Ten Years Until Dawn I

I woke up slowly, my body feeling like it had been put through a grinder, then patched together with whatever was lying around. Every breath felt heavy, like my lungs were weighed down by lead. My mind was swimming in a haze, fragments of memories and sensations swirling in a chaotic storm.

I tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness slammed into me, forcing me to stay flat on my back. My mouth was dry, my limbs sluggish. The faint hum of mana, the constant companion of my existence, felt muted—distant, like it was just out of reach.

"Arthur!" Rachel's voice pierced through the fog, sharp and clear. My head turned toward her instinctively, though it felt like it weighed a thousand tons.

"Hey..." My voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. I managed a weak smile, though it probably looked more like a grimace. "Why are you crying? I'm fine."

"Fine?" Rachel choked out, her voice trembling with a mixture of anger and relief. "You collapsed, Arthur! Your soul—" Her voice broke, and she covered her face with her hands.

I blinked slowly, my brain struggling to catch up. My soul. Right. The whole "anchor three souls and almost break yourself in the process" thing. Probably should've planned that better.

"Yeah, I guess that was...a bit much," I admitted, my voice barely above a murmur.

"A bit much?" Cecilia's voice cut in, sharp and incredulous. She was standing by the bed, arms crossed, crimson eyes blazing. "Arthur, you nearly killed yourself! And for what? For us?"

"For you," I corrected softly, turning my head to look at her. "Because I trust you. Because I know you'll make it worth it."

Cecilia opened her mouth, but whatever retort she had died on her lips. She looked away, her usual confident demeanor faltering.

"Arthur, you idiot," Seraphina said, her voice soft but laced with an edge. She was sitting at the foot of the bed, her ice-blue eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made it hard to look away. "You didn't have to do this. You didn't have to go that far."

"Didn't I?" I asked, my voice gaining a bit of strength as I pushed through the haze. "You three are strong—stronger than almost anyone else in this generation. But the world isn't fair. Strength isn't enough. You'll need every edge you can get. And I'd do it again, if it meant keeping you alive."

The room fell silent. I could see the emotions swirling in their expressions—guilt, anger, gratitude, and something deeper, something unspoken.

"You don't have to bear this alone," Rachel said, her voice trembling but resolute. "We're supposed to stand beside you, Arthur. Not behind you."

I chuckled weakly, the sound rough and dry. "I'm not trying to leave you behind. I just… couldn't risk it. Not with everything coming. Not with what I know is waiting for us."

"And you think we don't know that too?" Seraphina asked, her voice soft but cutting. "You think we aren't ready to fight for you, the same way you fight for us?"

"You'll fight," I said, meeting her gaze. "I know you will. But the truth is, I'll always try to shield you. I'll always take the hit, if it means keeping you safe. That's just who I am."

"And that's what makes you an idiot," Cecilia muttered, though her voice lacked its usual bite.

I closed my eyes for a moment, letting their words sink in. They were right. Of course, they were right. But that didn't mean I could change. Not completely. Not yet.

"How long was I out?" I asked, trying to change the subject. My head was beginning to clear, and I could feel the faint stirrings of mana starting to flow through me again.

"Not long," Rachel said, her voice quieter now. "Maybe an hour. Your...condition was bad, but father and King Mo were able to figure out that your soul wasn't permanently damaged."

"That's good," I muttered. "I guess my gamble paid off then."

"Gamble?" Seraphina repeated, her voice dangerously low. "You call what you did a gamble?"

"Hey, it worked, didn't it?" I said, forcing a weak grin. "You're stronger now. That's all that matters."

"No," she said firmly, her voice trembling slightly. "What matters is that you don't kill yourself in the process."

The room fell silent again, the weight of her words pressing down on all of us. I let out a slow breath, my body still aching but my mind sharpening with each passing moment.

"Okay," I said finally, my voice quiet but steady. "I'll try to be more careful. For you."

For them. For all of us.

"Also, that thing came out of your body," Cecilia said, her face twisting in a mixture of unease and curiosity.

"That thing?" I asked, feigning ignorance, though I knew exactly what she meant.

Art.

Or rather, the original Arthur Nightingale.

"Yes," Rachel chimed in, her voice quieter but tinged with worry. "He... he did something. Something to fix your soul."

I frowned, the weight of her words settling uneasily in my mind. How did he manifest like that? Even metaphysically? It didn't make sense. He was supposed to be just a lingering soul. A whisper of what he once was. And yet…

"Who is he?" Rachel asked, her crimson eyes boring into mine. Her tone wasn't accusatory, but it was laced with concern, the kind that came from someone who had witnessed too much and understood too little.

"I don't know," I answered honestly, meeting her gaze. "I'm trying to figure it out."

The uncertainty hung in the air like a storm cloud. I could see the doubt flicker across their faces, though none of them pressed further. For now.

After spending what felt like hours reassuring them, I finally slipped away to find Mo and Alastor. They had been instrumental in stabilising me earlier, and gratitude seemed like the least I owed them.

Mo was seated in a high-backed chair, sipping tea with an air of casual grace that belied the razor-sharp presence I'd come to associate with him. Alastor stood nearby, leaning against the edge of the table with his arms crossed, his vibrant blue eyes scanning me as I entered the room.

"That was a big move, Arthur," Mo said without preamble, his voice calm but carrying the weight of unspoken questions.

Alastor nodded, his expression unreadable. "Risky, too. Anchoring three souls? That's the kind of thing that ends in tragedy more often than not."

I took a seat across from them, the weight of their scrutiny pressing down on me like a physical force. "It was necessary," I said simply.

"Necessary," Mo repeated, his tone thoughtful. "That's a word people like us use to justify all sorts of things. But you're too young to be carrying the weight of necessity like this. What are you running toward, Arthur?"

"I'm not running," I replied, my voice steady.

"Then what are you running from?" Alastor pressed, his tone sharper than Mo's but not unkind. "I've seen men push themselves to the brink before, and it's always for one of two reasons: ambition or fear. So which is it for you?"

I looked at the two Kings, their Radiant-rank power crackling faintly in the air around them like a storm waiting to break. They deserved the truth. Or at least part of it. I had kept too many secrets for too long, and, for once, I didn't want to shoulder the burden alone.

"Because this world will end," I said finally, my voice quiet but resolute. "Not by war, or famine, or human folly. But by demons."

The words landed like a thunderclap. Mo's calm façade flickered, his ice-blue eyes narrowing as he leaned forward slightly. Alastor's arms uncrossed, his expression hardening into something more serious.

"Demons," Mo echoed, his voice like a blade honed to perfection. "That's a bold claim."

"It's not a claim," I said, meeting his gaze. "It's the truth. I've seen it. I know it. And it's not just some invasion. It's annihilation. They've done it to other worlds, and we're next."

"How do you know this?" Alastor asked, his voice low and measured. "What aren't you telling us, Arthur?"

I hesitated. The weight of my knowledge felt like a stone pressing against my chest. How much could I reveal? How much would they believe? My thoughts churned, the enormity of the truth almost suffocating.

"Every two generations," I began, my voice steady but low, "Radiant-rankers are born. Isn't that what's said?"

Both Mo and Alastor fixed their gazes on me, their eyes narrowing slightly, not in skepticism but in measured interest. I pressed on, knowing there was no turning back now.

"Yes," I continued, "every two generations, we've seen Radiant-rankers rise to the peak. But this time, something's different. This time, we have an entire generation teeming with potential Radiant-rankers right after yours. Not just one or two prodigies, but many exceptional talents. Talents who aren't just destined for Radiant-rank but have the capability to reach mid Radiant-rank or higher. Doesn't that strike you as odd?"

Mo leaned forward slightly, his ice-blue eyes sharp with thought. Alastor, however, spoke first, his tone clipped but curious. "It's an anomaly, yes, but anomalies happen. What are you implying?"

I exhaled, gathering my thoughts. "It's not random," I said. "It's not some whimsical stroke of fate. It's preparation. We're being prepared—forced to rise higher and faster than before. Because we need to survive. Not against vampires. Not against ogres or orcs. Not against Shadow Seekers or dark beasts."