The carriage began to move smoothly down the cobblestone path, its wheels clicking rhythmically. As they headed toward the main palace, Sterlla leaned back in her seat, her gaze steady as she looked out the window. The journey ahead was one of both distance and significance, and she was determined to meet it with the composure and strength that the day demanded.

EPISODE 9
THANATOS

Year 376...
Therasus...

The carriage rumbled down the winding path, its wheels rattling over the uneven dirt road as it approached the dense, foreboding forest that marked the final stretch to the Main Imperial Palace of Therasus. The shadows of towering trees loomed overhead, their skeletal branches intertwining like gnarled fingers, whispering secrets in the wind. The empire of Therasus was vast, its power woven into the grand structures of its four pillar palaces, each standing as a testament to its dominion.

The Imperial Palace, the heart of the royal bloodline, was where the Emperor and his kin resided, shrouded in the gilded luxury of their lineage. The Main Imperial Palace, closer to the capital, served as the Emperor’s seat of governance, where he met nobles and commoners alike, passing judgment upon the empire’s most pressing matters. The Xiones Demon Army Headquarters, a citadel of warriors, housed the fiercest of Therasus’ military, their blood oaths binding them to the empire’s defense. The final pillar, the Guest Palace, stood as a beacon of diplomacy, a place where foreign dignitaries were received, their presence both an honor and a warning of Therasus’ unyielding might.

Beyond these, countless palaces had once stood in grandeur, only to fall into silence—abandoned, forgotten, their walls now graves to past purposes and lost ambitions.

As the carriage pressed deeper into the forest, an eerie stillness settled over the land. The horses snorted, their ears twitching, their hooves slowing as if sensing the unseen. Then, without warning, the world tilted.

The carriage lurched violently, its wheels skidding on the loose dirt. The sudden jolt threw Sterlla, Linone, and Adena forward, their bodies slamming against the wooden interior. The driver let out a startled yell, his grip on the reins slipping. In the next breath, the horses screeched in panic, their frantic neighs splitting the silence.

A sickening crack rang through the air as the carriage’s axle snapped.

The vehicle veered sharply, its balance lost. The driver was flung from his seat, his body rolling down the treacherous slope before his skull met the unforgiving bark of a towering tree. Blood seeped into the earth beneath him. The carriage, now a runaway beast, toppled onto its side.

The wooden doors burst open on impact.

Adena and Linone, their instincts sharpened by years of discipline, twisted their bodies mid-air, their hands slamming against the dirt path, muscles straining as they absorbed the fall. But Sterlla was not as fortunate.

Her body was hurled from the carriage’s depths, tumbling violently down the steep incline. She tried to summon her magic, but the momentum was too strong, the world spinning too fast. The last thing she saw before darkness consumed her was the jagged boulder below, rising to meet her.

The impact was swift.

A sickening thud.

Then—stillness.

Linone’s breath caught in his throat. His chest constricted, a raw and terrible panic seizing his limbs as his gaze landed on Sterlla’s unmoving form below.

“S-Sterlla…” His voice was barely above a whisper, yet it carried the weight of despair.

The vow he had sworn to her, the oath of protection, now mocked him. What use was his blade if she lay broken upon the earth?

Without hesitation, he lunged down the slope, his boots skidding against the loose gravel. His knees hit the ground as he reached her, his trembling hands hovering over her limp frame. The stark contrast of her pale skin against the dark earth sent a deep unease through him.

Gently, as though afraid she would shatter, he slid his arms beneath her. A warm, wet sensation met his fingertips as they brushed against the back of her head. His stomach twisted.

Blood.

Linone clenched his jaw, his breaths coming in sharp, uneven gasps. “Forgive me… I was not there to break your fall,” he murmured. His voice, once steady, now trembled with guilt.

He lifted her, cradling her against his chest as he ascended the incline, his muscles burning with exertion. He did not falter. He could not falter. Adena, who had been tending to the driver, turned at the sound of Linone’s heavy steps.

Her sharp intake of breath was all Linone needed to confirm his fears—Sterlla’s condition was dire.

“The carriage,” Linone rasped, his voice edged with urgency. “We ride to the Main Imperial Palace. Now.”

Adena did not hesitate. She spun on her heel, grasping the reins of the unsteady horses. Their eyes were wild with fear, but she steadied them with a firm command, her voice cutting through the chaos.

Linone stepped into the carriage, his grip never loosening on Sterlla. Her breathing was shallow, her eyelids fluttering. He could feel the faint pulse at her wrist—a fragile, trembling beat on the edge of silence.

As he laid her gently onto the cushioned seat, his knuckles turned white from how tightly he clenched his sword’s hilt. He had never felt this powerless before.

Adena cracked the reins, and the horses bolted forward. The carriage, though damaged, held steady as it thundered down the path toward the Imperial Palace.

Linone exhaled, pressing his forehead against the back of his hand. His voice, though a whisper, carried the weight of an unbreakable vow.

“We must reach the palace in time.”

Adena gave a firm nod, sparing him a glance filled with unspoken urgency. “Hold her steady,” she commanded. “I will not let this night claim her.”

Even as she spoke, she reached out, summoning a spectral raven from the air, its black wings spreading with a ghostly shimmer. With a flick of her wrist, she sent the bird soaring into the night, its destination clear.

Simore.

He would come for the driver.

As the carriage raced through the darkened path, the silence between them was deafening. The weight of the night pressed upon them like a shroud.

Somewhere in the distance, the palace towers glowed with their eternal fires, their golden embers a stark contrast to the crimson streak trailing down Sterlla’s temple.

And in Linone’s mind, one thought rang louder than all others:

If she dies, I shall never forgive myself.

The storm of hooves thundered against the dirt road, the carriage shuddering violently as Adena lashed the reins with all her might. The horses, sensing the urgency, surged forward, their powerful bodies straining against the harnesses. The wind howled past them, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant embers from the city beyond.

Inside the carriage, Linone sat rigid, his hand clenched around the hilt of his sword, his knuckles bloodless from the force of his grip. But his focus was not on the weapon—it was on her. Sterlla.

She lay upon the seat, still and pale, her delicate features drained of color, her lips ashen. His coat was tightly wrapped around her head, a makeshift bandage meant to stem the bleeding, but the fabric was already soaked through, dark with life’s essence.

Linone’s breath was ragged, his throat dry. He had seen death before. Too many times. But he didn't wish to see it again. Not like this. Not for her.

Not her again.

Each time the carriage hit a rut or lurched over uneven ground, he fell to his knees, his hands bracing her fragile body. One hand pressed against her shoulder, the other hovering just above her legs, steadying her. Every motion was precise, every movement a silent prayer to keep her from slipping further into the abyss.

The forest gave way to the town road, the distant glow of the Imperial Palace flickering like a beacon. The streets were bustling despite the late hour, and as the imperial crest on the carriage came into view, the crowd parted instinctively.

"The Imperial carriage!" Voices rose in recognition. Heads turned, whispers spread. But Linone did not care. None of it mattered.

Guards and civilians alike called out in curiosity, some stepping closer as Adena urged the horses forward. Questions were hurled at her—why was she at the reins? Where was the driver? What had happened?

She ignored them all.

Her voice rang sharp through the air as she commanded the gates open, not sparing even a glance at those who tried to stop her.

Inside the carriage, Linone's gaze remained fixed on Sterlla. He willed her to wake. To move. To breathe.

Then, he saw it.

Or rather, he didn’t see it.

There was no color left in her face. No warmth. Her once-radiant skin was now a pale mockery of life, her lips parted slightly, her hands folded gracefully over her stomach—too still, too composed.

A terrible, bone-deep dread crawled into Linone’s veins. His fingers twitched as he reached forward, slow, hesitant.

Please.

His hand hovered above her face for the briefest moment before he lowered it—light as a whisper—over her nose.

Nothing.

No breath.

No warmth.

No life.

Linone's stomach plummeted, his body suddenly numb. The world blurred around him as his vision swam.

His fingers shook as he pulled his hand back, staring at it, as if expecting to see some proof that he was wrong—some remnant of warmth, a sign that he had merely imagined it.

But there was nothing.

His breath hitched, his chest tightening, constricting. A silent horror took hold of him, a weight so crushing that he could not move.

And then, as the realization struck like a blade to his ribs—he fell.

His knees hit the floor of the carriage, his hands trembling as they hovered over her. His mouth opened, but no sound came out at first, only a silent, breathless denial.

Then—it ripped through him.

"STERLLA!!!"

The anguished cry tore through the air, raw and desperate, a sound that shattered the very silence of the night.

The horses whinnied at the sound, startled by the sheer agony in his voice. The carriage lurched slightly, and Adena immediately pulled the reins, bringing it to a sudden halt before leaping from her seat.

The carriage door was wrenched open with brutal force.

"Commander!" Adena's voice was sharpened by panic, her boots clattering against the wooden steps as she rushed inside. Her eyes flickered to Linone first—his wide, trembling stare, the way his breath came in uneven, gasping shudders.

Then, her gaze fell upon Sterlla.

Her body stilled.

"...What happened?" Her voice dropped, quiet, but it cracked at the edges, already laced with an understanding she did not want to have.

Linone’s head turned toward her, his lips slightly parted, his eyes glistening in the dim lantern light. His pupils were unfocused, lost.

"She..." His voice wavered, the words barely slipping past his lips. His throat closed, as if saying it would make it real. Make it true.

But the truth had already settled into the very marrow of his bones.

"...Princess Sterlla is dead."

Adena did not breathe. Could not breathe.

Her legs buckled beneath her, and she collapsed onto the carriage steps, her knees slamming against the wooden floor. She did not feel the pain. She felt nothing.

Her lips parted, but no sound escaped at first—just a breath, then a tremor, then—

"No..."

Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it shook.

Her hands covered her face, fingers trembling violently as tears began to fall, streaking down her cheeks before she could even process them.

Linone barely registered her reaction. He could not hear her over the ringing in his ears, the sound of his own racing heartbeat, the suffocating weight of his own failure.

His breath shuddered, his body swaying slightly.

"No..." He whispered, the word cracking as it left him. His hands twitched, hovering over her motionless form.

"No... you..." He swallowed thickly, his throat aching from the grief rising within him.

"You told me your secret... and now I couldn't even save you..." His voice dropped, raw and broken.

"Sterlla..." He exhaled, his vision blurred by the burning sting of tears. His fingers curled around the fabric of her dress, gripping it so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

His shoulders shook.

His composure shattered.

And then—he lunged forward.

His arms wrapped around her, pulling her against his chest, his fingers burying into her hair, his body curled over hers as if shielding her from death itself.

"PLEASE COME BACK, STERLLA!!"

His cry was a wretched thing, raw and unfiltered, a plea that no god, no fate, no magic would hear.

Then—a chill.

A sudden, unnatural cold seeped into his skin, piercing deep into his very bones.

Linone gasped, his breath leaving him in a sharp exhale.

Everything turned blue.

The air shifted, heavy and foreign, and the world twisted.

One blink.

And he was somewhere else.

The carriage was gone. The blood, the weight of her lifeless body in his arms—gone.

Instead, he stood upon the steps of the residing Imperial Palace.

The halls stretched before him, cloaked in an eerie, ghostly stillness.

His hands twitched at his sides. His body felt intact, but his mind reeled.

"What...?" His voice barely carried past his own lips.

He turned.

The world behind him was an endless abyss of nothingness.

And before him, at the top of the steps, stood a figure.

A figure he knew all too well.

"Sterlla...?"