Midnight passed.
But the fire in the Forbidden Arena still burned — a slow, ember-colored hiss that refused to die.
Arix Valden had been carried out.
The duel was over.
But no one moved.
Because Ash was still standing there.
Not victorious.
Just... still.
Seraphina finally stepped beside him. Not to pull him away.
Just to exist in the same moment. The same flame.
"You didn't just beat him," she said quietly. "You made them feel it."
Ash didn't answer.
Because even as the crowd thinned and masks disappeared into moonlit halls, he was breathing like something was wrong.
She noticed it before he collapsed.
He dropped to one knee behind the arena wall.
His fingers trembled.
Not from fear.
From absorption.
Beneath his skin, Arix's injuries were blossoming — broken ribs, scorched nerves, fractured mana core. All of it transferred. Quietly. During the final spell.
Seraphina grabbed him. "Ash—"
He looked at her with a smile far too gentle for a boy who was bleeding inside.
"He was going to die. I let him live."
Her eyes widened. "You took his wounds?"
He coughed blood. "Part of them. Enough to keep him from falling apart."
Her voice shook. "Why didn't you tell anyone?"
"Because pain is easier when no one watches."
Somewhere in the shadows, Kirito exhaled — his form melting out of thin air.
He walked forward, slow.
"Hold him steady," he said to Seraphina.
She blinked. "What—"
"I'm the only one who can fix him. But it takes one hour. And if anyone interrupts, he could die."
Ash shook his head. "Don't waste it—"
Kirito knelt. "Shut up, brother."
He placed a palm against Ash's chest.
The world went still.
A circle of silence rippled out from the center of the room — muffling all noise, all breath, all time.
This was Silent Rebirth.
Only usable every 2 days.
Only usable on Ash.
And it required one full hour of uninterrupted stillness — while Kirito suffered the transferred pain in silence.
And so it began.
The healing hour.
Seraphina sat beside them, blade drawn, guarding them like a dragon.
Anyone who came near?
She didn't speak.
She just stared.
And they left.
Because this wasn't some spell. This was devotion wearing blood.
Kirito didn't flinch as the agony coursed into him — his knuckles cracked, his skin turned white.
He bled from the nose. Then the eyes.
Still, he didn't speak.
He didn't breathe.
The cost was high.
But Ash lived.
At the first light of dawn, Kirito collapsed backward — breathless, drained, skin pale as ash.
Ash opened his eyes.
The pain was gone.
But the guilt?
Still there.
"You shouldn't do that again," Ash said hoarsely.
Kirito smiled — blood on his teeth.
"Then stop getting hurt, idiot."
Seraphina stared between them.
Not with pity.
But with something worse.
Understanding.
Later that morning, word spread.
The Champion of the Forbidden Arena was seen carried out like a corpse.
No one knew how.
No one spoke Ash's name directly.
But everyone knew what he had become:
Not a rival.
Not a student.
A storm.
The Student Council summoned Seraphina.
They offered her a seat.
They offered her power.
They offered her a chance to separate from Ash — the rising storm who would bring ruin on anyone too close.
Her answer was simple:
"I don't walk away from fires. I control them."
Elsewhere, Kirito walked the library halls alone.
He reached the restricted section.
Touched a sealed book.
And felt a voice speak:
"You are not what you seem."
He whispered back.
"Neither is the world."
The book opened.
Inside were records of seven gods.
One of them?
Chroneth.
The God of Time.
Whose chosen heir was believed to have died…
at age seven.
Ash stood atop the tower again that night.
Alone.
Looking out at the Dominion's towers.
Seraphina found him again.
But this time she didn't speak.
She stood beside him.
After a long silence:
"You're not alone, Ash."
He looked at her.
Eyes soft. Soul still bleeding.
"No. But I'm still the one who has to carry it."