Zephyr's golden eyes flickered toward Aman—just for an instant—taking in the unnatural shift in the young man's gaze. Slate gray irises now pulsed with veins of dark blue, like storm clouds swallowing moonlight.
The world fractured around him as he reappeared mid-lunge, his saber carving a silver arc toward the spectral warden's crown—its only visible weak point.
The blade passed through empty air.
Zephyr didn't hesitate. He'd known it wouldn't connect.
This creature—Dreambinder or also known as Spectral Warden—existed between realms, untouchable by physical or aura-based attacks. That was why, despite cutting down it and its countless phantoms, he'd been unable to land a single strike on the true enemy.
He reappeared behind the warden, boots skimming the obsidian ground as he feinted left. The warden's hollow eyes tracked him effortlessly, staff already crackling with violet energy.
Aman's voice cracked across the battlefield.
Zephyr's muscles tensed, instincts screaming to act—but he forced himself to still. To wait.
His fingers tightened around the saber's hilt, tendons standing stark against his skin. One breath. Two. If this failed, he'd have to risk his trump card, consequences be damned. He was running on fumes—three, maybe four portals left before his energy gave out completely.
Dark blue flames erupted from the warden's ribcage, bursting outward like a star going supernova. The spectral creature screamed, a sound that scraped against the mind rather than the ears, its skeletal form thrashing as the unnatural fire consumed it.
Zephyr's gaze flicked to Aman—only for a fraction of a second, but it was enough.
The young man stood rigid, his left eye blazing with the same dark blue fire, wisps of it curling from his lashes like smoke. His expression was locked in concentration, jaw clenched, fingers twitching as if holding the flames in place by sheer will.
So that's his ability.
Zephyr didn't hesitate.
The warden was already crumbling, its form flickering between solid and spectral as the flames tore through its essence. But in battle, hesitation was death.
His saber moved faster than thought.
A dozen silver-blue cuts flashed through the air, each one precise, lethal—slicing through the warden's neck, its wrists, its spine, the joints of its legs. The crimson crown, now dim and flickering, was plucked from the air before it could hit the ground.
The warden's body hung suspended for a single, grotesque moment—
—then shattered into a dozes of glowing particles.
The dark blue fire flared one last time, reducing the remnants to ash before vanishing entirely.
A deep, shuddering crack echoed through the nightmare realm. The obsidian ground beneath them splintered, the red aura at the edges of the world peeling away like burning parchment.
The Phantom Heart was dying.
And this prison of illusions was coming apart at the seams.
Zephyr turned, crown in hand, eyes locking onto Aman who was clutching his closed left eye.
Aman gave a weak nod, his left eye still clenched shut as blood seeped between his fingers.
Must be because of his ability.
Zephyr didn't wait—he seized the younger man's arm and hauled him toward the rift he'd torn open.
The portal swallowed them whole, spitting them out at the battlefield's center where a pulsing red exit swirled. Without pause, Zephyr dragged them both through—
—and reality snapped back into place.
Cool night air. The scent of trampled grass. The faint moonlight.
They stood once more on the academy grounds.
Behind them, the remnants of the Phantom Prison collapsed in on itself—the violet threads fraying, the oppressive weight of the illusion lifting like a fog burned away by dawn. The Resonant Relic, crimson crown remained in his palms.
Zephyr tilted his head skyward, watching as the last traces of the phantom barrier dissolved. His eyes narrowed.
Just what caused this...?
The precision of the attack, the timing—it reeked of orchestration.
It couldn't be... 'them'... right?
But if Virion had been occupied—if even the primordial serpent couldn't intervene directly—then the scale of this threat was beyond mere academy mischief.
If it is really them... how did they find us so quickly?
A low groan snapped his attention back to the present. Aman swayed on his feet, his breathing ragged but his eyes now fully returned to normal. Zephyr caught him before he could collapse, his grip firm but impersonal.
The young man had been the linchpin. Without his flames, the warden would've remained untouchable. Without his intervention, the prison would've consumed every mind trapped within it.
Zephyr's gaze dropped to the Resonant Relic at his hands—proof of their victory, and perhaps a clue to their enemies.
Perhaps, no, certainly he's the biggest contributor for solving the crisis.
And perhaps, he thought grimly, the one who'd drawn the most dangerous kind of attention.
'They' won't let interesting subjects easily go unnoticed after all.
The thought coiled through Zephyr's mind like smoke as he studied Aman's slumped form.
The boy had potential—dangerous potential. The kind that drew eyes. His ability—those dark blue flames that burned the intangible—was precisely the kind of anomaly They would covet.
But there was one consolation.
But Virion had already marked him. That feather blessing wasn't just protection—it was a claim. And while "They" might be bold enough to orchestrate this Phantom Prison scheme, even they wouldn't dare cross the primordial serpent directly. And he wasn't affiliated with them like himself or Luna - which means Virion would be free to act.
They wouldn't dare take Luna either...
His grip tightened around the Resonant Relic.
He still needed confirmation. He needed to see her with his own eyes.
With the last dregs of his energy, Zephyr slashed open a final portal, dragging Aman through.
They emerged beside the makeshift recovery area where Luna and Princess Sara lay unconscious, carefully arranged on plush chairs by some thoughtful soul.
Luna's chest rose and fell evenly, her sharp features softened in sleep. No wounds. No lingering traces of illusion. The sight loosened something in Zephyr's chest, and before he could stop it—
His lips curled up into a gentle, relieved smile.
"So you can smile after all."
Zephyr's gaze snapped to Aman.
The young man leaned against a nearby table, using the tattered remains of his shirt to wipe blood from his arms. The fabric was more hole than cloth, barely clinging to his shoulders.
When their eyes met, Aman offered an awkward grin.
"Umm... Do you happen to have an extra shirt?"