“I... hate this blood, Fitran.” Irithya's voice was barely audible, trembling amidst the ruckus of the campfire, the sharp scent of healing herbs, and the thin mist that cloaked the valley of Ente Island, a place still echoing with the screams of war. She grasped the edge of her sleeve, biting her lip until it throbbed with pain, struggling to contain the emotions on the verge of exploding. “Why did she have to do it?”

  Fitran glanced up from the pile of casualty reports scattered around, carefully closing the thick book filled with notes, then sat beside Irithya on the cold, large stone. The air that night felt heavy, thick with dew and the weight of uncertainty hanging like dark clouds. “If blood truly determines everything, I would never be able to sit here, Irithya.” He crossed his arms over his chest, staring deep into the encompassing darkness, hinting at the depths of sins he concealed. “I am descended from those who would not even acknowledge me.”

  Irithya held back the tears that threatened to overflow from her eyelids, gazing at her hands as if they were reminders of all the burdens she bore. Unconsciously, her fingers brushed against the spiral glyph that shimmered softly on her skin—her only inheritance from her mother, which now felt more like a curse than a blessing. “My father… today he snatched the lives of thousands. He even listed my mother's name among the slaves. I… am merely the result of his despair.” Her voice was hoarse, her words choked by the sobs she struggled to hold back.

  Fitran regarded Irithya with a calmness that seemed to radiate strength. “Chaos can do all manner of unimaginable things,” he said, striving to divert his thoughts from the wounds that gnawed at his heart. “But the choice you face today does not belong to your father. You are here, in this moment—these are your own choices—to fight, not merely to defend.” He stepped closer, ensuring his voice grew more resolute. “You are more than just the ill name they have given you.”

  Irithya bit her lip, the furrow on her brow marking deep uncertainty. “You don’t understand what it feels like when enemies and friends unite to call me ‘child of the monster.’” Her voice trembled, unable to hold back the surge of frustration that had built up inside her. “You’ve never heard their whispers, those times they murmur, ‘Irithya is a curse, an impure spiral.’ They say that one day I too will betray you all. Just thinking of all that is painful enough.”

  “Perhaps… they are indeed right,” she continued with a bitter tone. “What does it mean to choose to fight if we are destined to lose in the end?”

  Fitran took a deep breath, his voice becoming deep and resolute like thunder shaking the void, “I know more than you realize. Every individual closest to you will doubt who you truly are. This is a bitter lesson, Irithya, but in the end, all that remains is… you alone. When that moment arrives, you must decide who is worthy of your trust.”

  Irithya held back her tears, her head bowed for a moment, then as if awakening from a nightmare, she punched the ground with all the strength she possessed. “The spiral magic flowing within me…” her voice quivered, “sometimes fights against my own control. I can feel it… the restless whisper from within, my father's voice echoing in my head: ‘Why do you struggle alongside them? We have the power to conquer the world, Irithya…’” She stared at the ground with a vacant gaze, while the painful memories swirled in her mind, creating a vortex of restlessness.

  “Every night, I wake up in a terrifying dream, hallucinating about burning the entire earth—a dream that haunts me relentlessly. What if I truly become a monster?” Irithya screamed, her voice breaking, filled with overwhelming fear and frustration. “Will I even recognize myself then?”

  Fitran gently grasped Irithya's shoulder, looking deeply into her tear-filled eyes. “If one day you become a monster, then for your sake, I too shall become a monster—so I can pull you back into my embrace. No matter our forms, never feel alone, Irithya. Remember, you always have a place here, even if your blood is tainted by darkness.” She strove to convey strength through her intense gaze and resolute posture, as if to rekindle the hope that had dimmed around them.

  Irithya closed her eyes, striving to calm the storm within her, as if facing a raging tempest. “If my mother were still alive... would she recognize me, or would she despise me for failing to save her?” A shroud of loss enveloped her soul, presenting a piercing uncertainty that gnawed at her.

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  Fitran, with a voice soft as morning dew brushing against leaves, replied, “Your mother, Iris Gaia, was the strongest woman I have ever known. Every word you speak in her memory reflects her strength and resilience. I believe, even though you were born into a fate not of your choosing, she would surely understand. But remember, you always possess the power to define who you are. Today, you have proven that.” His gaze conveyed unwavering belief, seeking to remind Irithya of the strength quietly nestled within her.

  Among them, the atmosphere momentarily froze. From a distance, a healing melody vibrated softly, interspersed with the cheerful laughter from the girls' tents and the commanding shouts of the officers training, echoing through the dark night. The stillness of the night felt oppressive, yet within it lay a smoldering spirit of determination.

  Irithya gazed at the dark sky, her heart swirling with hope and anxiety. Perhaps this was the right moment to weave the delicate thread that connected her to destiny. “Every time I use the barrier spiral,” her voice trembled, “I feel as if I am caught between two sides of a blade: one side protects, while the other is ready to betray if I am not cautious.”

  Fitran regarded her with deep, understanding eyes. “But that is what makes you special,” she said softly. “The spiral magic in this realm arises from an unavoidable paradox, from the clash of conflicting wills.” Her smile, calm and soothing, seemed genuine. “It is precisely because you tread between these two poles that you are the only one capable of understanding both sides of this world. You are not a curse—you are the key to the future spiral.”

  Irithya looked back at her, but her smile came slowly, indicating a bitterness that was hard to conceal. “You have always been so kind to me, Fitran. But what if I truly am only bringing destruction?”

  Fitran laughed softly, yet there was a depth in her voice that made Irithya feel at ease. “I too am a part of a world filled with ruin, Irithya. We are all monsters in our own way. But together with you… we can save each other. Remember, every monster has its own unique story.”

  Irithya took a deep breath, feeling an unspoken weight on her shoulders. “If I cannot control myself, promise me one thing: do not let me hurt anyone. Stop me, by any means necessary, even if it means destroying everything we have built,” she urged, her voice trembling, reflecting the deep-seated fear that coursed through her heart.

  Fitran nodded firmly, as if absorbing every word that spilled from Irithya’s lips. “If that should happen, it will be I who pulls you back—whether by hand or sword. I will not allow that dark side to seize your soul. But remember, I believe you are far stronger than the bloodline of Chaos that flows through you.”

  Irithya bowed her head, feeling the tremors of her spirit within the embrace of uncertainty. Yet, she steeled herself to gaze deeper into Fitran’s eyes than ever before, probing the question that simmered in her heart. “You… truly are not afraid of me? Afraid of what I might do?”

  Fitran stepped closer, his voice soft yet firm, “The only thing I truly fear is one thing—losing a friend to foolish prejudice. And you are not a monster, Irithya. You are merely a human… who must bear the sins of others.” He gazed intently into Irithya's eyes, hoping to penetrate the fears that reflected in her face. “We all carry weights; perhaps yours is heavier, but that does not make you a creature of darkness.”

  Silence enveloped them like a thick fog cloaking a battlefield. Irithya lowered her head, wrestling against the tide of guilt that gnawed at her heart. “But... why do I feel this way? As if I don't deserve to be with you?” Her voice trembled softly, as though the night breeze carried uncertainty with every word. With a courage she rarely possessed, she grasped Fitran's hand, clutching it tightly like someone finding an anchor amidst the storm. “Thank you… for everything. For your trust, even when I myself have doubt.”

  From a distance, Arthuria and the other girls watched—some holding back feelings of envy, while others were silently captivated by Irithya's strength, which, despite being burdened, continued to strive along her own path. "She must realize that even in the darkest of shadows, hope can still exist," Arthuria whispered, lost in her deep thoughts.

  Fitran looked at Irithya gently, trying to offer solace, "You don't always have to feel okay. We all hold darkness that we need to acknowledge. But remember, never stop fighting for your own hope. This world—in its grim cycle—needs more courage."

  That night, amidst the fog filled with the terror of war, two small monsters sat side by side—searching for meaning amid the chaos, accepting their deep wounds, and choosing to endure not out of purity, but because in a spiraling world laden with destruction, only the courage to embrace darkness kept them whole. "If this world punishes you, I will remain by your side," Fitran vowed firmly, her hand clasping Irithya's even tighter.

  And outside the tent, the spiral stars began to take form once more—a sign that the darkest night would always be conquered by the brave souls daring to challenge its existence. Irithya gazed up at the sky, feeling the seeds of hope starting to sprout within her. In a voice soft as a whisper, she said, “Perhaps, just perhaps, we can create light in the midst of this darkness.”