Chương 57: What We Do for Love

The torturous training continued for five and a half months. Noah, Ava, and Charlie were worked to death by their respective teachers. Leonardo and Alaric broke Noah and Charlie every morning, then put them back together just enough to break them again the next day. Erzabet dragged Ava into whatever nightmare she considered "educational," returning her before sunrise with fresh bruises, sharper eyes, and a growing hatred for the phrase "one more round." None of them came out unchanged.

Noah's movements had grown cleaner. Ava's arrows had become faster. Charlie's body slowly remembered how to fight. And, little by little, Charlie had started drinking less. He was not perfect. Some nights were still bad. Some mornings still found him staring too long at the places Flare used to sit. But he was trying. For June. For Mars. For himself, even if that part was harder. One night, Charlie lay awake in bed, staring at a photograph from his wedding day.

Flare smiled in the picture, beautiful and bright, her arm wrapped around his. Charlie stood beside her, younger, thinner, nervous, and so painfully happy that looking at the photo felt like pressing his hand against an open wound. His thumb brushed over her face.

"I'm trying," he whispered. Then the air shifted. Charlie froze. The room had been quiet a moment ago. Now it felt occupied. Slowly, he lowered the photograph. A woman sat in the windowsill. Long green hair spilled around her in countless braided strands, each decorated with ribbons and bows. She wore a crimson frilly dress, its fabric layered like something from a doll's wardrobe. Black heels dangled from her feet as she casually kicked them back and forth. A porcelain mask covered her face.

Her hollow black eyes were empty. Dead and emotionless. Painted tears ran down the mask's cheeks. Charlie stood at once. The woman tilted her head.

"Hello there, Charlie." Her voice was sweet. Musical. Wrong.

"My name is Playtime." She chuckled softly.

"I'm pleased to make your acquaintance." Charlie's blood ran cold. Codename: Playtime. The Wing of Lust. One of The Crows.

"Why are you here?" His voice was sharp as he stepped away from the bed, every muscle in his body tensing. Ready to attack. Ready to run. Ready to do whatever he needed to do to keep his children safe. Playtime lifted both hands gently.

"No, no, no." Her voice remained light.

"I am not here for war." She slipped one foot from the windowsill and stepped into the room.

"But merely love." Charlie's eyes narrowed.

"Your love," Playtime said.

"I wish to restore it." Charlie's breath caught despite himself.

"My…" His voice weakened.

"Love?" Playtime walked forward slowly, her ribbons swaying with each step.

"To watch one's spouse slowly fade away while there is nothing you can do…" Her tone softened.

"Truly, that is a horrible fate." Charlie's hands trembled. Playtime stopped a few feet from him.

"One I know quite well myself." The room felt colder. Charlie's gaze flickered toward the wedding photograph still lying on the bed. Playtime noticed.

"Through my power," she whispered, "you can get her back." Charlie took one step back. His heart slammed against his ribs. Flare. Her smile. Her voice. The way she used to laugh when June set the curtains on fire. The way she held Mars when he cried. The way she forgot their names at the end. Charlie clenched his fists.

"No." Playtime tilted her head.

"No?"

"Noah told me about you lot." Charlie forced himself to look at her instead of the photo.

"You Crows are all manipulators." His voice shook, but it did not break.

"You can't be trusted with anything." Playtime stood silently for a moment. Then she chuckled.

"Oh, Charlie." Her porcelain mask seemed to weep in the moonlight.

"I never asked you to trust me." The shadows around her dress stretched across the floor.

"I only asked if you wanted to see her again." A purple light bloomed in front of Playtime. Charlie froze. The light unfolded like a curtain, spilling soft violet sparks into the room. Then a woman fell from within it, limp and weightless, directly into Playtime's waiting arms. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. Charlie's breath stopped. She looked younger. Healthier. Before Angel's Disease had stolen her memories. Before the feathers had spread across her skin.

Before her eyes had grown distant whenever she looked at her own children. She wore a wedding dress. White fabric spilled from Playtime's arms like moonlight. Charlie's voice broke.

"Flare…" He lunged forward, hand reaching for her. His fingers almost touched her cheek. Then she vanished. The purple light disappeared with her. Charlie stumbled forward, grasping at empty air.

"No…" Playtime tilted her head.

"No, no, no." Her voice was gentle, almost scolding.

"Deals are built on equivalent exchange." Charlie's hands shook.

"That is especially true for us Crows." Playtime stepped closer.

"We grant." Her ribbons swayed softly.

"And we take." Charlie's breathing quickened. He knew this was wrong. He knew Noah had warned him. He knew The Crows did not offer miracles without poison hidden inside them. But he had seen her. He had seen Flare. Young. Whole. Smiling in the dress from the happiest day of his life. The thought of getting her back overwhelmed every reasonable part of him. Playtime reached out and took his hand. Charlie did not pull away.

"For your wish to be granted," she whispered, "you must assist us first." A sharp pain pierced his palm. Charlie gasped. Something burned its way into his flesh. A crimson gem embedded itself beneath his skin, pulsing like a second heart. Fire spread through his veins. He dropped to one knee, clutching his wrist as heat tore through his arm. Playtime watched him with quiet delight.

"This is a World Core fragment." Charlie looked up at her, sweat dripping down his face. Playtime's mask stared back, empty and weeping.

"From the creation half." The gem flared crimson.

"Representing fire." Charlie clenched his teeth as the heat pulsed again. Playtime crouched in front of him.

"Use it well, Charlie." Her voice softened into something almost affectionate.

"And perhaps…" Purple light shimmered faintly behind her.

"You can hold your bride again." Charlie forced himself to breathe through the pain. The crimson gem burned inside his hand, pulsing beneath his skin like a coal buried in flesh. Heat crawled up his arm, sinking into bone, muscle, and blood. He glared at Playtime.

"What do you want from me?" His voice came out sharp. Desperate. Playtime stood, her crimson dress swaying softly in the moonlight.

"What I desire is simple." She clasped her hands behind her back.

"I want you to win the upcoming tournament." Charlie's jaw tightened. Playtime's porcelain mask tilted.

"Or, at the very least, ensure that one of us Crows wins it." Her voice brightened.

"The sword Everfall is incredibly valuable to us." Charlie clutched his burning hand.

"Why?" Playtime paused. Charlie forced himself to stand.

"Tell me that much." For a moment, Playtime said nothing. Then she chuckled.

"The Seed of the World Tree." Charlie went still.

"The Jellyfish Stone Wedding Ring." She took one slow step toward him.

"Everfall." Another step.

"Valor's soul." The room felt colder with each item she named.

"The Black Poisoned Egg." The crimson gem in Charlie's hand pulsed again.

"The Staff of Ruin." Playtime stopped in front of him.

"And lastly, the Soul Blade." Charlie stared at her. Playtime's painted tears glistened beneath the moonlight.

"Each item is linked to a previous Apocalypse." Her voice became almost reverent.

"And once joined with the vessel of that Apocalypse…" She spread her arms slightly.

"They can be revived." Charlie's blood turned cold. Revived. Not healed. Not remembered. Brought back. Playtime giggled softly.

"Personally, I only care about the Fifth Apocalypse." Her fingers brushed the edge of her mask.

"But whatever helps my comrades." Charlie looked down at his hand. The World Core fragment glowed through his skin.

"You're insane," he whispered.

"Probably." Playtime turned toward the windowsill. Then she glanced back.

"I believe in you, Charlie." Her voice softened.

"In theory, you have greater martial arts potential than your older brother." Charlie's eyes widened. Playtime laughed.

"So don't let us down." The shadows around her stretched long across the room. Then her voice sharpened, sweet and cruel.

"Don't let your wife down." Charlie froze. Playtime stepped onto the windowsill. The night wind lifted her ribbons. Then she jumped. Charlie rushed to the window and looked out. The ground below was empty. No footprints. No movement. No sign of the woman in crimson. Playtime was gone. Vanished. Charlie slowly looked down at his hand. The crimson gem pulsed beneath his skin. Fire burned inside him.

And somewhere beneath the pain, beneath the terror, beneath the warning screams in his mind— A single impossible thought whispered louder than all the rest. Flare. He could see Flare again. Charlie staggered back from the window. His legs gave out before he reached the bed. He dropped onto the mattress, one hand clutching the burning gem embedded in his palm, the other trembling against his face. Tears blurred his vision. He knew this was wrong. He knew it. Noah had dragged him back from the edge.

June and Mars had held him with tiny hands and broken voices. Leonardo had trusted him to stand again. And still— Flare's face would not leave his mind. Her younger face. Her healthy face. Her wedding dress. The way she had almost been close enough to touch. Charlie squeezed his eyes shut.

"I'm sorry, Noah." The words came out barely above a whisper. His shoulders shook.

"I'm sorry." The crimson gem pulsed. Heat spread through his arm. Charlie raised his trembling hand.

"Come to me…" His voice cracked.

"My Regalia." Golden light gathered in his palm.

"Lord of Wine and Revelry." The air shimmered. A golden chalice appeared in his hand, elegant and ancient, its surface carved with vines, grapes, and laughing faces. Purple wine filled it to the brim, glowing softly in the darkness. A thin fog drifted from the liquid, curling around Charlie's fingers like a living thing. He stared down at it. His Regalia. His escape. His weakness. His comfort. His curse. Charlie's tears fell into the wine.

"I'm sorry, everyone." He thought of June. Mars. Leonardo. Noah. And then Flare. Always Flare. Charlie lifted the chalice. For a moment, he hesitated. The room was silent. Then he took a long sip. The purple wine slid down his throat like warmth and poison. Charlie lowered the chalice, breathing unsteadily. The World Core fragment burned brighter in his hand. Outside, Lævateinn slept beneath festival lights. Inside the Jupiter residence, Charlie Jupiter made his first mistake in months.

And somewhere in the dark, The Crows had planted another seed. A future disaster in the making.