CHAPTER 77: A TRUE HERO

Lying atop a massive ogre, floating in the endless expanse of the Grey Sea, Llarm stirred.

His eyes snapped open, and panic bloomed instantly. The world around him was an eerie haze of blur and dull waves. The water beneath the ogre sloshed faintly, the scent of salt clinging to every breath. Barking echoed nearby, warped and muted, like it came from underwater. Llarm’s mind felt thick, like it was moving through tar. He couldn’t think. Could barely breathe.

His soaked blonde hair clung to his face in sticky strands, obscuring his vision. The first thought that stabbed through the fog was frantic:

’Where’s Caelgorr?!’

His heart kicked into overdrive, and his limbs tensed—but then he realized he wasn’t lying on solid ground. He was slung over someone’s shoulder. A broad, muscular, and green shoulder.

He tilted his head slowly, and saw the white fabric of a shirt and the ridged terrain of Bruma’s enormous back.

"Bruma!" Llarm gasped with relief, his voice breaking with emotion. In his memory, she’d been torn apart. Violently. Without mercy.

"Good," Bruma grunted, not even turning to look at him. "You’re awake."

Then, without warning, she hurled him off her shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Llarm hit the water with a slap, and a blast of icy cold shot through his bones. He resurfaced with a shriek. "Gah! What was that for?!"

Bruma didn’t answer—but someone else did.

"For falling for the illusion and getting us all nearly killed." Eri’s voice cut through the air, calm and cruel. She added a familiar insult under her breath: "Dummy."

Llarm blinked the saltwater from his eyes and spun toward her, only to catch a glimpse of her smirk.

"You mean... that was all fake?" he said, disbelief painting his face. The memory of Caelgorr tearing into the group replayed behind his eyes—blood, screams, the feeling of helplessness.

Then he saw Carlos.

The little wolf pup was in Eri’s arms, snarling low with his nose pressed toward the sea.

"Yes. An illusion," Bruma replied flatly, her voice as cold as the water. "Lucy warned you to stay sharp. But you still let it get to you."

Llarm turned toward her. For the first time, he noticed Gindu and Fenric slumped against her other shoulder, unmoving, but breathing. Relief surged through him for a second. But then his stomach twisted.

He bit his lip hard, nearly drawing blood.

"I see."

Bruma cut through the tension with urgency. "Can you get us out of here with your wind?"

But Llarm didn’t answer. His gaze swept across the floating group—Eri, Carlos, Bruma, Fenric, Gindu—

"Where’s Lucy?"

His voice cracked. Panic rose in his throat like bile.

Bruma’s expression faltered. Her brow furrowed, and when she spoke, her voice was low. "He went under... eight minutes ago. He hasn’t come back."

The silence that followed was deafening.

"No... it can’t be," Llarm whispered, chest tightening like a vice. The ocean seemed to freeze around him.

"It’s true," Bruma said, more forceful now. "But that’s the least of our problems. If we don’t get out of here soon, we all die. Can you fly us out or not?!"

Llarm didn’t move.

’He’s gone because of me...’ The thought echoed like a death toll. ’Because I wasn’t strong enough. I fell for it. I—’

’I killed my best friend.’

Tears welled in his eyes. He didn’t try to stop them.

Then Eri spoke, voice suddenly ice-cold. "Bruma. I said we’re waiting for the captain."

Bruma snapped. "Waiting?! We don’t have the luxury of waiting! If we stay out here, the monsters will find us. And if they don’t—we will drown!"

Her voice rang with fury. Raw and desperate.

Llarm turned toward Eri. Her face was streaked with tears, but she didn’t flinch.

"You mean he’s alive?" Llarm asked, barely daring to believe it. A flicker of hope sparked in his gut.

Eri nodded. "Carlos thinks so."

At that, the pup stopped growling and barked once, short, sharp, and certain.

Llarm’s heart lurched.

"Then we have to help him! Who knows what he’s facing down there?!"

He inhaled sharply and started to dive—but Bruma’s hand shot out and caught him by the back of his hood, yanking him back like a mother snatching her child from a fire.

"That’s suicide!" she barked. "No offense, but if Lucy can’t handle it, what the hell do you think you can do?!"

The words cut deeper than she realized.

Llarm froze. Her voice echoed in his skull like a gong. If Lucy can’t handle it, what could you do?

And just like that, he broke.

Not loudly, not all at once, but quietly and slowly. A realization, sharp and unrelenting, spread through his chest like poison.

’She’s right.’

’I was pick number one. Lucy was number four thousand, yet he’s already far beyond me.’

His jaw clenched. Rage swelled beneath the grief. Not at Bruma. At himself.

’All I’ve ever wanted... was to be strong. To be a hero. I trained every day to master my wind, but he copied it like it was nothing. I said I sabotaged his wind as a joke, but that was a lie. I was just jealous.’

He stared at the grey water, vision blurring.

’I’m not a hero. I’m nothing. I can’t do anything to help.’

Then his gaze dropped, and he looked through the water for the first time. Past the surface, past the grey.

He imagined Lucy floating somewhere in the deep, limbs limp, lungs burning, barely breathing—desperately needing someone—anyone—to save him.

And something shifted.

A new thought rose, quiet but undeniable.

’Heroes don’t have to be strong. They just have to show up when it counts.’

Llarm’s expression hardened.

He looked at Brumas’ hand. Then at the sea. Then, in himself, something in him snapped—no, awakened.

’Then I’ll show up.’

Without warning, he summoned a burst of wind and slammed it into Bruma’s forearm. The blast knocked her grip loose—and in a blink, Llarm hurled himself into the icy sea below.

The impact stole his breath.

But he didn’t stop.

He dove deep.

He was going to help his friend.

No matter what waited beneath the surface.

Llarm soon realized Bruma might’ve been right.

The deeper he swam, the more the Grey Sea swallowed him. It was like sinking into wet ash—inky, disorienting, and cold enough to numb his bones. Visibility was near zero. The water wasn’t just dark—it was oppressive, like it wanted to drown him. Every stroke forward felt like wading through syrup. He couldn’t see more than a few feet ahead, and without the surface above or the seafloor below, it was impossible to tell which way was up anymore.

And he couldn’t use his wind.

Not down here.

Still, he didn’t stop.

The thought of Lucy—lost, drowning—was a weight he couldn’t cast off.

So he swam. His strokes grew sloppy. His limbs shook. Every breathless second felt heavier than the last.

Then—a heat.

Faint at first. Subtle, but unmistakable. Against the freezing cold, it felt like a firebrand pressed to his skin.

He paused, squinting downward. A light was growing. Bright, orange, and furious.

And then he saw it.

His eyes widened with alarm.

A cylinder of fire—a massive, spiraling inferno—was rising through the sea like a god’s spear. Monstrous in size. Churning with raw, divine energy.

And it was coming straight for him.

Llarm kicked hard to the left, air bursting from his mouth in a trail of panicked bubbles. The heat was almost unbearable now, boiling the water around him, searing his skin even from a distance.

Closer. Closer—

WHHHUMMM.

It shot past him, mere feet away, slicing through the ocean like a blade of molten light.

And then—the impossible.

The fire didn’t fade.

It parted the sea.

In the wake of the flame, an immense cylindrical tunnel of air formed, spiraling down into the abyss. The water around it writhed and shimmered but did not collapse. Something—wind magic—was holding it at bay, sealing the walls like glass. A perfect, air-filled corridor had been carved from the surface to the seafloor.

Llarm swam toward the edge of the tunnel. The sheer scale of it stunned him, like staring down a hollowed-out mountain of water. Waves churned and lapped just inches from his face, but they didn’t fall inward.

He reached the boundary and focused, flicking his fingers to part a narrow slit in the wind. He then slipped his head through.

And gasped.

Lucy was far below, standing at the base of the cylinder.

His friend stood atop a jagged circle of ancient grey stone etched with faint runes and weathered by time and pressure. The sea surrounded him like a vertical ocean wall. The cylinder’s fiery light bathed the space in a soft, flickering orange glow.

Lucy was motionless.

His hair, wet and jet-black, clung to his pale face. His cloak and armor were torn, hanging from his frame. Steam curled from his shoulders as if the power within him still burned, barely contained. And his eyes—half-lidded, hollow, but open—were locked on something Llarm couldn’t see.

But he was alive.

Standing.

And somehow, still fighting.

Relief surged through Llarm’s chest like breath returning to lungs that had forgotten how to work.

"Lucy!" Llarm shouted, voice cracking from more than just the cold.