In a world teetering on the edge of ruin, where past and present collide, only one truth remains—some battles are fought with swords, others with sheer, unrelenting stupidity.
Unknown:
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Yuno turned bright red. "We do not flirt!"
Uzrul took a slow sip of her tea. "Mhm."
Amel, momentarily stunned, quickly recovered with a grin. "So you admit we have chemistry."
Uzrul gave him a look that could melt steel.
Yuno sputtered, her glare sharp enough to cut through stone. "Shut up!"
"Oh, come on," Amel teased, leaning back with a smirk. "It's okay to have feelings, Yuno. You don't have to hide it."
Yuno looked like she was about to set him on fire. Her fingers twitched, and her pink eyes flared ominously, the fire symbols within them burning brighter as if she were actively debating the best way to roast him alive.
Uzrul, watching them spiral into yet another argument, sighed heavily. "Exactly my point."
She leaned back in her chair, shaking her head as she muttered under her breath, "Morons."
As Amel and Yuno continued their increasingly heated not-flirting-but-definitely-flirting debate, the golems resumed their work, the courtyard settling into its usual quiet—except for the two bickering idiots shattering the peace.
Uzrul took another slow, deliberate sip of her tea. It was going to be a long hour.
Where the hell was her father?
Was he off fucking too?
She was just about to close her eyes and tell them both to fuck off when she heard something she never expected.
"I think she's jealous."
"Yep, I think so too," Yuno agreed.
Uzrul's eye twitched.
What the fuck are they even talking about?
"Look, look, she's ignoring us now," Amel chimed in.
"She must have quite a tragic backstory," Yuno added, nodding solemnly.
Uzrul's eye twitched. These little shits.
"You fucking bast—"
She caught herself just in time, every muscle in her body tensing as her gaze snapped forward.
Standing before her, looking directly at her, were her mother and father.
Shit.
She knew—knew—that if she lost her temper now, her mother might just snap and smack her on the bum right in front of Amel. And that was not happening.
So, with an immense force of will, she clamped her mouth shut, swallowing every single insult she wanted to hurl at the two insufferable idiots beside her.
Meanwhile, Amel, utterly unbothered as always, had the audacity to speak first.
"Welcome, Ymir, Eryndel. Come, sit down and have some tea."
The absolute fucker didn't even use an honorific.
Uzrul resisted the urge to slam her face against the table. This was going to be a long conversation.
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After some time, both parties were seated at the worn stone table.
The scraping of snow had ceased—there was nothing left to clear. The snowfall had finally relented, leaving behind a frozen, eerie stillness.
Ymir, Eryndel, and Uzrul sat on one side of the table, while Yuno and Amel occupied the other. The tension in the air was thick enough to choke on as the two groups faced each other.
Eryndel was the first to break the silence, her voice composed and regal.
"Thank you for saving me, Sir Amel."
She spoke with the practiced poise of nobility, every syllable deliberate, every word carrying weight.
Amel, ever the smooth bastard, waved a hand dismissively. "Do not mention it. After all, are we not already one big, happy family?"
He shot a glance toward Uzrul, who simply snorted.
She would not be so easily swayed this time.
Seeing that his tactic had failed, Amel clicked his tongue. "Tsk. She's growing up."
"But alas, how about I introduce myself once more?" He placed his cup down and straightened, his entire demeanor shifting dramatically.
"Are you sure?" Yuno asked first. "Didn't you already introduce yourself earlier?"
"Ah, yes, but don't worry about it," Amel replied breezily.
"I would be honored," Eryndel said.
"See? She doesn't mind," Amel pointed out, flashing a smug grin.
Yuno sighed. "Fine, then. Do it."
"Thanks."
Amel straightened his back as a mask appeared in his hand—out of nowhere. Then, with a theatrical flourish, he began:
"Ah, at last! An audacious apparition appears—an arbiter and adversary alike, an agent of anarchy against autocracy. This aspect, no aimless adornment of arrogance, is an artifact of the abandoned, an anthem for the afflicted, an answer to anguish. Yet, this ardent avenger, awakened by affliction, aspires to abolish the abhorrent and abominable architects of atrocity who assault autonomy with aggression and avarice!"
With a flick of his wrist, he produced a knife, its gleaming edge catching the candlelight.
"The only answer is atonement—an accord, an allegiance, not an aberration—for its authenticity and ardor shall one day affirm the ascendant and the assured."
Then, he laughed—a rich, melodious sound that carried through the garden.
"Alas, this avalanche of articulation approaches absurdity, so allow me to amend—It is an absolute honor to meet you, and you may address me as Amel Latem."
Silence followed.
Then, Yuno started clapping. Enthusiastically.
The other three stared, momentarily astounded.
Why was she clapping? Even she wasn't sure, but gods, she was enjoying every moment of that ridiculous performance.
"Are you perhaps a crazy person?" Ymir finally asked, one brow arched.
"Aren't we all?" Amel retorted smoothly.
And just like that, laughter rippled through the table—a shared understanding, an unspoken acknowledgment of their collective madness.
All except Uzrul.
She just stared.
"Why are you all laughing?" she demanded, visibly unamused.
"Nothing, daughter, don't worry about it," Ymir said with a dismissive wave.
Uzrul huffed, sticking her tongue out at everyone before crossing her arms. They were all insufferable.
Amel, finally composing himself, leaned forward. "I hope you enjoyed my performance." Then, his expression sobered. "But as much as I'd love to keep this lighthearted, we have more pressing matters to discuss."
The atmosphere shifted.
Ymir nodded, glancing at his wife before turning back to Amel. "I suppose it's time."
Ymir tilted his head. "You know how this kingdom came to ruins?"
"Nope. No clue."
"Because I destroyed it."
Amel raised an eyebrow. "And why is that?"
"Because I was a prisoner here," Ymir said evenly. "Locked away in the lowest dungeon of this godforsaken country." His voice darkened. "How I ended up there… that's not something you want to know."
"Yeah, no, I really don't," Amel admitted. "But what I do want to know is—who was the man that cursed your wife?"
Ymir exhaled, shaking his head. "I don't know, to be honest. What I do know is that when the seal around me loosened and I opened the dungeon gates, the kingdom was already in chaos. But not because of an external enemy—the people were fighting among themselves, as if possessed."
His gaze flickered to Eryndel, his hand reaching for hers. Their fingers intertwined in a silent exchange of understanding.
"That's when I met my now-wife, Eryndel," Ymir continued. "She was the queen of this country, trapped in the throne room."
Amel turned his attention to her, offering a small nod. "And your name, Your Majesty? If you don't mind me asking."
"Eryndel Netherheart," she replied with a gentle smile. "And no, I don't mind at all."
Ymir resumed, his voice quieter now.
"When I found her… she was dying. Bleeding out on the floor."
"But I managed to save her."
"After that, I had to kill everyone in this country. By the time I stopped, the entire land was buried in snow."
Uzrul, more astonished than anything, interrupted. "I never knew that."
Eryndel's voice was soft but firm. "We didn't want to burden you with our past, child."
Silence settled over them for a moment.
Then, Ymir exhaled. "Fast forward to now… and once again, darkness looms."
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Ymir stepped beyond the borders of his land, his boots pressing into the cracked earth. The wind howled around him, biting and sharp, but his focus was elsewhere.
High above, suspended like a celestial omen, floated a man unlike any Ymir had ever seen.
His suit was strange—sleek yet archaic, as though stitched together from remnants of forgotten eras. Dark glasses obscured his face, his expression unreadable beneath them.
But it wasn't his appearance that unsettled Ymir.
It was his presence.
It was… wrong.
A foul and holy paradox.
An unnatural fusion of divinity and corruption.
Ymir's instincts roared in warning—this man was dangerous.
Then he felt it.
The weight of the man's hostility pressing down on him like an unseen force. Heavy. Suffocating.
Ymir's gaze flickered behind him—to where his wife and daughter stood.
He clenched his fists.
No chances.
A surge of raw energy erupted from within him.
His body expanded in an instant—muscle and sinew stretching, bones reshaping, his form towering like a god of war. The very air trembled beneath his presence.
His voice cracked like thunder.
"Who are you?"
The floating man smiled—a slow, deliberate smirk that sent a ripple of unease through the air.
"Me? Thank you for asking," he said, his voice unnervingly calm. "It's honorable of you to ask for my name… but before I introduce myself, you should know something."
The sky darkened. The atmosphere thickened, heavy with an unseen force pressing down on the world.
"The time of reckoning is here."
His words didn't just echo—they resonated, unnatural and absolute, as if reality itself bent to accommodate them.
"The world must end… and I will end it myself."
A pause.
The man tilted his head slightly, his smirk never fading.
"But you..." he continued, his tone laced with something almost amused, "you have a choice. Choose a side, or die without ever realizing which one was right."
Silence.
Ymir's breath remained steady as he stared up at the self-proclaimed executioner of the world. His eyes were cold. Unyielding.
Then, slowly, he turned his head, his gaze shifting to his wife.
His massive hand moved—not to strike, not to defend—but to gently brush against her face. A moment of stillness passed between them. A silent understanding.
Then Ymir looked back at the floating man.
And smirked.
"I told him..." Ymir said, his voice laced with quiet defiance,
"…that I didn't give a fuck."
"How dare you?!" The man's voice shook with fury, his eyes burning with an unrelenting fire.
Rage twisted his features as he lunged forward, his fist hurtling toward the giant before him. But Ymir barely flinched.
With a mere flick of his wrist, he swatted the attacker aside, sending him tumbling across the battlefield like a ragdoll.
Yet, the man was undeterred.
Again and again, he charged—each strike fiercer than the last. And each time, Ymir swatted him away with ease. It was almost amusing. Almost.
Then Ymir felt it.
A shift. A resistance.
With every impact, the force behind the man's attacks grew heavier, stronger—unnatural. His power was increasing exponentially.
Ymir's eyes narrowed. What the hell is this?
And then—just as he was about to deliver the finishing blow—a strange energy erupted from the man's body.
It was unlike anything Ymir had ever seen.
The air trembled. The ground cracked beneath them.
A flash.
A monstrous, blinding surge of power.
And before Ymir could react—
She was there.
His wife.
She had stepped in front of him.
Shielding him.
The explosion tore through the battlefield, swallowing her whole.
The world slowed. Ymir's breath caught in his throat. His mind shattered into chaos.
Rage. Grief. Unforgivable.
His grip tightened around his sword. The steel pulsed with energy as he swung it skyward, a devastating arc of power trailing behind.
With a single, precise strike—
He cleaved the man in half.
But the fight did not end.
Even as his body split—he did not fall.
He did not die.
Instead… he simply vanished.
Gone. Like a ghost.
That was a month ago.
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A Heavy Burden
Ymir's voice was barely above a whisper as he recounted the memory, his fingers unconsciously tightening around his arm.
His usual imposing presence now seemed… burdened.
Yuno listened in silence, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
Seeing what her friend had endured—what he had lost—made her chest tighten. A single tear slipped free, trailing down her cheek.
"So that's what happened…" she murmured, quickly wiping her face.
Uzrul, who had remained silent until now, leaned closer to her mother and wrapped her arms around her.
"So that's what happened," she repeated, her voice softer this time.
Then, silence.
A silence heavy with grief, yet filled with unspoken words.
But Ymir wasn't done.
There was something else he needed to know.
His eyes darkened as he turned toward his daughter.
"Now it's my turn to ask a certain question." His voice was sharp. "How did my daughter get hurt when I sent her with you?"
Uzrul stiffened. "Father, I told you—I slipped," she said quickly, pulling away from her mother's embrace.
Ymir scoffed. "That's funny. Because if you slipped, then why were you dancing after Yuno smacked Amel, saying, 'Yes! I'm dancing because I couldn't get my revenge earlier'?"
Uzrul's face paled. "T-That's because—"
"Speak the truth."
This time, it wasn't Ymir who spoke.
It was Eryndel.
Uzrul hesitated. Then, with a heavy sigh, she raised a finger and pointed directly at Amel.
"It was him," she said flatly. "He smacked me on the butt."
Silence.
Then—
PAK!
Yuno's hand came down hard on Amel's head.
His forehead slammed against the table with a resounding boom.
The table didn't break.
Amel groaned, his voice muffled against the wood. "Okay, fine… I deserved that…"
"How dare you hurt my beautiful niece?"
Ymir was utterly satisfied by the scene unfolding before him. He almost wanted to laugh.
Almost.
But something still didn't sit right with him.
His gaze sharpened as he turned back to Amel.
"There's another question," Ymir said, his voice steady yet probing. "Are you, by any chance, the one who got transported to the forest four days ago?"
Amel frowned. "I don't understand your question."
"What I mean is—no one can open a portal in that part of the forest. And yet, somehow, Yuno was trapped there. So tell me…" Ymir's tone dropped, turning cold. "How did you get there?"
For a moment, Amel said nothing. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face.
"Guess I'm just built different."
A beat passed.
Then—
Ymir exhaled through his nose, shaking his head.
He understood.
There was no need to push further.
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