The transition was so sudden that reality slammed shut with a sharp, hissing crack. In a violent flash of blinding light, the Nobodies found themselves standing back inside the cold, familiar stone courtyard of the Bastion. The static electricity from the overwarping hung in the air like an invisible, suffocating blanket. Everyone remained frozen in place, staring at one another with wide, questioning eyes. The silence was agonizingly heavy.
Hoping to shatter the suffocating tension, Nicola and Aurelius quickly stepped forward, attempting to force the group's focus back toward something normal.
"Sil, come on, brother! Let's go get some good food!" Nicola called out, forcing a bright, artificial cheerfulness into his voice. "We've got a whole feast to prep!"
Silarias barely registered the words. He stood there as if his boots had been nailed to the stone floor, completely overwhelmed by a roaring tempest of unfathomable emotions. In his head, that single melody continued to echo endlessly. Those pure, whistled notes cut straight through his soul like a white-hot blade.
Mom…
he thought, his heart thrashing wildly against his ribs like a trapped beast.
Is this what I’ve been missing all this time? Was that really her? What… what was she actually like?
He swallowed the bitter taste rising in his throat. With a heavy lump choking his voice, he looked toward the group, his words dropping to nothing more than a raspy, fragile whisper. "Would you guys… please… just leave me alone for a moment?"
The Nobodies exchanged brief glances and instantly understood the gravity of the moment. No further words were spoken; everyone knew their role without question. Without making a sound or pressing him with unwanted questions, the group retreated as one toward the kitchens. Every single one of them was determined to whip up the grandest feast the Bastion had ever seen, silently hoping that a massive meal would bring a smile back to Silarias's face.
King Solomon was the only one who remained behind, lingering in the shadowy corner of the courtyard. His arms hung loosely at his sides, completely unsure of how to conduct himself. In his centuries of existence, the ancient monarch had watched empires crumble to dust and gods rise from the ashes, yet he had never seen this fragile, deeply human side of Silarias.
Nyx stood just a few paces away from Silarias, feeling her own heart fracture into a thousand sharp pieces. Seeing him like this caused her actual physical pain. She opened her mouth, desperate to offer a comforting word, but the sudden wave of emotion overwhelmed her so fast that she choked painfully on her own rising tears.
Silarias noticed the sound and slowly lifted his head. He interrupted her softly, his voice dull, raspy, and utterly drained of strength. "Could you sit down for a second, Nyx? If you don't mind… on your knees would be good. I just need to… for a moment."
Nyx wiped a stray tear with the back of her hand and nodded without hesitation. "You only have to ask, Sil. I'm right here."
Without a moment's delay, she lowered herself onto the hard stone floor. Before she had even fully settled, Silarias collapsed forward, letting his massive, heavy head fall straight onto her lap.
"Oh, Sil…" she whispered tenderly, reaching down to brush her fingers against his face.
Her words died in her throat as Silarias pursed his trembling lips. It was not a roar, nor a battle cry. A soft, terribly fragile whistle slipped from his mouth. The lullaby of his mother.
"Nyx…" he choked out between the notes, his breathing uneven and ragged. "I'm always so big… so aggressive. I act like I know everything, like I'm completely invincible. But honestly? I miss her. I miss my mom. At first, I didn't know anything about her, but now these memories are hitting me all at once… and it hurts so damn much."
The tears flowed unchecked now, streaming hot down his cheeks as he began to sob openly, his broad shoulders quivering under the crushing weight of his heart.
"I was so terrified of losing you in that cathedral," he confessed, the words tumbling out in a raw, desperate stream. "Terrified that I'd never see you again. I didn't even know if Nicola's blast plan would actually work. But someone had to step up. And I'd do it again in a heartbeat. For you… for everyone… even for that old man of yours, Solomon. He really is a crazy, aggressive tyrant, isn't he? But he loves you to death. I just… I just hope your father thinks I'm somewhat worth it. I don't want to disappoint anyone."
As the raw confessions poured straight from his soul, he felt Nyx's delicate fingers moving gently through his hair, caressing the thick, unruly mane of his Bansaday form. She leaned her head down over him and softly began to whistle. It was the exact same melody. Silarias’s lullaby.
"If it worked to calm you down back then, maybe it'll work now too," she murmured with a tearful, affectionate smile, though her own voice quivered with emotion. "Don't you ever worry, Sil. You are my sun. One team, one task. Remember that."
She held his head securely in her lap, continuing to whistle the comforting, steady rhythm. Silarias said nothing more. The familiar notes and the radiant warmth of her presence slowly lulled the howling storm inside his mind to a quiet hush.
She's right…
he realized deep down.
She's always right.
Finally finding his peace, he began to whistle along with her, their voices blending in quiet, perfect harmony within the silent hall.
From the shadows, King Solomon heard every single word. Nyx lifted her head, her gaze locking with her father's across the room. Solomon looked at his daughter, recognizing the profound maturity and unyielding devotion burning in her eyes. He gave a slow, understanding nod. With a tight lump in his throat and unshed tears glistening in his eyes, he quietly wove his magic and shifted away without a sound, vanishing back to his own realm.
Meanwhile, organized chaos reigned supreme in the Bastion’s sprawling kitchens. Ren, Miki, Lila, and Beat were elbow-deep in flour and dough, frantically trying to construct a cake of monstrous proportions. On the opposite side of the counter, Nicola and Lyn were hard at work preparing thick slabs of tender pork belly, slathering them in a rich, glossy glaze.
After an hour of intense labor, the massive dining table was finally fully laden. Nicola wiped his greasy hands on a towel and turned toward Faustus, who was leaning silently against the doorframe, staring hollowly into space.
"Faus… could you go grab them?" Nicola asked, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Food's ready. A proper meal ought to do them both some good."
Faustus met his gaze with a grave, unreadable expression. "Yeah. I'll get them right now."
He turned on his heel and strode out of the kitchen with heavy, measured steps. But the moment he rounded the corner into the echoing stone corridors leading toward the living quarters, he froze dead in his tracks. Rebounding off the high walls was a faint, unmistakable sound that struck him directly in the center of his chest.
It was the whistle. That haunting, melodious lullaby.
Faustus's pulse hammered against his ribs. Stepping into the room, his heart aching, he saw Nyx sitting on the stone floor, cradling Silarias’s massive head in her lap. The two had settled into a state of serene calm, yet they continued to whistle together, note for note, echoing that ancient nursery rhyme.
The ironclad walls of Faustus’s composure shattered instantly upon hearing that sacred tune. Memories of his own forgotten youth tore through his mind like jagged glass. He swallowed hard, quickly brushing away a stray tear from the corner of his eye as he fought with everything he had to maintain his stoic facade.
"E-Ehm… Sil. Nyx," Faustus muttered, keeping his face stiff and rigid. "Food's ready."
He gestured down the hall, purposefully avoiding their eyes to hide his flushed face and raw emotion.
Silarias and Nyx pushed themselves up and followed him down the long corridor toward the dining hall. When they stepped through the heavy doors, their eyes nearly popped out of their heads. Before them stretched a ten-meter-long banquet table, literally groaning under the weight of a visually absurd feast. Towers of perfectly seared meats smothered in glistening glazes, beautifully arranged platters of fresh fish, steaming savory side dishes, and a colossal, multi-tiered cake sat right at the center of the spread.
Silarias glanced back over his shoulder, catching sight of Faustus quickly turning away with glistening, bloodshot eyes. Before anyone could utter a word, Faustus vanished from the Bastion in a sudden, violet void flash.
He's taking this damn hard too, isn't he?
Silarias thought to himself, staring at the empty patch of air where his uncle had stood just a second ago.
Where on earth is he going in that state?
Shaking off the worry for the time being—knowing Faustus was more than capable of taking care of himself—Silarias took his seat at the head of the table and immediately fell upon the food like a ravenous beast. The rest of the Nobodies eagerly followed his lead. Within minutes, the room was filled with roaring laughter, loud chewing, and joyous banter. Miki and Ren pulled out all the stops, acting out ridiculous, overly dramatic skits just to keep Silarias smiling, which worked remarkably well.
In the middle of the merriment, Nicola abruptly stopped chewing. He glanced around the table, knitting his brows in confusion. "Wait a second… Where the hell did Faustus go?"
Miles away from the Bastion, the scene shifted dramatically to the grimy, lawless slums of the lower district.
Faustus sat perched on a rickety wooden stool inside the darkest, most dilapidated tavern in the sector. Tears still stained his cheeks, but he aggressively drowned them by slamming down one stiff drink after another. He had claimed a massive ceramic jug of unrefined grain alcohol and was draining it at a terrifying pace. Completely immersed in a toxic, drunken haze, he slammed the empty container on the counter and demanded another heavy bottle.
The bartender set down the liquor, eyeing the warrior’s unsteady posture with deep concern. "Ehh, pal… don't you think you've had a bit too much for one night?"
Faustus slowly turned his glazed, bloodshot eyes toward the man, letting out a sharp, dismissive snort. "Too much? What are you… the damn alcohol police? Mind your own business and keep pouring."
Swiping the bottle off the counter, Faustus turned away. The booze wasn't numbing his pain; it was amplifying it, feeding the roaring fire in his gut. The memory of that whistled melody kept hammering against his brain like a siege engine.
DRAGON LORD!
the thought suddenly burst through his clouded mind.
VALTHARION!
Without a second thought, he channeled his void magic to travel back. However, in his severely intoxicated state, his targeting was wildly off. Instead of appearing cleanly before the Dragon Lord's snout, he crashed out of a loud, erratic void flash directly at the bottom of the colossal staircase leading up to the throne.
Faustus stumbled, regaining his footing only to realize he had landed squarely in the middle of the Dragon Lord’s personal guard. The massive, intimidating beasts were arrayed in a tight, impenetrable phalanx at the foot of the stairs, which were built entirely from compressed gold coins.
The moment Faustus materialized, the dragonkin warriors instantly drew their massive, black-iron weapons.
"Intruder! That's... Morningstar...!" they roared, their deafening voices echoing off the cathedral walls. "HOLD HIM BACK! SECURE THE PERIMETER!"
Faustus looked up at the shouting behemoths through bleary, drunken eyes and suddenly burst into hysterical laughter right in their faces. "BAHAHAHA! What in the absolute hell are you failed lizards supposed to be?!"
The lead guard took a heavy step forward, his thick scales glinting dangerously under the magical light. "We are the Dragonian Guard! The personal vanguard of the Dragon Lord himself! Show some respect, trash!"
Faustus eyed him sluggishly, his head spinning from the heavy spirits. "Guuuard, huh? Wow… real fancy. Sounds super impressive, guys, truly. But listen… I just need to have a quick chat with the big lizard."
"You'll have to go through our corpses first, trespasser!" the guards shouted in unison, leveling their massive spears directly at his chest.
Faustus lazily raised a single finger in the air, signaling for them to hold on. With his other hand, he unstopped his bottle and took a long, leisurely swig, acting as if he were sitting alone in a quiet meadow.
The guards exchanged bewildered, furious glances. His absolute disregard for their presence infuriated them beyond measure. With a unified roar, they unleashed a barrage of lethal, magical projectiles straight at his chest.
Right as the high-tier spells were about to obliterate him, Faustus’s demeanor shifted in a split second. A terrifying, razor-sharp focus pierced through his drunken haze. He casually tossed his bottle dozens of feet into the air and took the full force of the magical explosions head-on. The blast tore his coat to shreds, but his physical body didn't yield an inch.
Stepping casually out of the billowing smoke completely unscathed, he effortlessly caught the falling bottle mid-air and took another swig. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he launched the bottle high into the air once more.
Hiccup!
Faustus began to hiccup violently. Yet, with every single hiccup, his void magic flared, causing him to blitz through space like an unpredictable phantom. He teleported erratically across the cathedral floor, leaving the guards flailing at shadows. The only thing echoing off the walls was the rhythmic, drunken sound:
Hic… hic… hic…
Gravity finally pulled the bottle back down in a straight line. Faustus’s hiccups accelerated, and with each violent jolt, he flashed past the guards at terrifying speed. Without drawing his blade, he tapped his fingers with brutal, non-lethal precision onto the vital pressure points of the first bodyguard.
Hic!
In a fraction of a microsecond, he materialized behind the second guard, jamming his fingers into the creature's meridians.
Hic!
In the span of a single breath, he systematically blitzed the entire elite formation before shooting high into the air.
"Pressure Booze Strike!" he yelled with a slurred, triumphant shout, snatching the falling bottle out of the air with a perfect grip.
The guards, still standing on their feet, began to laugh mockingly. "Is that all you've got?! We don't feel a thing!" they jeered, attempting to raise their weapons to swat him down.
In that exact instant, their bodies locked up entirely. Their muscles snapped violently taut. The energy pathways coursing through their bodies were completely shut down; they couldn't move an arm or a leg a single millimeter. Thanks to Faustus’s final, strategic pressure taps, every single member of the Dragonian Guard stood frozen like lifeless, unyielding statues, completely locked in their combat poses.
Faustus landed on the stairs and used a simple void flash to pop directly to the summit of the coin mountain. At that precise moment, the giant double doors of the inner sanctum slammed open with a deafening crash.
A fresh wave of guards poured out, followed closely by the gargantuan form of the Dragon Lord himself. Valtharion took in the chaotic scene, saw his elite vanguard frozen like statues, and locked his amber-gold eyes onto the intruder.
"Faustus?" the dragon rumbled, digging deep into his ancient memories.
Wait… what on earth did I ever do to him? I was just doing my job back then. I’ve always been just and fair… so why is he looking at me like that?
Before Valtharion could finish his thought, one of the newly arrived guards recklessly charged forward, swinging his halberd and smashing the bottle straight out of Faustus’s hands. The ceramic container shattered into a thousand pieces against the golden coins, spilling the precious liquor everywhere.
Faustus froze. He stared with wide, unblinking eyes at the wet, dripping shards on the ground. The drunken smirk instantly vanished from his face, replaced by a dark, suffocating fury.
"Ooooohhh… you…" Faustus rasped, his voice dropping an octave into a demonic register. "You filthy, useless ruin of a lizard…"
The space around Faustus began to crackle with volatile purple energy. He coiled his legs, preparing to decapitate the guard in a fraction of a millisecond.
"STOP!" Valtharion bellowed, his roar shaking the foundational bedrock of the mountain.
Faustus completely ignored the command. With a blinding void flash, he appeared directly in front of the offending guard. Yet, instead of drawing his sword or unleashing a deadly strike, he did something entirely unexpected. With a limp, utterly sloppy motion, he gave the armored guard a soft, clumsy little poke on the shoulder.
"Don't do that again, okay?" Faustus slurred, weeping sloppily at the thoroughly stunned bodyguard. "You… you owe me a bottle, you idiot."
Without waiting for a response, Faustus flashed straight past the guard, stopping inches away from the Dragon Lord’s colossal snout.
Valtharion, watching the unpredictable, drunken warrior close the distance, felt a sudden pang of genuine panic. The mighty dragon squeezed his eyes shut and began frantically counting down in his head, bracing for a fatal counterattack:
Three… two… one…!
Nothing happened.
Slowly, the Dragon Lord opened one massive eye. Faustus was still standing there. The rage and drunken hostility had vanished entirely from his features, leaving behind a face glistening with fresh tears. With trembling lips, the warrior took a step forward, threw his arms wide open, and wrapped them tightly around the Dragon Lord's massive snout in a desperate, weeping embrace.
Valtharion stared in utter shock at the man clinging to his face. The tension slowly drained from the ancient beast.
"You aren't angry with me at all, are you?" the dragon spoken softly, his deep voice rich with unexpected empathy. "You're in pain. Immense, crushing pain."
Faustus let go of the snout and slowly sank to his knees on the cold, golden floor. Bowing his head deeply, he offered a formal, deeply respectful salutation to the landlord.
"Thank you…" Faustus sobbed, his tears splashing onto the pristine coins beneath him. "Thank you so much for showing those memories to Silarias. It’s horribly painful for him… but it’s what he needed to see. He had a right to know."
Faustus wiped his face with a ragged sleeve and forced himself back to his feet. He looked Valtharion directly in his massive, amber-gold eyes, his voice cracking beneath an oncoming wave of tears.
"You gave him those memories. Long ago, someone told me something about my family… You know what, I'm just going to lay it all out. Was Kelayla Morningstar ever here? She… she was my aunt."
The Dragon Lord’s expression softened completely. The silver, scroll-like tendrils of his beard swayed tenderly in the draft as he lowered his immense head to comfort the broken warrior.
"Come here, Faustus," Valtharion said softly, his voice radiating a deep, soothing warmth that echoed gently throughout the vast cathedral. "I will tell you everything you wish to know about her. Kelayla was one of the very few souls in history who possessed a truly pure and good heart. And believe me, young Morningstar… she spoke of you often. Of her brave, sweet little nephew, Faustus."