Chapter 346: Star, Crimson, and Frost

"Ah!"

A sound close to a shout tore from Azriel’s lips. Drenched in sweat, he pushed himself upright, the sheets clinging to his bare torso. His teeth ground together as he staggered to his feet. His body trembled, shivers running wild beneath his skin.

’What was that...?’

Those hands—right before he woke.

He’d barely gotten a proper glimpse, yet the instant he did he

felt

something... something truly evil.

Pure evil.

A strange, nostalgic ache lodged itself in Azriel’s chest as the memory of those hands surfaced.

’Where have I seen them before...?’

But he hadn’t.

Azriel couldn’t recall a single day he’d witnessed anything so horrifying.

Even without a headache, it

felt

like he had one. Nausea crawled through him.

’Why would such a thing appear in my mind?’

He clutched his arms, trying to steady the tremor.

"What is this...? Am I afraid...?"

Facing the mirror, he couldn’t deny it. His teeth were clenched tight, his pupils quivering, his whole body shaking. Wearing only loose lounge pants, he could see the sheen of sweat running down him in rivers. Deep in his chest, where his mana core lay, a heat burned—like an iron rod pressed against it.

"Dammit..."

Clicking his tongue, Azriel dragged himself to the bedside table. The bowl of soup was gone; in its place sat a glass of water—presumably left by the maid earlier. He gulped it down. Somewhere beyond the window, a low humming thrummed in the air. The curtains were drawn tight; almost no light seeped through. He sat back on the bed, forcing his breathing to settle as he tried to piece together what had unfolded in his head.

But the more he reached for the memory, the angrier he became. His jaw tensed for a different reason now. He clenched his fists, then glanced toward the mirror again—catching something he’d somehow missed a heartbeat earlier.

A small black star marked the right side of his chest.

Azriel’s eyes widened, fury flooding them.

"Did... did he curse me...?"

Now he trembled with anger.

"He put a curse on me?!"

His hands gripped the bedframe until it creaked. A pale mist of cold spilled from his fingers; frost bloomed wherever he touched. At the same time, red lightning crackled around his body, snapping in the air.

"Treating me like it’s a game... threatening me... blackmailing me...

threatening my sister!

"

Azriel’s breath turned labored. He didn’t know why, but his emotions ran wilder than usual. The burn in his mana core flared, as if stoked by his rage.

"You’re dead. You’re fucking dead!"

Lightning and ice surged outward in answer to his fury.

"The Goddess of Death is the one you don’t want to meet until the very end, huh...? I won’t play your game. If I’m going to die anyway, I’ll do it on my own terms."

Suddenly, the ice and lightning vanished.

"I can’t use the fourth condition on Earth," he murmured, "but this world is different. This is a scenario. Real or not, whoever I summon will snarl Pollux’s threads enough to tear his plans apart..."

As he spoke, mana began coursing faster through his soul-veins. A cool sensation—like water—rushed through him, tightening, thickening, until pressure built in every channel. His mana core started to burn for a new reason.

Yes. Azriel was beginning a mana contract.

If he was going to die anyway, he would bring the Goddess of Death here early—save Jasmine and the others by killing Pollux.

He pushed harder, sending the flow around his body and through the core, then out again, over and over, a relentless cycle that soon made breathing difficult.

In the midst of it, a faint voice brushed his ear.

"Are you alright?"

"..!"

Azriel broke the process. Every muscle seized and cramped for a few seconds; he pressed his lips together. He looked around—no one. Then his gaze slid to the window. He frowned.

Drawing slow breaths, he took a cloth, draped it over his shoulders to cover his chest, and walked to the window. He yanked the curtains open and unlatched it.

Outside lay a vast, meticulously kept garden, gleaming with dew. Tents dotted the lawns—some of the participants had chosen to camp there for comfort. He hadn’t known.

Leaning out, he turned his head left. Someone else was leaning from the neighboring window. He raised both eyebrows.

"Celestina?"

Celestina blinked a few times and met Azriel’s eyes, calm as ever.

"I felt a lot of mana fluctuations coming from your room. Is everything okay?"

Azriel gave a slight nod. Funny—her silver hair caught the moonlight just as Pollux’s did. Both were royalty in their worlds, and yet their temperaments could not have been more different.

"Your room is next to mine?"

Celestina nodded and glanced down at the garden. What were the odds? And what had happened to the previous occupant of this room?

"How is your fever?"

At her question, Azriel remembered he’d had one. He felt perfectly fine now.

"It seems to have finally disappeared."

"That’s good," Celestina said softly, sincere.

Silence stretched, a little awkward. Azriel had felt this strain between them before and still couldn’t place why.

"I have a question," Celestina said at last. She kept her gaze on the garden, her expression unreadable to him.

"What did you do to me?"

"Huh?"

She turned to him then. The intensity in her eyes felt like it could bore straight through him.

"What did you do to my head? Back at the containment facility. Before you left."

Azriel’s pupils tightened as the memory clicked into place.

’Don’t tell me... she remembers?

’

Ah. Right. Of course she does.

The entire point of that moment—of the God of Time, his influence—had been to crush Celestina’s mind and set Azriel on the path of a proper villain, with her as the first casualty. If Azriel had done what the God of Time wanted—and what Azriel had let him believe he’d do—it wouldn’t have mattered whether she remembered. In fact, it would have hit harder if she did.

And she does.

Only... Azriel had lied to the God of Time. He hadn’t shattered Celestina’s mind. He’d intended instead to guide it back, to help it heal. The God of Time had said a few words could remake a mind, and Azriel had chosen his words carefully.

But she remembers it all.

’She remembers everything I said, huh...

’

He smothered a sigh.

’Actions have consequences.

’

Just like he’d told Lumine.

What excuse—what lie—could he offer her now?

Seeing him fall silent, Celestina narrowed her eyes, colder.

"Are you not going to talk? I also know the Black Antlered King you subjugated was originally hunted by Lioren. You were the one who chose that mission at the office. Now I understand—it was all some game you and Lioren were playing, and I was dragged into it without knowing."

’Oh? So she reread the files from the containment facility?

’

It seemed she truly was shaken—by what Azriel did, or rather what the God of Time had done with him.

And it was true. In a twisted way, it had been a game—one he and Lioren played out of sight of the others.

"I thought we were friends."

Azriel stared at her, still holding his tongue.

"Or was I mistaken?" she went on. "You said you wanted to be friends with me, without ulterior motives. But who manipulates a friend’s mind? Who drags them into schemes against another great clan? You were full of ulterior motives."

Azriel looked at her and saw it plainly: she was confused. Her face betrayed nothing, but her eyes did. She wasn’t as practiced at masking herself as he was. She pressed him because she was afraid.

’Even though I tinkered with her mind, she remembers—and she knows I did nothing that would harm her.’

If anything, he had helped. Exactly that. And Celestina knew it.

But knowing didn’t make it any less uncomfortable.

Azriel couldn’t help but smile, utterly amused as he looked at her.

"You talk about me having ulterior motives, but aren’t you the hypocrite?"

"Huh?"

This time Celestina’s eyes widened at his words.

"You think I don’t know you wanted me in your faction—so that you got close to me to satisfy your curiosity? Even now, looking at my bandaged arm, you’re waiting to ask if you can see the wound. You’re a good person, a good princess, but you become reckless easily—inviting someone from another great clan into your circle just to quench your thirst."

Yes. Who wasn’t moved by motives? Everyone was.

Celestina’s problem, though... she was an addict. She craved to solve puzzles, and right now Azriel was the puzzle she wanted to solve. That was why she insisted on being his friend—perhaps Jasmine being his sister played a role, but the truest reason was simpler:

Azriel was interesting. For Celestina, that was reason enough to learn who Azriel Crimson really was—how he thought, how he breathed. If he leapt into the deep ocean, she would follow, so long as an answer waited on the seafloor.

’Why should I indulge her?

’

In fact, it served Azriel better to remain the puzzle.

"...You don’t seem ready to answer my questions right now."

Perhaps Celestina realized that, too. She lifted her gaze to the moon and let out a small sigh—and then she laughed.

It was a soft, unexpectedly cute laugh that left Azriel blinking, dumbfounded.

"You make me sound like some evil, scheming villainess."

Her lips curved naturally.

"Ah, we really do have a forced friendship."

She laughed again.

’Was it that funny? And what does she mean—forced friendship?

’

Azriel meant to ask, but Celestina moved first, glancing back into her room at the sound of footsteps in the hall.

"I have another question, but it’ll have to wait a bit longer. Have a good night, Azriel."

She gave him a small smile, slipped inside, and closed the window. Azriel stared at the glass, still confused.

"What was that about...?"

"Unlike you, little brother, Celestina is far more respectful of other people’s feelings."

"...!"

Azriel spun toward the familiar voice he hadn’t heard in so long. His eyes flew wide. Jasmine stood by the door, smiling, the door closed behind her. She looked in perfect health. Her hair fell to her shoulders. Her red eyes remained as vibrant as ever.

"Sister..."

He pressed his lips together, then forced a smile.

"Aren’t you going to come running and hug your little brother, Sister?"

Jasmine snorted.

"You’re a week too early for me to start panicking that much."

Her words made Azriel laugh.

"I see. I should have waited a little longer if I wanted you to miss me that badly. But..."

In an instant, Azriel vanished from where he stood. The curtains billowed; the room seemed to flutter with him. A heartbeat later he was in front of Jasmine, inches away. Before she could react, his arms closed around her, tightly.

"I missed you a lot, Jasmine," he murmured in a voice small, burying his face against her shoulder.

Jasmine went still for a few seconds, then wrapped her arms around him just as tightly and let out a breath.

"Mm. Me too... I missed you as well, little brother."