered her memories, but… something went wrong. I don’t know what. I just know something did.”

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  Chrome’s lens zoomed in slightly, analyzing him. After a pause, he spoke again.

  “What did you see?”

  Vale looked up, his hand still resting on Ember’s head.

  “Have you ever heard of Artoria Pendragon?”

  Chrome froze.

  For a brief moment, the machine was completely still. Then,

  “You mean the Artoria Pendragon?” Chrome said, his usually flat tone tinged with unmistakable excitement. “The legendary monarch? Queen Artoria Pendragon? The only individual Dagon ever acknowledged as an equal?”

  Vale stared at him, surprised by the sudden intensity. Slowly, he nodded.

  “She was the blight.”

  Chrome stepped back, stunned.

  “But that would mean,”

  “A crowned,” Vale interrupted.

  The room fell silent.

  The word carried weight, ancient, dreadful weight. Chrome staggered back another step.

  “I see,” he said at last, his voice somber. “That explains why she never returned from the gate.”

  Vale glanced at him, then looked away again.

  “Yeah.”

  Silence reclaimed the room.

  Vale’s thoughts drifted once more, this time to Mirage. The wolf was part of him now, whatever that meant. He did not understand the bond, but he felt its presence lingering beneath his thoughts.

  After a long while, Vale tried something.

  He extended his hand toward the ground and closed his eyes.

  'Maybe I can summon him.'

  He focused entirely on the image of the wolf, on the deep black fur, the piercing icy-blue eyes, the sheer presence Mirage carried. He held the image with everything he had.

  Seconds passed.

  Then minutes.

  Nothing happened.

  Vale sighed quietly, disappointment settling in his chest. He gently moved Ember off his lap and reached for his phone. His eyes widened.

  It was late morning.

  He was supposed to have combat lessons, again, with Nym and Korin. He had assumed they would be canceled, given everything that had happened, but there had been no notice.

  After a moment of consideration, he stood.

  He showered quickly, brushed his teeth, and left his room with Chrome, Ember, and the ravens. At the cafeteria, he waved Ember and the birds off, trusting them to find food on their own. They had proven more than capable over the past two months.

  Vale headed toward the dojo alone, Chrome keeping quiet. Guards passed frequently, and Vale refused to risk drawing attention. Talking to himself would only invite scrutiny, and discovery.

  Eventually, he reached the door.

  He opened it and stepped inside.

  His eyes widened slightly.

  A short woman with black hair smiled faintly as he entered.

  Nym and Korin stood nearby, visibly tense. Vale found that strange, Nym was usually attached to Evelyn’s side. Now, she looked almost disappointed by her presence.

  It took a few moments for realization to settle over the room.

  Then Evelyn spoke.

  “Get in,” she said calmly. “I will be your instructor for the coming week.”

  Vale glanced at the other students, their expressions a mixture of dread and disbelief. Without a word, he closed the door behind him and walked in, utterly unaware of what this unexpected change would bring.

  In a dark, empty forest, a lone knight moved with desperate haste. Her stride was silent, yet the ground seemed to recoil beneath it, unable to fully accept the speed at which she traveled. Her hair, deep black as a moonless night, streamed behind her, and her skin bore a dark grey hue, unnatural, yet not lifeless. She was no specter, no mindless revenant. She thought, she remembered.

  Only her voice was missing.

  She ran through the forest at an inhumane pace, weaving effortlessly between ancient trees as the world blurred around her. The mountains rose in the distance, jagged and unforgiving, yet she did not slow. As she reached their base, the knight looked up at the towering peaks and bit her lip, hesitation flickering across her expression for only a heartbeat.

  Then she leapt.

  Her body carried itself upward, landing upon sheer stone as if gravity itself had forgotten its claim on her. She ran along the mountainsides as easily as she had through the forest, scaling cliffs and vaulting across chasms with tireless precision. The wind tore past her, catching her hair and letting it trail behind her like a banner, lending her the fleeting image of a fair maiden racing the sky.

  Though she could not speak, her mind was far from empty.

  'I have to find it,' she thought, her resolve unwavering. 'They will help me.'

  Her eyes, deep, dark, and unblinking, remained fixed on a single direction as she pressed onward. With every leap from peak to peak, she glanced down at the sword in her hand. The blade gleamed with a deep golden hue, its surface etched with metals and sigils beyond mortal craftsmanship. It was less a weapon than a relic, an artifact of a lost dynasty, one that had once symbolized hope, sovereignty, and order.

  She tightened her grip.

  Her pace never faltered. She climbed and crossed the mountains with relentless determination, her body untouched by exhaustion. As time passed, the harsh set of her expression softened, just slightly. A faint smile touched her lips as she drew closer and closer to her destination.

  Her dynasty.

  Her kingdom.

  Hope stirred within her, fragile, yet undeniable.

  Then she heard it.

  A child’s cry.

  The sound cut through the wind and stone, sharp and unmistakable. She halted mid-stride and looked down toward the forest below. From where she stood, there was nothing but shadow and foliage stretching endlessly beneath her.

  Yet the crying continued.

  Her brow furrowed. She glanced back toward her destination, uncertainty flickering across her face, then bit her lip once more. Slowly, she turned away from her path and descended, moving toward the sound.

  She pushed through dense undergrowth, parting bushes and branches with careful, deliberate movements until she reached a small clearing. There, lying upon the cold ground as though abandoned by the world itself, was a newborn child.

  The knight froze.

  The infant cried weakly, its small body trembling, whether from fear or pain, she could not tell. For a long moment, she simply stood there, staring, as if afraid that moving might shatter the fragile scene before her.

  Then, slowly, she knelt.

  With a gentleness that seemed almost at odds with her inhuman form, she reached down and lifted the child into her arms. The moment she did, the crying softened, fading into quiet, uneven breaths. The infant was newly born, wrapped in simple cloth. As she looked closer, she realized it was a boy.

  She held him against her chest.

  Something unfamiliar stirred within her, an ache, warm and sharp all at once. She lifted her gaze toward the sky, her expression unreadable, caught between sorrow and resolve. Then, faintly, she smiled.

  The child was quiet now.

  Looking down at him once more, she adjusted her hold, cradling him with instinctive care. Without turning back, she resumed her journey, carrying the infant with her, accepting, without words or ceremony, the role she had chosen.