Inside, Ladybug waited. Her hands were clasped, her chest tight, her antennae trembling. When Levin stepped through the door, her eyes darted up, searching his face for hope.
The silence broke with her trembling voice. "Where is he? Where is Asteroy?"
Levin lowered his eyes. "Ladybug..."
The truth landed before the words did. She collapsed to her knees, her cry echoing through the hall. "No... no!" She pounded her fists on the stone floor, tears splattering. Then in an instant she wiped her tears. "Tell me who did this! Who killed my husband?!"
Several children and villagers gathered around. Whispers filled the town.
The crowd outside swelled as her cries pierced through the walls. By the time Levin stepped onto the balcony to face them, dozens had gathered. Ladybug stood beside him, her grief raw, her face streaked with tears.
Levin's voice rose, steady, sharp. "It was an Artist. A Zoner Knight."
Gasps rippled through the townsfolk. Murmurs turned to growls, grief boiling into anger. Ladybug's body shook, her fists clenched. "Then I will kill them. I will kill every last Zoner Knight!"
Levin turned to her, cold authority in his eyes. "Ladybug, you are a woman. The battlefield is unfit for you."
Her grief snapped into fury. In her grief she felt suffocated, she removed her earings and neckless, she no longer wanted to be a gentle woman who tended to the village children but a warrior ready for the blood of war. "I don't care about the rules of women! I am an Artimancer, trained by Asteroy himself! I will have my revenge for him and our daughter!"
Levin's response was swift. His Mancer staff shimmered into existence, the Abi bending into a sharp edge pressed against her throat. The crowd gasped, torn between fear and reverence.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Levin's voice was low, cutting. "I understand your grief. But order must be preserved. It is disruption and chaos that breeds art. And art is the seed of destruction."
Ladybug's chest heaved, her gauntlets flickering. But slowly, her rage cracked beneath the weight of his words. She yielded, her arms lowering, though the fire in her eyes burned hotter than ever.
Inside her heart, she vowed silently: I will avenge you, Asteroy.
Levin turned to the crowd, his staff dissolving into smoke. His voice carried like iron.
"Do you see it? This is what Artists bring, chaos. They create without reason, destroy without purpose, and call it beauty. They weave lies into illusions and demand we worship them for it. But civilization cannot be built on chaos. Civilization cannot survive on nonsense. Logic, discipline, unity, these are the pillars that hold our world. Artists are cracks in those pillars. They do not strengthen; they corrode. And if we do not control them, if we do not strip them of their poison, they will drag us all into ruin."
The people lowered their heads, grief mutating into anger, anger shifting into grim obedience.
Children clung to their mothers, sobbing. Men clenched their fists. Women held back tears. The name Asteroid carried weight, and now his death was being weaponized.
Later with Pita
That night, Levin sat with Pita beneath the dim glow of lamplight on the porch. The crowd had dispersed, but the sorrow still lingered in the air.
Pita's voice cracked. "Levin... what are we going to do about the citizens of this ? The war is about to start."
Levin stared into the flame of the lamp. "There will be no war."
Pita blinked. "What? But the animals, they're going to war with us. That means they'll come here."
Levin's gaze sharpened, his words firm. "Those are the words told to me by Venku himself. He was confident that the only war taking place is the battle against the Bacteria."
Pita "But what about the army of anaimals?"
Levin "I don't know, but it appears the royals have such little fear of them they don't even cinsider them a threat."
Pita hesitated, unease curling in his chest but he trusted Levin's words "I understand, then we turly are on the practical side of history."
Levin "Yes, just as in the days of our forefathers, the tradesman remains indispensable, but artists... they have always been fickle in their existence. Those who first carved meaning into stone were forgotten by those who painted with brushes and pigment. And they, in turn, were cast aside by a younger generation, one that found art not in craft, but in convenience. When creation could be summoned from a tablet with the touch of a finger, the artist became a novelty... and soon, even they were replaced by machines that could dream without dreaming."
(He glances upward, calm, resolved.)
"That, my friend, is the frailty of art, and the reason we Artimancers have endured since the dawn of time."
Silence filled the night.
Pita "Levin... what happened to that Artist boy in the desert? I remember a massive explosion, and then I blacked out."
Levin stood, his back to him. His voice was heavy with finality. "He was killed by the young Elda Knight, Venku."
Pita's breath caught, his stomach tightening. "Venku..." His eyes lowered, uncertainty clouding them. Just how strong was Venku?
Levin said nothing more. Only silence filled the sky, heavy as stone.