“What is it about how fragile human life is? So much life within us, yet we’re cursed with so much death in return.”
Solomon’s voice was soft, almost mournful, as he walked down the empty corridors. His footsteps echoed faintly, the sound swallowed by the void-like silence. The entire military base felt abandoned.
No bodies.
No blood.
No life.
“But now, it seems death has finally begun to tip the scales, overtaking the balance it once held with life.”
His murmur carried through the still air but reached no ears. After all…
Fortaleza del Sol was empty.
No one knew why.
And those who lived close to the fortress, those who tried to contact it, didn’t dare approach. Instinctively, they knew.
Death had passed through here.
Fear, primal and suffocating, gripped them so tightly they begged Solomon himself to investigate. And so, here he was, stepping into the hollow remnants of a place that once thrived.
Solomon sighed, his neutral expression betraying a faint flicker of something—boredom, maybe? Resignation?
“At least his bastard son knows how to keep things interesting,” he muttered, lips curling into the ghost of a smile.
But that smile faded quickly.
His thoughts drifted to the Crimson Prince—the one who left without so much as a word, venturing into the Void Realm.
Solomon’s shoulders slumped, his voice laced with bitter humor.
“And here my partner in crime would rather walk into hell than spend time with me. He could’ve at least invited me. We could’ve traveled together, fought together… bonded and fought again…”
He chuckled dryly, though the sound carried no real joy. He knew better. Your next chapter is on
If Solomon had gone, the higher-ups would have seen it as an alliance between him and the Crimson Clan. He wanted no part of that. No ties, no reminders… especially not of her
.
Azriel, though—he was an exception. The only one.
Solomon’s tone turned distant, his gaze unfocused, as if speaking to someone far away.
“You and I made a promise, Azriel. You’d help me find her, no matter what. So don’t you dare die before you’ve kept your word.”
The weight of his words lingered in the air as he pushed open a door, stepping into the command center.
“Empty,” he muttered blandly, surveying the stripped-down room. Desks, monitors—everything was gone. Everything but…
“Oh?” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Now this is interesting.”
In the center of the room sat a single desk. On it, a lone recording device.
He approached it, his movements calm, deliberate. Without hesitation, he pressed the button.
A distorted voice crackled to life.
“This is Major Borris. I am recording this message at Fortaleza del Sol, hoping someone finds it when the base is investigated…”
Leaning against the desk, Solomon closed his eyes, listening. The voice relayed what had happened. What was happening. And what was yet to come.
Then, abruptly:
“Don’t go…”
Solomon’s eyes snapped open.
“…!”
He glanced at his arm—goosebumps. A rare reaction.
He scoffed, as the recording continued.
‘What an ominous creature,’
he thought.
‘To think letting it escape from Azriel would lead to this.’
The voice in the recording grew heavier, its power seeping through even the static.
“Open your eyes… open… your… eyes…”
Solomon’s interest sparked—a dangerous flicker of curiosity.
‘Azriel faced this? Survived this?’
For the first time in years, he felt the stirrings of genuine intrigue from a void creature.
Still, his eyes dulled slightly as practicality took over.
‘Not my business. The Dusk Clan should handle this mess. Not me. I’m free!’
He smiled faintly at the thought, nodding to himself.
But then…
“A-A-AZZR-RIE-LL!”
His smile froze.
Solomon stiffened, staring at the recorder. The distorted voice—demonic, agonized—called out Azriel’s name, pleading, desperate.
His expression hardened.
‘This doesn’t look good…’
And then, another voice.
This one soft, innocent, almost playful. A young girl’s voice.
“I think this will be easier to hear, hehe.”
A light giggle, sweet yet sinister, made Solomon’s eyes narrow. He glanced at his arm again—goosebumps, stronger this time.
‘Definitely not good.’
The girl’s voice continued, cheerful but unnervingly casual.
“I imagine you’re all confused. Let me explain. First, I’m filing a complaint. The name ‘Crying Fog’? Really? Who comes up with this stuff? I demand a redo!”
If not for the eerie context, Solomon might’ve chuckled at the absurdity of her complaint.
He didn’t.
Because he knew.
This wasn’t human.
The voice went on, its tone suddenly darker.
“Second, I have a message for the Crimson Prince, Azriel. Tell him…”
Solomon’s jaw tightened.
‘Well, shit.’
“…that I haven’t forgotten how rudely he sent me away last time. I never forget. I remember everything. So don’t feel lonely, my prince. I’ll be with you again one day.”
The recording ended with a faint click.
Solomon stood there in silence, staring at the device. Finally, he spoke, his voice tentative, almost amused.
“…Did I just witness a void creature’s love confession to a prince?”
For a moment, he simply blinked at the recorder, then sighed, his hand running through his hair.
“This just keeps getting better…”
*****
“I don’t understand why you’re making me wait two whole days to meet the prince,” Ragnar scowled, his tone heavy with frustration as he leaned back in his chair. Across the desk, Aeliana didn’t seem the least bit fazed.
She propped her elbow on the desk, resting her cheek against her hand, and offered him a faint, knowing smile.
“No need to sulk, Ragnar. You may be a king, but here, you’re just a guest,” she replied calmly. Her gaze flicked to a document in front of her before she added, with a hint of mischief, “A guest waiting for an unannounced meeting with the prince of the Crimson Clan. Besides…”
Her words trailed off, her expression darkening. The air around her grew heavy, and her voice trembled ever so slightly as she spoke again.
“Are… are you saying I’m boring you?”
Ragnar’s eyes widened in alarm. His voice rose louder than intended.
“Of course not, Aeli—!”
But before he could say more, Aeliana lifted her face, wiping at invisible tears, her lips curving into a bittersweet smile.
“It’s fine,” she murmured.
“I know it’s not like the old days, back when it was just the four of us. Now, you, Lyraelle, even… darling. You’re all so busy. I get lonely sometimes too, you know…”
Her words struck Ragnar harder than he cared to admit. His scowl softened into something more vulnerable as he looked at her.
“Aeli…” he began, his voice gentler this time.
“”!!””
Before Ragnar could say more, a flash of purple light illuminated the room. A rift tore open near the wall, its jagged edges crackling with energy. Both Aeliana and Ragnar turned toward it, their gazes sharp.
Neither of them moved from their seats. Instead, their eyes narrowed as they watched the figure emerge. Aeliana’s mood darkened further as she internally cursed.
‘Don’t tell me that damn dog is here too…’
Her lips thinned in annoyance. Two kings under one roof? Just the thought had her on edge. She felt real tears threatening to form—of sheer exasperation.
But when the figure stepped through, it wasn’t the Nebula Clan’s king.
No, it was—
“Saint Solomon?” Ragnar’s voice carried a note of surprise.
The man in question grinned widely, giving Ragnar an exaggerated wave.
“Ragnar, old man! Been a while! How’s the back holding up? Still giving you trouble? You really ought to stretch more.”
Ragnar froze, his head lowering to hide his face. His shoulders trembled slightly, and a dark mutter escaped his lips like a mantra:
“Don’t kill him. Don’t kill him. Don’t kill him…”
Meanwhile, Solomon turned his attention to Aeliana. To her surprise, he placed a hand over his heart and gave a slight bow.
“My lady, unlike that mongrel, you remain as radiant as the most exquisite crimson rose.”
Aeliana blinked, momentarily caught off guard before her lips twitched in irritation.
“Yes, thank you, Saint Solomon. To what do we owe the pleasure of your sudden visit?”
Her words were crisp, but Solomon didn’t seem to notice—or care. His smile remained intact as he got straight to the point.
“I heard the prince went to the Void Realm. I have some urgent matters to discuss with him. So…”
His eyes sharpened.
“Can you kindly tell me which Void Capital he’s in right now?”
Aeliana and Ragnar exchanged bewildered glances before Ragnar asked,
“You too?”
Solomon tilted his head, clearly confused.
“Hmm? You need to speak with Azriel as well? What for? Don’t tell me you’re still trying to matchmake him with the princess.”
The room grew still. Ragnar lowered his head again, his shoulders trembling, though this time it wasn’t clear whether it was with rage or restraint.
Aeliana, on the other hand, fixed Solomon with a frigid stare. Her voice was icy when she spoke.
“And why, exactly, do you wish to meet the prince?”
For a brief moment, Solomon’s expression turned unreadable. He let out a soft sigh, glancing away.
“I think it would be… highly inappropriate to discuss this matter without his consent.”
Aeliana’s lips twitched. A dry chuckle escaped her before she propped both elbows on the desk, pressing her palms against her face. Her voice was flat and cold.
“Sit down, Saint Solomon. Just like Ragnar, you are a
guest
here and will wait until Azriel returns.”
“But—”
”
Sit. Down.
”
“Y-yes, ma’am.”
The authority in her tone sent a shiver down both men’s spines. Ragnar, still muttering under his breath, kept his eyes averted, while Solomon obediently took a seat beside him, his head lowered like a chastised child.
Aeliana pinched the bridge of her nose, her mood souring further. She exhaled deeply.
‘Azriel, my darling son… I’m grounding you. Forever.’
