The Heroine is My Stepsister, and I'm her Final Boss-Chapter 117: Reunion of the Exile

The scent of scorched bark and fading magic hung in the air—an invisible perfume of things undone. Loki sniffed once, his nose twitching as he caught something faint, something acrid like the lingering memory of a long-dead flame.

"...You’ve changed, Aurora," he said, voice low, a mix of nostalgia and veiled caution curling through the words.

No immediate response. Just silence. Aurora hovered down few feet above the balcony’s marble rail, as if gravity had long since ceased applying to her. Her eyes, deep as a midnight ocean, didn’t even blink. She seemed carved from stillness itself.

She knew what he wanted. Knew the weight of those words—the question behind the observation, the ache buried in the humor.

But she didn’t answer. Not yet.

Instead, she let go of his hand. Open palm, fingers relaxed. A gesture so simple, it struck him like a memory.

"Come on," she murmured, "it’s been ages. You must have stories to tell."

Loki landed. The smirk that lived permanently on his lips twitched—but faltered. He could feel the years between them stretch out like a bridge built over fog. Still....

Her skin was warm. Not fire, but something gentler. Familiar.

The air tore past Loki’s ears like a scream. He squinted into the rushing night and laughed, breathless. "Still showing off, I see."

Aurora didn’t answer.

She landed as well. Her feet touched the palace balcony with grace, her long hair drifting down behind her like silk caught in slow wind.

Aurora stepped beside him, her expression unreadable. "You’ve also changed," she said softly.

Loki dragged a hand through his wild hair and rolled his shoulders. "Just lost some weight," he said, though the smirk didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Learned a few spells... carving my body a new.?"

Aurora studied him for a long second. "...hopefully you will tell me about said spell. And In return..."

The book of the damned appeared.

Suddenly silencing him. He looked over the dawning book — glinting off dark pools and razor-thin hedges.

"I didn’t know you were with Atlas too, here we are, living the fantasies we once heard during our bedtime. " he said eventually.

Aurora didn’t look at him. "I’m with his father. I made a promise."

Loki snorted. "Since when do you keep promises?"

"Since someone had to."

There was no venom in her voice. Only the kind of quiet exhaustion that came from holding a world together for too long.

He turned to face her. "Where’s the slayer? The girl who broke ten dungeons solo, who made kings piss themselves and mages call her ’Nightmare’?"

Aurora gave a dry laugh. "She’s buried somewhere under this paperwork and these wards." She gestured at the shimmering runes etched along the walls.

Loki shook his head, chuckling. "You can’t just walk away from legend. The Adventurers’ Guild practically invented the Slayer rank because of you."

She tilted her head slightly. "Legends are heavy," she whispered. "Heavier than armor."

The wind had died down.

A hush had fallen over the city below, as if the dome itself was holding its breath.

Up on the balcony, Loki leaned against the railing, a flask in one hand, stolen from some unfortunate soldier’s pack. The afternoon shade caught the bottle’s rim and made it gleam like a tear that hadn’t fallen yet.

Aurora stood a few feet away, arms crossed, face tilted skyward, as if hoping the stars might explain themselves.

They didn’t.

Instead, the silence stretched—until Loki broke it.

"...Remember when we used to get drunk under the roots of the World Tree?"

Aurora didn’t turn. "We were reckless."

"We were free," he corrected. "Drunk off nectar, laughing about end-of-days myths while the forest tried to murder us."

Aurora gave a small smile. "You cried once. When I told you about the Guide."

"I did not cry."

"You wept like a drunk bard during harvest moon."

Loki scoffed, but his grin cracked open something darker. "Yeah, well. You were terrifying with your storytelling. ’A man with no face, born of the sky and sea, carrying a book stitched in sins.’ That’s a bedtime story for therapy sessions."

Aurora turned now, her expression unreadable. "The Guide."

He nodded slowly, eyes drifting toward the city dome. "And the Book of the Damned."

They both fell silent.

Because the laughter was gone now.

Because the myth was real now.

Aurora whispered, "He was supposed to come twice. Once as the Harbinger. Once as the Catalyst."

"And the second coming brings the end of time," Loki added, voice quiet. "We used to make fun of that. You called him the ’Banished Librarian.’"

"You said he smelled like unwashed parchment."

They both chuckled—softly, hollowly.

Then Aurora’s voice lowered. "You remember what Merlin said about the Book?"

Loki’s eyes flickered. "That it was older than gods. That it precedes magic."

"He said only a fragment ever surfaced during the Age of Bloom," Aurora said. "And that it turned an entire continent into a mausoleum overnight."

Loki took a slow sip from the flask, the liquid burning all the way down. "And now you’ve got it."

Aurora said nothing.

The wind stirred.

The book—floating near her shoulder, half-wrapped in protective veils of mana—twitched once, as if acknowledging them.

Loki watched it warily. "And how long until it writes back?"

Aurora’s throat bobbed. "It already has."

Loki’s fingers tightened around the flask.

She looked at him. "The Guide isn’t coming, Loki. He’s already here."

Silence.

He didn’t ask who. He wasn’t that naïve.

Instead, he whispered, "So it is Atlas...."

Aurora nodded, just once. "The Book responds to him. Reacts like it knows its master’s scent."

Loki leaned forward, resting his elbows on the stone ledge. "...That’s bad."

Aurora’s voice was a whisper caught in wind. "That’s worse than bad."

He laughed—a sharp bark of disbelief. "Gods. I still remember the night we read the last stanza of the prophecy aloud and dared each other to piss on the shrine."

"You actually did."

"You dared me."

"And now?" Aurora asked.

Loki’s eyes were distant. "Now I think I should’ve prayed instead."

A long pause.

Aurora’s gaze dropped to her hands, as if expecting them to change. "Do you remember what the final line said?"

Loki closed his eyes.

He didn’t want to.

But he did.

"When the Guide meets the Flame-Crowned Exile, the sky shall break, and time shall weep."

His voice cracked at the end. Aurora didn’t speak. She didn’t have to.

They were here.

He, the exile.

Atlas, the Guide.

And the Book... the Book awake.

All the pieces had moved. The board was set. frёewebηovel.cѳm

"...I used to think fate was just another leash," Loki said quietly. "But this... this feels like it’s breathing down my neck."

Aurora moved beside him, her shoulder brushing his. "Maybe it is."

Loki turned his head. "I have come with curiosity to see if he was really the man who the old man waited for. Who we waited for... ?"

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she looked at the floating book—and then at the barrier above the capital, now flickering faintly at the edges.

"...still avoiding reality?" she murmured. "Just accept it, you’re not just here because of your curiosity....."

"...you know me very well..." Loki muttered.

Aurora nodded. "Or that."

Silence stretched between them. Not awkward—but old. A silence that remembered too much. He never in his life thought if he would ever encounter her. And Aurora on the other hand was waiting. Not for old memories, not for history to repeat itself but. The final dawn. Where the prophesied titan would destroy the world and bring upon the wrath of the sun.

The sourc𝗲 of this content is fre(e)novelkiss