Back in the capital, a strong wind began to rise. It swept through the streets, carrying dust and whispers.
Everyone turned toward the source, eyes wide with fear and confusion.
"Did she say... Crimson Bloom?"
"What is that?"
"A title?"
The crowd murmured, unsure, confused.
Elysia stood in the center of it all, smiling, bloody face, calm and pleased.
Crest stared at her, shaking, but it wasn't from fear. It was anger, deep and burning.
Beneath Elysia's foot, Dusteria's broken body barely moved. She was still alive, but only just.
He couldn't take it anymore. He shouted her name.
"Elysia!!"
He rushed forward, ignoring the cries behind him. He raised his sword and swung with everything he had.
The blade clashed with a strange, black, twisted dagger.
Elysia didn't move. She leaned in close, her voice soft and mocking.
"Still trying? I admire your spirit. But as always, you never deliver."
Crest roared and struck again, harder this time.
