Beast Gacha System: All Mine-Chapter 147: Their Deaths

First was Cecilia.

Herself.

Second... it was Arkai’s prophesied death in the volcano.

And now—

Cecilia looked calmer now. Her trembling had stilled, the torrent of tears dammed. But Eastiel knew that she was anything but calm.

The pain that had radiated outwards had now turned inwards. It had collapsed into a dense, black star at her core, its gravity warping everything.

He could feel it. A deep, sickening churn that stabbed at his own ribs, twisted his heart, and scoured his soul with a chill that had nothing to do with temperature.

Yet, Cecilia still refused to speak. The piece of paper was crumpled in her white-knuckled fist. Eastiel had tried, gently, to pry it from her, but her grip was absolute. He didn’t want to hurt her just to force it out of her.

"Cecilia..." Eastiel’s voice was a raw scrape of helplessness. He knew that stubborn, silent set to her jaw. Was it something he wasn’t supposed to know?

"It’s okay," she whispered, the words too light, too airy. She even managed a gentle smile. "Everything is alright."

Eastiel’s heart cracked. "Everything might be alright," he said, his voice thick, "but you are not."

He had given up on words. Action was all he had left. After the initial wave of emotions, he’d gathered her into his arms on the bed, pulling her back against the solid wall of his chest, enveloping her completely in his warmth and strength.

He tucked her head under his chin, one arm a band of iron across her stomach, the other cradling her. He didn’t know what else to do but hold the pieces together, as if his embrace could contain it all.

Suddenly, her hand found his, where it rested on her abdomen. Her fingers, cold and small, grasped him tight.

He looked down. She had tilted her head back just enough to meet his gaze. Her eyes, which he expected to be shattered, were instead clear. Preternaturally clear.

And in that clarity, he saw a storm of fury that made his breath catch.

She just realized the pattern. They were using their deaths. Her own body in a ditch, her heart torn out. A death meant to erase her, for the Meleth Flower as much as to clear the path for Ruby’s ascension. She’d cheated that fate.

Then, Arkai’s death for his legacy. His land, his influence, his... reputation. All for his political worth. All for his name and everything he owned. She’d pulled him back from that brink.

Now, Oathran’s death. For parts. For raw materials. For his divine body to be reduced to components for ’heroic’ weapons.

She had already known the three of them were supposed to die. She’d sidestepped three of the graves, including her own.

But what if...

What if, in a distant future... there was a fourth?

Eastiel, too—

A new wave of emotion hit her, and through her, him. Wrath, but also... fear and a sadness so deep it felt like mourning for something that hadn’t even happened yet. It shook her bones, and through the bond, it vibrated on its own.

"Baby," Eastiel seethed, the last of his patience incinerated. He shifted, grasping her jaw, forcing her to look fully at him. His golden eyes burned into hers. 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

"Can we please—please talk about it?" The plea was a growl. "Why are you suffering like this? Who hurt you?"

Cecilia couldn’t speak.

How? How could she begin to tell him? Tell them?

To look into Eastiel’s eyes and say, they want to turn Oathran’s corpse into a sword. They want to mine his bones. How could she tell any of them about the ditches?

"If you don’t want to tell him, then tell me."

The voice was calm, deep, and came from the direction of the open balcony window. There were silent steps of someone who had simply ceased to be in one place and was now in another.

Oathran stood there. Naked. His skin still carried the faint, smokeless heat of a high-altitude descent, his mist-white hair windswept into wild disarray. It was clear he had transformed from his dragon form directly, arriving with a haste that bypassed all trivialities like clothing.

That was the truth. He’d chased the sun. The distance between his mountain aerie and the Iondora capital spanned at least six time zones. He had covered it in little over an hour. At his castle, it would be time for a late lunch. Here, the morning sun was still climbing.

Within that hour, her grief and wrath had been the only fuel he needed.

"Cecilia," Oathran said, his voice a low, vibrating seethe that belied his composed exterior. "You do not grieve like the world is ending and expect us to simply stand by, silent."

Cecilia’s eyes, swimming with unshed tears, found his. The moment she saw him, whole, alive, real, the very subject of the horrific prophecy, the last vestige of her strength evaporated.

The cold fury was swept away by a returning, overwhelming tide of pain, now laced with a terrible, soul-crushing sadness. He was here. The living man, not a corpse from another timeline.

The two men grimaced in unison as the emotional current shifted again. Eastiel’s eyes screwed shut against the renewed onslaught, while Oathran’s hand came up to clutch at the center of his own chest.

Why...?

"I want..." Cecilia sobbed, the words finally breaking through in ragged gasps. "I want... to wait until Arkai... arrives..." She drew a shuddering breath. "Then... I’ll tell you... all of it... ah—" The sentence disintegrated into broken weeping. "A-ah... ah... I promise... hic..."

Oathran crossed the remaining space to the bed in two strides. He simply folded himself into the space, his own bare, heat-radiating body curving around her. He pulled her into an embrace that encompassed both her and, by extension, the lion who already held her.

"Stop," Oathran murmured into her hair, his voice losing its edge, softening. "Fine. Cry. Just cry. And tell us later."

Cecilia finally let the silence shatter completely. She wept, the sound muffled against Eastiel’s skin, waiting for the third pillar of their world to arrive so she could lay it down before them all.

And when Arkai finally arrive that night—