Anthesis of Sadness
Chapter 63: Toward the Inevitable

Chapter 63: Toward the Inevitable

Then a month passed, slowly, like a dream suspended between two abysses. A strange month, stretched like a burning breath over a scar that could not fully close.

A month of heavy silence between two storms. During this frozen time, Olfred, true to his impassive nature, responded to each of my requests with the cold and methodical rigor of an administrative specter.

I had asked him for a blacksmith worthy of the name. He presented me with three. Only one seemed truly passionate. He was the one I chose. I didn’t want just another piece of armor. I wanted someone who understood the meaning of metal. Someone who knew how to forge not a weapon... but an intention.

I had asked him for a common language teacher for Lysara. She had to learn. To write. To speak. No longer content herself with silence in public. And she did. With mechanical rigor at first. Then, little by little... with a hint of curiosity. Her first words were dry, monosyllabic. But sometimes, I caught her repeating others’ phrases in a corner of the hallway. As if she were secretly tasting them.

I had asked him for a master artificer. Because I had a project. An object to create, an artifact that would require more than ingredients: science. So I learned. And each day, I perfected my craft, among demons, in a field where precision was more dangerous than fire.

But the surprise came from Lysara herself. One morning, she spoke. Without emotion. Just a statement.

– I want to learn to cook.

I looked at her for a long moment.

And an hour later, Olfred found her the best demonic master chef in the entire inner court: Chef Naard’Zir, called "The Half-Fire."

A tyrant in a red toque, known for having been the cook of three princes devoured by their own ambition. But Lysara did not flinch. She attended every lesson. She wrote everything down. She tasted each dish, not with pleasure, but with an almost scientific attention. And her progress... was clear. She didn’t want to cook to please. She wanted to properly nourish our bodies for the days to come. Each plate became a secret training field, each ingredient an enemy to tame. She hunted perfection, not to flatter the ego, but to arm herself against the unpredictable.

Maybe to control something, in this unpredictable world. Maybe simply... to no longer settle for dried meat. Or maybe... to invent a place for herself, finally, in this daily life she had never chosen.

Finally, I asked Olfred to prepare two bags and two flasks made of the same alloy as my purse. Almost indestructible. Bound to the soul. I no longer wanted to be caught off guard. And if we had to leave again, it would be equipped like cursed kings.

Meanwhile... I was invited by several nobles, curious about my nature, my journey. Powerful people. Cunning. Charming. Masters of manipulation and the game. I went. With Lysara. Always. And I left her with their children. She did not laugh. She did not play. But she watched. And the children watched her. She stood out, yes. But what a mark. Brilliant. Unforgettable.

Sometimes, I caught the nobles’ gazes, oscillating between discomfort and fascination. As if Lysara reflected back at them the raw image of what they refused to admit: the beauty of the out-of-place.

She was opening up, little by little. Not by changing shape. But by letting light filter through. She was in full anthesis. She didn’t speak much more. But she listened better. She understood. She learned.

Each word captured, each gesture observed seemed to slowly sculpt a new version of herself, more anchored, sharper. She didn’t change: she honed herself.

And me... I read. In the private library of the suite, I devoured everything I found: History. Geopolitics. Myths. I swallowed this world like a new body to inhabit. I had learned an enormous amount in recent times.

Each book consumed was one more step toward understanding a universe that gave me no respite. Knowledge became my invisible armor, forged word by word, page by page.

Baelgorath, the Demonic Continent, was divided into seven major regions, each populated by its own race and governed by a mythical-rank being:

Zagnaroth – The Ash Kingdom:

This was the region where I currently was, in the north of the continent. It was ruled by Xagros himself, a myth among myths. I had discovered the name of their race: the Pyrmoths.

Velmoria – The Cursed Marshes:

To the east of Zagnaroth stretched wet and misty lands, covering the entire northeast of the continent. There reigned Velmora, the Witch of the Mists, also a mythical entity. Her people, the Morghuls, seemed as elusive as the mists themselves.

Kharz’Gorath – The Iron Citadel:

To the west of Zagnaroth was a massive region, the entire west of the continent, dominated by the Iron Citadel. For a few months, we had crossed these hostile lands, governed by Kharz’Gol, the Warlord. An ancient wine, which I had the chance to taste, bore his name... Perhaps he was born on the same day as that vintage? The mystery remained intact. Their race: the formidable Gorr’Shan we had encountered.

Zar’Vul – The Bastion of the Void:

Just south of Kharz’Gorath, in the northwest of the continent, was Zar’Vul. This desolate land was ruled by Zar’Vul’Xis, the Prophet of the Void. Their inhabitants, the Zar’Kains, embodied the void itself.

Nyssara – The Valley of Shadows:

East of Zar’Vul stretched a winding region, covering the entire north of the continent. There reigned Nyssar’Vel, the Master of Illusions. His race, the Nyx’Zara, mastered illusions to the point of chilling even the most hardened souls. Better to avoid any contact with them.

Xal’Thar – The Mire Lands:

Further southeast, Xal’Thar unfolded its immense, suffocating swamps. Governed by Xal’Tharok, the Primal Hunter, this territory was inhabited by the powerful Thal’Gorrs.

Terra Neutralis – The Oasis of Balance:

Finally, at the center of the Demonic Continent was Terra Neutralis. Connected to all other regions, this land seemed outside of time. A true paradise at the heart of hell, it had never been sullied by war or political quarrels. Here, the fauna and flora were breathtakingly beautiful.

This miracle existed thanks to one being: the Metamorphic Sovereign, a living vestige, the very first being shaped by the gods themselves. A prototype of life, capable on its own of maintaining a haven of peace amid chaos.

And suddenly, I finally understood the magnitude of what I had promised to one of these mythical beings: to make him the king of these lands one day.

A cold shiver ran down my spine.

I had sworn to offer him a destiny capable of inspiring legends, to raise him above even the first being created, above the oldest, the most powerful, the most absolute.

Fuck... what kind of mess had I gotten myself into again?

But after all, maybe one day I would have to defy the gods themselves in this world that didn’t want me. And for that, I would have to go through him.

At the same time, I took the opportunity to deepen my knowledge about the ranks. Especially that famous Vestige rank that intrigued me so much... After all, this whole damn tutorial revolved around a being of that level. Digging a little, I finally found it.

Beings were classified according to the following order:

Inferior, Common, Evolved, Rare (where I currently was), Predator, Heroic, Mythic, Vestige, and finally Divine.

I had also learned that the higher one climbed in the ranks, the more the gap between beings of the same rank became abyssal.

It wasn’t just a matter of linear progression: it was a true chasm. And me, I had promised to enslave one of the beings sitting at the very top of this world, far above all others, at a dizzying distance... A being just beneath the gods themselves.

Thinking back on it, I couldn’t help but laugh nervously. No wonder he had collapsed laughing when I made that promise. Now, I understood much better why.

But hey, that’s how it was. I knew that sooner or later, I’d have to go through it.

Next, what really caught my attention were the Vestige ranks. Digging a bit, I stumbled upon an old dusty book that talked about them.

There were twelve of them. Twelve... Like the twelve gods? I thought immediately.

Each Vestige represented a different race. So there were twelve major races. Was it the same logic as for the regions of the demonic continent, divided into seven? The more I learned, the more insatiable my thirst for knowledge became.

But I shook my head and resumed my reading, trying to stay focused. And there... there he was.

Xylorath.

That bastard of a living tutorial. He wasn’t just a creature: he was a region all by himself, worshipped by the Elves as a sort of sub-tutelary god. He fed on the offerings they made to him. Then a door opened, casting on the floor a light that resembled a moon.

– Aaaaah... so that was it, that damn Moon that appeared only from time to time...

He absorbed living beings, made them grow, wither, die within him, gorging himself on their mana, their vital energy.

There also existed the Guardians, mythical creatures, shaped by dark forces, fed by the very energy of Xylorath and entirely devoted to his inscrutable will. They were most certainly the ones who, in that cursed tutorial, had brutally ended my existence. Their role, implacable and cruel, was to prevent sacrifices from fleeing Xylorath’s deadly grasp, condemning them inexorably to perish within his silent walls. The entire place thus formed a macabre ecosystem, an endless cycle of death and despair, carefully orchestrated to prevent any living being from escaping its grim fate.

And us... We had been summoned into that monster, offered as sacrifices, as fertilizer for that bastard of a former vestige.

– Two in one, the gods must have thought.

– AAAAAAH!

I screamed in rage, sweeping the book away with a grand gesture, sending it flying across the room. The pages scattered everywhere like a flock of cursed butterflies.

– Those fucking gods! I spat.

– This fucking crazy world!

I kicked a chair that had asked for nothing, smashing it against the wall.

– Why?!

– Why the hell do I have to go through this?!

My voice echoed through the empty room, reverberating, as if even the walls were laughing at me.

– I just wanted... A FUCKING NORMAL LIFE! I screamed again, my throat torn.

I collapsed to my knees, fists pounding the floor, panting like a wounded beast.

– A normal life... Just a normal life... I repeated in a dead whisper, almost pleading.

I stayed there, for a few long seconds, breathless, heart pounding wildly.

– Just a normal life...

A bitter, broken laugh escaped my throat. I slowly raised my head, eyes bloodshot. And there, in that sticky silence, the truth burst forth like an obviousness.

– The gods want me dead... I growled.

– This god wants to manipulate me...

I clenched my fists so tightly that my nails dug into my flesh.

– Very well... Very well... We’ll see who laughs last...

I took a deep breath, a cold flame igniting in the pit of my stomach.

– I will prepare myself. I will kill you all... to the last.

A cold smile stretched my lips.

– And this promise... I’m not making it to a mythical being.

I stood up straight, my gaze burning with pure hatred.

– I’m making it to myself.

And this time, nothing—neither god, nor destiny, nor creature of Vestige rank—would divert me from it.

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