Elysia
Chapter 29: The Aftermath and the Child’s Question

The silver portal shimmered and closed, leaving behind only the scent of distant, clean air and a profound silence. Elysia stood once more in the tranquil heart of her conservatory, the cosmic power she had just unleashed now fully contained, leaving no trace upon her serene form. To an outside observer, it was as if she had merely stepped out for a breath of fresh air. There was no sign of exertion, no lingering aura of destructive power, only the familiar, placid calm of her usual demeanor. The only change was in her eyes; the cold, burning fire had receded, but the absolute resolve remained, a silent promise that the peace of this sanctuary was now a non-negotiable term of reality.

Elina, who had been waiting with her heart pounding in her throat, rushed forward from behind a large crystal planter. "Lady Elysia! You're back!" she exclaimed, relief washing over her. She looked her guardian up and down, searching for any sign of injury or fatigue. "Is everything alright? The sickness… is it gone?"

Elysia’s gaze softened as it fell upon the child. "The source of the blight has been removed," she stated, her voice a calm, simple reassurance. "The sapling will no longer be disturbed."

To demonstrate, she glided over to the young Elderwood. It still looked faintly unwell, a spiritual malaise left behind by the intrusive corruption. She reached out and gently touched one of its silver leaves, the same one where Elina had first seen the crimson vein. A soft, pure white light flowed from her fingertips into the plant. The sapling shivered once, and its vibrant, healthy life-song returned in a brilliant, harmonious rush. The last vestiges of the blight were purged, not with violence, but with a simple, absolute command to be whole.

Elina stared in awe, her own [Symphony of Life] feeling like a child’s nursery rhyme in comparison.

Seeing the lingering anxiety in Elina's posture, Elysia’s mind, always seeking the most efficient path to tranquility, identified the need for a distraction. A return to normalcy was the most logical way to soothe the child’s unease. Her gaze fell upon the gifts King Theron had left on the lawn, which she had teleported into a side alcove upon her return. She gestured, and the magnificent Elven harp floated silently towards them.

"This is an instrument of song," Elysia said, her voice drawing Elina's attention away from the now-healed sapling. "Your [Symphony of Life] is becoming powerful, but it is raw and intuitive. A true musician must first understand the theory of harmony, the mathematical relationship between notes that creates beauty from chaos."

She rested a single, elegant finger on one of the harp's silvery strings and plucked it. A perfect, ethereal note filled the conservatory, a sound so pure it seemed to hang in the air like a drop of crystal.

"Every living thing has a core frequency, a root note," Elysia explained, beginning an impromptu, highly advanced lesson in magical theory as if she were merely commenting on the weather. "Your skill allows you to perceive this note. The blight was a dissonant, parasitic frequency attempting to overwhelm it. What you did with the sprout was not to shout over the dissonance, but to amplify the original, pure note until it became the dominant frequency once more. This harp… operates on the same principle. It creates harmony by layering precise, complementary frequencies. Understand this, and the depth of your own song will increase tenfold."

She was not just distracting Elina; she was providing her with the conceptual tools to understand what she had just witnessed, framing an act of divine, world-altering power as a simple lesson in music. It was her way of closing the door on the terrifying event, of saying, The danger is over. The world is quiet again. Let us return to our lessons. Elina, captivated by the beautiful sound and the new, fascinating knowledge, found her fear melting away, replaced by her usual, eager curiosity.

While a quiet lesson in harmonics took place in a crystal palace, the leaders of the mortal world were grappling with the terrifying symphony of a god's power.

The Great Scryer in the Elven capital now showed a perfect, circular scar upon the world. The Blighted Foothills of Astor, a region that had been a festering wound for months, was simply… gone. In its place was a vast, sterile landscape of clean, smooth bedrock, a monument to an act of power so absolute it defied comprehension.

The Alliance council stood on the Sunstone Terrace, staring at the projected image in stunned, reverent silence. Their grand armies, their ascended heroes, their centuries of magical knowledge—all of it felt like a child's collection of toys in the face of what they had just witnessed.

"She… she just erased it," Commander Borin murmured, his voice hoarse. The hardened general, a man who had faced down hordes of demons and never backed down, had fallen to his knees. He was not praying. He was trembling, struck by the sudden, complete meaninglessness of his entire life's profession. "There was no fireball. No earthquake. No battle. It just… ceased to exist."

Archmage Gideon was leaning heavily on his staff, his face ashen. He had felt the power Elysia had wielded. It was not mana. It was something far more fundamental. She had not cast a spell; she had edited the source code of reality itself.

"We have been so arrogant," he whispered, his voice filled with a self-recrimination that was a thousand times deeper than his king's. "We debated her motives. We tried to bargain with her. We treated her like a temperamental monarch or a forgotten demon. We were fools." He looked at King Theron. "We are not dealing with a queen, Your Majesty. We are dealing with a primordial constant. A law of nature given form."

It was King Theron who finally found the words to articulate their new reality. "The prophecies spoke of a Demon Lord who would unmake the world," he said, his gaze distant. "We were so focused on Malgorath, we never considered that another being with that very same power already resided amongst us." He looked at the faces of his allies, their expressions a mixture of terror and awe. "The difference is one of intent. Malgorath wishes to turn the world to nothingness. Elysia… simply wishes to be left alone. And she has just demonstrated the lengths she will go to ensure her wish is granted."

A new, terrifying clarity settled over the council. Their entire strategic framework was obsolete. The war against Malgorath was still their war, but they now understood it was a secondary conflict. The true center of power in their world was not Malgorath’s hidden throne or their own capital cities. It was a crystal palace at the foot of the World Tree. Their greatest hope and their most profound existential threat were one and the same.

"What do we do?" Queen Lyra asked, her voice barely a whisper, articulating the question on everyone’s mind. "How do we fight a war when a god is our neighbor?"

King Theron looked at the scrying image, at the perfect, sterile circle of non-existence. "We do as she commanded," he said with grim finality. "We keep our garden clean. We fight our war against Malgorath with every ounce of strength we have. We prove to her that we are not helpless, that we are not a disturbance that requires her constant intervention." He straightened his back, a sliver of his kingly pride returning. "And we pray. We pray that our war never again spills over into her garden. Because we have now seen what happens when she decides to pull the weeds."

The Alliance had a new, unspoken prime directive. It was not to defeat Malgorat. It was to do everything in their power to never, ever again give Elysia a reason to descend from her mountain.

The silver portal vanished, leaving Elysia standing on the sun-drenched terrace of her palace as if she had never left. The immense, reality-bending power she had wielded had receded completely, leaving no trace upon her serene form. She returned to the conservatory, where Elina was waiting, her heart a wild drum against her ribs.

"Lady Elysia," Elina breathed, rushing to her side. "The sapling... I can feel it. The sickness is completely gone."

"As I stated. The weed has been pulled," Elysia replied, her tone as matter-of-fact as if discussing a minor housekeeping chore. She walked over to the Elderwood sapling and gently touched one of its leaves. The plant, now free from the subtle, corrupting influence, seemed to sigh in relief, its inner light glowing with a renewed, untainted brilliance.

For Elysia, the matter was concluded. A problem had arisen, a direct and efficient solution had been applied, and tranquility had been restored. It was a simple, logical sequence. She expected their day to now return to its peaceful routine of lessons and quiet contemplation.

But for Elina, the universe had just been irrevocably tilted on its axis. She had felt the unimaginable power her guardian had unleashed. She had seen the sky itself tear open at her command. The awe she felt was now mingled with a new, profound, and deeply unsettling fear. It was not a fear that Elysia would harm her, but the existential dread of a small, mortal creature realizing it lives beside a force that can unmake reality with a whisper.

Driven by a need to understand, a need to reconcile the gentle mentor with the terrifying god, Elina did something she had never dared to do before. Later that day, she crept into the Chamber of the Scrying Basin alone. She had watched Elysia activate it before, had felt the flow of intent required. Hesitantly, she placed her small hands on the cool, dark crystal edge.

"Show me," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "Show me the Blighted Foothills of Astor."

The liquid starlight in the basin swirled, responding to her nascent will. An image, blurry at first, sharpened into focus. She saw what the leaders of the Alliance had seen.

It was a landscape of perfect, horrific absence.

Where there should have been mountains, valleys, and forests, there was now only a vast, unnervingly smooth circle of clean, grey bedrock. It was not a crater from an explosion. There were no scorch marks, no debris, no signs of a struggle. It was a hole that had been cut out of the world with impossible, surgical precision. The land wasn't just destroyed; it had been deleted.

Elina stared, her breath catching in her throat. This was what Elysia had done. This was the result of her "weeding." The gentle being who had taught her about music and given her a name was capable of this silent, absolute annihilation. The contradiction was so immense it made her feel dizzy.

A new, terrifying conflict bloomed in her heart. She adored her guardian. Lady Elysia had saved her from a life of misery and given her a home, a purpose, a name. She was her protector, her teacher… her mother, in every way that mattered. But this… this power was not maternal. It was cosmic. It was terrifying. Can one truly be safe in the presence of such absolute power? Can a flower truly feel safe in the care of the sun, knowing it also possesses the power to burn the entire world to ash?

She looked down at her own hands, at the faint, gentle aura of her [Symphony of Life]. It was a power of nurturing, of encouraging, of coaxing life from death. It was the polar opposite of the silent erasure she had just witnessed.

In that moment, her purpose, which had been a simple desire to "help," crystallized into a new, profound resolve. Her role was not to become strong like Elysia. That was impossible. Her role was not to fight beside Elysia. That was unnecessary.

Her role, she now understood, was to be the gardener of Elysia’s own soul.

The "weed" Elysia had gone to pull was not just the Crimson Blight. It was a disturbance to their shared peace. And what had triggered Elysia’s world-altering wrath? It was not a threat to the world, but a threat to a single sapling that had made her, Elina, sad.

She did that… for me, Elina realized with a wave of emotion that was equal parts terror and overwhelming love. Her peace is my peace. If I am worried or sad, her world is disturbed, and… this happens.

Her vow to protect their sanctuary took on a new, deeper meaning. It was not just about protecting the palace from outside threats. It was about protecting Elysia from the need to become that terrifying, world-ending power again. She needed to be the "Verse of Serenity" not just for a flower, but for her guardian. She had to ensure their life together remained so tranquil, so completely and utterly peaceful, that the Ruler of Hell would never again have a reason to awaken. Her small, personal magic was the only thing that could balance Elysia’s cosmic, terrifying power.

Far to the north, in her now-isolated dome of perpetual twilight, Nyxoria had also witnessed the event. She had not seen it in a scrying pool, but had felt it as a psychic shockwave that had rattled her very being.

She had felt Elysia leave the sanctuary. She had felt the universe itself hold its breath as conceptual energies were gathered on a scale she had not sensed since their own final, cataclysmic duel. And then she had felt it: a vast, silent ripple of unmaking. A moment of absolute erasure, followed by a profound return to neutrality.

Nyxoria threw her head back and laughed, the sound echoing richly within her shadowy prison. It was a laugh of pure, unadulterated exhilaration.

"That's it!" she hissed, her crimson eyes blazing with a predatory fire. "That's him! THAT is the Zane I know!"

This was the signature of his ultimate power. Not the crude, explosive force of a lesser demon lord, but the elegant, absolute finality of a true primordial. It was a much larger, more refined version of the very power he had used to defeat her, to shatter her own immortal form and force her into a long slumber. To see him wield it again, even against a pathetic, common enemy, was, for her, the most profound confirmation she could have asked for. The warrior she loved, the magnificent being of power and will, was still there, buried beneath the placid, domestic facade of "Elysia."

Her sharp senses analyzed the fading energy of the "Crimson Blight" that had been erased. She could taste the faint, familiar echo of her own aura—the scent of obsession, of passion, of bloodlust—crudely stitched together with Malgorath's rotting, ruinous power.

"That pathetic scavenger-king," she sneered with utter contempt. "He tries to imitate my symphony of passion and creates only a cacophony of madness. He is an amateur playing with forces he cannot possibly comprehend." She had zero respect for the supposed world-ender. He was not a rival; he was an insult to the very nature of true power.

This event fundamentally changed her own strategic calculations. Her initial plan had been one of slow, patient, psychological warfare—to use the child, Elina, to subtly provoke Elysia over time. But Elysia had just demonstrated a willingness to act with devastating, overwhelming force when her sanctuary was threatened, even indirectly. The timeline for her games might need to be accelerated.

More importantly, it revealed Elysia’s primary weakness with perfect, undeniable clarity. He had not acted when kingdoms were threatened. He had not acted when the Alliance was desperate. He acted when a single plant in his garden, a plant cared for by the child, was tainted. The child's emotional state was the trigger.

Nyxoria’s gaze turned towards her blood mirror, which now shimmered with a new project. She was no longer just observing the Aurora Palace. She had managed, through a complex web of vampiric scrying, to tap into the residual images of the Alliance's own magical surveillance. She was now watching their war councils, listening to their desperate plans.

She saw them planning their next, cautious campaign against Malgorath's forces. A cunning, predatory smile spread across her face. Her original plan was too slow, too subtle. It was time to make the game more interesting.

"You wish to fight a war against a scavenger-king, little mortals?" she whispered to the images swirling in the mirror. "You fight with such predictable, tedious honor. Your strategies are… inefficient."

A new plan, far grander and more chaotic, bloomed in her mind. Why slowly manipulate the child to get Elysia's attention, when she could manipulate the entire world's war?

"Perhaps," she purred, her crimson eyes glowing with inspiration, "you could use a… consultant."