Chapter 637

Chapter 637

When a child encounters something truly captivating, they become completely immersed. This is doubly true for an interest they have nurtured since their earliest days.

From her youth, Shinar was fascinated by the sight of purified iron. More specifically, she was mesmerized by the transition the metal underwent during the refining process. The interplay between searing heat and solid ore never failed to ignite her curiosity. As a small child, Shinar watched the flames with a trance-like intensity, as if she were under a spell.

“What is the appeal of that?” her sister would ask, pouting. “Come look at the blossoms with me, or let’s go visit Bran.”

In every way, her sister was a typical fairy child. she found joy in the vibrant colors of flowers and would spend hours reclining in the meadows until the aroma of the earth was woven into her skin. For their kind, absorbing the essence of the wild was a vital rite of passage. To rest among the stalks, breathe in the floral nectar, and observe the rhythmic dance of pollinators was the definition of a proper upbringing. It was during these peaceful hours that a young fairy would bond with a mentor, absorbing ancient wisdom through observation rather than study.

The society of the fairies shunned rigid, academic training. They preferred a slower awakening, believing that one’s destiny and duties should reveal themselves through a life of play and contentment. Given their vastly different lifespans compared to mortals, this patient philosophy was only natural. Only after mastering the art of emotional discipline would they be considered truly grown.

“Do you honestly find that interesting?” her sister pressed. She was still quite young, and her voice carried the raw, unfiltered emotions of childhood.

“If you observe it long enough,” Shinar answered softly, “it feels as though that metal possesses the potential to become anything at all.”

As the words left her lips, the forge came to life.

Clang.

The hammer descended. Within the hidden city of the fairies, specific lineages were entrusted with the secrets of metallurgy. The Naidels were the most prominent, the renowned smiths who crafted the legendary Spring Blades. Before being hailed as masters, their initiates spent years forging simple tools and practice blades. Shinar was currently watching one such student deep in his labors.

“Stay back, or the embers will catch you,” the apprentice cautioned.

His name was Aden, and he was Shinar’s first experience with love. Looking back through the lens of time, she couldn’t be certain if her heart belonged to the boy or the fire he commanded, but as a child, she was convinced it was him. It was an age of innocence, before she had learned to veil her heart.

“Then simply ensure the embers stay where they belong,” she countered.

“Fire is not a beast that obeys a master’s whims.”

“And that is exactly why you haven’t graduated from apprenticeship.”

“That is a remarkably bold thing for you to say,” Aden remarked with a smirk.

Aden and Shinar were roughly the same age, though she technically had the seniority of years. However, fairies did not use age to establish social hierarchies like humans did; they didn’t care for titles like ‘brother’ or ‘sister’ based on a mere decade’s difference. Despite this, Aden possessed a gravity that made him seem older. Shinar wondered if the fire had tempered his soul or if he was simply born with such maturity, though she never cared enough to ask.

Though Shinar was born of the royal line, the concept of a monarch in fairy culture was one of service and protection rather than tyranny. A ruler was a representative, not a master. It was a role defined by heavy obligations with very few personal perks, devoid of the oppressive hierarchies found in human kingdoms. Nevertheless, every resident of the city recognized her lineage.

“Lady Kirheis,” Aden teased, “shouldn’t you be out seeking the consent of the wildflowers to weave a crown? You should be soaking in the grass.”

Shinar only offered a dismissive grunt. For a young fairy, lounging in the meadows was as natural and refreshing as a human taking a warm bath, though fairies experienced the sensation with far greater intensity. Shinar was an anomaly. Even Aden, who lived his life by the furnace, spent his breaks watching the bees. Shinar, however, would choose the heat of the forge over the comfort of the fields every time.

“I don’t see the point,” her sister muttered. She eventually grew bored and wandered off. In their culture, no one was forced to conform; they believed every soul would eventually find its own rhythm and purpose.

Shinar waved a distracted goodbye to her sister and turned back to Aden. “Do you know the meaning of Igniculus?”

Clang! Clang!

The hammer struck twice more before Aden, slick with sweat from the heat, looked up. “Is there any fairy alive who doesn’t?”

Moonlight alone was insufficient for the complex work of a smith. The fairies required heat, and that meant maintaining a forge. They needed fuel, which was provided by the Woodguards. These guardians harvested sap and timber from the tree-spirits that could sustain a fire for months on end—a marvel of their unique alchemy.

And then there was Igniculus.

It was a term deeply rooted in the lore of the smithing families. In the common tongue of the continent, it translated to a ‘spark’ or a ‘sudden flash.’ Generally, a fairy’s life was a long, serene melody, lacking in sharp peaks or violent valleys. However, Igniculus represented a rare period of intense, burning passion. For some, it was a sudden, overwhelming love; for others, a singular, obsessive ambition.

Though fairies were typically creatures of leisure, during their Igniculus, they would burn with a blinding light. It was in these volatile moments that they truly evolved. Some elders likened it to the moment a hammer strikes glowing iron, forcing a transformation.

Before she had mastered the cold discipline of adulthood, Shinar had cherished that word. The spark. It was the reason that, years later, she chose the name Needle for her personal weapon rather than the traditional Naidel. She wanted a blade that embodied the spark.

That was how it all began.

One day, an entity approached the girl who loved the fire, whispering that it wished to be her secret companion. It began as nothing more than a gentle, localized warmth. Because it was so subtle, no one sensed a threat. Because no one sensed a threat, no one was ready when it changed.

Whoosh.

“Do you want to play?”

The fire had found a voice. An orange radiance flickered in the air, taking a shape that many assumed was a fire spirit. Since some fairies were naturally gifted in speaking with the elements, and Shinar’s obsession with flame was well-known, no one suspected anything sinister.

“It’s quite beautiful,” her sister remarked. By then, her sister had learned the emotional restraint of an adult, and her voice was level and calm. Shinar had reached that stage as well.

“I think so too,” Shinar agreed.

She shared the presence of her ‘friend’ with her sister, and the warmth was welcomed. But the warmth did not stay gentle. One day, the friendly glow erupted into a catastrophic inferno. The heat that had once been a comfort turned into a localized apocalypse.

It consumed everything. Her kin, her companions, and the very foundations of her home.

Roar—!

The scent of the Woodguards burning was a sharp, sickening odor that seared itself into Shinar’s memory forever. To a fairy, the smell of a burning Dryad was as horrific as the smell of burning flesh is to a human. The air was thick with the scent of incinerated nature. The fairy city had become a living hell.

“Aden!”

“I’ll hold it back!”

Aden, now a master smith, charged toward the source of the heat with a blade in hand. He was met by a demon wreathed in impossible flames. Before he could even feel the pain of a burn, the fire turned his body to ash. A fairy’s passing usually smelled of the forest, but this was a violent, scorched stench of total destruction.

“Custos Akitos Responsum.”

A powerful summoner stepped forward, attempting to douse the flames with ancient spirits, but it was useless. Torrents of water fell from the sky, yet the fire refused to die. Despair settled over the ruins like a heavy shroud. Shinar stood paralyzed as her world turned to cinders.

Five Woodguards were lost. Bran was scorched nearly to death but clung to life. From the center of the ruins, a colossus of fire rose. It towered over the fairies, looking down at the survivors with predatory eyes.

“Since you played with me so well, I shall stay,” the demon spoke, its voice dripping with a mockery of affection. “I will make this my domain. Children of the woods, we shall be neighbors forever. I am what your kind calls a demon.”

The entity took up residence in a corner of the broken city. There was no ambiguity regarding who had invited it in.

“A curse.”

Fairies might learn to control their outward emotions, but that does not make their hearts invincible. Broken by grief, many turned their bitterness toward Shinar. They had lost everything—parents, children, and lovers. Shinar did not fight back against their hatred; she didn’t even have the strength to try. She was lost in a fog of incomprehension. Why had her fascination led to this?

“This is not your burden to carry,” her father told her, his voice firm.

“He is right. This is our duty to fix,” her mother added.

But Shinar knew the truth. It was her infatuation with the flame that had opened the door. Her heart shattered under the weight of her guilt. For years, she lost the ability to speak, retreating into a silent, internal prison.

Kirheis. In their tongue, it meant ‘Protector.’

Her parents took up the mantle of that name to purge the demon. Her father took his bow; her mother took her sword. That was the year her mother attained the rank of fairy knight, mastering the flow of elemental energy.

“My daughter, you are innocent in this,” her mother whispered one last time before drawing her weapon and heading toward the demon’s lair.

No one knew where the fire demon had originated, but it felt as though it had been summoned specifically for Shinar. Because the community believed it, and Shinar believed it, it became an unshakeable truth.

“Cursed one.”

“Leave us.”

When a fairy’s heart turns to stone, they do not stop casting blame. And the parents who went to slay the beast never returned.

“Shinar, don’t let this consume you. None of this is your fault,” her sister Nyra Kirheis told her. She urged Shinar to let go of the guilt, then took up the sword herself, dedicating her life to the mastery of elemental combat.

In the midst of their tragedy, a new spark emerged. A flash of brilliance—Igniculus. Nyra possessed a legendary talent that caught fire in the darkness. She became a knight and went to finish what their parents started. She failed.

Shinar lacked the talent for spirit communion. All she could do was forge her body through grueling physical labor. Her control over elemental energy was, at the time, pathetically weak.

“It’s because of you. Everything we lost is on your hands.”

The venomous words of the survivors branded her soul. Her entire family was gone. The demon had transformed its corner of the city into a twisted labyrinth, and at its threshold, Nyra’s sword remained driven into the earth.

Naidel.

The Spring Blade that Nyra had carried. Her sister had been the essence of spring itself—flowers and fresh grass. Shinar went to the labyrinth and retrieved the weapon.

“You owe us nothing. Go and live.”

“If you just disappear, the curse goes with you.”

“Don’t be a martyr, Shinar.”

“We are all chained to this fate now.”

“Blame is useless. Only action matters now.”

“The demon has made a demand.”

“Shinar?”

“It wants a bride.”

“That’s madness.”

A cacophony of voices surrounded her, but Shinar remained silent. She simply accepted the weight of her responsibility. There was no room left for her own desires or a future of her own making.

“Kill the beast.”

The next knight to rise was Arzilla. She gathered the remaining fighters to assault the demon’s heart. Shinar was among them. When they finally reached the center of the maze, the demon looked directly at her.

“So, it is you,” the monster said. It possessed a chilling, rational intelligence.

“If you attempt to flee, I will hunt down every last one of your kind. I will savor their torture and send their remains to you as tokens. I’ll tear out their eyes and strip their skin before they die. I will gift-wrap what is left and find you, no matter where you hide. The thought of that moment—the look on your face when I hand you the box—it fills me with a heat beyond fire. But, if that doesn’t appeal to you, perhaps you can find another way to satisfy me.”

The demon’s words were a poison.

“What I desire is for you to be my consort.”

Even if it was a lie, Shinar had no other cards to play. Then, the demon shifted its form back into a flickering, friendly flame and whispered, “I have thought of a way for you to save your people. Bring me a replacement. Find me a mate to take your spot.”

It was a chance to fulfill her duty. A way to buy time for her city. Shinar would have to find an innocent soul and surrender them to the monster. If she failed, the only other option was to sacrifice her own life to give the survivors a few more days of peace. Shinar knew the demon wouldn’t truly spare the others if she surrendered, but it was the only delay available. Despair felt like a physical weight, coiling around her like a serpent.

Trapped in that web, Shinar looked for an escape. She left the ruins of her home and began a quest to find this “mate.”

In truth, she never intended to find one. If she were honest with herself, the journey was merely a reprieve—a final taste of freedom before the end. She wanted to gather a few precious memories before her final confrontation with the demon. Whether she brought a mate or came back alone, the demon would delight in her suffering. That was why it had let her leave; it wanted to watch her hope wither.

But during that borrowed time, by a stroke of luck… she found something real.

“Who leads the 444th platoon?”

She could still see the first time she laid eyes on him. Enkrid. At first, he seemed like nothing more than an eccentric human. He was interesting to observe, a man possessed by absurdly grand dreams. Watching him struggle forward was… refreshing.

“Be careful with fire,” she had warned him. Fire has a tendency to leave nothing behind.

Enkrid had only tilted his head, looking slightly confused by what he thought was a joke.

The seasons turned. The demon’s deadline was looming. Shinar was out of time.

“Do you truly have no desire to marry me?” she asked him.

She already knew the answer. He would refuse. And even if he hadn’t, she would have turned him away. She couldn’t bear to let this man be consumed. This meant she had no deception left for the demon. Her only path was to accept the monster’s proposal.

Perhaps she would have twenty years. Perhaps only five. She would be the demon’s bride until he grew bored and destroyed her. Until then, she would simply endure. She would harden her heart like a blade of Will—a blade that does not snap. It was a battle of attrition until that blade could finally be drawn.

When regret tried to seep in, the voices of the dead would sometimes flood her mind with guilt. A fairy trained in emotional restraint shouldn’t be so easily moved, yet every time she looked at Enkrid, her resolve wavered like a ship in a gale. A ship in such waters can sink at any moment.

Then, Enkrid’s voice broke through her spiral.

“Just because you’ve lived a thousand years doesn’t make today any less unique than any other day.”

“You are right,” Shinar admitted.

The way of the fairies wasn’t inherently flawed, but when a crisis arrives, one must change. Is it virtuous to stand still while an arrow flies toward your heart? Should you remain calm while you watch the world burn? No. If you see the threat, you move—you strike.

The fairies had become soft. They had lived apart from the terrors of the Demon Realm for too long, enjoying a life of ease and minimal conflict. That comfort had robbed them of their survival instinct.

“We were too satisfied,” she realized.

They should have lived with more intensity. They should have lived like the spark. Igniculus.

It was only after knowing Enkrid that she could see the truth so clearly. In a life that felt like she was drowning in a sea of fire, she could finally take a breath. And with that breath came clarity.

“Because of you, I made it here.”

She would be the spark. She would wield the sword of Will. But every spark needs a catalyst. Some call it destiny; others call it Will. If you trust in fate, you wait. If you trust in Will, you create the moment yourself.

Shinar, bolstered by her Will, found Enkrid by fate—and her spark was struck. During their journey, she had truly burned. She had finally awakened her dormant elemental power. Her plan had been to hold that spark deep inside and wait for the end.

“I could have just kept running,” she thought.

She had tried to convince herself she wanted nothing. But now, she stood before a man who could see through every mask she wore.

“Did you not enjoy our time together?” Enkrid asked.

“You are an incredibly stubborn man,” Shinar whispered, a smile touching her lips.

A flood of images crossed her mind. The burning city. Her lost family. But over those dark memories, new ones were layered. Enkrid’s presence. Rem’s nonsense. Ragna’s poor sense of direction. Audin’s quiet prayers. Kraiss’s constant complaints. Teresa’s melodies. Rophod and Pell’s bickering. Lua Gharne standing tall while Frokk’s eyes darted about.

These memories were like a sturdy roof protecting her from a cold, relentless rain. Yes, watching him earn his knighthood had brought her genuine happiness. The tea, the meals, the training, even the bad jokes—they were all treasures.

You were my spring, she thought silently. The only spring in a life that has been a perpetual winter.

And that spring was demanding an answer.

“What is it that you want?” Enkrid pressed.

Shinar knew what the demon had prepared for this encounter. It was no longer a being of words; it was a factory of nightmares and a blade for slaughter. They were outmatched. The logical choice was to tell them all to run.

“I want to spar with you again,” she said.

Sometimes, the heart overrides the mind. When a longing is powerful enough, the truth finds its own way out.

“I want to sit by a fire and tell stupid jokes,” she confessed, her heart finally speaking through her lips.