Aurafall: Fragments Of Power-Chapter 48: No More Colors
"The battle isn’t over, Leo Atlantis! You’ve killed my remaining loved one. I promise, I’ll destroy Primoria!" Sigurd, who was being dragged into the blue portal by a Viking soldier, yelled in anger as the portal closed immediately after the last Viking stepped through.
All around the city, the remaining Vikings entered their respective portals and disappeared from sight.
The war was over.
After Fang Rui killed Hafgrim and the other leaders of the Viking army died, Fang Rui followed the rules of war and cast them back to Eldrath.
Leo dropped to the ground, dismissing the [Shell Of Dread] and [Yielding Spine].
He was depleted of energy and could barely lift a finger. In the end, Sigurd was a talented fighter at such a young age and low rank. They were definitely on par with each other.
"I’d love to battle him again," Leo smirked as he stared at the sky.
"Sigurd," Leo whispered to the gray, smoke-streaked sky. "Don’t die before I get a real rematch."
A pair of soft, clicking footsteps approached through the slush.
"You’re alive. That’s a good start," Taren said, stepping into Leo’s field of vision. The wooden-limbed young man looked remarkably clean despite the carnage, his porcelain arms catching the dim light of the afternoon. He knelt beside Leo, his wooden palm glowing with a gentle, emerald warmth that he pressed against Leo’s frostbitten hand.
"Taren..." Leo wheezed, the heat from Taren’s aura making his nerves scream as they thawed. "The seaport... Mirage... is she—"
"Safe. Or as safe as anyone is today," a deeper, more chilling voice interrupted.
Fang Rui stepped over a fallen Viking, still gripping his odachi. His dark robes were torn, and the hole in his stomach was a jagged mess, but he walked with the steady, expressionless grace of a man who had just finished a casual stroll rather than a slaughter.
He looked down at Leo, his black eyes unreadable.
"Let’s go," he said, and started walking away. Taren carried Leo on his back and caught up to Fang Rui.
The city was only filled with Aura Farmers, so it looked empty. The city itself was now in ruins. Multiple buildings had been brought down, with no form of identification left to show they were once structures.
When the trio reached the seaport, Fang Rui became busy chatting with the higher ranks who had helped in killing the Viking leaders.
They climbed steep stairs that led downwards toward the water connected to the floating city. There were multiple ships waiting there.
These ships were normal sailing vessels and weren’t as big or intricate as The Aquarius.
Still on Taren’s back, they entered one of the ships. It took only one ship to occupy all the Aura Farmers who were leaving the city, while others stayed behind to check for any threats and wait for those who would handle the aftermath of the war to arrive.
On the vessel were multiple Aura Farmers, all wearing different expressions. Some were happy they had won the war, others were sad for the loved ones they had lost, while the rest were simply expressionless.
Fang Rui got a room for them in the inner deck as soon as the vessel began its journey. They navigated the ship and reached it in minutes.
The cabin was small, illuminated only by a flickering oil lamp that swung in rhythm with the ship’s steady roll. Despite the cramped quarters, the air was heavy with the silence of survivors.
Taren was the first to move, his porcelain joints clicking as he set Leo down on a wooden stool. Without a word, he prepared a basin of lukewarm water. The process of cleaning up was a grim, mechanical necessity. Separately, they each took turns washing away the evidence of the slaughter.
For Leo, the water in the basin turned a dark, muddy crimson as he scrubbed the dried blood from his neck and arms. The frostbite on his right hand stung as the heat returned to it, the skin raw and peeling where it had fused to Sigurd’s staff.
Fang Rui remained the most distant, cleaning his wounds with a detached efficiency that suggested he had done this a thousand times before. He didn’t complain about the hole in his stomach; he simply bandaged it with a clean strip of cloth and sat in the corner, his eyes closed as he meditated.
Once the grime of the Awakening City was washed away, the sheer weight of Leo’s exhaustion finally won. He climbed into the narrow bunk, the rough wool of the blanket scratching against his skin. He didn’t even have the energy to think about the Rules of War, the Vikings’ retreat, or where Jean was.
The moment his head hit the flat pillow, the world vanished.
*****
When Leo finally drifted back to consciousness, the ship was silent. The rhythmic creaking of the hull and the muffled sound of waves against the wood told him they were still at sea. He sat up slowly, his muscles groaning in protest. Through the small, circular porthole, the world was a void of deep indigo and black. It was nighttime.
The cabin was dark. Taren was fast asleep in the bunk above him, his wooden breathing deep and steady. Fang Rui was gone—likely on the upper deck or meeting with the other Masters to discuss the logistics of their arrival at the mainland.
Leo stayed still for a moment, staring at his bandaged hand. His mind was restless. The silence of the night brought back the images of the battle: Sigurd’s icy glare, the roar of Hafgrim, and the suffocating pressure of the Dread. He tried to close his eyes and return to sleep, but his heart was beating too fast.
There was a lingering itch in his mind, a curiosity about the growth he had achieved during that life-or-death struggle.
He sat on the edge of the bed, his feet touching the cold floorboards. The war was over, but his journey as an Aura Farmer was just reaching a new threshold.
Drawing a deep breath, he focused his intent on the space in front of his eyes and summoned his system.
