CHAPTER 52: MOTHER

Nova stood still. Her face was calm, unreadable, like stone. Didn’t even flinch. She didn’t react. She only let her eyes drift down to where he’d spat, then back up to his face, meeting his blazing eyes with quiet finality.

Her eyes locked onto his, and the silence between them grew thick with all the things neither would say.

The entire coliseum held its breath, the weight of the moment suffocating. And Razeal stood at its center, a man who’d chosen pride over salvation.

The crowd remained frozen, as if even the air itself refused to stir. No one spoke, no one even dared breathe too loud, terrified that the smallest noise might trigger whatever storm was waiting to break.

The coliseum belonged to deathly silence, all holding their breath for what would come next.

---

Far above, high in the central and grandest of the five VVIP stands, a girl sat alone on a throne-like seat. Devilishly beautiful, with a presence that demanded attention even in stillness.

She leaned slightly, resting her elbow on the arm of the throne, her hand cradling her face in casual, thoughtful amusement. Her platinum hair cascaded down like a waterfall spilling into a starless night, glinting faintly in the light. Her pale skin seemed almost luminous, flawless and smooth, like porcelain kissed by moonlight but alive, vibrant, not fragile.

If mortals spoke of goddesses walking the earth, surely they meant her.

Her lashes, long and silvered like her hair, framed eyes that gazed down at the scene without urgency or care. A smirk tugged at her lips.

"How intriguing..." she spoke softly, each word laced with quiet contemplation. "He appears to have changed... she murmured to herself, voice soft as silk. "More like... he’s becoming a little manly now."

Her eyes glowed faintly as she watched, amused, detached like a goddess watching mortals struggle beneath her notice.

---

Back below, in the heart of the arena, Razeal and Nova continued their silent war of gazes. Neither moved or even blinked. Time itself seemed to bend around the stillness of that moment.

And then Nova tilted her head ever so slightly, looking at him with eyes that had grown bored.

"Are you still clinging to that?" she said, voice flat but firm. "That we didn’t trust you? That you didn’t do it?...Just get yourself together, man."

Her gaze sharpened, but her tone remained steady. Disciplined.

"Try remembering how many tests we did. How many times we searched for truth? We even went to the holy church had them perform every Truth Ritual. We used sacred relics. Everything. And they all proclaimed you guilty.

Her voice didn’t rise; it didn’t need to. The weight of fact alone struck like a hammer.

"And when you still refused to accept it... the imperial princess herself came to you, to judge with her own eyes whether you were guilty or not. You know what she holds the Holy Eyes of Judgment. No one can lie before those eyes. If she declared you were lying, then you were lying. How long will you live in your delusion? How long will you reject the truth?"

Her face didn’t change still that cold, strict calm of a woman who had no time for games. Nova wasn’t weak. She wasn’t the type to let emotions rule. The title she carried, the power she wielded it shaped her into someone who didn’t let herself be rattled by old wounds or useless arguments.

Her eyes stayed on him, seeing a boy who refused to face reality, a boy who chose hatred over healing.

And Razeal? He said nothing. He stood silent, unmoving, as if the effort to explain was beneath him. As if the storm inside him left no room for words.

Nearby, Selena bit her lip, saying nothing, unable to break the heavy tension that hung between them.

Nova’s eyes hardened further, though her voice remained level.

"Whatever. Do what you want. I don’t care. I gave you a chance, and you didn’t take it. Just don’t regret it."

She turned, cloak sweeping behind her, steps measured, calm. She had no intention of wasting more time. As for teaching him a lesson for daring to use that tone toward her? He wasn’t worth it.. not anymore.

Razeal watched her back as she began to walk away, one step, two. He felt a flicker of relief not because he’d won anything, but because, somehow, she hadn’t snapped. He’s alive.

And then Nova stopped.

Her voice, soft but clear, floated back to him.

"Ah... my hands are getting scratchy," she murmured, almost absentmindedly.

The words were quiet, but the effect was anything but.

Across the entire coliseum, hearts seized. A wave of held breaths filled the air, as if thousands had inhaled at once.

No one moved.

No one dared.

Every soul knew what those words meant.

Without care or concern, Nova slowly turned not to Razeal, but toward a different direction. Toward a man who stood lazily at the edge of the arena, as if the entire spectacle bored him. A giant blade was strapped across his back, his posture casual, almost disinterested.

When most of the people in the coliseum still knelt, trembling from the pressure that hung heavy in the air, Dorn the Warden remained standing one of the rare exceptions, his pride refusing to bow, though unease had begun to creep beneath his skin.

But that unease turned to dread as Nova’s eyes shifted, her gaze sharp and cold, locking onto him across the expanse. Without a word, she began walking toward him, her boots clicking against the stone with a slow, deliberate rhythm. The sound echoed eerily through the silent arena, each step louder than the last.

Dorn stiffened, his spine straightening as instinct warned him of danger. His heart pounded as she drew closer, that bored expression still resting on her face like a mask. Without thinking, he took a small step back, unease prickling at the edge of fear.

But before he could move again

Swish!

Three sharp, purple-hued daggers appeared, materializing as if from the air itself, forming a deadly triangle around his neck. The cold metal nearly touched his skin, the blades so close he could feel their presence like ice.

When?! His mind raced. He hadn’t even seen them move.

Three low voices spoke at once, cold and empty of emotion:

"Don’t Move."

The command was soft, but it sent a shiver down his spine. His eyes darted downward and met the gaze of the assassin in front of him clad in dark purple, nearly black, garb that concealed everything but light purple hair and piercing eyes.

Dorn froze, his body locked in place, not daring to so much as breathe too deeply.

And then click Nova’s boots rang out one final time as she stopped before him. Without a signal, the three assassins disappeared, vanishing into the air like shadows at dusk. But Dorn didn’t move. He couldn’t. He stood there like a statue, afraid that even the smallest twitch might seal his fate.

Nova’s cold gaze studied him, and she yawned as if bored by the entire ordeal.

"My hand is feeling a bit scratchy," she murmured, voice soft and almost amused.

And before Dorn could react, she reached out, seizing him by the hair. He didn’t resist. He didn’t dare.

Her hand rose.

SLAP!

The sound echoed like thunder across the coliseum, a crack that made even the bravest men flinch. Dorn closed his eyes, face stinging, but said nothing.

And then

SLAP. SLAP. SLAP.

Again and again, the sound rang out, rhythmic, merciless. Like a drumbeat of humiliation, it filled the vast arena, each strike leaving Dorn’s face more swollen, more red, more bruised.

The crowd didn’t move. Nobles, students, warriors all stood frozen. Some trembled, others turned pale. None dared intervene. None even dared look directly at that direction.

Yes’ this was real Nova Virelan. The one they called a psychopath, and with good reason. They were almost thinking she’s some fake seeing that crazy boy standing alive. But guess...

They gulped, watching Dorn the very man who’d once stopped a Radiant Knight’s grandmaster strike with one hand stand there and take it, powerless. The Warden of the Academy, humiliated in front of thousands. And not a single soul stepped forward to stop it.

Razeal alone watched without flinching, gaze fixed on her, eyes unreadable.

The slaps continued. No one knew how many times. The sound seemed endless.

And at last, with one final, resounding SLAP, she stopped.

Nova stared down at Dorn, whose face was now red, blue, and swollen on one side, bruises blooming across his skin. He still didn’t move. His hands remained behind his back, his pride buried beneath the storm that was Nova.

"You’re lucky today," Nova said, voice flat. "I’m not in the mood for killing."

Dorn said nothing, didn’t lift his eyes, didn’t defend himself.

Nova’s tone grew colder.

"Where are your manners? Did you forget?"

Dorn’s stiff body bent at the waist, bowing deeply ninety degrees. His voice rang out loud and clear, echoing across the stunned coliseum.

"Thank you for using me Ma’am."

Nova smirked slightly, then nodded.

"Good."

And without another word, without a sound, she vanished from where she’d stood.

The eerie silence that followed was suffocating. The arena seemed to exhale only when they were sure she was truly gone.

Dorn was the first to move. His fist clenched at his side, but he said nothing. Without a word, he disappeared from the center, the humiliation still burning his skin.

It took several seconds before the rest of the coliseum dared shift, to look around at each other, to breathe again.

---

Far above, on the highest point of the coliseum’s towering wall, Nova appeared out of thin air.

Two others stood there.

One was a woman in her late thirties, dressed in a crisp purple uniform. Square glasses framed sharp eyes, her face strict and unyielding. Her dark purple hair was tied neatly back.

The other a woman in her late twenties, standing silent as stone. Her gaze looked down upon the arena, dark royal purple eyes glowing faintly, thick royal purple hair cascading down her back. She seemed untouchable by anything.

Nova approached, her voice soft.

"Mother."

The younger woman didn’t turn, still watching the arena below.

"You’ve been waiting here for eight hours," Nova continued gently. "Why not go see him, if that’s what you want?"

The woman said nothing.

Nova hesitated.

"Did I handle it well?" she asked quietly, as if unsure. "I tried my best... but it seems he hates us. Hates us very, very much. I couldn’t reach him. Maybe if I’d been able to teach him better maybe I could have...."

She clenched her fists, fighting the sting behind her eyes.

"I see," her mother finally replied, eyes never leaving the arena.

Nova swallowed.

"Do you have any words for me, Mother?"

At last, the woman turned. Her dangerously beautiful eyes locked onto Nova’s, gaze so intense it seemed to strip away every mask, every defense but gentle at same time.

The moment stretched long, heavy between them, until finally

"When someone is drowning," her mother said her words soft, "that is not the time to teach them how to swim."

---

Almost 4,000 words today. This Chapter was rough to write I had to keep track of all the personalities at the same time.

It was literally exhausting.

Sigh Good night, guys. Time to sleep.

3:46 AM... damn. I’m officially a vampire, haha.

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