The sun set, and the moon rose like it had been waiting for its cue. Somewhere near the far end of the kingdom, a wolf howled—long and proud. The sound rolled over rooftops and towers like a song that didn't care who heard it.
I blinked, listening.
"…Probably someone's dog," I muttered.
Noxx's lantern blinked once like it knew something I didn't. Nira didn't comment, which was suspicious. We passed through lit streets and tall buildings until the stadium came into view—huge, loud, glowing with magic lamps and anticipation.
Banners hung from pillars.
Signs hovered on enchanted boards.
Everywhere I looked, her name was written like a promise:
SYRIN — THE BLADE THAT SINGS
My excitement hit my chest like a drumbeat. We climbed out of the chariot, and I immediately grabbed Scorin's hand and dragged him toward the entrance like we were late to our own destiny.
Scorin didn't resist.
He just followed—quiet, steady—like holding my hand was the easiest decision he'd made all week. Nira floated near my ear and muttered, "He's acting like a trained knight."
"Shush," I whispered.
"Make me," she whispered back.
"LET GO," Scorin said, not actually trying to get free.
"EAT SOMETHING," I ordered, pulling him toward the food stalls. "I'M STARVING."
The stadium entrance was chaos in the best way—vendors shouting, glowing menus flickering, sweet smoke from grilled meat, and kids running around like they owned the night. Scorin stared at the crowds like he'd entered a battlefield with no map. Nira drifted near his shoulder and whispered in my ear.
"This boy is hopeless…"
Then, after a beat, she added, as it annoyed her to admit it,
"…but reliable."
Scorin glanced at me, expression dead serious.
"I am not hopeless."
I pointed at the menus.
"Pick something, then."
He stared at the list like it was written in ancient curse-script.
"…I retract my statement," he said. Nira giggled like an evil fairy.
I hit the first stall, saw something flat and familiar, and my soul ascended.
A vendor held out a steaming slice of something that smelled like home.
Pizza.
Cheese stretching. Sauce shining. Bread is crisp at the edges.
"Oh man," I said, already biting in. "This is so good."
Scorin watched the cheese stretch with wide eyes as he'd just seen beauty in its purest form.
"…That's impressive," he said quietly, like pizza was a miracle artifact. Noxx didn't wait for permission.
He took a slice like a predator and absolutely destroyed it. Nira made a pleased sound.
"Good dog."
Noxx's lantern blinked like: yes. Praise me. Riku returned for exactly long enough to be dramatic. He walked up like a prince out of a painting, calm and smooth, and handed us two sleek passes. They snapped into bracelet form around our wrists like VIP cuffs.
"Take these," Riku said. "Show's starting soon. See you inside."
"Wait—" I started.
Riku vanished.
Not walked away.
Vanished.
Like the world forgot he existed the moment he decided to leave.
I stared at the empty spot he'd been.
"…He's so weird," I muttered.
Scorin nodded like this was normal for my family.
Nira whispered, "That man disappears like he's avoiding responsibility."
"He is," I whispered back.
We kept eating near the entrance while the crowd flowed around us like a river. I glanced at Scorin, suddenly remembering I wasn't supposed to look like a gremlin tonight.
"What do you think of my dress?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
Unfortunately, I asked while my face was absolutely covered in pizza sauce. Scorin stared at me for one second. Then his eyes softened in that way that made my stomach do stupid backflips. He reached out, took a napkin, and wiped my face gently like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Can't take you anywhere, huh?" he murmured.
I blinked, my cheeks warming. He finished wiping the last bit and added, quieter,
"That's fine. At least the food is good."
I puffed up, offended, and pleased at the same time.
"You're not fair."
Scorin looked at me like he wanted to say something.
Something big.
His lips parted—Nira leaned out of the lantern and whispered, "Spit it out, lizard boy."
Scorin's ears went pink.
"I am not a—"
The loudspeaker boomed across the stadium grounds.
"THE SHOW WILL BEGIN SHORTLY! PLEASE MAKE YOUR WAY INSIDE!"
Scorin blinked like he'd been snapped out of a spell. Then he took the rest of the pizza, folded it into a box, and grabbed my hand.
"Let's finish this inside," he said, voice steady like he hadn't almost said something life-changing.
Nira floated near my ear, watching him like a scientist watching an animal.
"…Can he act like this regularly?" she muttered.
"Not unconsciously."
Noxx snorted as he agreed. We moved with the crowd into the stadium and found our seats.
They weren't just good.
They were ridiculous.
A VIP section with our names etched into the seating plates.
Drinks are already chilled. Desserts were arranged as if we were important enough to be fed. Scorin stared at it like Syrin had built him a throne.
"Wow," he breathed. "Syrin went all out for us."
I dropped into my seat with a grin.
"Yeah. Makes you feel better that you're not sneaking in through the air?"
Scorin coughed like he'd been attacked. Then he sat down, took a sip of fresh water, and nodded seriously.
"…Yeah," he admitted. "This is better."
Noxx curled at our feet like a bodyguard with pizza breath. The stadium lights dimmed.
The crowd roared.
And somewhere backstage, a blade was about to sing.
The stadium lights died all at once—like someone had snuffed out the sky. A bass hit so deep it shook the seats.
Smoke crawled over the stage in slow waves, lit from underneath by violet and silver runes that pulsed with the beat.
The crowd roared before anyone even appeared.
Then a silhouette sprinted through the fog—fast, confident, mic in one hand, the other lifting like she was about to cut the air open.
The screens flashed her name in blade-stroke letters.
SYRIN — THE BLADE THAT SINGS
And the moment she stepped into the light, the world remembered how to breathe.
Syrin didn't sing first. She rapped—voice sharp, playful, and dangerous, like a grin with steel behind it.
And after the first few bars, I realized something.
This wasn't just an opening track.
This was about Riku.
Yeah—listen—She stepped forward on the first beat—heel striking the stage like a signal.
I'm the night on a skyline, I'm the flash in a frame—She spun, mic cutting through the air like a blade tracing her rhythm.
Blade that sings, crowd rings, scream my name like flame.
She moved fast—too fast—one step, two, then a slide across the stage like she was dancing on a knife's edge.
From the pits to the peaks, I don't beg, I don't bow,
She dropped low, then snapped back up, pointing into the crowd like she was calling them out one by one.
I don't chase what I want—nah, I take it right now.
The beat hit harder—she matched it, footwork sharp, shoulders rolling, every motion timed like a strike.
They said, "Girl, stay quiet." " I said, "Watch me go loud."
She leaped onto a raised platform, landing lightly, then paced it like a queen surveying her domain. Turn a whisper to thunder, make a kingdom my crowd.
She dragged the mic low, then snapped it back up, voice rising with it like she was pulling the sound out of the arena.
I've danced through the danger, made the fear into art,
She pivoted, cloak flaring, the movement clean enough to look like choreography—dangerous enough to look real.
Put the rhythm on the edge, put the edge on my heart.
Lights flashed—she cut through them, silhouette sharp, like the stage itself was trying to keep up with her.
If you came for a saint, you picked the wrong kind of light—She leaned forward, voice dropping, eyes glinting like she was letting the front row in on a secret.
I'm the cut in the dark that makes the dark feel bright. She kicked off the platform and landed center stage, arms wide, owning the entire arena in one motion.
So clap if you're breathing, stomp if you're still alive. The crowd obeyed instantly—stomping, screaming, moving with her like she was pulling strings.
One voice, one blade—watch the whole world vibe!
The beat punched back in even harder, and the smoke split like it was afraid of her.
I stood up without thinking.
My mouth was open.
My soul was gone.
Oh.
That's why Riku dipped so early. He didn't vanish because he was dramatic. He vanished because he was part of the show.
I turned toward Scorin, ready to scream—But Scorin was already bumping his head to the beat.
Subtle.
Quiet.
Then he started mumbling his own little rhymes under his breath like he didn't realize he was doing it. He sounded cute. He caught me looking and froze like he'd been caught doing something illegal. Nira whispered, amused, "Dragon boy has rhythm. I hate that it's cute."
The music softened. Heartbeat-low. The smoke folded inward. Then Riku stepped out of it. Not rushed. Not excited.
Calm.
Cold.
Like the stage had lowered its voice for him.
One hand in his pocket. The other is holding the mic low at his side. His eyes were half-lidded, bored almost, but the crowd reacted like a blade had been drawn.
He took one step. The floor lit beneath his shoe—another step. The lights behind him cut into thin black lines, sharp as sword strokes.
He lifted the mic.
"If you came for the heat, better stand where you're at…
'Cause she doesn't do fake smiles, she doesn't do polite claps…"
His voice was smooth.
Too smooth. Cold enough to make the stadium feel smaller. He pointed into the smoke without looking. Like he already knew she'd be there. And Syrin stepped into the spotlight. Her next song slowed everything down—about what she'd been through, about refusing to become smaller, about meeting Riku and not being "tamed" by love.
Her voice wasn't sweet. It was honest.
And when the chorus hit, the whole stadium felt warmer.
With you here, I don't have to fold my fire.
With you here—I'm still me, I'm still loud, I'm still true.
And I'm not changing.
Not ever.
With you here.
Her words flew off the stage as warm colors that filled the stadium with comfort.
Scorin went still. Like he understood what devotion sounded like. After the slow song, the stadium breathed. Then Syrin grinned like a villain.
"Enough crying," she said into the mic. "Let's end this the way we're supposed to."
The lights snapped from soft gold to vivid violet. Smoke swirled in flower-like spirals, and the chorus stepped out—voices layered like a spell. The beat rose, brighter and faster, and Syrin's vocals turned playful and fierce.
Riku came back in from the side, sliding across the stage like gravity had less authority over him than usual. He didn't dance like Syrin. He cut through the choreography. Smooth steps. Cold turns. One hand behind his back. Mic raised only when needed. Syrin moved like fire. Riku moved as the shadow fire left behind.
She sang.
He answered.
She spun.
He stepped around her without ever touching, always exactly where the beat needed him to be. The lights bloomed in patterns like dream-flowers opening and closing to the rhythm. Scorin and I just sat there stunned. Even Noxx perked up. And Nira actually sounded impressed.
"…Okay," she muttered. "That choreography is insane."
In the middle of the hype song, Scorin looked at me and said it like it was normal.
"Grab my hand."
I did. Then Scorin took off.
"WOAH—WAIT!"
Wind hit my face. The stadium rushed away beneath us. Scorin laughed like he had forgotten how to be noble. He held me like I weighed nothing and tried to move with the beat while flying.
It looked dumb.
But it was cute.
Nira popped out beside my shoulder midair and deadpanned, "He should just learn how to rap."
Noxx barked from below, as if he agreed. Riku and Syrin closed the song and pointed up at the sky together.
The beat cut.
"Special thanks," Syrin called, smiling too innocently, "for attending tonight…"
Riku grinned beside her.
"Our Demonic Saint."
My blood turned to ice. A spotlight snapped onto me in the sky. The stadium erupted.
"SOPHIA! SOPHIA! SOPHIA!"
They chanted my name like it was the cure for every illness.
I grabbed Scorin's collar and hissed, "GET ME OUTTA HERE—I CAN'T TAKE IT!"
Scorin dove back down and landed us in the VIP section like a tactical retreat. I collapsed into my seat and covered my face.
"I'm going to die," I mumbled.
Nira was laughing. She was actually laughing. Before I could recover, a voice slid in behind me—smooth and arrogant.
"Having fun… are we?"
I turned. Prince Zephran sat in our VIP area as he belonged there. Scorin stood so fast his chair barely survived it.
Nira sighed.
"Oh. Of course he's here."
Noxx's ears pinned back. My eye twitched.
"First of all—why the hell are you in my VIP seat?"
Zephran flexed his VIP bracelet.
"Didn't you see the sponsor banners? That's my family."
He bragged as if he were already part of my life. I smiled through my rage.
"Even if Riku gave it to you, it's only because you sponsor the show. So, can you please get out of my seat?"
I gestured at the stage.
"You're hurting my view."
Scorin made a sound like he was fighting for his life not to laugh. Nira went speechless. Noxx stared at Zephran like prey. I leaned down and whispered to Noxx.
"Next time he touches me, you bite the shit out of him."
Noxx played innocently. So I threatened adoption. Noxx started whining. Then the Ledger popped.
[ EVOLUTION ACQUIRED ]
[ NOXX → UMBRAL BEAST HOUND ]
[ UMBRAL BITE: PAIN + RAPID RECOVERY, NO LASTING DAMAGE ]
[ IRON HOWLING: A ROAR THAT PIERCES NOISE LIKE A WEAPON ]
[ COMMENT: BE NICE TO HIM. — EG ]
Nira squinted.
"…EG?" she muttered. "She's really signing her comments now?"
My stomach tightened.
EG…
Evil Goddess?
Zephran tried to touch my face.
I shouted, "NOXX!"
Noxx bit his wrist—pure pain, no permanent harm—and Zephran screamed while healing at the same time.
Zephran's smile cracked. He grabbed Noxx and shoved him hard, trying to make him crash into me. I caught Noxx against my chest. He shrank to base form, growling like a tiny demon engine.
Zephran snapped out a small staff from his thigh.
Click.
Extend.
Stance perfect.
"You little girl," he hissed. "I think I should show you who's going to be the man in this relationship."
Scorin's greatsword formed in gold light. He stepped between us, ready. Then space itself froze. Riku's katana appeared at Zephran's neck. Syrin put a hand on Scorin's chest to hold him back—gentle, but absolute. Riku spoke, calm and lethal.
"We can all hear what you're doing," he said.
"And since everyone knows Sophia is here…"
He pressed the blade slightly closer.
"I don't think the crowd will care that you're a prince with a trade company and an ego."
Riku's eyes didn't blink.
"So go to your seat. Four boxes down."
Zephran tried, "Riku—bro—"
"Stop calling me that," Riku said flatly.
"My fiancée is already getting yelled at by her manager," Riku continued, "and as her future husband, I won't let you interfere with her life's work."
"Do you understand?"
Zephran lowered his staff. He survived. As Zephran left, he pointed at me.
"This isn't over."
Then he looked at Scorin.
"Next time you draw that weapon, prepare for a fight."
Scorin stepped forward like he wanted to.
"Say less. I'm right here."
Syrin panicked and saved the night.
"SCORIN—LOOK—if you fight him and Riku gets involved, that fight will go on forever—so LOOK!"
"I'll introduce you to the new idol I found!"
Scorin's sword vanished instantly.
"REALLY?!"
I stared.
"That's all it takes?"
Nira deadpanned, "He's an otaku. He'd buy souvenirs."
Syrin's eyes turned into money.
"YOU'RE RIGHT."
She dragged Riku away to scheme merch. I hugged Scorin from behind.
"Thank you for protecting me."
Scorin flushed.
"R-right… I wanted to say something to you…"
"I… I…"
Then the announcer cut in.
"LAST SONG—NEW IDOL FOUND BY SYRIN—KYSERA—'HERE I COME'!"
I dragged Scorin to sit, and we listened. Near the end, Nira's face shifted. Not smug. Not joking. She stared past the crowd. Past the lights. Past the music. She went quiet. Then she whispered, low:
"…That wasn't nothing."
Noxx's lantern blinked once. Like a warning. And then the presence—whatever it was—vanished.