Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I dodged another swing of the knight’s greatsword, the black stone blade whistling past my ear close enough to cut a few strands of hair. The ground where I had been standing a moment ago exploded into a shower of stone and dust, and I rolled to my feet, gasping for air.

Of course. Of fucking course.

I had spent three days wandering through that damn jungle, getting lost, finding my way, getting lost again. I had hunted monsters, stolen food from idiots who tried to jump me, and finally — finally — found my way out of those endless trees.

And what did I find?

Ruins. Blood. Bodies everywhere.

And Amelia, kneeling in the middle of it all, about to get her head cut off by a monster straight out of a nightmare.

My feet had moved before my brain caught up. Tempest met the knight’s greatsword, black lightning screaming along the blade, and I had held it back. Barely.

Why is my luck always like this...? I thought, scrambling backward as the knight advanced. Unpredictable, chaotic, and absolutely fucking terrible.

I glanced at the knight — really looked at it — and my heart sank.

Grade 5 Mid.

A monster that should not be here, fighting an Elite High with shaky hands and a plan that had already fallen apart.

I recognized it from the game.

The Weeping Knight.

A guardian monster from a late-game, not something that should be wandering around the entrance exam like a lost puppy with a murder addiction.

Its black stone armor was cracked and ancient, covered in moss and vines, but still strong enough to shatter normal weapons.

Its greatsword dripped black tears that sizzled where they hit the stone. Its helmet had no face — just a dark void where eyes should have been, and from that void, black tears dripped down its chest in slow, endless streams.

The tears burned. I had learned that the hard way when a drop landed on my arm and I felt my skin hiss and blister.

Grade 5 Mid. Lord rank. And I’m... what? Elite High? I almost laughed. There’s a gap. A big one.

But there was something else.

Something wrong.

At the center of the knight’s chest, behind the black stone armor, I could see it. A faint purple glow. Small. Almost hidden. But pulsing like a seed planted deep inside the monster’s core.

Controlled, I realized. Someone is controlling it. That purple, it’s the same color I saw in those candidates’ eyes. The same color in the souls of the ones who attacked Nyra.

Something is wrong. Something is very, very fucking wrong and I hate it!

"Leo!" Amelia’s voice cut through my thoughts.

She was still kneeling behind me, her staff clutched in her trembling hands, her silver-violet eyes wide with fear. Lyssaria lay crumpled beside her, unconscious, her arm bent at an angle that made my stomach turn.

"Don’t speak," I said, not looking at her. My eyes were fixed on the knight. "Take Lyssaria and get out of here. Leave this monster to me."

"What? Leo, you can’t—"

"Look around you, Amelia." I didn’t turn around. My eyes never left the knight.

"Does this look like a joke to you? Those bodies on the ground? The candidates who couldn’t run fast enough? They’re dead because they were weak. And right now, in the state you’re in, you will only be a burden to me. I can’t save you and fight this thing at the same time. Go. Now."

Her mouth opened and closed. Her hands trembled.

She knew he was right. She hated that he was right. Her mana was nearly empty. Her staff was cracked. Her body was bruised and bleeding. If she stayed, she would die. Or worse, she would get me killed.

She looked at Lyssaria, unconscious against the wall, and made her choice.

She grabbed Lyssaria’s arm, pulled her across the stone, and dragged her toward the archway. She did not look back. She could not look back. If she looked back, she would not leave.

I heard her footsteps fade. I then let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

It’s true, I thought. She is weak right now. Early in the game, before she became an Apostle, before she found her strength, she was just a noble girl with a staff and a kind heart. She grows later. She becomes strong. But right now, she’s not ready.

...And I can’t let her die.

[Are you sure, Host?] Nova’s voice was quiet. [You want to fight a Grade 5 Mid monster alone? Your rank is Elite High. The gap is—]

"I know the gap, Nova." My eyes were fixed on the knight. Its eyes were watching me now, tracking my movements, assessing my threat level. "But I don’t have a choice. And besides..." I grinned. It was not a happy grin. "I’ve got something it doesn’t."

[And what is that?]

"Desperation."

The fight was a nightmare.

The knight was faster than it looked. Its swings were heavy, each one strong enough to shatter stone, and the black tears made every exchange dangerous. One drop on my skin and I would lose a chunk of flesh. One drop in my eyes and I would be blind.

I used everything I had.

Volt Step carried me across the courtyard in bursts of black lightning, leaving afterimages that the knight’s sword cut through like smoke.

Spatial Slip teleported Tempest mid-swing, letting me strike from impossible angles — bypassing the knight’s defenses to drive the blade directly into its shoulder, its knee, and the deep cracks where the black stone had already begun to weaken.

But it wasn’t enough.

The knight’s greatsword caught me in the chest and sent me flying. I hit a pillar hard enough to crack the stone, and I slid to the ground, gasping for air. Blood dripped from my lip. My ribs screamed.

Get up, I told myself. Get up, get up, get up.

I pushed myself to my feet.

The knight lunged.

_

Amelia found a crevice in the collapsed wall, just deep enough to hide two people, just narrow enough that the knight’s greatsword could not reach.

She dragged Lyssaria inside and pressed her back against the cold stone. Her hands were shaking. Her heart was pounding. Her mana core was nearly empty, just a flicker of warmth in her chest that felt like it could go out any moment.

She pulled Lyssaria’s head onto her lap and pressed her palm against the elf’s forehead.

A trickle of water flowed from her fingers, cool and gentle, washing away the blood, closing the smaller cuts. She could not heal the deeper wounds. She did not have enough mana.

Every drop of water she summoned felt like pulling teeth, like her own body was fighting against her, telling her to stop, to rest, to give up. But she kept going. She had to keep going. She could not let Lyssaria die.

But she could keep Lyssaria stable. She could keep her alive.

She looked out at the courtyard.

Leo was fighting. Really fighting. Not the controlled, efficient fighting she had seen at the gala, where every move was calculated and every strike had purpose.

This was desperate.

He was throwing everything he had at the knight and it was not enough. She could see it in the way his arms shook after every block, his breath came in ragged gasps, and his copies flickered and died before they could even land a hit.

He was losing.

Amelia watched him dodge, block, retreat. He was thrown across the courtyard, his body slamming against the stone, but he was already struggling to his feet before the dust settled.

His white hair was stained with blood, his katana still raised, his eyes still burning. He would not stop. He could not stop.

Because if he stopped, she and Lyssaria would die.

This was the same Leo who had been called a failure, a drunk, a disgrace to the Celestial name. The same Leo who had been ranked below her for years, who everyone said would never amount to anything.

The same Leo who had tried to slap her and made fun of her.

...And here he was.

Fighting a monster that should have killed him minutes ago. Holding his ground against something that outranked him by two full levels.

Bleeding and dying for her.

He was not stronger than her. His core was lower. His training had been interrupted by years of drinking and self-destruction.

By every measure that mattered, she should have been the one standing in that courtyard, fighting that monster. She had the higher rank. She had the better training. She had the royal tutors and the private sparring partners and the years of discipline that Leo had thrown away.

But she was not.

She was here, hiding in the shadows of the crumbling ruins, completely useless. Her hands shook so violently she could barely grip her staff, and her mana core felt empty.

Every shuddering breath was a cruel reminder of her own helplessness — Leo was out there, tearing his own soul apart and dying on his feet, all because she hadn’t been strong enough.

Her hands curled into tight fists, her nails biting deep into her palms until the sharp sting of pain grounded her.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to fling herself out into the open courtyard and tear into the monster with everything she had. Her water magic wasn’t just meant for stitching wounds and soothing fevers; it could cut like steel, freeze solid enough to shatter bones, and drown the light from a creature’s eyes.

She was a combat mage, damn it, not a nurse.

But the harsh reality anchored her to the floor.

She couldn’t move. Her core was completely bone-dry, leaving her with nothing but the desperate, empty ache of a drained mage.

She had spent the last hour keeping Lyssaria alive, pouring what little power she had left into closing wounds and stopping bleeding. There was nothing left. Not even for a single ice spike. Not even for a splash of water to the knight’s face.

She tried to stand. Her legs trembled. Her vision blurred. She fell back against the stone. She was not weak. She was empty. There is a difference. But right now, that difference did not matter. Because empty is empty.

...And empty cannot fight.

The knight’s greatsword came down. Leo raised his katana. The blades met. Sparks flew. Leo’s arms buckled. The knight shoved him back, and he flew across the courtyard, crashed into a pillar, and slid to the ground.

He did not get up.

Amelia’s heart stopped.

"No," she whispered. "No, no, no—"

The knight walked toward him. Its greatsword dragged across the stone, leaving a trail of sparks and black tears. Its eyes glowed in the darkness, cold and empty and patient. It was not in a hurry.

Leo pushed himself up. His arms were shaking. His legs were barely holding. Blood dripped from his mouth, his nose, the gash on his chest. His white hair was matted with red. His katana was still in his hand.

He raised his blade.

"Second Form — Heaven’s Divide."

Space folded. The blade cut through the distance, through the armor, through the knight’s chest, and struck something deep inside. The purple glow flickered. The knight stumbled. Its greatsword wavered.

But it did not fall.

Its greatsword swung. Leo tried to dodge, but he was too slow. The blade caught him in the side and sent him crashing into the wall. He hit the stone with a sound that made Amelia’s stomach turn. His katana clattered across the ground. His body slumped.

He did not get up this time.

The knight raised its sword for the killing blow.

Amelia moved.

She did not think. She did not calculate the distance or check her mana reserves or consider whether she was strong enough to make a difference.

She just moved. Her legs carried her out of the crevice, across the courtyard, toward the knight. Her staff was in her hand. Her water magic flickered around her fingers, weak and sputtering, barely there at all.

She could not stand here and watch him die.

She could not.

Her feet pounded against the stone floor, the sound swallowed by the oppressive roar of the battle. Across the courtyard, the knight’s massive greatsword began its descent, cutting through the air with lethal momentum.

Desperation clawed at her throat — she wasn’t going to make it. She was too far away, her exhausted limbs too slow, her drained body too weak to close the distance in time.

Then, freezing the breath in her lungs, a voice echoed in the hollow spaces of her mind.

What a curious child you are.

Amelia stopped.

The courtyard faded. The knight, the ruins, the blood on the stones, Leo’s broken body — all of it disappeared. The sound of the greatsword cutting through the air vanished. The weight of fear pressing down on her chest lifted.

She was standing in a meadow.

The grass was soft beneath her feet, green and alive, swaying in a gentle breeze that smelled of flowers and rain. The air was warm but not hot, cool but not cold. It was the kind of air that made you want to close your eyes and breathe deeply and forget that the world outside existed.

A river ran through the center of the meadow, its water clear and cold, reflecting a sky that was purple and gold and pink all at once, colors that should not exist together but somehow looked perfect.

Trees lined the banks, their leaves shimmering, their branches heavy with blossoms that glowed faintly in the fading light, soft blues and gentle greens and pale whites that seemed to hum with their own quiet music.

It was the most beautiful place Amelia had ever seen.

...And in the center of the meadow, sitting on a stone by the river, was a figure.

Amelia couldn’t make out its face.

The figure’s features were obscured behind a shifting veil of soft, golden light, like trying to look directly at the sun through tightly closed eyelids.

Yet, its presence was overwhelming—ancient, kind, and terrifying all at once. It radiated a cosmic weight that pressed against Amelia’s chest, not to crush her, but to remind her that she was small, the world was old, and there were forces in reality she could never hope to comprehend.

"Who... who are you?" Amelia whispered, her voice carrying softly across the water.

The figure tilted its head, the golden veil rippling with the movement. You are dying. Your friend is dying. And you use your breath to ask who I am?

"My friend—" Amelia’s heart lurched. "Leo—"

Is still alive. For now. The figure’s voice was soft, musical. But he will not survive much longer. The knight is stronger than him.

"Then help him." Amelia took an urgent step forward, her boots sinking into the lush turf. "Please. I’ll do anything. Just save him."

Anything? The figure’s voice was amused, but not cruel. There was warmth beneath the words, like a mother teasing a child who had said something foolish. Be careful what you offer, child. The world has a way of collecting debts.

"I don’t care about the debt." Amelia’s voice hardened into something steady and unyielding. The trembling in her hands stopped completely. "Just help him."

The figure was silent for a moment. The meadow held its breath. The river stopped flowing. The blossoms stopped glowing. The whole world waited.

Then the figure stood.

The veil of light shifted, and for a fleeting heartbeat, Amelia caught a glimpse of what lay beneath. It wasn’t a human face, nor a physical body. It was something deeper — an eternal, raw consciousness.

I am the Spirit Queen, the figure said. I have watched you, Amelia Nightshade. I have seen your kindness. Your gentleness. Your willingness to stand between danger and the people you love, even when you are afraid, even when you are weak, even when you know you will lose.

I have seen you cry alone in your room when you thought no one was watching. I have seen you smile at your father’s parties even when your heart was breaking. 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞

That is rare. That is precious. That is worth protecting.

Amelia’s throat tightened.

But I cannot heal your friend, the Spirit Queen said. I cannot fight this battle for you. That is not how this works. I can only give you the tools. You must wield them yourself.

I can make you stronger. I can make you faster. I can make you enough.

But there is a cost.

There is always a cost. This path will be a burdensome one, child. It is a heavy, isolating road, and the weight of it will pull at your soul.

You will carry my will in this world. You will speak for the spirits who cannot speak. You will protect the places where the old things still live. You will be my hands, my voice, my heart in a world that has forgotten how to listen.

The golden light extended toward her like an open hand.

Become my Apostle. Carry my burden... and I will give you the power to tear down that knight.

Amelia didn’t look back. She didn’t pause to weigh her future. "Yes."

You accept, knowing the gravity of the chains you bind to yourself?

"Yes. I accept." Her voice did not waver. "I don’t care about the cost. I don’t care about the burden. I don’t care about any of it. Just give me the power to protect the people I love. Give me the power to stand beside them. Give me the power to never hide again."

The Spirit Queen smiled. Amelia could feel it, even though she could not see it. The warmth of it spread through the meadow like sunlight after a storm.

Then rise, Apostle of the Spirit Queen.

We will meet again, child. Now... go and show this world what kindness can do.

The meadow shattered like glass.

Amelia opened her eyes.

She was back in the courtyard. The knight’s greatsword was descending toward Leo’s still form. She could hear the wind of its passing. Could see the black tears dripping from its blade. Could see Leo’s white hair stained with blood, his katana lying on the ground, his chest barely rising.

She raised her hand.

A wall of water erupted from the ground, thick and solid, freezing into ice in the same instant. The greatsword struck the ice and stopped. Cracks spiderwebbed across the surface, but the wall held.

The knight hesitated. Its eyes flickered. It had not expected this. It had not expected anyone to still be standing.

Amelia stepped forward.

She did not know what powers she had been given. She did not know how to use them. But she could feel something new inside her.

A presence. A voice. The spirit of the river that ran through the meadow. It was here now, flowing through her veins, answering her call like an old friend who had been waiting for her to wake up.

She raised her staff.

The water spirit surged forward, a torrent of cold clear water that wrapped around the knight’s legs, froze, and anchored it to the ground. The knight roared and tried to move, but its feet were stuck. Ice climbed up its legs, its torso, its arms.

It swung its greatsword at her, but the ice held. It could not reach her.

Amelia raised her hand. The water spirit formed a shield, thick and solid, and the blade bounced off.

She stood between the knight and Leo’s broken body. Her staff was raised. Her water spirit swirled around her, glowing faintly in the darkness. Her silver-violet eyes were blazing with a light that had not been there before.

"Amelia...?" Leo’s voice was rough, confused, barely conscious. His eyes widened. "What are you doing—"

"Leo," she said, not looking back. "Can you stand?"

Behind her, Leo coughed. Blood dripped from his lips. His katana was still on the ground, just out of reach. His body was broken. His arms were shaking. But he pushed himself up anyway, because that was what he did.

He never stopped. He never gave up.

"...Yeah," he said, his voice rough, tired, but there was something in it that had not been there before. Something that sounded almost like hope. "Yeah, I think I can."

"Good." Amelia’s grip tightened on her staff. The water spirit pulsed around her, ready, waiting. "Because I’m going to need some help with this."