CHAPTER 264: CHAPTER 265: HEAVEN’S TOURCH

"It’s because..."

Claire waited. Waited patiently. Why. Why the conqueror of the Augustus line—the Empress of a great empire, the sovereign who once held half the continent beneath her heel—just... accepted loss and walked away from her throne.

Her jaw clenched, her breath steady but her chest tight. She knew there was something more than politics here, more than military logic.

Claire knew. Even though Eli had lost—lost devastatingly—after Atlas came to her... she had surrendered.

She had shown zero resistance.

She could have escaped. Merlin at her side, her empire behind her, she could have pulled away into the depths of the Augustus court. She could have rebuilt, reforged, reassembled her banners, her fleets, her legions.

She could have carved new battlefields out of the continent’s heart.

And struck again.

Yes, the Berkimhum kingdom had Atlas. Yes, he was formidable. But how much could one man defend? How much could one legend stretch before breaking?

Not much. Not in theory.

But instead of seizing the logical path—the cold path of emperors and conquerors—she had chosen the most illogical, reckless, humiliating option: she had bent her knees to Berkimhum, to Atlas.

She had chosen to stay close to the one she loved... closer than to her own empire.

Claire’s fingers dug into her skirts as she studied Eli across the chamber.

Eli’s lips parted. Her gray eyes shifted, restless, searching through the smoke of memory.

Yes, he had saved her countless times. Yes, he had even brought her back from death. His kindness was unbearable at times—unbearable because it weighed on him, crushed him, burned him into solitude when he could no longer carry her pain.

It was then, in one of those lonely shadows, that she had first seen him.

She remembered the disguise—the stiff leather coat, the captain’s rank that meant nothing to her real station. She had gone to observe, to manipulate, to frame the mad prince for her empire’s losses in the Dark Continent.

And then, there he was.

That first look. Those golden eyes beneath the shadow of carriage ropes and dust.

Her chest tightened even now. Something in that gaze had split her heart in two.

If she were honest... that was the moment..... Love at first sight.

But in that moment, she told herself it was lust. Just lust. A passing hunger for the bloom of youth, the vitality of a boy. She mocked herself for it, scolded herself, smothered it.

But she had been wrong. So wrong.

Because he was something else entirely.

"...It’s because... because... I don’t know.... It was just love at first sight."

The words hung in the chamber like smoke.

Claire stepped back, a sneer tightening her lips. What kind of pathetic excuse was that?

"You... a killer, a conqueror, an empress... and you’re going through that bullshit?" Her voice bit like acid.

Eli only smiled faintly, as though the insult was no more than wind against stone. She turned a page with delicate fingers, the soft whisper of parchment filling the silence.

Her eyes, however, betrayed a spark. Not hate. Not defiance. Curiosity.

"What about you?" Eli asked, voice light, almost playful. "I think you’re a bit younger than me. Not so much. Enough that he could call you, aunt."

Claire’s spine stiffened. Her thoughts stuttered.

’...How did she know...’

Yes, she was, in truth, his aunt—the cousin of King Henry. A fact buried beneath titles, veils, courtly whispers.

Her jaw tightened.

"...He... even though he was a boy... he showed capabilities of someone more than a boy, more than a man, more than a king, if I dare say." Her words scraped her throat, raw.

"...I saw greatness in him. Sometimes he would take dumb decisions—like now..." She exhaled through her teeth. "...But that’s the main part. That’s why I grew attached. Why I eventually fell into his trap."

Her voice faltered on the word trap.

Suuuuu—

"...Long..." Eli breathed.

Claire blinked. "...Long what?"

"...Long story. I hoped you could just make it quick with a few words. I didn’t want to listen. Too much of that nonsense."

Her tone was airy, dismissive. Yet underneath it was something sharp, deliberate.

Claire’s hand clenched tight until her nails bit into her palm.

’...This fucking bitch...’

Heat rose in her chest. For a heartbeat she wanted to strike her, to tear through that serene mask.

Instead, before the impulse devoured her, she wrenched the door open and stormed out of the office, the slam rattling the hinges.

Eli remained. Still smiling. Her hand drifted to her stomach.

A gentle touch.

"...Atlas..." she whispered, the name dragging through her throat like both ache and prayer.

"...You and me... we are together forever now... with this." Her palm pressed softly over her womb.

The candlelight flickered, and her smile trembled into something fragile, almost fearful.

.

.

.

Hell.

Night descended like a curtain of molten iron.

And with it, chaos.

Rage, laughter, screams, moans, all woven together into a single, endless dirge. In the streets of that city of damnation, bodies tore into each other—killing, rutting, drinking blood like wine.

But none of it mattered. None of it ended. For here, in this abyss, nothing truly died. Each wound was only a pause. Flesh would knit, souls would reform, and the cycle would begin again.

Atlas stood at a window in Blam’s palace, his golden eyes catching the glow of torches below. He watched without blinking.

He hadn’t believed it at first. But Aurora had been right. Death was a mockery here. A curtain, not a wall.

His gaze followed the gorgeous rabbit- woman as she drove a spear through three demons at once, her laughter shrill, unhinged. She pulled free, kicked a body, and then fell upon another with teeth bared, tearing as if it were no more than bread.

Atlas turned back inside. The air was thicker here—smoke, sulfur, the copper tang of unending blood.

Behind him, the Book of the Damned hovered. It pulsed faintly, orbiting him like a chained beast refusing to let go.

"..." Atlas shoved it away with a flick of his wrist. It spun, slowed, then drifted back.

"...What do you want?" he muttered, snatching it from the air.

The moment his hand closed on it, the book stilled. Like it had been waiting.

"...Hmmm."

The voice slid through his skull like oil.

{{{{{ Keep the book close... }}}}}

Atlas narrowed his eyes. "...Why are you visiting so much lately? Come to confuse me further?"

{{{{{ ...No. You are ignoring the Book of the Damned. Passing it along to your mortal friend... }}}}}

"...Aurora?" His lip twitched. "She deserves it better, actually."

{{{{{ ...The book is eternal. The symbol of infinite. It only clings to its own kind. Only the infinite. }}}}}

Atlas glanced down. The red crystal set into its cover pulsed with a vein of firelight. The other four sockets lay empty, like unblinking eyes.

"...So what, it’s like the Infinity Gauntlet or some shit?" His voice was flat.

{{{{{ ...Heaven. Dreaming. Mortal. Fates. Hell. These are the realms the book was created to bind... to weave like a writer shaping his own story. }}}}}

His brow twitched. That was new. He rubbed the ruby with his thumb, heat bleeding into his skin.

"...So what’s your mission? You already collected one stone. You gonna collect the rest?"

{{{{{ ...In time. But I am not here to give you ancient knowledge. }}}}}

Atlas’s stomach tightened. "...I don’t like the sound of that."

{{{{{ ...The gods in Heaven... something happened after your deal with Odin. Demigods all over the world are stirring.... Active. }}}}}

He exhaled sharply through his nose. "...So?"

{{{{{ ...Just a heads up. }}}}}

The voice faded, dissolving into the dark corners of the room.

Atlas stood alone again, the book heavy in his hand.

"...Demigods? What will they do? Cry about why their godly parents wouldn’t love them?" He said, placing the book on the table. But the moment he left the books. He felt a presence, a heavy presence.

{{{ ...If you cared to listen... I wouldn’t mind crying... }}}