The Game's Extra: Azhriel Odyssey-Chapter 38: The Tears.

The silence in the narrow alley shattered with Raymond’s calm, steady voice.

"You have one chance. Surrender... and you’ll be fine, however..." He left the rest unsaid, letting the weight of his gaze finish the sentence for him.

But the thief wasn’t listening. "You brat, who do you think you are?!" he barked, raising his axe with a furious shout and charged blindly at Raymond.

Raymond let out a tired sigh. "And that’s why you’re just a thief." He spoke.

As the axe came swinging toward his head, he didn’t flinch. He waited till the last moment, then he simply stepped to the side, his body tilting just enough.

The dull blade whooshed past him harmlessly. At the same time, he lifted the tip of his boot—just enough to catch the man’s foot.

"Gruk—!"

The thief stumbled forward with a surprised grunt, tripping and slamming into the dirt with a thud. His weapon clattered beside him.

On the other side, Samuel didn’t give his opponent even that much of a chance. As the other thief lunged at him with a rusted sword, Samuel ducked low, sidestepped, and drove his fist upward in a clean arc.

Crack!

His punch connected squarely with the thief’s jaw. The man’s eyes rolled back as he collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut, unconscious before he even hit the ground.

"Amateurs," Samuel muttered, brushing dust from his knuckles.

Samuel glanced sideways, just in time to see Raymond crouch and deliver a swift, precise chop to the back of the fallen thief’s neck—clean, controlled, and enough to knock the man out cold without causing lasting harm.

"Too soft," Samuel muttered with a smirk, adjusting his spear over his back.

Raymond stood, as he dusted off his hands, and gave a half-shrug, unfazed by the jab. He didn’t bother to argue—his actions spoke for themselves.

Soon after handing the thieves over to the city security, Raymond and Samuel made their way back through the winding streets, eventually arriving at the open plaza where they had first split off.

"Ah, there they are," a soft, clear voice called out.

Chloe Warrens stood beneath the shade of a merchant awning, her pale blonde hair glowing under the afternoon sun, the strands gently swaying in the breeze like ripened wheat in a summer field.

Her eyes—warm brown with a swirl of soft cream—lit up as she saw them approach, reflecting a mixture of calm intellect and quiet curiosity.

"Took them long enough," said another voice, this one a bit sharper.

Alicia Burns crossed her arms, a slight huff escaping her lips. Her hair, a fiery blend of orange and red, looked as though it had been forged in flame itself.

Her matching eyes sparkled with heat, always ready to flare at a moment’s notice.

"I told you they’d handle it," said a boy standing beside the two girls, speaking toward the older woman seated behind them. His tone was light, confident.

Kevin Hearts.

His red hair fell lazily across his forehead, while his sapphire colored eyes shimmered with a laid-back ease.

The corners of his mouth curled up in a knowing grin, as if nothing in the world could surprise him anymore.

Raymond and Samuel walked up to the group, their steps light.

Raymond gently handed the brown purse back to the old woman, who clasped it with trembling hands and bowed in gratitude, her voice cracking with relief as she thanked them again and again before slowly walking away.

With the matter resolved, the group barely had time to exchange glances before a cold, measured voice broke the momentary stillness.

"That’s done. Let’s move to the next location."

The voice was devoid of emotion, and yet it demanded attention.

Everyone’s gaze shifted.

Elizabeth.

She stood a little apart from the others, her posture straight, her expression unreadable.

There wasn’t a flicker of emotion on her face—only a distant look in her eyes, as if her thoughts were far away from the dusty streets and midday sun.

Her hair, a cascade of shimmering azure, caught the wind, glowing faintly like lightning in a storm. Every strand seemed alive, almost ethereal.

She was a vision—striking, cold, otherworldly. A beauty carved from moonlight and storm, that could take anyone’s breath away just from looking.

She didn’t wait for them.

Without a word, Elizabeth turned and began walking, her steps light and swift, the heels of her boots barely making a sound on the stone path.

The others exchanged brief looks before following. It was Kevin who leaned closer to Raymond, nudging him in the ribs with a mischievous frown.

"Dude," he whispered, "do you also think she’s a machine?"

Raymond arched a brow. "What?"

"I mean, seriously—just look at her. Not one twitch. Not a blink. I’ve never seen anyone that expressionless. She’s like a walking ice sculpture."

Raymond sighed. "Stop talking nonsense and just follow her."

Kevin chuckled quietly but did as told. The group moved along, weaving through the busy streets of the academy city—past stalls of enchanted trinkets, towering buildings laced with runes, and the distant hum of floating platforms soaring overhead.

Laughter and chatter filled the air, the scent of roasted mana-fruits and spice drifting on the breeze.

Just like that they remained oblivious to the changing world outside.

*****

The Duchess stood in silence as the scene in front of her shifted, her body still and frail, yet her eyes shone like twin suns—piercing beyond time.

Before her, the fabric of destiny unfolded.

Countless threads shimmered in the air like strands of starlight. Each pulsed with life—some glowing brightly, others flickering as if struggling to survive. They twisted and danced, stretched far into the unknown.

But her gaze fixed upon only one.

A single thread—crimson and gold—vibrant, proud, radiant. It pulsed like a heartbeat, one she had followed again and again in the visions that plagued her fate-ridden soul. She watched, lips tight, hoping—desperately—that this time would be different.

But once more, the thread dimmed.

It began to twist, twitch, and rot—its brilliance bleeding into black and red, stained by pain and despair. A path she had seen too many times. A fate she had tried to rewrite again and again.

Until—

A new thread appeared.

It snaked in from beyond the web of fate, bluish-white at one end, dark blue and galaxy-purple at the other.

Mysterious.

Vast.

A thread like no other. It wrapped itself around the failing crimson-gold strand—softly, gently—and began to change its course.

The blackness paused.

The decay halted. The crimson brightened.

Her breath hitched.

And suddenly—agony.

A searing pain bloomed across her chest. Her head pounded like thunderclaps. Her body twisted, writhing in a torment only she could feel. Her voice caught in her throat, a scream trapped behind clenched teeth.

Time itself resisted.

For this was not meant to happen. This was an anomaly—an exception to everything that had been written.

But even through the pain, she smiled.

Because for the first time... the future had changed. ƒreewebɳovel.com

She reached into the storm of time, her fading soul brushing the strands of destiny, as she tapped into the changing future

And there—in the farthest future—she saw them.

Three threads blazed at the edge of the world.

The first was golden, radiant beyond measure, like the light of a rising sun that refused to bow before darkness.

The second was void-black, deep and absolute, its presence silent but unshakable—as if it carried the weight of countless forgotten eons.

And the third... the same one she had seen before—bluish-white, streaked with nebulae of purple and silver, a cosmos within itself. It pulsed with quiet defiance, balanced between light and dark.

Together, the three stood at the helm, guardians of all.

Before them laid an abyss.

A mass of threads darker than anything fate had ever shown to her, writhing, shifting—unknowable. Even her Seir’s sight, born to glimpse the deepest secrets of destiny, could not pierce the veil around them.

Then they clashed.

The three lights surged against the void—and in that instant, the vision broke

A pain more final than any vision seized her chest, stealing her breath. The weight of futures, of timelines, of the burdens she had carried for so long... finally fell away.

As the Seir of Fate took her last breath, her final thought was not of despair—but of wonder.

’Oh, my dear friend... just what have you given birth to?’

Her lips curved into a soft smile.

’Well, at least... my babygirl will be safe.’

And then, silence.

That day, the capital cried.

The sky wept with golden rain, the winds hushed as if mourning, and even the flames in the hearths of Crimsons dimmed.

Soon All Of Etherias knew...

The Seer had fallen.

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----------Volume 1- The Tears Gifted By Fate (Prologue)--------+

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