CHAPTER 166: THE GRAVE OF THE SHINING STARS

After dragging Bel to a whirlwind of magical shows, a slapstick illusion duel, flame jugglers, and a performer who danced on threads of light, Airi finally slowed down.

Bel followed without complaint, though his face grew more and more tired. Crest trailed behind, always just far enough to feel forgotten.

They stopped by a food stall and grabbed another set of skewers before settling on a lantern-lit bench tucked beside a crooked alley.

The golden light gave their skin a faint, dreamlike hue. Music drifted from a nearby plaza.

It was a beautiful night, in every way possible.

Bel looked down at his skewer like it was his biggest challenge.

"Again?" Airi teased. "Never had meat that didn’t scream first?"

He didn’t answer.

She grinned and wiggled her skewer toward his mouth.

"Fine, fine. I’m in a good mood so I’ll help you. Say ah~."

Bel raised a brow.

"Maybe stop annoying him," Crest said, sharper than before.

It came out fast, like he wanted to cut the moment in half. Airi shot him a glare.

"How about you go fuck yourself somewhere else?"

Crest clenched his jaw, but didn’t answer. Not directly. His eyes drifted toward the river nearby, where the moonlight shimmered like threads of silver.

He hated how easily she leaned toward Bel. How quickly she laughed for him. It felt like he was being erased in real time.

So he straightened, took a breath, and spoke again, quieter but clear, determined to be heard.

"You know... this place used to be underwater? When I was a kid, I read about a traveling circus that wasn’t welcome anywhere. They kept performing anyway. One day, a wandering witch saw their show and liked it so much, she pushed back the ocean and gave them this land."

He leaned forward, voice soft.

"I always liked that story. Coming here was part of the dream. This city... meant something."

Airi squinted at him.

"That’s cute. Fairy tale nonsense."

She took a bite of her skewer, then leaned back slightly.

"Everyone knows this place was a fortress once. A battlefront during the old wars. High magic, blood everywhere. The demons pushed hard, and this place was one of the few that didn’t fall."

She flicked her eyes toward Bel, her tone gaining force.

"People didn’t come here for fun. They came here to hold the line. That’s why almost everyone in Castella uses magic. They’re descendants of the ones who stayed behind."

She turned fully to Bel, watching him like she expected approval. Like she wanted him to be impressed.

Crest snorted.

"Your version is depressing."

She turned sharply toward him.

"It’s called realism, idiot."

But her lips twitched, and for a second she was smiling. Crest felt lighter. He had reached her, even just a little.

"Still lame," she muttered, but there was no bite in it.

Crest shrugged, his chest loosening with a rare sense of satisfaction. Maybe he still had a place here. Maybe she still saw him.

Then she turned her attention to Bel, her voice shifting.

"What about you? Got a version?"

Crest’s satisfaction dissolved in an instant. He looked away, jaw tightening again.

Bel stared down at his food like it didn’t belong to him. Then, after a long pause, he said flatly.

"They knew the war could start again, and they turned a fort into a party?"

Airi raised an eyebrow.

"Wow. You really are all blade and no brain, huh?"

She leaned back with a huff, folding her arms as she kicked a loose pebble with her boot.

"You don’t even try to live, do you? That’s your whole thing? Just walk forward and slash until you die?"

Her voice lost its usual teasing tone. It wasn’t gentle either. Just blunt.

"Talk about a boring life."

Bel didn’t react. He simply looked down at the skewer again, holding it loosely in one hand.

His expression tightened.

"I don’t know why anymore," he murmured. "The more time passes, the less I feel anything."

He raised a hand to his chest and let it rest there.

"But I do feel some things. Regret... for not being fast enough to save someone. Bitterness... for stealing someone’s life."

His eyes narrowed, and a faint shadow crossed his face.

"And a burning urge to massacre one person. That one... will always be there."

The silence that followed was heavier than the night air. Even the lanterns seemed dimmer for a moment.

Was that an effect of his power?

Crest shifted, his posture tense. His gaze flicked toward Bel like one might glance at a ticking bomb.

But Airi tilted her head, scrutinizing Bel with a thoughtful look. Not fear, not concern. Just curiosity.

Like she was trying to understand how deep the hole went.

Then, suddenly, she stood up and stretched.

Her joints cracked. She rolled her shoulders with dramatic flair.

"Well, that just means you’re not completely empty," she said, cracking her knuckles one by one. "Emotions make you stronger, you idiot. I’ve got a grudge too, you know."

Her voice got punchier, louder.

"Two of your friends ganged up on me. Left me looking like a loser in front of everyone. I hate being the one on the ground. And I hate being left behind."

She clenched her fist in front of her face and grinned.

"So I hold onto that burn. Every damn day. Until I see them again."

She then turned, stepping closer to Bel.

"So yeah. You’ve still got something. You just need to figure out what lights your fire."

With a quick motion, she pointed that clenched fist right at him.

"And I bet I can make you feel every kind of emotion. Just watch."

Crest stared at her like she’d just dropped all the weight of the world on him.

His heart dropped somewhere deep in his gut.

Bel blinked, caught off guard. He looked at her fist, then at her eyes.

And slowly, almost cautiously, he smiled.

"You’re supposed to fist bump, not grin like an idiot," Airi said with a smirk, not pulling her hand back.

"But hey, at least I cracked through that ice face of yours."

Castella by night was a dream wrapped in starlight.

The sea breeze swept gently through its marble streets, carrying the scent of salt, fruit, and firecrackers.

Laughter mixed with distant music, and the sound of waves echoed softly from beyond.

At the center of every light stood The Glass Garden.

It wasn’t a garden in the normal sense. It was an open-air theater carved from silver arches and stained glass, tall as palaces.

Lights refracted through the colored panels, painting the marble floor with shifting color. Flowers bloomed from the architecture, magical and perfumed.

The seats wrapped in spirals, and floating walkways let people drift above the stage.

Tonight, the final event of the festival would begin here. Everyone wore a mask, not for anonymity, but as part of the tradition.

A rule and a ritual. Art before identity.

Airi convinced Bel to come somehow.

She tugged him by the wrist through the crowds, her mask a sharp red bird. She wasn’t dressed as richly as the other women around, but the smile she wore made her glow.

Bel followed quietly, his mask in hand. It was split down the middle, black on one side, white on the other.

Crest trailed behind them. He wore his mask already, a pale fox with black ears.

He looked at Airi, and something inside him tightened.

He remembered how she used to be. Always chasing strength, always sharpening herself like a blade.

She never wanted to rest, never stopped moving forward. Fighting wasn’t just something she did, it was her world, her nature.

And yet here she was, scolding Bel to live a little, to be more than just a weapon.

Even more now, she was acting like a girl for the first time in her life. Not the fighter, not the blunt warrior, just... a girl.

And Bel didn’t push her away.

Crest felt the gap grow. Not because he had done something wrong, but because maybe she had never looked at him that way to begin with. Maybe he just wasn’t the one.

He lowered his gaze, a dull ache blooming in his chest.

Then she laughed again, teasing Bel over a snack he clearly hated. She offered it anyway, just to get a reaction.

Crest watched, and the sound of her voice cut through him sharper than a blade.

He looked down at the marble floor, then back up at her.

His hand moved slowly to his chest.

And for the first time, he truly understood what he felt for her.

Meanwhile, the Sacred party was already there, seated in the other side row.

Regulus turned his mask in his hands, frowning.

"Why masks?"

Aurus adjusted his mask.

"Tradition. You lose your name so the show can speak louder."

Astros shrugged.

"You might like it. Easier to ignore your awkwardness when no one knows who you are."

Kardrax grinned, elbowing Lyraen.

"And since you can’t be recognized, maybe you can safely get some young ass boys?"

Lyraen grabbed a small dagger.

Astros caught her wrist.

"Guys, please."

Maël laughed, tossing popcorn in his mouth.

"Now this feels like home."

Only Regulus couldn’t laugh, nor enjoy any of this. He stared at his mask again.

"Just like my dream..."

The show began.

Lights exploded in the sky like blooming flowers.

Illusions surged across the stage, fields of snow, burning castles, cities made of glass. Dancers floated above the crowd.

Magic ran along the walls like rivers of light. The theater turned into a living painting.

The story was a strange one: a love tale between a brutish ogre and a human girl. It was ridiculous, funny, sweet, and sad.

Other stories followed. Opera singers who wept fire. Sword duels across tightropes. A phoenix puppet made from smoke.

Every corner of the theater moved, spun, and shifted. Magic platforms danced through the crowd.

Children gasped. Nobles clapped. Even Airi stopped trying to talk, just stared wide-eyed.

Bel sat still. He watched everything. Tried to absorb it. He didn’t hate it. But something in his chest felt tight.

He could feel something in the air, something more annoying than a simple magic trick.

Still, Airi looked at him now and then, nudging him when something funny happened. Her eyes lit up when he nodded. That was enough.

Then, the lights dimmed.

A man in a clown mask walked onto the highest balcony, holding a gold-tipped cane. His costume was mismatched and patched, but his voice rang clear.

"We hope you’re all having a good time tonight!"

The crowd clapped and cheered.

The clown bowed.

"Then let us thank our favorite performers of all—you!"

More cheers.

"And now," the clown said, spreading his arms, "we welcome the final moment. The one everyone waits for."

In his seat, Aurus turned toward Maël sharply.

Maël threw up his hands.

"Not me. Swear."

A woman sat down at a pipe organ. Her mask was white and her hands wore silver gloves.

She played.

A low, echoing tone filled the air. It pulsed. Like a heartbeat made of bells.

Then, a wave spread out. Blue, soft and gentle. Magic, but not normal magic.

The clown spoke, softer now.

"Please breathe... relax your shoulders... let your hands go loose..."

It sounded like a doctor’s voice before putting someone under.

"Let your mind open. Let the dream in."

The wave passed through the audience. People gasped.

It didn’t hurt.

It felt like warm water. Like air made of silk.

Above them, bubbles rose. Fantasy birds and glittering fish swam through the air, glowing.

Reality shimmered. Nothing felt real anymore.

Bel blinked. He looked around. His hands. His feet.

The strange feeling was stronger.

The clown raised his arms one final time.

"And now... enjoy the show: The Grave of the Shining Stars."

Bel looked up.

The clown’s eyes were glowing white beneath the paint.

"Damn..." Bel muttered.

But it was too late.

His body started dissolving into bubbles.

All around him, people vanished into shimmer.

Airi gasped. She tried to speak, but her lips faded.

Crest reached for her, but his fingers melted into bubbles too.

One by one, the Sacred disappeared, Aurus, Lyraen, Maël, Astros. Their masks cracked into dust. Their bodies became clouds of glitter.

Only Regulus remained.

He stood slowly, mask in his hand, eyes wide.

"S-Sir Aurus? Astros? Where did you..."

He stopped.

The lights in the theater all dimmed, except for one.

A single beam of white fell on Regulus.

The entire audience, those who remained, were perfectly still.

No breathing. No blinking.

Just still.

Regulus froze.

Then, as if pulled by instinct, he turned his head upward.

Hanging above, slowly lowering, was a giant puppet.

A jester. Its limbs dangled like stringless marionettes. Its head twisted to look down.

Its left eye glowed white.

Regulus’ breath caught.

A whisper came from everywhere and nowhere.

"Now... the first act can begin."

Every head in the crowd turned toward Regulus in perfect synch.