“Are you sure you didn’t want to say goodbye to the prince and princess, Your Highness?”
Inside the helicopter, soaring toward NASC, Grandmaster Thomas glanced at Celestina, who sat across from him, gazing out of the window.
Her expression was unreadable, her posture calm.
Celestina’s lips curled slightly as she turned to face him.
“There’s no need for goodbyes. I’ll see them again next week.”
Thomas studied her for a moment before nodding.
“If that is what you wish.”
Celestina shifted her gaze back outside, her mind elsewhere, while Thomas couldn’t help but think, his thoughts growing more tangled by the second.
‘Should I tell her now, or wait until we meet His Majesty?’
The situation weighed heavily on him—the man in black, who turned out to be a skinwalker during his encounter with Nol.
This was critical information, not just for Neo Genesis, but for the fact that a skinwalker was roaming in Asia.
Yet he had to remain silent, at least until they left CASC, which was already teetering on the edge of panic.
The Frost Clan incident, related to skinwalkers seven years ago, loomed large in his mind.
Telling Ragnar and Celestina would be no small task.
If there was one thing he knew, it was how much they loathed void creatures.
And the ones they hated the most?
Skinwalkers.
The very beings responsible for the deaths of Ragnar’s parents, Celestina’s grandparents—the previous Frost King and Queen.
‘Maybe it’s better if I tell her now,’ Thomas thought, feeling the weight of the decision.
‘She might help me calm His Majesty down.’
He nodded to himself, having made up his mind.
“Your Highness,” Thomas called out again, his voice measured.
Celestina turned, curiosity flickering in her eyes.
“What is it, Uncle Thomas?”
He hesitated, then spoke softly.
“There’s something I need to tell you. Last night, Sir Nol and I had a meeting with someone from Neo Genesis…”
“….”
Her gaze didn’t waver, but her silence pressed him to continue.
“That person wasn’t human. It was a skinwalker.”
“….”
Again, no reaction from her.
She remained expressionless, watching him in that unnerving quiet.
Thomas took a breath.
“I judged the situation too dangerous to apprehend the skinwalker…”
Still, no response.
The only sound in the cabin was the steady hum of the helicopter’s engine.
Seconds passed, stretching into a full minute of silence.
Then, finally, Celestina spoke, her voice level and without any trace of emotion.
“So, a skinwalker is working with a terrorist organization. With humans?”
Thomas nodded slowly, noting how her tone wasn’t cold, but neither did it hold warmth.
‘She’s not going to get angry?’
Thomas thought, relieved by her composure.
If only Ragnar could react the same way…
“When we reach home, I want you to personally train me, Uncle Thomas.”
Her words caught him off guard. His eyes widened in surprise.
“Train you?”
“Compared to the other great children, I’m dead last now. Azriel’s surpassed that purple idiot, so I need to surpass him just to get back in the race with the Crimson siblings. And that’s just in strength. As for achievements? Azriel’s done something that’s placed him right beside the Dusk Prince at the top. And me?
I’ve barely achieved enough to stay a few steps ahead of that purple idiot.”
Thomas almost winced at the way Celestina referred to Caleus, but he said nothing.
The relationship between the two was strained, to say the least.
It was far from the friendship she shared with Jasmine.
Surprisingly, Caleus seemed closest to the Dusk Prince and Azriel these days.
‘So, she’s setting aside the skinwalker problem for now… Good.’
Eventually, Thomas spoke, barely able to contain his excitement.
“If that’s what you wish, Your Highness, it would be an honor to train you personally. But I warn you, I won’t go easy.”
Celestina’s lips twitched into a faint smile.
“I’d be upset if you did, Uncle Thomas.”
Then, as if remembering something, her tone dropped slightly.
“I also want your help with training my [Unique Skill].”
Thomas’ smile froze, his expression shifting to one of surprise.
“…Are you certain about that?”
Without hesitation, Celestina nodded.
“I am.”
Thomas stared at her, words failing him as memories surfaced.
‘To think she would use it again…’
It had been seven years since Celestina last used her [Unique Skill].
*****
Azriel sat in one of the chairs, his arm resting on the armrest, propping his head on his hand.
His fingers pressed lightly against his cheek, his gaze distant.
To his right, Jasmine sat quietly in another chair, her eyes closed, her posture straight and dignified.
She barely moved, as though deep in thought.
A little behind Azriel’s chair, on his left, stood Amaya.
On his right, between him and Jasmine, was Nol, standing with his arms crossed, his face a mask of displeasure.
Yelena and Lumine stood off to the side, near the beautifully adorned wall, their nerves evident in the stiffness of their posture.
In front of Azriel was a desk, with a luxurious chair sitting behind it.
The room they occupied was one of the many lavish chambers inside the Crimson Mansion.
They had come here immediately after arriving at EASC.
Though Azriel longed for rest, there had been no time for it.
Mira had rushed ahead to meet with Aeliana, informing her of everything that had transpired.
Azriel and Jasmine had yet to meet their mother. They were waiting. Lumine and Yelena, on the other hand, stood nervously, too tense to appreciate their surroundings.
Azriel let out a quiet sigh, glancing at Nol, who stood with his eyes closed, a deep frown etched across his face.
‘It wasn’t such a bad name…’
Azriel thought, amused by Nol’s distaste for his new title: the Silver-Blood Devil.
Not sure how to lighten Nol’s mood, Azriel let him sulk in silence.
He shifted his gaze to the left, meeting Amaya’s eyes.
She smiled faintly, and he returned it, though his smile was a little strained.
‘She’s been watching my every move…’
Ever since their reunion, it felt like Amaya’s eyes never left him.
Not that he blamed her.
She had been caught up in everything surrounding Azriel, from his victory against Neo Genesis to his recklessness in battle.
To her, he must seem like someone who threw himself into danger without a second thought.
‘I suppose it fits the image of someone who survived the Void Realm,” he mused.
‘Someone who no longer feared death.’
But the truth was, fear hadn’t left Azriel entirely.
It was simply harder to feel, knowing he had his [Unique Skill] to protect him.
The only thing he truly feared was using it.
The last thing he ever wanted to do was activate [Redo].
Azriel closed his eyes, settling back in his chair.
‘If I’m going to think this through, this is as good a time as any.’
His thoughts drifted back to the tunnels. To what he had seen.
Himself.
‘That person… it was me. But older, more mature. And he wielded a scythe instead of Void Eater. He killed that pest in my head so effortlessly and left behind just one message: ‘Remember.”
Azriel wasn’t foolish enough not to understand who that person was.
But accepting it?
That was harder.
In the end, though, he had no choice.
That person…
‘He was my future self.’
Or something like that.
There was no other explanation.
Seeing him raised so many questions, questions Azriel had no way of answering.
At least, not yet.
The one thing he did know was what the message meant.
‘My missing memories…’
Azriel’s mood darkened.
From what Nol had told him, he had already been in this world two years ago, right when the previous Azriel had died.
Then, he inexplicably ended up in White Haven, barely revealing anything to Nol before disappearing again.
‘It doesn’t make sense. I was badly injured then. Was it when I was still an Awakened, or had I already reached Intermediate? How did I even get there, and what happened after I left?’
Before his previous self died, Azriel had been at the Awakened rank.
But had he ranked up on his own?
Or had the God of Death done something to him?
‘How am I supposed to remember?’
His face darkened further.
He had tried before, countless times, but every attempt was met with a fog, blocking his way.
The moment he pushed, a searing headache would force him to stop.
‘In the first place, how did I even come to this world? Why?’
Was it truly pity from the God of Death?
That seemed unlikely.
The God of Death was supposed to be fictional, a character in a book.
There weren’t ten gods in his previous world, so why now?
Azriel frowned, feeling his thoughts spinning in circles.
‘I need to find a way to access my memories…’
The only one in this world who might have any real insight was the Crying Fog.
That titan would undoubtedly come for him eventually.
But then again…
‘The bastard in my head couldn’t get to those memories. Does that mean the same will happen if I try?’
Azriel let out a long breath just as the door behind him opened.
He turned his head, spotting two figures entering the room.
One was Mira.
And the other…
His mother.