OLD-WORLD EXTRA

Chapter 459: Fate Never Lets Go



***

While those five had the fight of their lives, Lyra continued to chase Sofia's cohort, moving alongside a few of the Shadow Squad that were assigned to protect and keep tabs on them.

But, seeing that things were under control, she did something incredibly uncharacteristic of her.

She left the cohort and took a detour.

Why and where did she have to go?

They didn't know.

All they were told was that it would be short.

If she was asked that by a certain someone, however, her answer would be heard, and it would be quite an obvious one.

"To kill Maria."

...This proved just how possessive she was of Emir.

A short touch and hold of the arm was all Lyra needed to put that woman on her kill list.

While she technically wasn't deviating from the plan by targeting Maria-after all, Emir had given his permission to eliminate her-it still wasn't the most logical move given the circumstances.

Templar soldiers were yet to be fully wiped out of the ruin.

That called for restraint, and this impulsive action risked destabilizing everything.

Either way, it would've been fine if her detour had truly been one.

But Lyra hadn't been seen or heard from since.

The last known position she'd been at was near the former front lines, a zone that had temporarily transformed into a healing camp for treating the wounded from the battle that had moved closer to the main station.

It was highly likely she had met her target there.

Whatever happened after that must have been swift-devastatingly so.

It couldn't be stated enough how strong Lyra truly was.

Even though she held the rank of Paladin, there was no doubt that she could trouble even Champions of the Seraphim rank.

The ever-adaptable Automata was nearly on par with her partner's standing in the Celestial Hierarchy.

Her progress, nearly rivaling Emir's, came as no surprise to anyone in the know.

Rather, it was only natural and expected.

She had been his shadow for as long as any of the family could remember, which was the very day he was born.

Long before the concept of embodiment was known, she had met every prerequisite tenfold. If there had been a competition in the entire solar system on who was currently the best at embodying someone's shadow, Lyra would have won it effortlessly.

Of course, the larger universe might have different winners, as it was another matter entirely, but neither she nor Emir ever claimed to be among that level.

They remained mere spectators-for now.

That made what had just happened all the more unsettling.

If there was one thing everyone knew about Lyra, it was that she was nearly impossible to kill or incapacitate.

Yet, against all odds, she had been taken out of the equation, just like that.

None of Azazel knew what to do.

Though Emir tried not to rely too much on Lyra, he wouldn't be too hypocritical to deny the truth: he needed her.

She was his right-hand woman, his backbone-the one who made it possible for him to function at his best capacity.

She handled the intricacies of his world, allowing him to focus on what mattered most.

It was much like the current situation with Ragnar.

Without the Viking, Emir wouldn't be able to go all out, worrying that his family might be attacked.

Without Lyra, he couldn't trust that the family would operate smoothly in his absence.

She kept everything and everyone in check, easing the burden of his already impossibly busy schedule.

So, when Emir lost his connection with her, a knot of uncertainty gripped him.

He remained frozen for a moment, even as the Praying Lady-the true leader of Templar- revealed herself before him.

She stood there, staring at him for 'Aether' knows how long, as if expecting him to say something.

Her presence, though silent, was potent.

Emir's thoughts, however, were elsewhere, trying to grasp what had happened to Lyra.

'Just what could've taken her out? Judas? No... impossible. If he actually comes down here, he won't go out of his way to attack someone he doesn't know. That's not the type of game he

enjoys.'

He wanted to rush to her aid, but he knew better.

'It's Lyra. She can handle herself...'

Emir repeated it to himself like a mantra, hoping it would quell the gnawing worry.

Eventually, he calmed himself with a deep breath, deciding to trust her and focused on the

present.

That was when he finally turned his attention back to the Praying Lady.

Her white cloak was much like the others in the room-plain and pure.

However, there was a subtle but significant distinction: hers bore no insignia.

A choice, no doubt, to display her unique position above the rest, to show that she operated outside the conventional structure.

"Please."

At that soft, commanding word, those seated beside her on the bench immediately stood, silently making way for her.

With calm steps, she walked past them and made her way toward Emir.

His eyes followed her every movement as she brushed past him without uttering another word, heading towards a small door behind the altar.

Emir deactivated his Aetheric construct and followed her, not needing any further invitation.

They entered a private room-her office- and the change in atmosphere was stark. Unlike the rest of the cathedral-like setting, this space was sleek, modern, and refined. The dark wood and stone remained, but the gothic designs were gone, replaced with a minimalist aesthetic that reminded Emir of his own office back at the Academy.

The Praying Lady stopped near a clothes hanger and removed her coat, hanging it carefully.

It revealed something quite unexpected, even to Emir, as her appearance was never once mentioned in the 'novel.'

Long and unnaturally vibrant purple hair cascaded down her back.

Adorning her body was a dark purple cashmere suit, impeccably tailored and of higher quality than anything he had seen in quite some time-perhaps even superior to his own.

Her face was angular, with sharp features, and her eyes, also purple, matched the flowing

locks of hair that framed her face.

Even her lips were a dark shade, complementing the intensity of her overall look.

She was the definition of a femme fatale.

If Emir had ever imagined a mysterious Astral dealing in information behind the scenes, she would've been the second clearest image his mind could conjure, the first being Lyra, of

course.

Everything about her screamed influence, yet it was understated, subtle.

"You can relax over here."

Saying that with a voice like honey, she sat on her office chair, leaning back slightly.

"Sure."

Emir relaxed as well, sitting on a normal chair in front of her desk.

They exchanged glances for a long moment before she giggled.

"My men seem to have roughed you quite a bit."

"Perhaps."

Showing a contemplative face, she commented:

"...The devil inside God's house. It is quite ironic, no?"

He snickered.

"You don't believe in that."

"True..."

She admitted and added:

"But they make quite the cover; give me the ability to do as I like."

Emir nodded and asked:

"I know that you're an Astral and all, but since when did you foresee my arrival here? Your preparations run deep; you even taught your men about me."

The lady smiled, her lips widening.

"Oh, I know you very well. For a long time. And I know why you called your group Azazel."

"You do?"

"Yes. It was because of me. You wanted my attention."

Emir raised his brow.

"Is that so?" "Mhm. I thought about why for a while, but when I read the stars, I knew... I knew you wanted

us gone."

She leaned further back and closed her eyes.

"That only deepened my curiosity about you. But when I tried to read your fate, I found I

couldn't. Or rather, I could-up to a certain point."

He did the same, closing his eyes, leaning back, and listening intently to her words.

"I'm not saying that you'll die, though you will, since a person's star continues to shine even

after death."

She reopened her eyes and stared at Emir.

"But you... Your star faded into nothingness.... You became Starless."

Emir was taken aback, but he didn't show it, somehow managing to keep his composure

intact.

... In his entire life, he had referred to his fate as Starless, deeming it dark and dreary, unaware that it would eventually align with the literal meaning of that term.

The Oracle's thoughts, which Emir knew not off, now held an entirely different meaning.

"Fear it. Run from it. Fate never lets go... It tightens its grip and arrives all the same."

The reminder of something he knew very well compelled him to open his eyes and meet her

gaze.

"Is that a threat?"

Giggling, she shook her head and leaned forward.

"No, but it's just to let you know... You, the Order's Chosen, are not the only one cursed withn/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

knowledge."

Emir pushed himself slightly forward and raised his hand, threatening an attack.

"Do those eyes of yours tell you that you'll die today?"

Her smile faded, and she stared at him with a blank face.

"You won't win this fight."

"I know... But you won't win either."

"Then let's not fight?"