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Chapter 23: The Invasion of the Titans **
A month had passed, and Neversand exploded in colors, sounds, and passions. From the White Castle to the Cathedral Square, thundering drums, trumpets, and fervent—at times furious—chants echoed. It was City Day: 3,500 years of history, myth, and magic condensed into a single day of celebration... and tension.
The streets teemed with 150,000 voices. White balloons, silver flags, and banners with the royal seal vied for attention with posters demanding Falang's downfall and Nina's release. Along the central avenue, the cavalry emerged in gleaming armor, torches ablaze, cutting through the golden morning mist toward the ancient square.
In Neversand, white dominated: bare feet and clear eyes; long silver braids floated under immaculate cloaks. Known as the Cradle of Magic, the city attracted scholars from all over Pangea. Here coexisted—and sometimes clashed—three ancient orders:
* **War Mages:** masters of enchanted weapons, combining brute force with lethal speed. Under the command of General V, their blades shone like lightning.
* **Navarro Mages:** whose bodies were instruments of war, capable of channeling physical spells into fists of steel. Organized into battalions of one hundred with an elite of twenty duelists, they celebrated their tournaments with ritualistic ferocity.
* **Neversand Mages:** the firstborn, guardians of primordial magic, dedicated to studying the energies that gave life to the world.
Today, their three generals marched side by side, brandishing insignias of silver and fire, as the crowd swelled with protest and exaltation.
At the heart of the procession, the mobile throne of Minister Kallil hovered: an obese aristocrat with silver curls, perched upon a red velvet armchair. Servants—actually disguised soldiers—struggled under his weight as he delighted in pieces of chicken drenched in thick sauce, waving pompously to a populace that watched him with contempt.
Women in long, mist-like white dresses tossed gold coins to the crowd, trying to appease the public's fury. But the people, driven by a hunger for power and justice, scrambled for the coins like rats fighting over crumbs. Some pushed and trampled others, cries of pain erupting with every misstep.
Above all, Neversand's sky poured out its own magic: clouds shaped themselves into dragons, lions, and titans over the towers—as if the city itself were proclaiming, "Here, magic lives and breathes." And on this morning of festivity and insurrection, everything seemed about to explode in a convergence of fury and enchantment.
"But..."
Gotier raised his voice in a sharp whisper: "Soken, scout the area. You have five minutes!"
Amidst the teeming crowd, the two moved under dark brown cloaks, hoods hiding every trace of their faces. Soken tilted his head in a decisive nod and vanished into the throng. Gotier looked up at the grim stone face of the twenty-meter statue of King Falang in the center of Cathedral Square. The king, sculpted with hair blowing in the wind, brandished a spear and shield, asserting his presence even in marble.
"What an idiot," Gotier muttered, shaking his head. "People are dying in the Low Quarter, and he spends resources erecting this monstrosity in a month. But now we know who we're up against..."
Five minutes later, Soken reappeared beside Gotier, and they slipped back into a dark alley.
"All clear," the young man reported.
"Now we wait for Akari and Zeke," Gotier agreed.
Above the clouds, Kaien flew over the city, carrying Akari and Zeke under black cloaks so long they hid their faces. In silence, they studied a large map: corridors, towers, grates—every line of Neversand's castle whispering secrets.
Zeke pointed firmly: "The princess's room is in Altar 20. We'll land on the balcony behind it and go straight there. The three generals and the minister are gathered in the courtyard, but that doesn't mean there aren't powerful guards elsewhere. We'll mask our auras and move forward. If Nina isn't in her room, we'll leave silently to capture a soldier and extract information."
Akari shivered at the last suggestion. "Are we going to torture someone?"
Zeke snorted, impatient: "People are dying down there. Nina is the only one who can save them."
Akari's face hardened, the conflict etched in every feature. Inside her mind, she heard a hissing voice—a distant yet familiar echo:
— *Akari... Akari...*
Suddenly, she answered herself in thought:
— *Zyon, torture is inhuman. These soldiers have families, children... they only work to feed the ones they love.*
Seconds passed, and Zyon's reply formed like a blade of air:
— *Akari, remember—you are in Pangea.*
The phrase hung without explanation, laden with a hidden meaning. Akari took a deep breath, the map trembling slightly in her hands. Around her, Neversand shone under the moonlight, but within her, doubt was sprouting: how far should justice go in the name of salvation?
As the cold night wind caressed the ancient stones, Nina's fate hovered on the brink of a choice—a choice that could shape not only their hearts, but the future of the entire city.
A month earlier, the Low Quarter revealed itself as a nightmare in the twilight gloom. Yuzuki walked among houses piled one on top of the other, their mud balconies covered with clothes that clung and billowed like ghosts in the wind. The unstable ground groaned under his feet, ready at any moment to give way and bury entire families.
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Boys and girls played marbles in the alleys. Glass spheres rolled over the packed earth, and each successful hit was met with laughter mixed with cries of victory—but the players were nothing but mutilated children: missing limbs, splintered stumps under makeshift crutches. Their stained faces, etched with open sores, bore witness to advanced stages of leprosy. Those spared from the disease often took their own lives rather than watch their children perish.
On the balconies and hanging from lampposts, limp bodies swayed on trembling ropes. The air reeked of decay, a foul odor that reached healthy nostrils long before the eyes dared to look upon the quarter. Elderly beggars huddled in wicker chairs, their hands outstretched for crumbs of bread, wrapped in rags soaked with futile ointments. Neither workers nor travelers dared to look their way; no one considered this place part of the prosperous city.
"My God... this is hell," Yuzuki murmured, his heart clenching in his chest.
He approached three teenagers. Their clothes were filthy rags, hunger etching their bones beneath stretched skin. The green-eyed girl moistened her dry lips and met his gaze, her voice sweet as poison: "There's an alley nearby... Want to have some fun with me?"
The brown-eyed girl smiled, weaving opportunism with desperation: "Two for the price of one, sir. What do you say?"
The red-eyed girl, her voice choked with need, confessed: "Do whatever you want... I just need the money."
Yuzuki's fist clenched, his knuckles whitening with tension. His face contorted into a mask of anguish and indignation. Those childish voices—shaped by the horrors of leprosy and exploitation—struck his soul like a merciless blow. With every step, he felt the weight of his impotence—and the urgency to stop this hell from spreading further.
A silence settled in the alley as Yuzuki approached, and the three girls stiffened, suspicion glinting in their eyes. Emerging from her silence, the green-eyed girl offered a trembling apology.
"I-I'm sorry for bothering you, sir." Her voice faltered as she met Yuzuki's fierce gaze.
The brown-eyed girl bowed her head, pressing her palms together as if in prayer. "Forgive me..." she whispered, the leprous scars on her arm throbbing with pain.
Immediately, the red-eyed girl stepped forward, her pale eyes shining with an unspoken urgency. "Help me," she whispered.
Yuzuki's stern facade softened. With a gentle deliberation, he wrapped the red-eyed girl in a hug that spoke of a compassion more eloquent than any promise. "It's okay," he murmured, and she melted against him, tears glistening in the corners of her eyes.
He lowered himself to the pavement, gesturing for them to gather around him. Their confusion melted in the warmth of his half-smile. "Come, sit," he invited, gently. "You don't have to be afraid of me—I'm a fragile man. I don't even have an arm."
A wave of surprised laughter chased away their last shred of fear. The green-eyed girl let out a soft giggle. "You're not from around here, are you?"
Yuzuki smiled, scratching his head. "I don't really know. Are any of you from here?"
"Yes," they answered in unison.
The brown-eyed girl crossed her arms over her lap. "Why do you stay, then? There are countless places to go—why here?"
"Because I'm a vagrant," he replied with a warm laugh, throwing his head back.
Their laughter echoed, pure and unexpected, weaving a fragile thread of shared joy. Then, Yuzuki's voice became gentle, yet firm. "Tell me why you've resorted to these streets."
The red-eyed girl's voice broke as she spoke: "My father, my mother, and my sister fell ill with the plague. I... I sell myself to buy their medicine and bandages. Stalo controls all the stalls in this market. He raises the prices until our desperation fills his coffers. We whisper that he answers to the king."
Yuzuki's brow furrowed, but he said only, "I see."
The green-eyed girl swallowed hard, her shoulders trembling. "My brother... my brother took care of me, even after the sores took his strength. When he saw that I was sick too, he chose to take his own life. I'd like to think it was out of love—but the emptiness he left..."
A silence fell as she fought back sobs.
Finally, the brown-eyed girl lifted her chin. "I've lost hope. I save every coin for a woman who shelters abandoned children. I will die soon—there is no alternative."
Yuzuki remained silent, his gaze lost in the night's canopy. In that moment, the three girls saw not a broken warrior, but a man who carried his burdens in the quiet of his heart.
"Funny—no light from the Golden Tree ever finds its way here," Yuzuki murmured, his eyes tracing the braid of dark clouds laced with ash and dust. "But in the Noble Quarter, the glow is fierce and alive."
He turned to the three seated girls, knelt, and placed his hands on theirs, one at a time. With each touch, his energy flowed like warm currents, and they felt a wave of strength rise in their bones.
"Over time," he said, softly, "I learned to ignore my own pain. But it was always there—insistent, demanding to be seen, heard, understood. It often felt meaningless... and sometimes it still does. There is a Kugutsu on the Continent who questions me incessantly—manipulates me, defeats me. I am just a hated one among my own people. Yet, I see now that I am not alone in suffering. I will do everything so that children like Kaleb—so that all of you—never endure what I have endured." He looked each of them in the eye, a genuine smile dawning on his face, and they felt his conviction burn brightly.
They met his gaze, one by one. "You mean here, on Kugutsu Island?" the red-eyed girl asked.
"Exactly," Yuzuki replied, gently.
"I thought they were demons," the brown-eyed girl said, "who see Pangea as a stinking, worthless place—though perhaps they're right."
Yuzuki rose slowly, his voice resonating with promise: "I will make this land beautiful. Laughter will return. Children will know a mother's love, a father's care. The Great Golden Tree will shine its radiance here, warming every heart."
The girls smiled, hope illuminating their faces like crystal lanterns. In that moment—amidst the sticky ash and swirling gray—a fissure opened overhead. Through the crack, a single ray of golden light pierced the Low Quarter, its beam subtle to all but Yuzuki.
"All of you," he beckoned, "place your hands on me."
Though unsure why, they felt no fear. In unison, they laid their palms on his shoulders. A voice thundered in Yuzuki's mind—distorted, angry: Mao.
— **You've changed so much, Yuzuki** — the voice hissed. — **But do you remember our pact? I know your final goal. I know what you will do to Pangea. I love how you give them hope... only to take it away. After all, I am the demon at the end.**
Mao's laughter echoed—a hideous, buzzing cackle, full of malice. Yuzuki closed his eyes. His fist clenched, and he exhaled a breath that shook his resolve. Then he opened his eyes, fixed on the girls, and said softly, "Don't see me as a god. I am no saint. I am just paying debts I created myself."
Silence fell, deep as the night sky, and in that stillness the three young faces shone with a newfound faith—the faith that even the darkest shadows could one day be chased away by a single ray of golden light. The red-eyed girl offered a genuine smile for the first time in as long as she could remember.
"Very well. I trust you," she whispered. "It's been ages since I knew what it meant to smile... but you've made me smile again. Thank you."
In an instant, the three girls pressed against him, each of their arms twining around his waist as if to lock that fragile hope within their hearts. Yuzuki raised his arms over his head and spoke in a low, commanding voice:
— **Barááá!!!**
A vibrant, pulsating green light—the living energy of Amok—erupted and swirled around the girls. In moments, the ravages of leprosy melted away: their skin smoothed and glowed with a youthful softness; old wounds sealed; their hair caught the light and shimmered again; their eyes shone with the fierce brilliance of diamonds.
There, in that forgotten alley, Yuzuki revealed that the power of Kugutsu Island was not just destruction—but redemption.
Deep in the recesses of his mind, Mao's calm, sinister laughter echoed—reminding Yuzuki that despite this shining moment, far greater trials still awaited him—and Pangea—on the horizon. Yet, for now, only the warm glow of renewed hope reigned in the hearts of the girls who, at his side, had discovered the strength to smile once more.
