Beast Gacha System: All Mine-Chapter 22: Above the World

WHOOOSH!

The world fell away in a breathtaking sweep of impossible blue and blinding white.

"Ohh!" The sound was ripped from Cecilia’s lips. It was her first time seeing what lay atop the clouds.

It was a landscape of white, silent, sun-drenched empire of vapor where colossal, mountain-like thunderheads stood as eternal citadels, their peaks sheared flat by winds she couldn’t feel.

Between them, valleys of softer, layered cumulus stretched into infinity, their shadows painting deep, shifting purples and blues across the sunlit plains below. Aah, the world above the world, a secret geography known only to birds and gods.

Like a god who was having her in his arms right now.

Oathran’s arm was a solid, warm band around her waist, holding her secure against the vast nothingness. He felt the tremor of her excitement, saw the unguarded smile that lit up her face, and for a fleeting moment, the heavy knot of grief and purpose in his chest loosened. Her joy felt like a balm. Perhaps... a temporary anesthetic against the poison of his existence.

And Cecilia, for her part, was doing more than just sightseeing.

As she marveled at the view, a part of her mind that was always calculating, always deducing, replayed the conversation from yesterday. That subtle, almost imperceptible ripple she’d felt through their bond when he’d spoken of his desired death...

No. It hadn’t felt like resignation. At all. It felt like a shield of a carefully constructed wall hiding a truth far more terrible.

Good job, Sense Sharing.

Thanks to it, she found out he was hiding a canyon of pain behind a curtain of noble acceptance.

Her revenge? That was a simple, straightforward affair. A matter of logistics, strategy, and a satisfying amount of calculated humiliation for a certain tiger and his vapid prophetess. A project.

But this man’s problem? This was a different beast altogether. It wasn’t a political puzzle; it was an existential, worldwide crisis wrapped in ancient duty and sealed with a death wish. A cosmic-level "To-Do" list that ended with "Die."

Not that she felt entitled to ’fix’ him, as if he were some broken thing needing her clever hands. No. But the debt she owed him was insurmountable. Her soul’s calling, her second chance at life, the very identity she now clung to... it was all built on a foundation he had provided, first by accident seventeen years ago, and now by a dying wish that wasn’t quite a wish.

She needed to know. What monstrous truth could make a being who commanded the sky itself want to cease?

"You asked me to fly this high, and you’re not even looking at the scenery," Oathran’s voice rumbled beside her ear, a gentle tease laced with fond curiosity.

Cecilia raised her chin, meeting his misty grey eyes head on. The sun caught the strands of her hair, setting them ablaze. "You are more beautiful than the scenery, Lord Oathran," she said gently, warmly.

The man’s eyebrows raised. A smile softened the majestic lines of his face. He leaned in, pressing his forehead against hers, "Tease."

He pulled back slightly. "Is it hard to breathe? I can adjust the oxygen around us. It requires a bit of practice, maintaining a bubble of atmosphere this high."

They spent what felt like both a moment and an eternity soaring through the crystal cathedral of the sky. They wove between the cloud mountains, dove into the fluffy valleys, and raced the shadow of their own flight across the brilliant white plains.

The wonder in Cecilia’s eyes, her laughter carried away by the thin air, was a sight that carved another layer of regret into Oathran’s heart. It was a glimpse of a life he could never have, a simple joy he was destined to forsake.

He watched her, this brilliant woman who had somehow found her way into him:

Well, that’s alright. Even if she knew why he must die... she’d still kill him anyway.

"Are we there yet?"

The childlike and impatient question pulled him from his reverie. He couldn’t help the soft chuckle that escaped him. "So impatient, my lady. We have been flying for barely an hour."

"Ah! There! There’s the Werejaguar Tribe!" she exclaimed, pointing downward.

Below them, the emerald canopy of the tropical jungle parted to reveal a stunning sight. Structures of dark, polished wood and woven vine were artfully integrated into the massive trees themselves, connected by elegant rope bridges that swayed high above the forest floor.

Sunlight dappled through the leaves, glinting off waterfalls that cascaded into crystal-clear pools. It was a city hidden in plain sight, quite a masterpiece of symbiotic architecture.

"Yes, quite the civilization," Oathran agreed. "Amazing how they carved a home from the very heart of this untamable jungle."

He glanced at her, smiling. "I heard you once predicted an attack on them a full week before it happened. They must hold you in the highest esteem. Tell me, did they treat you well during your visit? How about we find the local specialty they served you back then? We can eat before we attend to any business."

This... barrage of questions...

Cecilia’s triumphant expression melted into sheepishness. She scratched her cheek, avoiding his gaze. "My Lord... I’ve, uh... I’ve never actually been here before."

Oathran’s smoothly gliding form faltered for a fraction of a second. He frowned, bewildered. "Then... how, by the First Dragon, did you predict the attack so accurately that they could fortify?"

"I sent them a letter," Cecilia shrugged. "That’s it."

For a long moment, the only sound was the rush of wind. Oathran took a deep breath, consciously deciding it was finally time to stop being shocked by the scope of her capabilities. The woman pulled legendary artifacts from her chest and communicated prophecies via postal service. This was his life now.

"I see," he said. "Let me summarize. You, from the heart of the Iondora Empire’s capital, hundreds of miles away, accurately predicted a targeted military strike on a tribe you had never seen, in a jungle you had never visited. You then... wrote them a letter. And that, as you say, was that."

Cecilia nodded, chuckling apologetically. "Ah... uhh... See? Like I said, it’s not that impressive in reality. It was just a letter."

"Just a letter." Oathran had to physically stop himself from shaking her by the shoulders.

Woman, wouldn’t the fact that you weren’t here, that you did it all through cold, hard deduction from a distance, make it infinitely MORE impressive?!

"But you are right, Lord Oath," she conceded. "Let’s eat before we go to business. I’m starving! I heard their black bean stew with cow’s meat is the absolute best in the whole world!"

"Cow’s—BWAHAHWHAHHAHAHA!" The words barely escaped him before a deep, rumbling laugh erupted from Oathran’s chest, a sound of joy that startled the very birds in the canopy below. "—You and this joke! You simply cannot help yourself, can you?"

Cecilia watched him, her own laughter joining his, "Heheheheheheh..."

For once, there was just this. The sun on her face, the wind in her hair, and the sound of his happiness echoing in the sky. It was a small, stolen moment, and she clung to it.