In Limgard, the new recruits were just now awakening, groaning, and cursing from the aftereffects of bearing through Sliepr. That agony was only added to that which they’d already been dealing with – that from being brutalized by Pherdanta during the evaluation.

The Ode of the First Horn, Vali, and Maxim were the ones faring the best out of everyone else, but even then, they looked like how commonfolk did after a heavy night of drinking – hair knotted, drool-faced... broken. It was so bad that, unlike Sause, Remos, Aegir, and Muezzi, they hadn’t been able to rush to Metgard earlier.

The Ode was bathing in his regrets at that moment.

’If only father knew the hell he sentenced me to...’ He couldn’t stop cursing that man.

...But was it really his father’s fault?

Wasn’t he the one who had foolishly challenged Festos back then, on Opungale, and lost?

And now he’d lost his freedom and even his title as Maqi’s heir, the Ode of the First Horn. Now, he was just... Dradaht.

Vali and Maxim were struggling with another affair altogether. They were conflicted. The evaluation had been rough, surprisingly so, given what they’d gone through against the masked man. It left them feeling powerless, like impostors, but not shattered.

No. Pherdanta was different from Kintar. When she beat them and demanded that they stand up and keep fighting, it hadn’t felt like a means to demean them – to crush them. She only encouraged to persevere, to show her the true depths of their potential.

And perseverance was a virtue, indeed. Pherdanta had told everyone here, after the evaluation, that the brutal ordeal was only a preliminary check. There was a regiment coming, a cruel training course to make them into Troops or more, if they could bear it and allow themselves to breach the edge of madness for the sake of evolving into better versions of themselves.

’We have to prove ourselves then,’ Vali and Maxim thought, as they struggled even to lift a finger. ’We have to earn our way into that echelon the Unlimited Stars stand in.’

Vali swore she would make Rias’ Andori, Aimon, her own.

Vali would expand the applications of her own technique, Planate High, as well. She’d seen, after the battle with Rias, that it wasn’t as limited as she’d thought.

...But while the two women were mustering their resolve, Puiradt was struggling the opposite way.

The man was among them, but not subject to the same waves of pain they were suffering from. He was Divine, after all, like Uyuniya. The only reason he hadn’t rushed to Metgard when the Retucent was pulling Amanas, was because he was disinterested in living.

Indeed, he’d even told Skullius this, after he was done picking their brains about his odd idea earlier.

I followed you only because I couldn’t stand being on Aigas if it meant he was still there too. I don’t mean to follow you as a subordinate, grateful as I am for being free, Puiradt had said to Skullius as Sause, Remos, and Soidon left the Second Layer of the Empyrean Hatcher.

I figured, Skullius had said, unbothered, unsurprised. Unlike everyone in the Hall, you were ready to die after spitting in your brother’s face. But there’s also something preventing you from wanting to live, right?

Puiradt had tensed at those words.

This unusual relationship between the Broader Existences of people of the same blood... said Skullius. He found it rather fascinating. Fulgardt survived twice from attacks that would have killed him, all because he was leeching off your Broader Existence. He had faced Puiradt with a dark look. You barely count for a Divine anymore, and you likely can’t progress in strength as easily as you would have if Fulgardt hadn’t taken advantage of you.

There was something about hearing the diagnosis from someone with a better eye and better knowledge. Puiradt ground his teeth. Suddenly, what Fulgardt, his own brother, had put him through, drowned his mind in fury. Agony paired with immortality...

’And the bastard didn’t even so much as look at me at the end of it all...’

It stung. Puiradt had felt no closure. That was why he’d rather die than continue being eaten up by those haunting thoughts. What was there to live for?

I don’t need you to be my subordinate if you don’t wish it. I was never going to force you. Besides, I have a pretty good idea for you if all you want is to find a good place to die, the Hybrid had said, smiling. But if it’s purpose that you want, even if for a short time, I have one you might be interested in – a mission of great importance. It might even give you the closure you so desperately want.

...

And now, in Metgard, Puiradt was grappling with whether or not he should take this purpose upon himself.

Skullius had explained it in detail. It wouldn’t be easy at all, but it would be... stimulating, enlightening, relieving.

If you complete it, you’ll be responsible for doing something even Fulgardt could not, was how Skullius embellished the task.

There was no lie to that, Puiradt could attest. And to think Skullius would place such an important mission in his hands.

’Roles. Roles. Roles...’

Puiradt cursed and looked around him. He found determined and lost expressions in equal measure – nothing that could help him make a decision.

Thus, he rose and warped into Metgard. There was a stark difference. Everyone here was stalwart, filled to the brim with determination and, more importantly... purpose.

But was it really everyone?

There might have been an exception, an oddity. He even looked different from the rest. Puiradt was drawn to the uncertainty written on the person’s face. That must have been why he strode over to him, took a seat, and studied his dark face.

"What do you want?" said Ashema roughly.

Puiradt didn’t answer immediately, but not for suspense’s sake. Something the Carven was holding drew his attention.

Was it a seal? A Rune? An array?

It was a formation of some kind, solid enough to hold and move around with the fingers. Ashema looked at it with equal portions of hate and reverence.

He, too, was forced to make a choice, after all. This was the parting gift, the last shard of will from his master, Boron, a ’choice’ that fell into his (Ashema’s) hands from the blue, on Aigas.

Finally, Puiradt spoke.

"How much of a choice do we actually have?"