Anchor's Weight

Seraphina awoke with a sharp gasp, her body drenched in sweat, her chest heaving. The sensation lingered—death. Not the kind written about in old tomes or whispered of in hushed conversations, but raw, unrelenting, all-consuming death. Her hands trembled, the echoes of helplessness and despair clawing at her mind.

She forced herself to breathe, slow and deliberate, as though anchoring herself back to the present. The world around her came into focus, blurred at first, but sharpening as her mind fought against the residual haze of that overwhelming experience.

'I survived,' she thought, shivering. Goosebumps prickled across her skin, and she barely stifled the involuntary chatter of her teeth. Her body was whole, untouched. Yet that creeping shadow of despair still gnawed at her, a phantom pain.

Her heart clenched as the memory of Arthur's warning resurfaced.

"This is dangerous."

It had been an understatement. Even with all her training, her mental fortitude forged through years of relentless discipline, she had nearly crumbled. If this was what it took to grow stronger, she couldn't help but wonder… had they been foolish to trust him?

But then she reminded herself: 'Arthur wouldn't lead us astray.'

Her gaze shifted instinctively around the dimly lit room. Beside her, Cecilia stirred, a soft groan escaping her lips. Rachel, too, blinked her eyes open, her expression caught somewhere between confusion and alarm. The three of them exchanged brief, wordless glances, the weight of shared trauma etched into their faces.

Seraphina's attention, however, quickly turned to Arthur. He lay motionless on the bed, drenched in sweat. His usually sharp, composed features were pale, and his chest rose and fell with shallow, uneven breaths.

"Arthur?" Seraphina's voice cracked as she called out to him. Concern seeped through every syllable. She reached out, gently shaking his shoulder. No response.

"Arthur!" Her voice grew louder, panic threading through it as she leaned over him.

"You're awake," a small, higher-pitched voice chimed from somewhere behind her. Seraphina turned sharply, her pulse quickening. There, shimmering faintly, was Luna—though her usual ethereal form was smaller now, almost childlike, and flickered like a dying ember.

"Quick… save him," Luna managed, her voice strained and barely audible. Then, like a wisp of smoke caught in a gust, she vanished entirely.

The air felt colder. Heavier.

"Arthur!" Seraphina cried out again, her urgency jolting Rachel and Cecilia fully awake. Rachel scrambled forward, her hands already aglow with the soft, golden light of her healing magic. She pressed her palms against Arthur's chest, her light pouring into him like a river of warmth.

Minutes passed. Rachel's light faded, her expression twisting into something between confusion and despair.

"No…" she whispered, her voice trembling.

"What is it?" Cecilia asked sharply, leaning closer.

Rachel shook her head, her fingers hovering uselessly over Arthur's still form. "My light magic… it's not working," she said, her voice cracking. "It's just… passing through his body. There's nothing to heal. His body is completely fine."

"What?" Cecilia's brows furrowed as she moved to Arthur's other side. "That doesn't make sense."

Seraphina felt her chest tighten. Her sharp mind, trained to seek clarity and solutions, was overwhelmed by the sight of Arthur lying there, so still, so lifeless. Her thoughts raced. 'If his body is healed, then why…'

She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she fought back a rising wave of dread.

"Then why isn't he waking up?" Rachel's voice broke the silence, thick with emotion. Her sapphire eyes glistened with unshed tears as she stared at Arthur, willing him to move, to breathe, to respond.

Cecilia placed a hand on Rachel's shoulder, steadying her. "There has to be another reason," she said, though her own voice betrayed a faint tremor. "Maybe it's something beyond the physical."

Seraphina's eyes darted toward the space where Luna had been moments ago. The qilin's fleeting words echoed in her mind. 'Save him.'

"His soul," Seraphina said suddenly, her voice cutting through the suffocating tension in the room. Her words struck like lightning, igniting the still air. Rachel and Cecilia turned to her, their expressions heavy with confusion and dawning fear.

Seraphina didn't wait for their questions. She rose to her feet, her movements sharp and determined. "Father!" she called as she strode out of the room, her voice echoing down the corridors of Mount Hua.

"Father!" she shouted again, her voice urgent, cutting through the serene morning air. She found Mo in the dining hall, his hand poised over a cup of tea, his expression instantly hardening at the sight of her panic.

"Arthur," Seraphina said breathlessly, her voice trembling. "Please, save him."

Mo was already on his feet, his breakfast forgotten. His ice-blue eyes narrowed as he followed her back to the room without a single word. The tension was palpable as he stepped inside, his gaze falling on Arthur's still, pale form.

He extended an arm, his Radiant-rank aura swelling around him, bending the very fabric of space-time in the room. The air grew heavy with the raw power he wielded, every breath a struggle for those nearby.

Moments passed in silence, each second dragging longer than the last.

Mo's brow furrowed deeply. "His soul is damaged," he finally said, his voice grave, though his expression betrayed frustration. "Unfortunately, this is beyond my abilities. A 9-circle mage—perhaps—could help."

"Father," Rachel said, already reaching for her phone. Her fingers trembled as she dialed, urgency lacing every movement. She barely waited for the line to connect before speaking. "Father, it's Arthur—please, come to Mount Hua as fast as you can."

Mo's gaze turned to Seraphina. "What happened?" he demanded, his tone sharper now. "What did the four of you do?"

Seraphina flinched but held her ground, her eyes flicking to Rachel and Cecilia for support. The three of them exchanged uneasy glances, their silence deafening.

Mo's jaw tightened, but he turned, striding from the room. "I'll prepare the warp gate," he said over his shoulder, his voice clipped.

The atmosphere hung heavy until the warp gate shimmered, and moments later, Alastor Creighton entered the room. His resemblance to Mo was striking, though his features carried an almost ethereal intensity. His vibrant blue eyes swept over the scene, taking everything in with a single glance.

Without a word, Alastor knelt beside Arthur. He placed a hand lightly on Arthur's forehead, his own aura shimmering with Radiant-rank power as he delved into the invisible threads of Arthur's soul.

A tense silence filled the room, broken only by Alastor's soft exhale. "His soul isn't damaged," he said, relief threading through his voice. "But it's burdened—too much trauma, too much weight. He's tethered to something beyond what he should be."

Mo crossed his arms, his expression grim. "That doesn't explain what happened. What exactly did you four do?"

The three girls shared another look, each one hesitant to answer. Seraphina opened her mouth, but before any words could come, the air around them shifted.

The room grew darker, but not ominously—it was as if the very fabric of reality folded inward, creating a rift. Mo and Alastor were instantly on edge, their auras flaring as they prepared for whatever was coming.

And then, a voice spoke, rich and resonant, dripping with an almost playful authority.

"Don't worry about him," it said, calm but commanding. "That idiot will be fine."

All eyes turned toward the source of the voice. A figure stepped through the rift, his presence both ethereal and overwhelming. His form flickered like starlight, shifting between something human and something far more vast. More than that, he had Arthur's body and face.

"You," Alastor said, his voice edged with both awe and wariness as he took a step forward. "Who are you?"

The figure smirked, though it wasn't unkind. "Who am I?" he echoed, his voice laced with amusement. His gaze swept the room, lingering on Arthur's still form. "Let's just say I know him better than anyone here."

Mo's eyes narrowed, his instincts screaming at him to act, but his caution held. The power emanating from this being was far beyond anything he had ever encountered.

"It's not Arthur," Cecilia whispered, her voice trembling. "It looks like him, but it's not him."

"No," the figure agreed, his form shimmering faintly as he stepped closer to the bed. "I'm not Arthur. Not exactly." His eyes, burning with an indescribable depth, fixed on Alastor. "But you're right about one thing. His soul's been through more than it should."

"What do you mean?" Rachel asked, her voice steady despite the unease in her eyes.

The figure tilted his head, as though weighing his words carefully, his expression laced with a blend of amusement and disdain. "Let's just say he's carrying more than he should be. Anchoring three souls at once? That's not a burden anyone should bear alone."

Rachel's brows furrowed, confusion flashing across her face. "Wait—anchor? What does that even mean?"

The figure's laughter filled the room, a sound both melodic and sharp, like a blade cutting through silk. "Oh, did you really think you just had to endure a tiny little brush with death?" He chuckled, his gaze sweeping over the three women. "No, no, no. Your brave little hero here took on the lion's share of that burden. By becoming your anchor, he bore most of the weight—most of the pain. Anchoring one soul is a feat even for someone like me, but three? That's... reckless. It's like he wanted to die."

The words hung heavy in the air, cutting through the fragile sense of relief like a dagger. Rachel's breath hitched, her crimson eyes wide. Cecilia's lips parted, as if to argue, but no words came. Seraphina clenched her fists, her knuckles white against her pale skin.

The figure's expression shifted, his eyes narrowing slightly as though he'd just pieced something together. A sly smile curled his lips. "Unless... well." He waved a hand dismissively. "No matter. As I said, he'll be fine. His soul isn't fragile enough to be truly damaged by something like this. Exhausted, yes. Broken? Not even close."

His gaze flicked toward Arthur, who lay unmoving on the bed, his face pale but serene, as if in a deep slumber. The figure stepped forward, his movements fluid, almost ethereal.

"Still," he murmured, his voice softer now, carrying an undertone of something close to fondness, "a little nudge in the right direction won't hurt."

He reached out, his fingers shimmering with an otherworldly light as they brushed against Arthur's forehead. The touch wasn't physical; it was something deeper, a connection that hummed with power as the figure's presence seemed to flow into Arthur like a stream of starlight.

The air in the room grew heavy, charged with an unnameable energy that sent shivers down the spines of everyone present. Rachel instinctively stepped closer to Arthur, her hand hovering near his but not daring to touch him. Seraphina watched with clenched fists, her composure teetering on the edge. Cecilia's sharp eyes flicked between the figure and Arthur, her mind racing.

"What are you doing to him?" Cecilia demanded, her voice sharp but betraying an undercurrent of fear.

The figure didn't turn, his focus unwavering. "Helping," he said simply, as though the answer were self-evident. "It's not much—just enough to steady him. A foundation, if you will."

A faint glow pulsed from Arthur's chest, spreading outward in soft waves before fading into the ether. The figure straightened, his expression unreadable.

"There," he said, brushing his hands off as though completing a minor task. "He'll wake soon. Stronger, too. Though, whether that's a blessing or a curse is up to him."

His gaze swept back to the three women, his smile returning, sharp as a knife. "Take care of him, won't you? He's a peculiar one, your Arthur. Remarkable, even."

"Wait," Rachel said, her voice shaking slightly. "Who are you?"

The figure's smile widened, his form already beginning to fade into motes of light. "Just someone who finds him... interesting," he said, his voice echoing faintly as he dissolved. "And someone who intends to see just how far he'll go."

And then he was gone, leaving the room in an uneasy stillness.

For a long moment, no one spoke. Then Seraphina moved to Arthur's side, her hand brushing against his. "He's... breathing easier," she said softly, relief washing over her face.

Rachel nodded, her gaze still fixed on the spot where the figure had stood. "He said Arthur would wake soon."

"And stronger," Cecilia added, her voice low. "But what did he mean by that? What exactly did he do?"

No one had an answer, but one thing was clear: whatever lay ahead for Arthur—and for all of them—was far from ordinary.