Unknown Force.
In the Meantime,
[It's happening all over again.
The same room… the same spell… the same patterns…
It's all coming true.
The voice was right. About everything.
This isn't just a vision. It's real. It's happening as it said it would]
The whole situation becomes suffocating.
Her chest tightens, breath shallow, like the air itself is turning against her.
Her hands tremble at her sides, and though she tries to stay still, her body betrays her.
Sweat beads along her forehead, trailing down her pale skin. Her vision blurs—not from tears, but from the sheer pressure building inside her. Panic floods through her veins like a second heartbeat, faster, louder.
[It's all happening again.]
She clutches her arm, trying to ground herself, but the things she saw—keep flashing behind her eyes. Her instincts scream, louder than any logic or restraint.
And somewhere beneath that panic, a terrible certainty begins to settle.
[If I don't stop this… I'll lose them.]
Her hands tremble, but she forces them steady without coming into notice of Rose.
Slowly, deliberately, she slips her right hand beneath the sheets draped over her lap—concealing her presence. Her fingers reaching out to the space within, grounding herself just long enough to gather somewhat of her remaining Mana to her right hand.
She closes her eyes.
With a deep breath, she channels the flow, focusing it into her palm. The air around her fingertips begins to shimmer—subtle, like heat rising off the ground. Then, a faint crack splits open in the space around her hand. It's no wider than a hand size, barely stable, but it hums with latent energy.
She reaches into it—into that fragile slit between planes, where she connects her flow to the crack.
A gentle pulse answers her. With a slow, silent pull, she draws the weapon from the rift—a blade of pale steel. It slides into her grip as if it had been waiting there all along, answering her call without resistance. There is no sound. Not even the faint ring of metal.
Just the steady beat of her panic, and the blade now resting in her hand.
Now, opening her eyes, she notices Miguel still immersed in his work—completely focused, unaware. Rose stands a little farther from her than before, her attention drawn to him.
The worry on her is quite visible, and Alice notices it. But instead of stirring sympathy, it only makes her emotions grow more distant—bland, almost careless.
She waits, unmoving, her eyes locked—continuously giving Rose a cold, unwavering stare.
She waited and waited until she hears a sound of
*Woosh
She gathers the last of her strength, channeling it into her legs. Every muscle in her body strains to obey, but she moves—slowly, steadily—rising from the bed without a sound.
Her bare feet touch the floor in silence.
One step. Then another. No one notices.
Blade in hand, she crosses the short distance like a shadow—calm, deliberate. The coldness in her eyes never flickers.
She stands behind Rose, just for a breath, just long enough to look at her one last time.
Then, without a word, she drives the blade forward—clean and precise—straight into her abdomen.
Meanwhile,
[In the world we live, there is no higher power than the Emperors. But when I was a kid, I used to hear a lot of stories about someone who made people understand the meaning of the word hope and trust in the line of faith...
I never believed in it completely. But now, for the first time, I want to believe in it...Because I cant see him fail and I want his faith to align with his promise he made.
What was the phrase my parents used to say…?]
As she tries to remember the phrase, a sudden shiver runs down her spine—the air around her thickens, pulsing with an overwhelming surge of mana. The pressure is unmistakable. Ancient. Absolute.
She doesn't need to confirm it twice.
[He's here...
But why? He isn't supposed to return until next week.
Didn't Miguel tell him? Didn't he say he would handle everything? That there was nothing to worry about?]
Across the room, Rose reacts almost instantly.
Her body stiffens. Shoulders tense. As if she is trying to deny what her senses already confirmed. Her hand inches toward the edge of the table—seeking balance, maybe stability—as her breath catches in her throat.
Without even realizing it, she steps forward, her instinct urging her to warn Miguel of his arrival.
But something stops her.
It's sudden—like a hand gripping her from the inside, something lodged deep within her core. Her body locks up. Then, without warning, a sharp jolt of pain surges through her—violent and cold—ripping across her nerves.
Her breath catches. Her vision blurs. Her knees begin to buckle beneath her.
Confused, she looks down, trembling. And then she sees it.
The sharp tip of a blade, protruding through her abdomen. The blood now, spreading all across her dress.
Touching the blade-blood got on her hand. And to confirm it, she lifts her hand bringing it near to her sight.
Her fingers tremble as they move instinctively toward the sharp pain. When they brush against the blade, warm wetness coats her skin.
[Blood.]
Still disbelieving, she lifts her hand slowly, bringing it closer to her face. Her breath hitches as the dark red liquid comes into focus—filling her pale, shaking fingers.
And only now does the full weight of it begin to sink in.
[But how… how did it come here?
There was no sight of a sharp object in here when we entered…
But then how…?]
Her eyes widen as a cold breath brushes against the back of her neck. With pain surging through every inch of her body, she struggles—slowly, desperately—to turn her head back.
To her surprise, she finds Alice standing toe-to-toe behind her—expression unreadable, the sword still in her hands, now soaked in blood, the crimson dripping slowly down toward her fingers.
[Why… why… why… why… why… why… why…
Alice… why…?]
Rose's voice trembles inside her mind, each word heavier than the last. Confusion and pain twist through her as she tries—impatiently, desperately—to reach out and grab Alice.
But in that same instant, Alice pulls the blade from her body with swift precision.
The sudden force sends Rose stumbling forward—her strength failing completely—as she collapses to the floor, the world spinning around her.
Laying on the ground, a memory comes in flash in front of her eyes.
Perceiving, she thinks,
[It was then...
I should have believed in my instincts....
but why would she do it....
I have known her for years....
she would ne...]
Doubt and confusion filling her brain, her eyes turns to Miguel..
[Mig....Mig..ue...l]
She forces herself to speak—to call out his name—but nothing comes.
Her lips part, trembling, but her voice fails her.
Desperately, she tries to channel the mana to her vocal codes, pushing her through the pain,
through the panic...but even then, no sound escapes.
Not even a whisper.
But she still keeps pushing—clawing at the silence with everything she has left.
And still… she can't do it.
[Am I paralyzed....]
Moment the sword went past her core, her flow started to slowly fade away making her whole body stiff and unable to move.
And only thing which remained active is her brain. Which is why she is still able to understand or hear her thoughts.
On the other hand, Miguel doesn't notice—too consumed, too deeply immersed in analyzing the strange, unfamiliar patterns spreading across the boy's small body.
It's only when he finally turns around—desperately, ready to share his discovery—that the world around him comes crashing down.
He sees Rose.
Lying motionless on the floor.
Cold.
Paralyzed.
And just beyond her, he sees Alice—standing still, a sword in her hand, its blade soaked in Rose's blood.
Unable to grasp the scene in front of him, his mind reels—numb, disoriented. His legs buckle beneath him, strength draining in an instant. He collapses onto the mattress behind him, the weight of the moment crashing down before he can even breathe.
Just a second ago, his mind had been racing—sharp, focused, running at a tremendous speed. But now, it comes crashing down like a storm, overtaken by a flood of emotions. He stares at the unimaginable sight before him—something so unthinkable, so far from anything he ever let himself imagine.
Keeping his focus on Rose, he forces his legs to move and in doing so he stumbles upon his feet a couple of time—eventually reaching to her hand. He carefully places her on his thigh.
Tries to make her speak. But hear no words coming out of her lips.
"Rose… Ro… Rose…" his voice trembles, breaking with every word. "Why don't you speak…? Say something… please…"
The silence that follows cuts deeper than any blade.
"Why aren't you saying anything…?" his voice cracks, barely more than a whisper. "Please… just say something…"
[Oh, Miguel… I really do want to speak]
She thinks, her gaze fixed on him as her body lays limp and broken on the cold floor. Blood pools beneath her, warm against her cooling skin. Every breath is a struggle—shallow, shaky, fading.
[But I can't…
The only thing I can do now… is look at your face. Your beautiful face…]
Her eyes blur, but she keeps them open—fighting against the weight pulling her down—just to see him a little longer.
[I really want to talk to you...
I really want to spend more time with you...
I really want to hold you in my arms… right now…
I don't want to see you cry…
I don't want to see you sad…
Tears slip from the corners of her eyes, tracing down her cheeks as her vision begins to fade.
Miguel… I don't want to die…
Miguel… I don't want to die…
I want to live…
I want to help you…
I want to take care of you…
I want to… say… I lo…
I want…
I…
And in that moment—quiet, final—her mind goes still.
Her body slackens.
The light behind her eyes fades away.
"It's no use. She's already dead," Alice says, her voice cold and detached.
Miguel, fully consumed by his emotions, slowly looks up at his sister…
But no words come to him. He just stares—silent, broken—unable to speak.
"I saw everything… everything that was going to happen.
If I hadn't done this…I would have lost them..."
Her voice trails off, heavy with conviction—but void of remorse.
"Huh…"That's all he can manage to say.
A single, broken sound—caught between disbelief and heartbreak.
Confused. Frustrated. Broken. Furious. Numb.
A storm of emotions churns inside him, colliding all at once, tearing through whatever strength he has left.
Gathering every last bit of energy in his shaking frame, he finally forces the words out—his voice cracked, trembling.
"What reason… do you even have… to do something like this to her?"
His eyes burn, locked on Alice. "There wasn't a single time in her life she didn't speak highly of you… not one."
His breath catches—and then explodes into a scream.
"WHY?!WHY…?WHY WOULD YOU DO IT?!"
The force of his voice rips through the chamber, raw and unrestrained. His mana flares uncontrollably, unintentionally leaking out, colliding violently with the earlier surge still lingering in the air—shaking the very walls around them.
She doesn't flinch—not even as the air trembles under the weight of his fury.
Her eyes remain steady, voice calm, emotionless.
"You are incapable… of understanding something like this. "A pause—sharp, deliberate. "You are unworthy."
She takes a slow breath, her gaze narrowing.
"Even the Emperor… is unworthy."
"No one can deny the truth it brings..." she says, her voice low and unwavering.
"And the hope it carries…"
Her eyes narrow slightly, as if speaking something ancient—something final.
"When you Praise THE ONE."
As the last word leaves her lips, another voice cuts through the air—heavier, deeper, laced with a presence that shifts the very atmosphere.
A voice that carries weight.
Commanding. Unmistakable.
As soon as she says the phrase.
Everything around Miguel turns black.Silent. Still.
[What just happened…?Why is everything silent… and black?]
It's as if time itself has stopped—his body weightless, his senses floating in a void.He feels like he's trapped in a trance… distant… disconnected.
And then, in the blink of an eye, he snaps out of it.
His eyes shoot open—panic rushing in—and the room floods back into view.
But something's wrong.
Alice is no longer standing in front of him.
He's alone.
Glancing around, searching, his heart races. There's no trace of her anywhere.
He takes a step forward—cautious, unsteady—and suddenly stumbles over something. His eyes drop.
There they are.
Alice and Rose… lying together. Still. Lifeless.
A single sword piercing through both their bodies—deep, final.
Before he can even react, a weight presses into his senses—thick and suffocating.
From the corner of his eye, he sees movement.
A figure steps forward.
Someone he knows. Someone whose very presence make everyone stand on guard.
A voice cuts through the air, sharp and heavy.
"Miguel."