Ezra’s knuckles collided with Raphael’s jaw, sending him reeling backwards, the bo-staff of light vanishing from his hand like a wave of glimmering rain.

  Not wasting the opportunity, the black-haired boy dove forward, knocking the noble to the ground, not giving him the slightest chance for retaliation as he unleashed a flurry of attacks, aiming to beat him into submission.

  A kick to the ribs, a jab to the throat, and even a palm to the temples that sought to throw him off balance long enough for the clock to run out.

  On the sideline, it had already begun, the ticking time bomb that would signify Raphael’s loss once the numbers stopped moving, reaching rock bottom.

  Inside Aaron’s mind, he counted down the seconds one by one, a slow smile creasing across his face at the prospect of his friend's victory.

  He truly didn’t care who won out of the two; however, if forced to choose, he would’ve picked Ezra, and thus, the soon-to-be outcome did not bother him the least.

  Reclining back in his chair before the timer hit zero, he chuckled lightly while opening his mouth to share his thoughts with Penelope.

  As his lips parted, a sudden rush of adrenaline filled every vein around his body, thick, oozing bloodlust filling the entire arena.

  Jumping up from his seat, he unsheathed his blade out of habit, only for a loud gasp from the crowd to draw his attention.

  Looking down at where the two boys should’ve finished their fight, he now watched in absolute awe as a blade made of liquid sunlight tore through Ezra’s stomach.

  Aaron’s eyes widened in horror, his feet moving before he could process the sight, his hands pounding against the glass as he watched the black-haired boy collapse onto the ground beside Raphael.

  Meanwhile, the perpetrator didn’t even react, only retracting the weapon from the boy’s limp body, allowing the blood to start flooding out.

  Around the world, every bar, house, and temple was silent, the last words over the broadcast ringing through their heads.

  “And Raphael is pinned! The countdown will begin—”

  It had cut off at the most pivotal moment, a painful anticipation gripping the countless listeners as they waited for the results.

  The five-second delay had allowed the broadcast to be paused as the crew members lost themselves in the insanity of the events that followed Ezra’s furious attack.

  Only three seconds after the black-haired boy fell to the ground did a gong ring, at maximum volume, a force so overwhelming that the silent arena shook from its base.

  Cheers, jeers, and even questions spiraled out of control, the medical teams rushing out at full speed to tend to the gravely injured boy.

  In the midst of this chaos, Raphael stood up, wiping the blood off himself with swift yet delicate movements, and began to walk away without even the slightest concern for the impaled victim on the arena floor.

  At the highest place of the grand stadium, Aaron stood frozen in his spot, complexion pale, and blank eyes watching as they carried his closest friend away on a stretcher.

  The only memory that surfaced in that moment was one he had wished to forget, of the day beneath the Cathedral of Dreams in Sea Fallen.

  Eleanor and Adam stood in that dusty underground chamber, stabbing at their own chests in an attempt to end their lives.

  That horrifying sight was the work of the Mausoleaum’s mysterious core controlling them; however, the fear that Aaron had felt as he watched the priestess attempt to end her own life stuck with him.

  Inside his head, a calm voice rang out, hiding a cold undertone that he could not ignore even if he wanted.

  …

  the Sea of Wishes, a certain bedroom was filled with the sound of radio static, a cool wind blowing in from an open window.

  “The news just came in, Raphael von Steinfeste claims victory in the first match of the Hunters’ Exam finale! Fans from all around the world were astonished at his sudden near-fatal strike against challenger Ezra Flock; however, per Alex Lispentine himself, the match result stands regardless of the condition of Javier Flock’s descendant.”

  A thin, pale white finger turned up the broadcast, the owner resting lightly on a mattress made from the feathers of doves.

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  Those very same animals sat on the nearby balcony, leaving behind lost feathers after every visit, and thus providing the material for her bed.

  Over the span of two hundred years, she had raised generation after generation of the birds, and each time, the descendants of the previous flock followed her like she was their mother.

  When one ages at an endless rate, not human, but not quite a spirit, the effects of their existence begin to tear at the world.

  Perhaps, in a sense, she was their mother—to the animals, she certainly looked the part, her own white feathers gleaming with a golden hue.

  As she twisted the nob on the radio even more, the sound of chains echoed throughout the room, her wrists tightly bound with shackles of blackstone.

  As the words of the transmission flowed through her chamber with increased power, she listened intently.

  “To all our viewers across the seas, stay tuned as starting in one hour is the second fight of the night, Akari Ayaka versus Alaric von Steinfeste. Will it be a Steinfeste sweep, or will this young girl make her way to the finals despite all odds? Find out in—”

  She tapped the power button, shutting the device down, and leaned back in her bed, staring at the ceiling.

  Her golden eyes pierced through the darkness while her wings folded over her tight white dress like a blanket.

  Burying herself within the pure softness, she thought quietly to herself about the possibility of making an appearance at the tournament.

  Like those who had harnessed the fullest potential of Dark Magic, she, at the pinnacle of Holy Magic, could open small rifts between two locations and use those to travel to her destination almost instantaneously.

  Of course, limitations existed—it required the user to clearly envision the place they wanted to appear at, and also manipulate the mana in the target region, which was essential for such a spell.

  To the Angel, however, such feats seemednothing but childish, her centuries of practice going beyond that of even the strongest user of darkness in the world.

  The name of that man clung to her thoughts like black tar, the weight of the chains against her soft flesh feeling heavier in that moment.

  Azaroth Pane and the Devil of Greed; two monsters who existed in the realm of near-total mastery of Dark Magic.

  When compared with this woman, however, their talent in the field of the Agathokakological Arts—or Intent Magic, as some had started calling it under the influence of Cauron Thorn’s work—was akin to that of an amateur.

  (Author Note: Agathokakological means composing of both good and evil)

  Yet, that was not why she should have questioned appearing in the Sea of Mystery for the Lispentine Tournament, nor did it contribute to any of her further thoughts on the matter.

  The sole and exclusive reason that the Angel Maria Elaris, Pontiff of the Dimension of Waves, wished to appear in that sea was for the two individuals she had scouted months prior.

  Aaron Grimstall and Eleanor Lynn, each of them critical in restoring the balance of the world—or at least the woman thought of them as such.

  First, the one she had met on a lost isle when following traces of Esme Blair, a boy who was beyond her wildest anticipations.

  At first look, she had felt the gaze of a deity so vast that it threatened to crush her to dust at that very moment.

  She had decided to aid the boy in his efforts, erase his hunger and fatigue with a simple charm, and then vanish to avoid angering the deity.

  However, in that short span, she had detected a separate entity near the coastline watching her every move.

  Aboard a vessel that she could instantly recognize as a Ghostship, there was something that warned her, something that seemed to speak to her.

  That unknown creature had emitted such a strange essence that she couldn’t help the confusion that welled up in her chest as she gazed out into the void, smiling blankly.

  When she had come to her senses, she noticed the boy staring up at her with a puzzled look, and so she tried to quickly cover the slip of her mind with a nod.

  Finishing her inspection of the cabin, she had left his side, hopping from island to island in search of the horned man’s subordinate.

  On the way, however, she had located yet another anomaly, a trafficking vessel carrying a child of the clergy.

  As the Pontiff and as someone who swore to lead people onto the path of light, she could not tolerate such an atrocity and harassment committed at the expense of innocent souls.

  Erasing the men without a word, she noted only one other lifeform aboard the ship, that being a priestess of the Church of Depths.

  Freeing the girl was simple, but deciding what to do about her next had put her in deep thought.

  Yet as she stood on the deck beside the blonde child, she felt that gaze on her nape once again, the presence of a Ghostship igniting her senses.

  At that moment, she had judged that the ship was her best option to quickly get the girl somewhere safe without compromising her own plans.

  Understanding that it would be suicide to teleport directly aboard a Ghostship bearing the lifesigns of two deities, she instead instructed the girl to head there herself.

  After that, she had decided to give up on her search, returning to the Holy Capital, where she pondered over the existence of yet another of the sacred vessels.

  Maria had dived through ancient textbooks left by former Angels in the hopes of finding out which god she had sensed; however, none came to mind.

  In that moment, she had wondered if it was the vessel of the First King himself, yet deep inside, she knew that he had vanished into the fog of the Abyss, never to return again.

  In her eighth year in the Dimension of Waves, she had witnessed the splendor of his Ghostship personally.

  It’s flaming white sails and magnificent ivory hull stuck in her mind, no matter how many eons passed.

  The name, identity, or appearance of the man who wielded it had disappeared from her mind, leaving behind an empty hole as if it had been stolen directly from her skull.

  Therefore, seeing the turquoise sails of Aaron Grimstall’s ship, she had no choice but to admit that the King would not be returning.

  In conclusion, the reasoning that he was contracted with one of the Ascendant Gods stuck in her head, a satisfactory answer she had arrived at after a long time of digging through the historical records.

  Those memories floated blankly in her mind as she lay in her bed inside the now quiet room, waiting whilewatching the moonlight streak across the ceiling.

  Slowly, she opened her mouth to speak, yet no words came out.

  The curse of her chains bound her to absolute silence, a punishment she had lived with for nearly half a century.

  She had forgotten what it felt like to speak, to sing, to shout out in pain.

  Such verbal emotions were foreign to the woman, and therefore, the sound of others speaking towards her felt hollow, empty.

  There was only one time that this had been proven untrue for the woman, a voice that sounded like one of legend.

  Aaron Grimstall’s own tongue spoke in a way that reminded her of a story she had heard in the Great Beyond in the palace of Death.