Chương 24: Loneliest Party

The group entered the castle. The moment they stepped inside, they found themselves standing in a ballroom. Noah had expected darkness. Guards. Traps. Something monstrous waiting to strike. Instead, music played softly through the entrance hall. Poorly drawn figures danced beneath a painted ceiling, their movements stiff and repetitive. Their faces were simple, almost childlike, but their clothes were elegant.

The walls shimmered with colors that did not quite feel real, and golden lights hung overhead like crooked stars. Cyrus froze. Noah noticed immediately.

"Cyrus?" Cyrus did not answer. His eyes were fixed on the dancers.

"I remember this night," he said quietly. His voice was distant.

"Just barely." In the center of the ballroom, a poorly drawn man with dark purple hair danced with a blonde woman. The man wore a black suit, and even through the crude style of the memory, there was something warm in the way he held her. Cyrus's hands slowly curled at his sides.

"Vanitas," he whispered. Noah looked back toward the dancing couple.

"That's your father?" Cyrus nodded.

"And the woman?" For a moment, Cyrus did not speak. Then his expression softened.

"Reverie." His voice almost broke on the name.

"My mother." Off to the side of the ballroom stood another pair. A green-haired man spoke with a blonde woman, both of them drawn in the same strange, childish style.

"Lumiar and Olivia Sanguine," Cyrus said. Noah's gaze shifted to them. The Seventh Hero and his wife. Near the edge of the party, three children sat on the floor, playing cards while the adults danced and talked around them. Cyrus stepped toward them. One child had blue hair. Another looked similar enough to be his sister. The third sat between them, smiling as he held his cards close to his chest.

"Cyrus," Noah said carefully.

"That's me," Cyrus replied. His voice was barely above a whisper.

"And Cynthia." His eyes moved to the third child.

"Alaric Sanguine. Lumiar and Olivia's son." The ballroom continued its gentle, looping dance around them. For a moment, Cyrus looked younger than Noah had ever seen him.

"This night was nice," he said. His gaze returned to the poorly drawn woman dancing with Vanitas.

"Dad proposed to Mom later that evening." A faint, fragile smile touched his face. He stared warmly at his mother's simplified face, as if the terrible drawing still held something precious. Then the smile faded.

"Who was Medusa?" Ava asked softly. Cyrus looked around the ballroom.

"She is likely one of these people." His voice grew heavier.

"This ability feels too lonely to belong to someone who was only watching from the outside." Noah looked at the dancing figures again. The fake joy. The looping music. The memory of a happy night trapped inside a castle ruled by a witch. Cyrus's expression filled with pity.

"She preserved this moment," he said.

"But not well. Not clearly." His hand tightened.

"Like someone trying to remember a dream after waking." The group continued through the ballroom, moving carefully between the poorly drawn dancers. None of them reacted. They only danced. Again and again. Then Adam looked toward the staircase.

"Up there." Everyone followed his gaze. At the top of the stairs stood a mirror. Unlike the dancers, the decorations, or the painted walls, the mirror looked real. Its frame was polished silver, carved with snakes that twisted around one another. Its glass reflected the ballroom perfectly, too sharply, too clearly, as if it did not belong in this fake world at all. Noah's grip tightened around his sword. The mirror waited at the top of the staircase. Completely still. Completely out of place.

Then its surface rippled. A woman appeared within the glass. She sat upon a throne in a long black robe, her posture tired but regal. Most of her face was hidden in shadow, leaving only her right eye visible. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings. It glowed yellow. A magic symbol was inscribed within the iris. Noah knew what it was immediately. A demonic eye. The Philosopher's Eye.

Medusa sat with one leg crossed over the other, barefoot, her toenails painted black. Even through the mirror, the air around her felt heavy with sorrow.

"Please leave," she said. Her voice was soft. Exhausted.

"I have no desire to make enemies of the Hero of this era." Noah stared at her reflection. For a moment, no one moved. Then he stepped closer to the stairs.

"Tell me something first." Medusa's glowing eye narrowed slightly.

"How many people have you killed?" Ava glanced at him. Cyrus remained silent. Noah kept his gaze on the mirror.

"I'd like to know." Medusa did not answer immediately. Then she gave a quiet, humorless laugh.

"In the last hundred years, I have been hunted by far too many people to count." Her fingers curled against the arm of her throne.

"I killed the three bastards from the Hero's party for what they did to Vanitas." Cyrus's jaw tightened.

"I killed numerous assassins sent to hunt me," Medusa continued.

"Knights. Mercenaries. Fanatics. Men and women who entered my land with blades in their hands and prayers on their lips." Her voice lowered.

"I kept killing." The ballroom music continued behind them, soft and false.

"It has reached the point where I cannot wash the blood from my hair." She lifted a hand, touching the dark strands that fell over her shoulder.

"It clings to me. Brutally. No matter how much I scrub, no matter how many years pass, it never leaves." Her yellow eye fixed on Noah.

"Is that the answer you wanted to hear, Hero?" Noah was quiet. Then he smiled.

"That's good to hear." For the first time, Medusa looked genuinely surprised.

"What?"

"I've heard you killed countless people," Noah said.

"But to be honest, I don't think I can fault you for those deaths." Ava looked at him, then back to the mirror. Noah continued.

"The previous Hero's party may have been cruel and horrible people. I don't know the whole truth yet, but I know enough to question the story we were told." Cyrus watched him closely.

"And as for the assassins," Noah said, "if they came here to kill you, then killing them was self-defense." Medusa's eye remained fixed on him. Noah took another step closer.

"This place…" He looked around the ballroom. The dancing memories. The childish figures. The frozen joy of a night that had ended long ago.

"You've been lonely this entire time, haven't you?" Medusa did not move. Noah's voice softened.

"You've been crying." The mirror was silent. For a moment, even the false music seemed quieter. Medusa's fingers tightened against the throne. She said nothing. Cyrus stepped forward. His expression was tense, but not hostile.

"Tell me something." Medusa's eye shifted toward him. Cyrus looked at the ballroom, then at the image of Vanitas still dancing with Reverie.

"Who were you to my father?" The question hung in the air. Cyrus's voice lowered.

"It's clear you idolized him." Medusa stared at him through the mirror. For the first time, the sorrow in her eye cracked into something more fragile. Recognition. Pain. And something almost like guilt. Medusa stared at Cyrus through the mirror.

"F-father?" Her voice cracked. Then her yellow eye widened.

"No…" Cyrus stood still.

"Are you…" Medusa's hands tightened around the arms of her throne.

"Cyrus?" Cyrus placed one hand against his chest.

"I am." His voice was steady, though his expression was not.

"My name is Cyrus Sanguine." For a moment, Medusa did not speak. She only stared at him. Then a tear rolled down from her visible eye. The sorrow in her face deepened into something desperate.

"Please leave." Cyrus frowned.

"You cannot come here," Medusa said.

"Especially not you." Her hands began to tremble.

"Please, Cyrus. Leave." Noah glanced between them. Medusa lowered her head slightly, as if looking at him hurt.

"I do not want to see you." Cyrus's expression hardened.

"I need the black book." The change was immediate. Medusa's grief twisted into panic.

"No." Cyrus took one step forward.

"I need it to save my brother."

"No!" Medusa shouted. The ballroom music stopped. The poorly drawn dancers froze in place. Medusa rose from her throne, her robe falling around her like a shadow.

"I refuse to see you." Her voice shook.

"And I refuse to give up his heart." Cyrus went still. Medusa's glowing eye sharpened.

"Get out." The mirror pulsed with dark light. Then Medusa's voice echoed through the castle.

"To all my servants in the castle…" The walls trembled.

"Remove the invaders." The ballroom doors opened.

"But do not kill them." For a moment, her voice softened.

"Just…" She swallowed.

"Just don't." The mirror went dark. Silence followed. Then figures entered the ballroom. Headless maids stepped through the doors in perfect formation. Their bodies moved smoothly despite the absence of heads, their black uniforms clean and pristine. Each carried a massive weapon. Axes. Bows. Swords. Spears. One by one, they spread across the ballroom, surrounding the group beneath the frozen dancers and painted lights. Cyrus raised his hand. Ice formed at his fingertips.

"Constructs made from the Black Mist," he said.

"She has perfect control over it thanks to that book." Ava drew her daggers. Adam's smile had vanished. Noah looked at the headless servants, then at the dark mirror above the staircase. Medusa had refused to kill them. That meant there was still something human in her. But she was not going to let them pass. Noah drew his sword. Black spots spread across the blade.

"Everyone," he called out. The headless maids raised their weapons. Noah lowered into his stance.

"Prepare for battle."