In the end, that inevitable hour has struck. The final chapter of the story, which is called fate, was supposed to end with a bitter point. The last line, written by an invisible hand on the scrolls of karma, was nearing its end. The existence measured out to you by the stars was coming to an end. You wanted to stay here with all your heart. Amidst the chaotic warmth of the Stellaron Hunters: with their endless arguments, risky adventures, and their strange, crooked family. Among Blade's grumpy replicas, next to Kafka's cold, vacuum-like calculation, or Silver Wolf, playful and a little obsessed with mobile games. But high above you, the unattainable shining point of the star of sorrow, calling you under the shade, twinkled in the predawn sky. Her appeal was undeniable.

And there was Blade standing in front of you. He didn't move. He just stood there and watched. His crimson eyes, usually filled with icy flames of hatred, were now dead and majestic. There seemed to be nothing alive left in him. The rage that consumed him from within, the fiery clarity to which he fought his way through Mara, was gone.

He rarely talked to you. His answers were as brief as a blade strike, jerky. He avoided being around for long. Not out of dislike. Out of terror. He was afraid that in a moment of darkness, his own crippled soul would grind you into bloody dust. His guilt consumed him like a torturous flame. He dragged you into his eternal darkness, into his cycle of cursing and violence. He tried to take all the filth of the world on his shoulders, to shield you with a black wall from himself, but he couldn't.

And there you were. The words died in his throat on a sticky web. You were silent. He was silent too. Sometimes his scarlet, withered gaze would slide over you, feeling every line of your face, every shadow under your eyes. He knew that emptiness, that hidden longing. That look in which the pain has already been muted, retreating before the bottomless void. He himself reflected the same emptiness in gloomy mirrors centuries ago.

He rejected miracles. Miracles were for fools or for those who still have something to lose. But he, despite his unconditional faith in rock, but a man believed in you. A cursed sword without a scabbard does not save, it only sows death. Only the shadows of what had not been done flashed before his eyes like a prayer. A million untold words. Hundreds of times he could touch your arm, hug your shoulders, catch your eye and respond with something more than icy silence. Blade himself was disappearing into the darkness. Lying in the name of protection. It was his cross and his prison.

He should have had one more night. Just a drop of time in eternity. He would have broken his chains of silence and fear. He would have poured out all the untold things. He would allow himself to touch without fear, to speak without looking back, just... to be. But you both felt deep in your bones that there was no turning back. Never again. Was he looking for another way out? Of course, we were tossing around in a maze of hopelessness until we were sick and exhausted.

But every path turned out to be a dead end. Every hope was extinguished like a candle in the wind. Fate's plan was written out, and even Elio couldn't change that. Execution. Inescapable. It's inevitable. There was a place for the Stellaron Hunters, for revenge, for Blade's redemption... but there was no place for your salvation. You were a bargaining chip in heaven's game. The predawn blue above Xianzhou Luofu began to shimmer. Sunrise. Cloud Knights will arrive soon. You will be separated. Forever. Absolutely.

Everything was being decided now. In those few precious, agonized heartbeats. In the gap between the last moment and the irreversible, it's too late. ,The story is told. The scroll is rolled up. The star will burn you down mercilessly.

"That's not how your fate should have turned out."