[20] Farewell

The scent of camellias was suffocating.

Thick, sweet, cloying—it filled Callian's lungs with every breath as he moved through the battlefield, his sword cutting through the air with precise, lethal strokes. Feathers, white and gold, rained down around him, torn from the backs of the divine beings that once claimed dominion over mankind.

The angels screamed.

Their voices, once gentle and serene, were now twisted with agony as Callian ripped their wings apart, his blade carving through celestial flesh. They bled.

They bled just like humans.

A silver-haired angel lunged at him, light bursting from his fingertips like spears of divine wrath. Callian ducked, feeling the heat of the magic scorch the air above him, before pivoting on his heel and driving his sword into the angel's chest. Crimson bloomed against pure white robes.

"Forgive me," the angel gasped.

Callian twisted the blade. "I won't."

With a final, breathless sigh, the angel collapsed.

And then—

The battle was over.

A heavy silence settled over the battlefield, broken only by the distant crackling of divine fire. The Garden of Eden lay ahead, untouched, perfect. It should have been beautiful. But all Callian saw were the corpses left in his wake.

And at the heart of the garden, waiting for him beneath the blooming camellia trees—

She stood there.

A goddess draped in white, her face obscured by a blindfold. In her hands, a golden bow was drawn, an arrow of pure light aimed directly at his heart.

"Callian," she spoke, her voice carrying across the silence. "You shouldn't have come."

Callian exhaled, steadying his grip on his sword. "Isolde," he said. "Lower your weapon."

"I can't." Her voice was calm, yet there was a tremor beneath it. "This world is beyond saving. Humanity has crumbled—greedy, selfish, corrupt. I will erase it all and create a new world, one untainted by suffering."

A sharp breath escaped Callian. So that was it.

"You sound just like them," he said quietly. "The ones who thought they could play god. The ones I killed."

"I am not playing god," Isolde whispered. "I am a god."

The bowstring pulled tighter. The golden arrow gleamed.

Callian moved.

The fight was fast, brutal. Light clashed against steel, divine magic against mortal defiance.

Isolde's arrows rained down like falling stars, each shot precise enough to pierce through time itself. Callian dodged, weaving through the deadly onslaught, feeling the heat of her magic graze his skin. He closed the distance, blade flashing, forcing her to retreat—

But she was a goddess.

Even without her sight, Isolde danced through the battle with perfect grace, her bow shifting into a spear of light. She countered every strike, each movement effortless, like she already knew how this fight would end.

And perhaps, she did.

Perhaps this was always how it would end.

Callian gritted his teeth. He didn't want to kill her.

But he had no choice.

She thrust her spear—he dodged, then twisted, his sword finding its mark.

A sharp gasp.

And then—silence.

Isolde staggered, the blindfold slipping from her face, revealing a pair of golden eyes.

Golden.

The same as his own.

They gazed at him—not with anger, not with hatred—but with amusement.

A quiet, almost mocking smile curved her lips.

"As expected of the Akashic Contractor," she murmured.

And then, she fell.

Callian stood there, sword still in hand, blood dripping from its edge.

He looked down at her, at the woman who had guided him, the being that had always been by his side, unseen yet ever-present.

His constellation.

His teacher.

His ally.

The only one who had shared a human life with him—

And now, she was dead by his own hand.

The scent of camellias burned his throat.

But he didn't regret it.,

Callian's eyes snapped open.

His breath was heavy, his chest rising and falling with the weight of a nightmare too real to be just a dream. For a moment, he stayed still, staring at the wooden ceiling above him, trying to ground himself back into reality.

Just a dream.

A shitty, shitty memory.

He exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to his forehead. His body felt heavier than usual.

Did Violet get heavier?

That thought made him pause.

He turned his head slightly, expecting to see his daughter sprawled across his chest like usual.

But instead—

It was Estira.

The dragon-turned-woman had somehow ended up curled against his side, her long, violet-tinted hair spilling over his arm, her breathing slow and even in deep sleep.

…What?

Callian blinked.

When did she—?

He opened his mouth, then closed it.

His brain, still sluggish from sleep, tried to process the situation. Why was Estira clinging to him?

Did dragons even need to sleep?

Before he could figure out what to do, a soft mumble came from the other side of the bed.

Violet.

She was still asleep, tucked comfortably in Estira's arms, her small hands clutching onto the dragon's sleeve like a child holding onto their favorite blanket.

Callian felt something in his chest tighten.

Yesterday, Violet had clung to Estira all day, fascinated by the beautiful woman with wisdom in her gaze and warmth in her presence.

And Estira—despite her ancient, powerful nature—had simply indulged the child's affections with the patience of a doting grandparent.

Callian sighed, carefully extracting himself from the awkward sleeping arrangement.

As if sensing the movement, Estira's golden eyes fluttered open. She blinked at him lazily, then tilted her head.

"You are awake," she murmured.

"Yeah," Callian muttered. "Apparently, so are you."

Estira hummed, then glanced down at Violet, still fast asleep against her. A rare softness crossed her face.

"She truly is a remarkable child," Estira said quietly.

Callian watched them for a moment, then exhaled. "Yeah. She is."

A small, knowing smile played on Estira's lips. "She looks like you," she said.

Callian scoffed. "Not really."

Estira arched an eyebrow. "She has your fire."

Callian paused.

Then, after a moment, he simply muttered, "She got that on her own."

Estira didn't argue. Instead, she gently shifted, brushing a stray strand of hair from Violet's face. The little girl stirred slightly, then slowly blinked awake.

When her sleepy violet eyes landed on Callian, her expression immediately brightened.

"Papa!"

Before he could react, she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"You were gone forever!" she pouted against his shoulder.

"It was five days," Callian said dryly.

"Five days is forever!"

Callian chuckled, rubbing her back.

"Then I'll make it up to you," he said.

Violet huffed but didn't let go. Instead, she turned her attention to Estira.

"Estira, will you take a bath with me?" she asked brightly.

Estira blinked, clearly caught off guard.

Callian smirked. "Good luck."

And just like that, the great, wise, and powerful guardian dragon was promptly dragged into the world of childish whims and bath time struggles.

Callian leaned back, watching the scene unfold.

The nightmare still lingered in his mind. The weight of his past still pressed against his shoulders.

But here, in this moment—this was real.

And he would protect it.

*****

Snowflakes drifted lazily from the sky, dusting the ground with a soft white blanket. The world was quiet, save for the muffled sounds of boots crunching against fresh snow and the excited giggles of a certain little girl bouncing around like an overjoyed rabbit.

"Papa, look! It's snowing again!" Violet squealed, spinning in place with her arms outstretched. The tiny furball of energy was bundled up in layers of warm clothing, her silver hair catching snowflakes like tiny stars trapped in silk.

Callian, adjusting the weight of his pack, glanced at her and chuckled. "I can see that, little one."

Violet beamed, then promptly dropped onto the ground, waving her arms and legs.

"What are you doing?" Estira asked, watching the child curiously.

Violet grinned up at her. "Snow angel!"

Estira tilted her head, golden eyes thoughtful. "A snow angel…?"

"Like this!" Violet demonstrated, flapping her arms and legs until an uneven but recognizable snow angel took shape beneath her. "See?"

Estira crouched down, her long violet-tinted hair cascading over her shoulder as she observed the pattern. After a moment, she hummed in approval. "It does resemble wings."

Violet nodded enthusiastically, then paused, staring up at the beautiful woman with wide eyes. "Miss Estira, do you wanna try?"

For a brief moment, Estira blinked in surprise.

Callian, adjusting the straps of his bag, smirked. "Go on," he said. "You've been indulging her in everything else. Why stop now?"

Estira sent him a look but sighed. "Very well."

And then—

The great, ancient, powerful guardian dragon carefully laid down in the snow beside Violet.

Violet gasped in delight. "Miss Estira! You're doing it!"

Estira, with an almost imperceptible smile, began to move her arms and legs in slow, graceful motions, mimicking Violet's actions.

"Perfect!" Violet cheered, giggling.

Callian watched them, shaking his head in amusement. Who would believe that the terrifying, mythical creature standing at the peak of existence was currently making snow angels at the request of a six-year-old?

If anyone in the Ashville Duchy found out, chaos would ensue.

Callian sighed, adjusting the badge tucked inside his coat. They were finally leaving.

The knights had been preparing to return to the duchy for days, but in truth, they hadn't done anything at all during the mission. Callian, as always, had done all the work—returning from the elder's domain with a badge of completion and leaving the rest to the formalities.

At least they got credit for existing.

Now, with their supplies packed and the horses saddled, the knights were making final preparations for departure.

Violet, however, seemed in no rush to leave.

She rolled over in the snow, staring up at the sky, then turned her gaze toward Callian and Estira, her expression soft.

They looked pretty together.

Papa, with his dark hair and golden eyes, always looked dignified even when he was just standing there. And Miss Estira, with her elegant beauty and warm presence, looked so comfortable by his side.

Violet tilted her head.

Papa was warm.

Miss Estira was warm too—but in a different way. Like the difference between holding hands with Papa and being wrapped in a soft blanket.

Violet didn't quite understand why, but…

She liked them together.

She liked having both of them here.

She smiled to herself, then suddenly jumped up. "Papa! Papa!"

Callian, in the middle of adjusting his coat, glanced down. "Hm?"

Violet spread her arms wide. "Pick me up!"

Callian raised an eyebrow. "You're going to get snow all over me."

Violet pouted. "You don't mind."

Callian sighed. "…Fair point."

Without another word, he scooped her up, resting her against his hip like it was second nature.

Violet grinned, immediately burying her face in his coat to warm her chilly cheeks.

Estira, brushing stray snowflakes from her sleeves, watched with quiet amusement.

"You are quite spoiled," she remarked.

Violet peeked up from the folds of Callian's coat and grinned mischievously. "Only a little!"

Callian chuckled, pressing a hand against her back to steady her. "That's an understatement."

Violet giggled.

The knights were finishing up their final checks, and the horses were already lined up for departure.

Estira adjusted the cloak draped over her shoulders.

"So," she said, "we return to the duchy."

Callian hummed. "Unfortunately."

Estira glanced at him, intrigued. "You do not seem particularly pleased."

Callian smirked, voice laced with dry amusement. "I'm looking forward to meeting the person who decided to send me to the Frontline to die this month."

Estira arched an elegant eyebrow. "And what do you intend to do?"

Callian grinned—a slow, amused smirk that sent a chill of warning through the air.

"Oh, nothing," he said lightly. "It's just… well, I got some good stuff out of this trip. It's only fair I thank them properly."

Estira chuckled, a quiet, knowing sound. "You are quite dangerous when you want to be."

Callian placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. "Me? Dangerous?"

"Yes," Estira replied easily.

Callian laughed.

Violet, watching the two of them from the safety of her father's arms, smiled.

She didn't quite understand what they were talking about, but—

Miss Estira was smiling.

And Papa was laughing.

That was enough for her.

As long as Papa's arms were always open for her—

And as long as Miss Estira stayed warm and kind—

Violet felt like everything was okay.

The snow continued to fall.

The knights signaled their final preparations.

And with one last glance at the quiet, snowy clearing—

They returned to the duchy.