BakingTray POV:
When I logged in again, I stood in the exact same pce I had logged off this morning.
With the only exception being that Lavapup was nowhere to be seen.
I figured she must still be logged out and started looking around the pace instead.
Everything—and I mean everything—in here was made of either crystal, gold, or in some rare cases, marble. No rough edges, no dull surfaces. Just endless polish and light.
“I wonder how much a pce like this must cost…”
I muttered to myself, brushing my hand across the smooth surface of one of the many pilrs.
“Young BakingTray.”
An elderly yet powerful voice called out from behind me.
Turning around in one swift motion, my eyes nded on the teal king once again.
“Your lordship. What brings you here?”
I asked, pulling my hand away from the crystal pilr.
He huffed softly and brushed his beard with a wide, amused smile.
“Oh, I am merely on a stroll while waiting for news regarding the maiden’s progress.”
My ears perked up immediately.
“Lavapup is already training?”
The lord let out a heartfelt ugh, his chest rising and falling—along with the pace itself.
I instinctively grabbed onto something solid, steadying myself so I wouldn’t get knocked off bance by the sheer force of it.
“Of course. She has been at it for almost a full day now.”
My eyes widened.
A full day here meant almost eight hours in the real world.
Which meant she must have logged back in shortly after I logged off.
“A full day already… did she master it?”
I asked, my voice carrying a bit more excitement than I meant it to.
The king shook his massive head, letting out a low, rumbling sound.
“No. The Sonata of the Bells is not something that can be learned in a mere day.”
His tone was firm—almost offended—as if I had insulted the ritual itself by even asking.
Taking a quick breath, I bowed down slightly, even taking off the Archmage’s cap in a dispy of respect.
“Please forgive me for insulting the ritual. I did not know better. I will be more careful with my words next time.”
I peeked up, trying to look into his translucent eyes. He let out a delighted hum, stroking his beard in the process.
“Do not fret, child. There is no shame in asking questions. But be careful— a loose tongue is a lord’s worst weakness.”
He said, pcing his rge palm on my back, urging me forward. Not pushing. Just guiding.
“Come, child. Accompany me on my stroll. Let us have a little chat…”
He asked—or rather, demanded—as we began walking side by side through the grand crystallized halls.
“My lord…” I said, my gaze shifting upward. “I have a question.”
His teal, translucent eyes moved, focusing solely on me.
“Ask ahead, child. I will answer it to the best of my abilities,”
he replied, a clear smile on his face.
“Does his majesty perhaps know a mage called Zindel…?” I asked hesitantly, fidgeting with my fingers.
For some unknown reason, there was a blockage in my throat. Like a stone lodged in my airway.
I didn’t understand why.
Maybe I was afraid this question would trigger something… irreversible.
Not sure.
“Hahaha! I knew this question would come from you, young apprentice!”
He ughed, stroking his beard joyfully.
I felt my ears twitch uncontrolbly as I stared at him with wide-open eyes.
Not only had he expected the question—he had called me Apprentice instead of child.
“E-excuse me, my lord, but how did you know I would ask that?”
I asked, gripping my blue cloak tighter, as if I already knew the answer.
The Spirit King stopped.
His hand slipped off my shoulder.
He looked me up and down while I remained completely still, like a statue.
“You are wearing that kind-hearted old man’s robe… and his cap. Of course I knew you would ask about him.”
His voice was strange now—softened, tinged with something heavy.
Like regret.
Like a father holding back tears in front of his child.
“I have a question as well, child,” he continued quietly.
“If you are wearing his garments… does that mean Zindel is—”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
But he didn’t need to.
I could tell by the way his eyebrows sank. By the way his gaze faltered.
I lowered my head, staring at the crystal floor.
“I guess so…” I said.
“He fought.”
My mind drifted back to the North Tower.
To the cold wind.
To the weight of that moment.
“Who did he fight?”
the Spirit King asked, his eyes narrowing as the air around him subtly shifted.
More serious than before.
“Zindel called him Kindral.”
And suddenly, the entire pace seemed to buckle—
as if the air itself had turned solid the moment that name was spoken.
“What is going on…?”
I wanted to ask, but my voice came out as nothing more than a desperate gasp.
When I looked up at his majesty, I finally understood where that pressure was coming from.
His face looked carved from pure hatred.
“Kindral…”
“That unholy offspring still roams the realms?”
By the time he looked back at me, I was already cowering on the ground.
System warnings flooded my vision, screaming at me to leave the danger zone.
The moment he realized it, the pressure vanished.
The air grew light again, and I dragged in a deep, desperate breath—
it felt less like breathing and more like life itself pouring back into my lungs.
“Forgive me,” he said quietly.
“I could not contain my rage.”
I reached out, tapping his strong teal leg as I tried to stand.
My knees wobbled like jelly.
“It’s… aight,” I croaked.
Then I hesitated.
“But where does all that hatred for…”
I stopped myself, refusing to say the name again.
“…that guy come from?”
He stayed silent for a long time.
Long enough that I wondered if he ever pnned to answer.
All I could hear were our footsteps echoing through the hall.
Then he cleared his throat.
“Kindral is a dragon.”
I nodded. I’d already suspected as much.
“Dragons are a special case,” he continued.
“They cannot be neatly cssified. They belong to the Hollow, to Hell, and in rare cases, even to the Spirit or Void realms.”
He pushed open a set of doors, and we stepped into a vast garden filled with hundreds—no, thousands—of crystal flowers.
“Because of this,” he said, “they were never bound by the Bellguard.”
His fingers brushed across the petals of a rose.
Gss chimed softly at the touch—uneven, but strangely calming.
“Most dragons chose to settle in the mortal realm and remain quiet.”
His hand closed around the rose.
It shattered.
“But there is a faction that refused,” he said, shards slipping between his fingers.
“And Kindral is their ‘lord.’ A child who was never taught restraint.”
We stopped before an enormous structure at the far end of the garden, white marble pilrs holding its weight.
“We have hunted him for centuries,” he continued.
“Each time we corner him, he slips between realms like a rat.”
I swallowed.
“Uh… where exactly are we?” I asked.
He pced his hand on the door and pushed it open.
“This is where you wished to go,” he replied.
“The Bellguard.”
My breath caught.
Inside, the brown-haired girl was already there—
moving gracefully, in a way that didn’t match the loud, reckless idiot I knew.
