In a vast, shadow-drowned hall, a young woman stood frozen with her gaze locked to the floor. She dared not lift her eyes, for the presence before her was not something she was worthy to face. The figure's form remained obscured in the gloom, as though the darkness itself refused to reveal him.

When he spoke, his voice rolled through the chamber like distant thunder, heavy and commanding, each word carrying the weight of a storm.

"So… Y'tharion was actually Zarion, and he fooled me until now."

The woman flinched. Her lips trembled as she stammered, "Y-Yes, my lord."

The figure's hand came crashing down upon the arm of his throne. A violent shockwave erupted, the ground trembling beneath her feet. The floor groaned as cracks splintered outward. The force knocked her off balance and she collapsed to her knees, her palms pressed hard against the cold stone.

Her chest heaved with ragged breaths. Fear carved itself into her face, beads of sweat trickling down her temple and dripping to the floor. Still, she dared not raise her head.

Then—he laughed.

The sound rumbled low at first, then echoed across the hall, a laugh that carried neither warmth nor kindness, only danger. The woman's eyes widened, her heart pounding wildly, torn between shock and dread.

"Interesting," the figure mused, his tone edged with cruel amusement. "Who knew little Zarion was capable of such things… I am impressed."

The woman swallowed hard, mustering her courage as she whispered, "If… if I may speak, my lord."

"Speak," he commanded. "What is it?"

Her voice shook, though she forced herself to continue. "There… there have been abnormal disturbances in the world of the living. Strange things are happening among the humans. I suggest we call upon Lord Hades—perhaps he may know what to do."

A pause. Then his voice cut through the silence like a blade. "Then call for Hades. And summon Hermes as well—I have an errand for him."

Relief barely touched her as she bowed her head deeper. "I shall take my leave now." Rising unsteadily, she turned and began walking away, the weight of his presence still pressing against her shoulders with every step.

But before she reached the exit, his voice rang out once more, colder this time, echoing like thunder in the cavernous hall.

"Azreal… since when did you start hiding things from me?"

---

Back in Hell — Azreal's Room

Aria slowly withdrew herself from Azreal's embrace just as a knock echoed at the door.

Azreal's voice was calm, almost casual. "What is it?"

A maid's voice came muffled through the wood. "Forgive me for disturbing you, my lord, but Lord Veymar is here. He has come to take Lady Aria back to the Second Gate."

Azreal's gaze hardened slightly. "I will meet with him."

The sound of retreating footsteps followed as the maid left.

Azreal turned back toward Aria. "I don't think you should start training again, not so soon. You should stay here and recover first."

But Aria shook her head firmly. "No, Azreal. I want to go. I need to get stronger, to master my flame control. I don't want to be a burden like I was earlier."

His eyes lingered on her, weighing her resolve. Finally, he asked, "So… that's the decision you've made?"

Aria nodded. "Yes."

Azreal exhaled softly, as if letting go of the argument. "Fine then. I won't force you."

A small smile touched her lips. "Thank you."

Azreal walked toward the door. "I'll send the maids to help you pack. In the meantime, I'll go meet with Veymar."

Aria nodded, and he stepped out, closing the door gently behind him.

Left alone, Aria stared at her hand, her fingers curling into a fist. "I have to get stronger. Only then can I find answers to what Yuzara said. There's no holding back now."

---

Outside

Azreal descended the stairs and found Veymar waiting, leaning casually with his usual disarming smile.

"Good day, my lord," Veymar said, bowing his head.

"I didn't think you'd be so willing to take Aria as your pupil," Azreal remarked, his eyes narrowing faintly.

"Why would you think otherwise?" Veymar replied smoothly. "Besides, Aria and I are friends now. And I am her teacher."

Azreal studied him for a moment. "This is the first time I've seen you so serious and committed about something other than fighting."

Veymar chuckled, lifting a hand in mock defense. "Please don't say that, Lord Azreal. You're making me sound like a lazy man."

Azreal brushed past him. "Aria will get ready and come with you. But…" He paused mid-step, his back still turned.

Veymar tilted his head, his smile unchanged. "But?"

Azreal's voice carried low and sharp. "I hope you don't intend to use Aria as your battle doll."

Veymar's grin never faltered, though his eyes glimmered faintly. "Of course not. I only want to teach her."

Azreal said nothing more and walked away.

Moments later, Aria descended the stairs with a maid carrying her things.

"I believe you're ready?" Veymar asked.

"Yes," Aria replied firmly.

"Well then," he said, snapping his fingers. A swirling gate of flame and shadow opened before them. "We shall take our leave. I've already spoken to Lord Azreal."

Aria nodded, stepped into the portal, and Veymar followed close behind. The gate closed, vanishing in an instant.

---

Second Gate of Hell

The portal opened, and Aria and Veymar stepped out. The gate sealed itself behind them with a faint hiss. Immediately, a group of maids approached.

"They will take you to your room," Veymar said smoothly. "You can rest there for now."

"Yes," Aria replied, following the maids away.

As soon as she was gone, a burst of flames erupted behind Veymar. From it stepped Blight, his head lowered in a respectful bow.

Raising his head, he said, "You brought her back, it seems."

"Yes," Veymar replied evenly. "She completed her training in the other gates. Why should mine be left unfinished? If I hadn't brought her here, she might have gone to the First Gate."

"I see," Blight said carefully. "Then I shall take my leave."

"Not yet." Veymar's smile remained, but his voice sharpened. "Ensure there are Hell Guards stationed outside her room. Aria has a habit of getting into trouble when I'm not around."

"Yes, my lord," Blight answered quickly.

Veymar turned to him fully, resting a deceptively light hand on Blight's shoulder. His smile never faded. "You had better not let me down, Blight."

Instantly, Blight felt pressure crush down on him. His breath hitched, his knees threatening to buckle. "Y-Yes, my lord."

Veymar's grip tightened. "You all should have been dead for allowing Aria to leave the first time. Consider it my grace that you still breathe." His tone dropped colder. "But I don't think I have enough grace to give you a second time."

Blight swallowed hard, his throat dry. "I… I will ensure she doesn't leave the room, my lord. You have my word."

Veymar dusted his shoulder as if brushing off something dirty. "Good. That's what I like to hear."

Then, without warning, his aura flared—dense, crushing, suffocating. Blight staggered, ragged breaths tearing from his lungs. Sweat rolled down his face as a vivid image flashed in his mind: his head, cleanly severed, tumbling from his shoulders.

Veymar leaned closer, still smiling, his voice soft but edged like a blade. "If you fail me again, your head will not remain where it is."

The smile remained, but the weight of his words carved fear deep into Blight's bones.

Veymar sighed lightly, as though nothing had happened. "Orvath must be waiting. I should get back to him." With a snap of his fingers, a portal opened. He stepped through, and it vanished behind him.

Blight clutched his neck, his breathing uneven. The crushing sensation lingered even after Veymar was gone. With trembling hands, he steadied himself before vanishing in a burst of flame.

---

Final Gate of Hell

Azreal sat upon his throne, deep in discussion with Hulk.

Outside, the blackened sky of Hell split with a sudden ripple of wind. One moment, silence; the next, a blur tore across the ground, so fast it left the air trembling in its wake.

By the time the Hell Guards blinked, a man was standing before them.

Alarmed, they raised their weapons in unison.

The man's figure was lean and sharp, every line of his body sculpted by speed itself. His cloak fluttered though no wind touched it, his sandals glowing faintly with golden wings. His eyes—quick, piercing—swept the area with calm assurance.

The guards advanced, spears pointed at him.

Inside, Azreal continued speaking. "Nena must be angry I didn't inform her Aria went to the Second Gate."

"Yes," Hulk said. "She was furious. She said you should have stopped Aria, given she had only just recovered."

Just then, the throne room doors creaked open. A guard stumbled in, panting.

Hulk frowned. "What's the matter? Why are you panting like that?"

The guard tried to catch his breath. "My lord… there's someone here to see you."

Azreal arched a brow. "Who is it? And why are you out of breath?"

"We don't know who he is. We thought he was an enemy and tried to strike—but he was too fast."

"An enemy that fast?" Hulk muttered.

Azreal rose from his throne slightly. "Let him in."

"But my lord—" Hulk began.

Azreal lifted a hand. "I think I already know who it is."

The guard bolted back outside, shouting, "Let him in!"

The massive doors groaned open once more. The man walked across the obsidian floor, his steps light yet carrying weight, until he stopped before Azreal.

Hulk studied him closely. Recognition widened his eyes.

The man gave a faint smile. "Azreal. Long time, no see."

Azreal's lips curved into a rare smile of his own. "Hermes."

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