Chapter 54: The Garden of Broken Skies (1) — The Beauty That Devours
They say that each god once received a part of the world to love, a fragment to shape according to their heart.Some shaped the sea, others fire, others still the darkness where the stars hide.But Lyseria chose the light of the skies. Not the sun’s—too scorching and proud—but the light of dawn: fragile, hesitant, the kind that births colors and lulls shadows to sleep.
For a thousand ages, she tended her hanging realm: a garden of air and light, where islands floated, carpeted with mana-flowers.
It was a place without pain, without borders, where the winds sang the names of sleeping souls.
Then came the War of the Gods.No one knows who started it, nor why the heavens began to bleed. Divine flames swallowed the celestial continents; even the most peaceful were forced to choose a side.
Lyseria refused.She did not raise a weapon. She raised flowers.And when war found her, she went out like a light—without ever striking back.
Her realm shattered, hurled into the abyss.A fragment of her soul—and a piece of her garden—fell through the spheres until it buried itself in the flesh of the world.Where they touched down, the earth began to glow. Centuries passed, dust smothered the light...and one day, at the place where her memory lay, a dungeon was born.
Lyseria’s Dungeon—the Garden of Broken Skies.
They say her heart still beats beneath the stone, that her flowers need only a breath to bloom again, and that those who enter without a love for beauty... are devoured by it.
~
The air throbbed with a strange light.
Before us, the dungeon’s gate rippled like a puddle of liquid sky, its runes casting blue reflections across the rock. We’d seen dungeon entrances before, but this one... it breathed. It felt like it was watching us.
I stood beside Ayame, arms crossed, unable to look away.
Around us, three hundred students held their breath, faces turned toward that maw of light. Even the professors—seasoned explorers—wore that tightness at the corner of their mouths. No one spoke—until I broke the silence.
— Are you sure about this, Ayame?
I asked it softly, almost as a reminder of an old conversation.
— On the list, this dungeon was ranked among the most dangerous. Confirmed Rank A... some even said Rank S.
She didn’t look away from the gate. The wind played with her hair, dark strands brushing her neck. When she answered, her voice was so gentle it quieted even the rustle of uniforms behind us.
— This dungeon... we have to do it. This is where our road begins.
It wasn’t an order, nor a plea. It was a bare, quiet truth. Her voice had that rare tone—the one you only hear when she sees. The Sixth Veil. That cursed blessing that made her witness to all the world refused to show.
Around us, the whispers started up again, nervous.
A student, two rows back, breathed almost without sound:
— An S-rank dungeon... That’s suicide.
I felt Reina move to my left. She stepped toward Ayame, her shadow folding into hers.
Her voice, calm and cutting, split the air.
— Why this one, Mom? The Academy flagged three other dungeons of the same rank—more stable, better charted. Why this one?
Ayame stayed still for a moment. Her eyes closed.
The wind lifted a little dust and, when she spoke again, her voice barely cracked.
— Because it isn’t a dungeon. It’s a memory. And it’s calling us.
Her words echoed for a long time.
I looked at her, not knowing what to say. There was something inflexible in her posture, almost painful—as if she were listening to a voice we couldn’t hear. Even Reina looked away, lips pressed thin.
No one dared argue. When the Sixth Veil spoke, you didn’t interrupt.
The gate pulsed again, harder, throwing a white, warm, almost living light across our faces.
I drew a slow breath and set my hand on Aurelia. Her metal vibrated under my fingers, as if hesitating to cross the threshold before me.
I looked up at Ayame—and, for the first time in a long while, I didn’t try to understand.
I simply chose to believe.
It was the best choice I could make.
So I stepped forward. And when the light swallowed us, I felt a calm certainty that, this time, I was walking in the right direction.
A white flash blinded me. For a second, I thought my body was dissolving into the light.
Then, nothing.
No ground, no sky. Just a suspended vertigo.
When the brightness finally faded, it felt like I was breathing for the first time in months. The air here was mild, perfumed, almost sweet. It vibrated, as if it had a heartbeat.
I pushed myself up slowly and, in an instant, the whole world slipped from my lips.
Before me stretched an impossible landscape.
Islands floated in the air, linked by luminous roots that pulsed like veins. Waterfalls leapt upward into the sky, defying all logic, merging into an ocean of upside-down clouds. The flowers... my god, the flowers. Entire fields of translucent petals, bathed in turquoise and gold, rippled to a soft wind that sang through them.
Every breath smelled of fruit, rain, and a hint of electricity.
In the distance, a swarm of iridescent butterflies traced luminous arabesques, sketching symbols in the air that vanished the instant they were born.
I forgot to breathe.
My whole body shivered under the place’s beauty. It was too vast, too alive, too perfect to be real.
I let out a breath:
— This is... the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
The sound of my own voice seemed to lose itself in the light.
Remembering we were in a dungeon, I closed my eyes for a moment to refocus. And as always, when I thought I’d found a moment of peace, a shadow slid into my memory.
Azrakan.
His guttural laugh. That crimson smile amid blood and flame.
I saw again the night my eye went dark in a flash of pain and rage.
A burn tore through my skull. My right eye throbbed, violent, as if something behind the scar wanted to open again.
I pressed my hand to my face, teeth clenched.
— Not now... not here...
The pain stretched into a long, crushing beat.
I felt the golden thread vibrate under my skin, the same resonance as the roots around me. The whole world seemed to breathe in time with my wound.
I stayed on my knees for a while, choking on that too-pure light. Then, slowly, I raised my head.
No. Not this time.
I was the head of the Azure Pact. Their anchor, their voice, their damn compass in this chaos.
I had to stand.
So I rose, wiped the sweat from my temple, and looked again at the fractured sky above me.
This world could burn my eyes all it wanted—it wouldn’t take my fear.
I caught my breath, lungs still heavy with light. Around me, the silence grew denser, almost suffocating. I needed to find the others, set a plan, give orders before the place’s beauty turned into a trap.
I lifted my head, ready to speak. But the words fell into emptiness.
There was no one.
I took a step, then another, searching for a familiar silhouette. Nothing. Not a voice, not even the rustle of cloth. Only the wind moving between the hanging roots, playing a clear note that rang like mockery.
I turned in place, throat dry.
— Reina?
Nothing.
— Hikari! Miyu! Ayame! Sylvara!
The names spilled into the air and were swallowed by the echo. I waited. My heart pounded, heavy and uneven. No answer. Not even a cry or a thud—just a warm wind brushing the floating leaves.
All at once I felt tiny. The universe around me seemed so vast it swallowed even my voice. I wanted to shout again, but what for? The world had already answered: it had kept only me.
I ran a hand through my hair, trying to steady the tremor in my fingers.
The dungeon had separated everyone—that much I was sure of now. It was deliberate. Intelligent, even. A way to probe us, judge us individually before letting us find each other again.
I let out a dry, nervous laugh.
— So that’s how you welcome your guests, huh?
The wind gave back an indistinct whisper, as if the world itself were laughing for me.
I took up my spear, my grip tightening on the haft. I should have been more worried, but the panic burned out on its own, replaced by that cold clarity we call survival instinct. The others could handle themselves.
So I inhaled, deeply. The scent of flowers and hot metal filled my throat. This place was a trap, yes—but it was also a dream. And I was inside it.
I took the first step. Just one. Then another. Each step rang like a silent promise: I’ll find my bearings, I’ll find them all.
I had been walking for what felt like an eternity, without really knowing where I was going. The ground under my feet hummed softly, as if it were breathing. The grass wasn’t really grass—it glowed with a cold sheen, each blade threaded with luminous filaments that pulsed in time with my stride. At times, beads of dew rose from the earth, floated around me, then dissolved into the air.
The wind carried a strange sound. Not a whistle, not a rustle. More like a melody of sighs and murmurs—as if voices were singing just beyond hearing. It wasn’t frightening, not yet. It was beautiful, almost comforting.
I closed my eyes for a moment. The mana here was nothing like the world’s. It was gentle, warm, almost affectionate. I felt its presence slide over my skin, brush my fingers.
— Even the mana here feels happy...
The words slipped out on their own. And they were true. This world vibrated with a strange joy, almost lulling. I had the ridiculous feeling that if I closed my eyes, I could just stay there, listening, breathing, slowly disappearing into the light.
But the silence changed.
A heavier breath swept the skies.
I lifted my head.
Up there, in the vast azure, something moved.
Shapes... tiny at first, then countless.
A swarm.
Butterflies.
Thousands of them, all of unreal beauty. Their wings beat in unison, tracing colored arcs of light across the sky. Each beat painted a rainbow trail that dissolved instantly on the wind. It was hypnotic. I stood there, open-mouthed, unable to look away.
A smile tugged at me despite myself. After everything I’d seen—blood, dust, Azrakan, Sarhael...—this had something almost pure about it. A reminder that beauty could still exist, even here.
But then, something was wrong.
The air changed texture. Subtle warmth at first, then stronger, denser. I frowned. Each wingbeat seemed to leave a glowing wake. And beneath my feet, the grass began to melt—literally—as if the earth were oozing liquid light.
Peace vanished at once.
I felt the burn climb my calves, and the wind... the wind was no longer singing. It roared.
I stepped back, eyes on the descending swarm. The butterflies were closing in at absurd speed. Their reflections warped, their wings turned to blades of light, and their movements lost all grace.
They weren’t dancing around me.
They were diving straight at me.
A surge of adrenaline climbed my throat.
— Shit...
I tightened my grip on the spear, muscles taut. The light fell on me like rain made of molten steel, and the dream became abruptly, brutally real.
I ran without thinking.
Not to win, not to fight—just to survive.
The ground blew apart under my steps. With every impact, a burning breath whipped the back of my neck. The butterflies—those luminous things I’d found so beautiful a second earlier—were slamming down around me in showers of fire. Their wings sliced the air like blades. The earth gleamed with smoking craters where their bodies struck, and their cries...
Those cries.
They weren’t animal howls, nor even monstrous. They were... soft. Too soft. A kind of delicate singing, almost soothing, threading itself through the din of my flight. The kind of sound you might listen to right before dying without noticing.
I glanced back, half-blinded by the light. Their wings shimmered, each sketching an arc of pure mana. It was beautiful enough to make you weep, and yet every fiber of my body screamed at me to run.
That’s when I understood: these aren’t insects. They’re living fragments of mana. Pieces of conscious energy, able to sense our flows, follow them... devour them.
One brushed my arm. My skin burned instantly, as if a piece of my vital energy had been torn away.
— Fuck...
I pushed faster, legs heavy, breath ragged. The landscape warped as I passed. The grass melted, flowers shriveled in the heat, and even the sky’s light seemed to bow under their passage.
Ahead, a gleam. A river.
Not normal water: a torrent of liquid light, shining like molten glass. I didn’t have time to think.
I jumped.
The shock was brutal. The current swallowed me, dragged me downstream like an icy hand. The water was sharp, almost metallic, and yet it was the best feeling in the world: it burned my skin but doused the fire in my veins.
Under the surface, I saw the warped sky above me, the butterflies’ luminous silhouettes wheeling along the bank. They stopped dead. Trembling. Unable to come near.
They feared the water.
I stayed there for a moment, letting myself be carried, borne by the force of the current. My kimono ballooned around me, my muscles clenched with fatigue. Water lashed my face, filled my ears with a deafening roar.
At last, the flow hurled me against a lower bank. I rolled onto wet sand, gasping, lungs on fire. My body was soaked, my arms shaking—but I was alive.
I listened to the river’s thunder for a while, still dazed. Behind me, the butterflies’ light slowly faded from the sky, like an illusion being closed.
I collapsed at the foot of a massive tree.
My body was still trembling, water streaming from me, my clothes plastered to my skin by the torrent’s cold. It felt like I’d swallowed an entire storm.
The tree before me was no ordinary thing. Its surface seemed made of crystal, laced with silver veins. Through the translucent bark, I could see a soft glow flowing—almost hypnotic—as if the sap itself were breathing.
I drew a deep breath and set my hand against the trunk to push myself up.
That’s when it moved.
A shiver ran through the matter.
The wood vibrated beneath my fingers, then something contracted. Slowly.
At first I thought it was my imagination—until my hand sank in.
The trunk opened under my palm, sucked me in like a mouth.
A humid heat closed around my wrist.
— What the—
I yanked hard. Nothing.
The grip tightened, cold and viscous.
Something hard slid against my skin, then pain. A bite.
Teeth.
— Damn it...
I pulled again. My hand stayed trapped. The wood vibrated, growled. Luminous cracks raced across the tree, and a shape took form within: an eye, huge, pulsing.
I didn’t have time to think.
— Genesis!
The word burst out like a reflex. My arm flared with light. In a heartbeat, the Turstugen gauntlet took shape—heavy and cold—fitting my fingers. The black metal drank the light, and when the creature clamped down, its fangs shattered.
A shriek split the air—half roar, half wail.
The whole trunk twisted on itself. Roots burst from the ground, branches tore apart, greenish tendrils lashed the air like whips.
The tree—or whatever it had become—opened completely: a gaping maw, toothed, bristling with multicolored eyes pulsing on the bark.
I ripped my arm free and leapt back. My breath hitched in my throat. The ground began to tremble. Roots stretched, hunting for me.
I tightened my hold on Aurelia, adrenaline burning through my fatigue. No Genesis. No miracle. Just me, my spear, and this monster. I had to conserve mana here.
— All right... then we’ll dance the old way.
I planted my feet. My shoulders loosened. Everything slowed.
The world narrowed to a single heartbeat.
The tree screamed, a roar that made the leaves around it quiver.
I sprang.
The blade carved a red arc.
First Movement of the Crimson Art: Dawn’s Bleed.
The strike snapped out clean, diagonal—a slash of scarlet light cleaving the air.
Aurelia thrummed in my hand, magic braided with brute force. The metal sang, and the trunk split.
A perfect line, from the top of the maw down to the roots.
The monster froze, its cry strangled, then collapsed in a sigh of golden vapor. Sap spread across the ground—warm, luminous—before evaporating into the air.
I stood there, panting, Aurelia angled toward the ground. My arm shook, my heart hammered hard enough to crack my ribs.
Silence returned slowly, broken only by a distant creak.
I looked up.
Around me, a dozen and a half trees stood still.
Then, one by one, their trunks shivered. Bark split. Eyes opened—slow, cold, curious.
A chill climbed my spine.
— Great... I breathed.
A louder crack brought down a rain of phosphorescent leaves around me.
I tightened my grip on the spear, ready to strike again.
But in the back of my head, a thought slid in, icy:
Fuck... this dungeon really is as dangerous as it is beautiful.
I cast one last look at the trees, slowly waking.
I hope the girls are okay...