Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sound cut through the quiet of the apartment like a blade, sharp, urgent, insistent. It was not the gentle tap of a neighbor or the rhythmic knock of a delivery person.

This was the kind of knocking that came from someone who had run out of patience, who had no time for pleasantries, who was prepared to break the door down if it did not open in the next few seconds.

Erza’s instincts snapped awake.

Her body tensed, her violet eyes sharpened, and her hand curled into a fist at her side.

But her mind was not on the door, not entirely.

Her gaze flickered to Yuuta, still sleeping on the sofa, and she saw the sweat beading on his forehead, the way his brow furrowed even in sleep, the tension in his jaw that had not been there an hour ago.

Something was wrong.

Something was happening to him, and she did not know what it was or how to stop it.

Isvarn’s voice cut through her rising panic, calm and measured, the voice of someone who had seen centuries of crisis and knew when to act and when to wait.

"No need to worry, my queen. He is okay. You can see who is at the door."

She froze.

She did not like her grandfather, not in the way a granddaughter should like a grandfather.

Their relationship was built on duty and respect, not warmth or affection. But she knew him. She knew his wisdom, his experience, the weight of millennia that pressed upon his shoulders.

He was her advisor for a reason.

And even though Isvaren did not want to interfere, even though a part of him, she suspected, wanted to watch and see what would happen, he could not stand to see his queen panicking, struggling to choose a path while frozen in indecision.

He was giving her permission. Permission to leave Yuuta’s side. Permission to trust that he would be okay.

She took a long, deep breath. He is okay.

The thought repeated in her mind like a mantra, pushing back the panic, steadying her racing heart. The fear did not disappear, but it retreated to the edges of her consciousness, where she could feel it but not be consumed by it.

She nodded once, sharply, and turned toward the door.

But before she stepped away, she looked back at Isvarn, her voice cold and commanding, the voice of a queen who expected to be obeyed without question.

"Watch him closely, Grandpa. Eyes on him."

Isvarn inclined his head, his violet eyes meeting hers for a brief moment. He did not speak. He did not need to.

His nod was enough.

But beneath the nod, beneath the calm exterior, something else stirred. He had been watching the red and black aura rising from Yuuta’s body like smoke from a dying fire.

He knew what it meant. He knew what was coming. And a part of him, the ancient, cold part that had watched him in excitement like gladiators die in the arenas of Atlantis, was curious to see how it would end.

The knocking had not stopped. If anything, it had grown more frantic, more desperate, as if the person on the other side knew that time was running out.

Erza reached the door and pulled it open in one swift motion, her body positioned to block the entrance, her eyes cold and unwelcoming.

Fiona stood in the doorway.

The captain of the Phoenix Unit looked like she had been through a war, because she had.

Her arm was wrapped in fresh bandages, the white cloth already stained pink at the edges. Her face bore new bruises, purple and swollen, layered over the old ones.

Her hazel eyes, usually sharp and focused, were wild with urgency, darting across the room behind Erza, searching for something.

She was exhausted, swaying slightly as if she might collapse at any moment.

But she was here.

And she was desperate.

Erza’s first response was disgust.

The panic that had flared in her chest moments ago, the fear of an unknown threat, the protective instinct that had sent her racing to the door, evaporated as soon as she saw Fiona’s face. She clicked her tongue.

Tch.

"What do you want, human?"

Her voice was cold, dismissive, the voice of someone who had already decided that whatever the other person had to say was not worth hearing.

Fiona did not flinch.

She did not bow.

She did not offer the usual pleasantries or deference expected of someone addressing a superior being.

"Yuuta," she said, her voice urgent, breathless. "Where is Yuuta? I need to see him. Now."

She tried to step past Erza, to push through the doorway, to force her way into the apartment.

Erza’s arm shot out, blocking the entrance, her hand pressing against Fiona’s shoulder and stopping her cold.

"Meet him?" she said, her voice cold as ice, sharp as a blade. "Why would I let you meet him, nasty human?"

Fiona’s eyes blazed with frustration. "What the hell is your problem? He’s in pain. Can’t you see that?"

Erza’s brow furrowed. "Pain? What pain?"

She looked back at Yuuta briefly, still sleeping, still sweating, still tense, but she did not see anything that looked like pain.

Not the kind of pain Fiona was talking about. And she remember Her grandpa told her, he was okay.

Fiona tried to push past her again, and Erza blocked her again, this time with more force, her hand pressing against the human’s chest, holding her at arm’s length.

"Tell me, human. What the hell are you trying to pull? What pain? And why are you so eager to see him?"

Fiona’s voice rose, sharp with desperation. "Can’t you see? He’s trapped in his nightmare! We have to save him! How can you not understand his situation?"

Erza opened her mouth to respond, to dismiss the claim, to call it ridiculous, but then she paused. Her memory surfaced, unbidden, unwanted. Yuuta struggling in his sleep. Sweat on his brow. Fever in his skin.

Fiona saw her chance.

The moment Erza’s attention wavered, the moment her eyes grew distant and her grip loosened, Fiona slipped past her.

She did not run, she did not have the strength, but she moved quickly, her footsteps heavy on the wooden floor, her eyes fixed on the sofa where Yuuta lay.

Erza snapped back to the present.

Her face went cold, colder than it had been before, colder than the ice she had shattered in Antarctica.

She turned and followed, her stride long and purposeful, her intention clear. She was going to throw Fiona out.

She was going to make sure the human never came back.

But then she paused.

Fiona was kneeling beside the sofa, her hand reaching out, her fingers pressing against Yuuta’s forehead.

Her hair fell forward, blocking Erza’s view, and from where she stood, it looked like something else entirely.

It looked like Fiona was trying to kiss him.

Erza’s blood turned to fire not ice.

The cold that had settled over her evaporated, replaced by something hotter, sharper, more dangerous.

Jealousy.

Rage.

The primal fury of a dragon whose territory had been invaded.

She crossed the room in three strides.

Her hand closed around Fiona’s neck, and Fiona’s body lifted off the ground as if she weighed nothing.

Her legs kicked.

Her hands clawed at Erza’s wrist.

Her face turned red, then purple, as the air was cut off from her lungs.

"How dare you," Erza said, her voice low and cold, each word dripping with venom. "How dare you push me. How dare you try to kiss my mortal."

"Let me go," Fiona gasped, her voice strangled, her eyes wide with panic. "You crazy monster, can’t you see? I’m trying to save him. Look at his forehead."

Erza’s eyes narrowed. She looked. And she stopped.

The aura she had not been able to see before, the red and black wisps that had risen from Yuuta’s body like smoke, were now visible, even to her.

They coiled around his head like serpents, red and black intertwined, pulsing with a rhythm that matched his heartbeat.

And there, resting on his forehead directly between his eyebrows, was a small dark stone. It had not been there before.

It had appeared from nowhere, or perhaps from somewhere she could not see.

The stone was sucking the aura from his body.

The red and black wisps spiraled into it, drawn like water into a drain, disappearing into the dark surface.

The stone pulsed with each inhalation, growing warmer, growing brighter, growing more alive.

Erza released Fiona.

She dropped to the floor with a heavy thud, gasping for air, her hands clutching her throat, but Erza did not look at her.

She stared at the stone, at the aura it was consuming, at the way Yuuta’s face seemed to relax with each passing second, the tension in his jaw easing, the furrow in his brow smoothing.

She was speechless.

Her violet eyes, usually so sharp and certain, were wide with something she had not felt in centuries, genuine, bone-deep shock. The red and black aura coiling from Yuuta’s body was not merely some residual energy or the fading echo of his sealed memories. She recognized it now, the recognition hitting her like a physical blow to the chest. This was the mark of the cursed, the signature of a soul caught in something far darker than a simple nightmare.

"What the hell is this?" Erza whispered, her voice stripped of its usual cold authority, replaced by something raw and unguarded.

Fiona knelt on the floor, gasping for air, her hand pressed against her bruised throat. "See?" she coughed, her voice hoarse but laced with bitter vindication. "I told you. I was trying to save him, you crazy woman."

Erza did not respond.

Her hands trembled at her sides, not from fear, not from weakness, but from the terrible realization that she had been blind.

Her mortal, the man she had promised to protect, had been trapped in a nightmare while she sat beside him, watching him sleep, believing he was okay. Believing because she wanted to believe. Because the alternative was too painful to consider.

She had been so focused on the past, on the memories she had sealed and the suffering she had witnessed, that she had failed to see the present. Yuuta was not waking up because he could not wake up. Something had its claws in him, something dark and ancient, and she had not even noticed.

That was when the book dropped.

The sound was soft, pages slapping against the wooden floor, the thud of a heavy spine hitting the ground, but in the silence of the apartment, it was deafening. Erza’s head turned. Her eyes found Isvarn, standing by the dining table, his ancient face twisted in an expression she had never seen before.

Fury.

Not the cold, controlled anger of a wise elder correcting a misguided queen.

Something hotter.

Something uglier.

His violet eyes, usually calm and measured, blazed with frustration as he stared at the stone on Yuuta’s forehead, at the aura being drawn from his body, at the human girl who was undoing something he had been content to let run its course.

"Shit," he muttered. The word was soft, barely a whisper, meant for no one but himself.

But Erza heard it.

Her blood turned to ice, then to fire. The trembling in her hands stopped. The shock in her eyes hardened into something colder, something more dangerous. She turned her head slowly toward her grandfather, and the room seemed to grow darker as she moved.

"How dare you," she said, her voice low and even, each word measured and precise. "How dare you deceive me, you old fossil."

The silence that followed was absolute.

Even Fiona, still catching her breath on the floor, seemed to shrink into herself, her eyes darting between the two dragons, sensing that something far more dangerous than a nightmare was unfolding.

Isvarn swallowed.

He had faced down Nightmare Creatures and ancient horrors. He had never felt fear like this, not genuine, bone-deep terror, but he felt it now. His granddaughter’s eyes were not the eyes of a queen. They were the eyes of something older, something that had been sleeping beneath her cold exterior and had just woken up.

"My queen," he said, his voice carefully controlled, "I think you need to calm down for a moment."

"Tell me." She took a step toward him, and the floor seemed to shudder beneath her feet. "Were you aware of his condition?"

Isvarn’s throat worked.

He swallowed his own saliva, but it felt like swallowing glass. He could lie. He could deflect. He could claim that he had only just noticed, that he was about to tell her, that she had been too focused on the door to listen.

But the truth was already written on his face.

He nodded, once. "My queen, I was merely aware of it. I was going to tell you, but you were at the door."

"You were going to tell me." Her voice was flat, disbelieving. "When? After he died? After the nightmare consumed him? After I lost him forever because my own grandfather decided to let him suffer for his own amusement?"

Isvarn’s face paled.

He had no defense.

He had been curious, yes. He had wanted to see how the mortal would fare, how the curse would unfold, whether the blood of the Unknow Disaster would prove stronger than the Goddess’s seal.

But he had not expected her to find out. He had not expected Human girl to come with an Aether stone. He had not expected his carefully constructed detachment to crumble so quickly.

Erza walked toward him, her steps slow and deliberate, each one a hammer blow against his composure.

She stopped before him, close enough to see the fear in his ancient eyes, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her skin.

"If you ever," she said, her voice soft but absolute, "ever try to hide something like this from me again, if I ever find him dead, or harmed, or lost because you chose to watch instead of act, I will burn my entire kingdom to the ground with my own hands."

Isvarn’s eyes widened.

He knew she was not lying.

He could see it in her face, in the set of her jaw, in the cold fire burning behind her violet eyes. She could do it. She had the power. And the worst part, the part that made his ancient heart clench with something that felt almost like grief, was that she would not regret it.

She would burn Atlantis to ash for this mortal.

Isvarn dropped to his knees.

The motion was sudden, almost involuntary, the instinct of a servant who had spent millennia serving queens who demanded absolute obedience. His forehead touched the floor. His hands pressed flat against the wood. His voice, when he spoke, was thick with a shame he had not felt in centuries.

"I apologize, my queen. This servant tried to deceive the most high queen. It will not happen again."

Erza looked down at him, her grandfather, her advisor, the dragon who had raised her when her own mother had been too cold to care. She felt nothing. No warmth. No forgiveness. Only the cold, hard certainty that she could never trust him the same way again.

"Tell me what is going on with him," she said.

Isvarn remained bowed. "He is facing the Ancient Curse Trial."

Erza’s breath caught. The words hit her like a physical blow, harder than the Dreadvex Ape’s fists, colder than the ice she had shattered in Antarctica.

She knew about this trial. She had faced it once before. Those who wield Zani were often trapped in a nightmare, and she knew it was one of the worst trials.

Five years ago, she had gone through it herself, and even now the memory pressed at her like a weight she could not fully ignore. Erza’s hand tightened slightly as she looked at Yuuta, realizing she had not expected him to end up in the same condition.

It was a hunt, a shadow entity that did not attack the body but pulled the mind deeper into fear and illusion, slowly breaking resistance from within.

If his aura was removed, he would be saved, she told herself, trying to hold onto that thought as something steady in the chaos forming inside her.

She had survived it before. She had been a dragon even then, with centuries of strength and ice in her blood, and yet even she had struggled to escape it and claim the power of Zani in the end.

But Yuuta was not a dragon.

Yuuta was human.

Yuuta was mortal.

Yuuta had already endured more suffering than any being should have to endure in a lifetime, and now he was facing this, alone, in his own mind, with no one to help him.

She had hoped, prayed, even, though she did not believe in gods, that the red and black aura will removed.

She did not look at Isvarn. She could not. If she looked at him, she would kill him. And as satisfying as that might be, it would not save Yuuta.

She turned and walked back to Fiona.

The human girl was trembling on the floor, her bruised throat rising and falling with each shallow breath. She had seen something she should not have seen, a queen humbling her grandfather, a family tearing itself apart over a mortal man.

She was afraid.

Truly, deeply afraid, in a way that had nothing to do with the nightmare on the sofa.

But Erza did not have time for her fear.

The coldness that had marked her face since the port, the hardness, the distance, the mask of the queen, was gone.

In its place was something softer, more vulnerable, more desperate. The face of a woman who was watching the man she loved slip away and did not know how to stop it.

"Please," Erza said, her voice quiet, almost gentle. "Save him, human."

Fiona blinked.

She had not expected "please."

She nodded, her throat still raw, her hands still shaking.

She rose to her feet, steadying herself against the arm of the sofa, and knelt beside Yuuta once more. Her fingers found the Aether stone on his forehead, adjusting it slightly, aligning it with the flow of the aura.

Erza watched.

She watched as the red and black tendrils continued to spiral into the stone, as Yuuta’s face relaxed further, as the tension in his body slowly eased. She watched the human girl work, this woman who had tried to kill her, who had fought her at the port, who had every reason to hate her, and she felt something she had not expected.

Gratitude.

Not the cold, transactional gratitude of a queen acknowledging a servant’s service. Something warmer. Something harder to name.

Her man was struggling in the darkness of his own mind, fighting a shadow that wanted to consume him. She could not follow him there. She could not fight his battles for him. All she could do was stand here, in the waking world, and watch.

And hope.

Hope that he was strong enough. Hope that he would find his way back. Hope that the Shadow Entity would not catch him before he reached the light.

The morning light grew brighter.

The city woke outside the windows.

And Erza watched her husband fight for his life in a place she could not reach.

To be Contiuned...

Hey guys, it’s your author here!

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