CHAPTER 214: CHAPTER 215: WORM

There was only silence after.

A silence so thick, even the sound of the wind seemed to hold its breath. A silence not of peace, but the kind that hovers before war, pregnant with dread.

Even Atlas was surprised.

Not by the storm above or the trembling earth beneath their feet—but by the audacity. The sheer, goddamn audacity of the old man.

Was Merlin stupid, senile—or did he have a death wish?

The words hadn’t been loud. Just a whisper through the void, carried on the breath of a dying world:

...interesting point....then get ready for my arrival....worm....

But that smile. That damned smile Merlin gave as his blood stained the grass beneath him. Eyes cloudy but still glinting with maddening clarity.

Atlas clenched his jaw.

That smile wasn’t born from delusion. It was a plan. It was always a plan.

He didn’t know why. Didn’t know what the hell the old man had summoned, or how long he’d been puppeteering things behind the curtain. Was it revenge? Was it a final act of pride, sacrifice—or something older and crueler?

He did not know.

And worse, he didn’t want to know.

Atlas felt it then. Not just suspicion—but a raw instinct crawling under his skin like a premonition. Merlin wasn’t just trying to die. He was setting the stage.

He pulled Eli closer by the wrist. Her pulse was cold, steady—too steady for what they stood before. Her gaze flicked up to him, and then to the sky.

"Father," Atlas said, his voice low and sharp, "no more meetings. We take the Empress hostage and be on our way."

The word hostage lingered like a bitter taste. Even if she didn’t resist.

Henry gave a single nod. No debate. No objection. Even the royal kings behind him moved like shadows—fast, disciplined, and wordless.

All of them now mounting toward the bird-shaped beast overhead. Its feathers shimmered with celestial frost, wings barely restrained by the fabric of this world. As if it were stitched from constellations and war.

The armies dispersed. The battlefield that had once breathed with magic and blades now exhaled silence.

Number Three stepped forward, sword trembling slightly in his hand. But Eli raised hers gently. A gesture without violence. Without resistance.

She let herself be captured.

Because this was the way forward.

She knew now, if the meeting had continued—if the gods had not intervened—there would have been real loss. The kind that history of the empire would name a cataclysm.

She glanced at Atlas. At the barely-contained aura trembling around him. His magic didn’t shine—it hummed, as if vibrating against the veil of the divine. Whatever he had become, it wasn’t mortal anymore.

If Atlas had spoken another word back there—judgment would’ve fallen like the hammer of a vengeful star.

And the rest? The kings, the lords, even Henry? They would’ve waited like carrion crows, hoping for scraps after Atlas took what he wanted.

"...Wait."

Aurora’s voice cracked like thin ice, soft. Still beside Merlin’s fallen form. Her fingers hovered just over his chest, unable to touch, unable to leave.

Henry stepped forward. Not Atlas.

His face was steel. Old steel, forged over decades of regret.

"Aurora," he began. His voice was not unkind. But it carried weight. The weight of a king too tired to bleed for fools. "I know he’s your master. Your father figure. But his heresy brought this storm."

He paused.

"And he will suffer for it. Not us. Not you. So come... please. I beg of you."

His hand extended to her like a fading dream.

She didn’t take it.

Eli watched from the sidelines. Her mind should’ve been on the mission—on her survival. But as she followed Atlas’s gaze to Aurora, something in her stirred.

That girl—cold, brilliant Aurora—was about to cross a line.

Eli knew it. She had seen it in people before.

The ones who refused to abandon the burning wreckage of those they loved.

Thunder cracked overhead.

Aurora’s lips parted. But no words came. She looked at Henry’s hand... then at Merlin... then at the sky.

"...Henry," she whispered, voice smaller than the storm, "..I’m sorry. Our contract ends here..."

She closed her eyes.

"I will not leave him."

The words tasted like a curse.

"Atlas... I’m sorry. I was going to have you carry my burden. But you can go."

A pause.

"You should go."

Atlas’s eye twitched.

Not from anger. Not even annoyance.

It was exhaustion. The bone-deep fatigue of a man who’d seen what came next in a hundred futures, and couldn’t stop any of them.

He didn’t respond. Just waved a hand.

The Book of the damned detached from his belt, floating toward Aurora like a fallen star. Its bindings shook with arcane pressure. Even the gods, if they were watching, would’ve flinched.

"Let’s go, Father," Atlas said quietly. "This is not our problem."

Thunder!!!

Another bolt of thunder ripped the sky. The world flinched.

Henry stared at Aurora for another heartbeat, then nodded. He turned back.

But as he walked, another shadow peeled away from the crowd.

Loki.

He passed by Henry in silence, his steps deliberate.

"Loki," Atlas warned, "don’t—"

But Loki kept walking.

Which made Atlas exhale, slowly.

"...Goddamn it."

Loki reached Aurora and knelt beside her.

"...I’m sorry, Atlas. I know you saved me. But ....she’s my friend. I can’t leave her like this."

Atlas closed his eyes.

One finger pinched the bridge of his nose.

He didn’t speak at first.

Not because he was holding back—but because words wouldn’t fix what was broken.

"...Fine," Atlas muttered, turning. "Just die then."

Veil followed close behind. He glanced once at Loki, at Aurora, at the madness they were choosing.

And his eyes—those usually unreadable eyes—held grief.

Thunder!!!!!!

The kind that shook the ribcage.

The skies above wailed open. Not rain. Not snow. But light. Blinding light veined with darkness, like heaven had been fractured.

With each strike of lightning, the battlefield emptied.

The mages. The kings. The warriors. The beasts.

Gone.

The battlefield was now a corpse. Still, wide, and waiting.

THUNDER!!!!

The thunder returned once more.

And with that final thunderclap—

The sky broke

A slash of darkness tore through the clouds, wide and slow and deep as an abyss. From within it, a being began to descend.

Not fall. Not float. Descend. Like the sky above was his home and he came out backyard, a muddy backyard. His thundering eyes eager to play.

As if gravity itself had become reverent.

The being’s body was still veiled—clouds coiled around it like armor or chains. Its silhouette was tall, impossibly still, unshakable.

The pressure in the air thickened like syrup.

Every molecule of oxygen bent.

And the voice—

...I have arrived....Worm....