Even in victory, the weight of the unknown lingers, for not all battles end when the fighting stops.
Unknown:
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Uzrul looked back at the cube, her father slumped in defeat, and Amel standing tall, victorious.
For once, she found herself without a snarky comeback. All she could do was watch, her thoughts swirling. Who is this man?
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After his crushing defeat, the mighty frost giant Ymir dropped to one knee, his immense figure suddenly burdened by a rare and raw vulnerability.
His voice, once a thunderous roar that could shake mountains, now carried an uncharacteristic edge of desperation. "Please," he said, his glowing eyes locking onto Amel's with a pleading intensity. "Heal my wife."
Amel stood silently, his expression unreadable, his gaze steady.
For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath, as if even time itself paused to await his response. Then, with a single, solemn nod, Amel agreed.
Reality shifted around them, bending as though the universe itself acknowledged the weight of Ymir's plea.
Moments ago, they had stood amidst the snow-laden ruins of Britannia, where icy winds screamed and the earth lay frozen beneath a blanket of frost.
Now, they found themselves in a secluded chamber, hidden deep within the remnants of the royal castle.
The room was warm—peculiarly so, given the castle's desolation. No fire danced in hearths, no sunlight pierced the cracks in the walls, and yet the air carried a gentle warmth, as though an unseen force enveloped the space in a protective embrace.
Despite its dilapidated state, the chamber exuded reverence.
Cracks ran like veins through the ancient stone walls, and tattered tapestries clung to their final threads, their once-vivid depictions of forgotten heroes and mythical creatures faded into muted shades of history.
The floor, adorned with an intricate network of swirling carvings, seemed alive.
The patterns pulsed faintly, whispering secrets of an ancient power long dormant, waiting for this moment to awaken.
At the center of the chamber stood a stone table, its surface worn smooth by time's passage. Resting atop it was a woman.
Her golden-yellow hair spilled over the edges of the table, cascading like molten sunlight.
Her face, impossibly tranquil, appeared sculpted from marble, each feature delicate yet brimming with quiet strength.
She wore a white dress that clung to her form, its fabric impossibly pure, as though untouched by the decay surrounding her.
She did not stir, her stillness giving the illusion of death. Yet the faint, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest revealed the fragile thread of life that still tethered her to this world.
The air around her was sweet and fragrant, as if the room itself bloomed in defiance of the castle's ruin.
A faint, floral aroma filled the space, ethereal and out of place amidst the decay, like a fleeting echo of spring in a world long turned to winter.
Amel's voice broke the heavy silence, his words measured but laced with an unease he couldn't quite conceal.
"So, this is her." His gaze lingered on the woman, his sharp eyes scanning her with unnerving precision, as though sensing something fundamentally wrong with her existence.
Ymir, now in his human form, nodded solemnly.
The towering frost giant seemed diminished, his formidable presence weighed down by an anguish too immense to articulate.
His broad shoulders slumped, and his usually steady gaze was clouded with guilt and despair. "It is," he replied, his voice unsteady, trembling beneath the weight of his words.
Amel shifted his focus to Ymir, his expression unreadable. "Before I start, I need the short version. What happened to her?"
Ymir hesitated, his jaw tightening as he wrestled with the memories.
His voice, when it finally emerged, was barely above a whisper, each word clawing its way out. "It was… just a normal day," he began, his tone hollow, as though recounting the story drained the life from him.
"We were attacked by a man. He came out of nowhere and demanded I join his cause. When I refused…" He paused, his hands curling into fists, the tension in his body palpable.
His knuckles turned white, and his chest heaved with barely suppressed fury. "He cursed her," Ymir said at last, his voice cracking under the strain of his confession. "That's why we're here. That's why I need your help."
Amel's piercing gaze lingered on Ymir for what felt like an eternity. Then, with a sharp nod, he replied, "I'll take your story for now." His tone was firm, devoid of sympathy but carrying the weight of a promise. "But I'll need the full details later."
"Fine," Ymir said through gritted teeth, his voice taut with raw emotion. He knew there would be a cost to Amel's aid, but he didn't care. The only thing that mattered was her.
Amel stepped closer to the stone table, his boots tapping softly against the fractured floor.
The sound seemed to echo, amplifying the tension that hung thick in the air.
Yuno followed silently, her pink eyes darting between the woman's serene face and the intricate patterns carved into the ground.
Ymir and Uzrul trailed behind, the weight of their combined tension pressing down on the chamber like a tangible force.
Reaching the table, Amel stood over the woman's still form.
Slowly, deliberately, he raised his hand, holding it just above her chest.
A soft white light began to emanate from his palm, its gentle glow casting an ethereal illumination over her tranquil face.
His eyes narrowed as the light flickered, an unnatural stutter that sent a ripple of unease through the room.
It wasn't a normal reaction—it felt as if something was pushing back, resisting his touch.
"What the—" Amel's words faltered mid-sentence, his expression twisting in shock.
"What's wrong?" Uzrul blurted out, her voice sharp with worry as she instinctively stepped closer, her own unease mounting.
Her wide eyes darted between Amel's hand and the woman on the table, as though willing an answer into existence.
Amel's brow furrowed, his jaw tightening as he focused on the glowing light in his palm. "Something… something's blocking me," he said, his voice low but laced with tension.
"This isn't a simple curse. There's… something else. Something alive."
Hearing Amel's words, Ymir's glowing eyes narrowed.
That explained why his own healing spells had failed so miserably. The anomaly within his wife's body was beyond his comprehension, a force he couldn't counteract.
Before he could voice his thoughts, however, Amel let out a long sigh, breaking the suffocating silence.
"Her codex of origin is being forcefully rewritten," Amel muttered, his tone a mix of frustration and disbelief.
Uzrul blinked, her orange eyes narrowing in confusion. "Codex? What does that even mean?"
"Don't worry about it," Amel replied, his tone calm yet firm, carrying the weight of authority.
He turned to Uzrul and, in a rare gesture of reassurance, placed a hand on her head, ruffling her vibrant orange hair. "Just know this—there are things in this world that even I don't fully understand."
Uzrul froze at his touch, feeling an inexplicable sense of relief wash over her. It unsettled her deeply. Comfort was something she was used to feeling only from her father or mother, not from a near-stranger like Amel.
Yuno, who had remained silent until now, stood with her arms crossed, her pink eyes fixed on the woman lying on the stone table.
Her expression was unreadable, but the faint tension in her posture betrayed her unease.
Jealousy flickered faintly in her gaze, though she buried it beneath a stoic exterior, unwilling to let anyone notice.
Ymir, however, couldn't contain himself any longer. His towering frame trembled under the weight of his emotions as he barked, "Can you help her or not?"
His voice cracked, desperation bleeding through his typically unshakable demeanor. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, the veins in his arms bulging with suppressed rage and fear.
Amel met Ymir's gaze with unwavering confidence. The room seemed to hold its breath, the air thick with tension. "I can," he said simply.
A beat of silence passed before Amel raised his hand and pointed directly at Yuno.
Yuno stiffened, her pink eyes widening in shock. "Me?" she blurted out, her voice betraying a rare note of vulnerability. Did he figure it out?
"Yes," Amel replied matter-of-factly, his gaze steady. "Because the same thing was done to you. Though the circumstances were slightly different."
Yuno's body went rigid, her pink hair catching the faint glow of light in the room. "You never told me that," she said softly, her voice carrying a sharp edge of betrayal.
Was she imagining things about being caught?
"There was no need to tell you before," Amel said without apology, his tone as unyielding as stone. "But now there is. If I could save you, then I can save her."
Yuno's lips pressed into a thin line. Her gaze darted between Amel and the woman on the table, her silence laden with unspoken questions and emotions she wasn't ready to confront.
Amel returned his focus to the woman, his hand hovering over her abdomen.
The white light radiating from his palm flared brighter, its intensity nearly blinding as it bathed the chamber in an ethereal glow.
Without hesitation, he thrust his hand downward, the light enveloping his arm as it pierced through her body like a blade of pure energy.
A piercing scream tore through the chamber, raw and unearthly, as the woman's body arched violently.
Her golden hair fanned out as though caught in the grip of a tempest, the strands shimmering in the ethereal glow that filled the room.
The sound wasn't just pain—it was something deeper, something primal, as if the very essence of her being were resisting annihilation.
"What are you doing to her?!" Ymir roared, his voice reverberating through the chamber like a thunderclap.
He surged forward, his fists trembling with suppressed fury, the glow of his eyes blazing brighter.
Uzrul instinctively moved to follow, panic etched across her youthful face, but Yuno's hand shot out, gripping their arms with unrelenting force.
Her tone, sharper than steel, cut through their panic. "Don't," she commanded, her pink eyes flashing with a rare seriousness. "Trust him. He won't harm her—unless you provoke him."
Ymir hesitated, his jaw clenched so tightly it seemed he might shatter his own teeth.
His glowing eyes flickered with the fire of barely contained rage, but after a moment, he nodded stiffly, forcing himself to stay rooted in place.
Amel worked in silence, his focus unshaken, his expression as hard and cold as iron.
This wasn't ordinary healing—it was something far beyond the comprehension of even those steeped in magic.
He wasn't simply eradicating the curse; he was dismantling it, altering its core, and weaving it into something entirely new.
The codex—a shimmering matrix of golden and black threads visible only to him—shifted and writhed beneath his touch, alive and defiant.
Each thread was a fragment of her existence, and with every move, Amel walked the razor's edge. One wrong step could unravel her completely.
One Hour Passed. The woman's original codex had been meticulously dismantled, each fragment separated with surgical precision. Amel was preparing her essence for the next step—the merging.
Two Hours Passed. Light pulsed from Amel's hands, enveloping the woman's fragile body as he channeled healing energy to keep her from collapsing under the immense strain. He worked tirelessly, isolating the curse within her codex. It was no ordinary spell; it was a virus—an intelligent, malignant construct. Amel dissected it, piece by piece, reshaping its twisted essence into something functional yet benign.
Three Hours Passed. The merging began. Amel carefully forged connections between her original codex and the modified fragments of the curse. Each fusion brought agony, and the woman's cries pierced the chamber like shards of glass. Her voice warped, shifting between guttural hisses and otherworldly tones. She spoke in languages long dead and alien tongues that felt like an assault on the ears.
Four Hours Passed. The air in the chamber grew dense, oppressive. Each scream from the woman was a blade that sliced through her companions' composure. Ymir gripped the edge of the stone table so tightly that his knuckles turned white, while Uzrul clutched Yuno's arm, her snowy face ghostly pale.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Amel staggered back, his hand trembling as the radiant glow around it dimmed and vanished.
His breathing was ragged, sweat dripping from his face and soaking his clothes. He looked utterly drained, as if he had poured every ounce of his being into the act.
The woman's screams ceased abruptly. Her body slumped onto the table, her golden hair pooling around her like liquid sunlight.
Motionless, she seemed lifeless at first, but the gentle rise and fall of her chest betrayed the truth.
Her breathing was steady now, her face serene, as though she were lost in the deepest, most tranquil of sleeps.
"It's done," Amel said, his voice hoarse and barely above a whisper.
The room fell into a profound silence, heavy with the weight of what had just transpired.
Only the faint hum of residual energy lingered, dissipating into the ether like the last echoes of a storm.
Ymir and Uzrul rushed forward, their faces a mix of hope and desperation, eyes locked on the woman lying motionless on the stone table.
"Will she be okay?" Ymir's voice trembled, betraying the fear that still lingered in his heart.
"She will," Amel replied, his tone steady but weighed down with exhaustion.
His shoulders sagged slightly, the toll of his efforts evident in the faint tremor of his hands. "But she'll need time to recover."
Yuno silently released her grip on Ymir and Uzrul, stepping back to give them space. Her pink eyes remained watchful, darting between the woman and Amel, her expression unreadable.
Uzrul's voice broke the fragile silence, soft and trembling. "Mother…" She reached out, her small hand brushing against her mother's cheek with the gentleness of a whisper.
The touch seemed to anchor her, a fleeting connection to the life she feared had been lost.
For a moment, the room was suspended in stillness, save for the steady rhythm of the woman's breathing.
The golden light that had once enveloped her had dimmed, its remnants lingering faintly in the intricate carvings of the ancient floor.
The air felt heavy yet reverent, as though the chamber itself recognized the significance of what had just transpired.
Yuno's gaze flickered toward Amel, her pink eyes softening with unspoken gratitude. Yet behind the warmth lay a spark of curiosity—a silent question she didn't dare voice.
Amel stood a few steps away, his eyes fixed on the woman's serene face.
His outward calm was betrayed by the slight tremble in his fingers, a lingering effect of the immense energy he had poured into saving her. And yet, his thoughts churned uneasily.
Something wasn't right.
The warmth in the room, once comforting, now felt strange—almost sentient.
It seemed to press against his skin, a subtle yet undeniable presence. The air itself carried a faint hum, a vibration too low to be heard but somehow felt.
It was as if the room, the moment, and even the woman herself were observing them, silent and waiting.
Amel's expression tightened, but he said nothing. Not yet. For now, he let the fragile peace linger, though his instincts warned him this was far from over.
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