The gravity of his father's words weighed heavily on Kloud, extinguishing the last flicker of resistance within him. "I understand," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Good," Nero replied, his tone softening slightly as he placed a hand on Kloud's head, ruffling his hair gently. The shift in his demeanor was abrupt, as if a storm had passed. "You know I love you, Kloud. I'm only looking out for you."

Kloud leaned into his father, finding comfort in the embrace despite the harshness of their conversation. The warmth of the hug was a stark contrast to the coldness of Nero's previous words. As they held each other, a thought crossed Kloud's mind, one tinged with melancholy and longing.

Kloud's heart grew heavy as he pondered, "When will I find my mate?" Both Jae-Sun and Sky had already found theirs.

"In due time, my son," Nero's voice echoed in his mind, the telepathic reply a gentle reassurance amidst the uncertainty. "But first, I have someone I want you to meet."

———

The black mares whinnied loudly, their powerful forms coming to an abrupt halt. They pawed at the ground, restless, as if sensing something was wrong.

Yadnus frowned, confused. "Why did they stop?" he asked, leaning toward the carriage door, ready to step out and check on them.

"I told them to," the Sun Queen replied, her voice soft but firm, her gaze distant and weary. "They're tired, and I won’t overwork any of you. Not now." She sighed, the weight of her decision heavy on her shoulders. "Slogan’s men will be here in three minutes. Take my children and head west. I’m the only one with the power to buy you time. It’s me Slogan wants."

“No!” Yadnus hissed, shaking his head in disbelief. “I can stay and fight for you, my queen. Luna and your children need you.” He reached out, gently grasping her wrists. “Please, my queen, let me serve you this one last time.”

The Sun Queen stared at him, eyes full of unspoken emotion. After a moment, she gave a reluctant nod.

Yadnus’ golden eyes gleamed as his form began to change. Before their eyes, he morphed into his true angelic self, his radiant wings unfurling. Both the queen and her handmaiden gasped at the sight before them.

"My name is Sunday, the First Light," he declared, his voice echoing with celestial authority. "I am the archangel of the Holy Light, sent to protect your daughter, Luna. You have done your part, Tera. Now, allow me to do the rest." His lips curved into a gentle smile before, with a single fluid motion, he leapt out the carriage. His golden wings unfurled, filling the air with a radiant glow as a few shimmering feathers floated down, settling softly inside the carriage.

Sunday landed gracefully on the ground, his black boots sinking slightly into the dirt. Still clad in his royal uniform, he raised a hand toward the horses. A warm, golden light emanated from his palm, enveloping the stallions in a divine glow. Their dark coats shimmered, morphing into a brilliant white, and from their sides, majestic wings sprouted, beating softly in the air. The horses, now celestial steeds, neighed with excitement as Sunday approached them to admire his handiwork.

"Easy, girls," he murmured, calming the eager creatures. "Take them to the Emperor. Do not stop until you reach him." With a gentle slap on one of the mare’s sides, the first stallion surged forward, its wings stretching wide as it galloped into the sky. The other two followed, their wings flapping in perfect unison as they soared into the heavens, vanishing into the distant clouds.

Sunday watched them until they disappeared from sight, his expression hardening. He then turned to face the direction of Slogan’s approaching men. His golden eyes narrowed, and his angelic aura darkened slightly as he prepared to confront whatever forces the Sun King had sent after the queen.

“Now, Slogan,” he whispered to himself, his wings slowly extending behind him, “let’s see how strong your men really are.” He moved forward, the air around him crackling with divine energy as he waited for the inevitable clash.

Sunday stood tall, his golden wings casting a radiant light across the dim forest. The air buzzed with anticipation, and he could hear the distant rustling of Slogan’s men approaching. He stretched his arms out, flexing his fingers as energy began to hum through his body. The time had come.

Within minutes, the first of the Sun King’s squad broke through the tree line. Clad in black armor with the emblem of Slogan’s dragon crest, they moved in formation, their weapons gleaming in the twilight. There were at least a dozen of them, their footsteps heavy and determined. Their eyes landed on Sunday, and immediately, they slowed, sensing the divine power radiating from him.

The captain, a tall, muscular figure with scarlet eyes, took the lead, stepping toward Sunday with a sneer. “So, the Sun Queen sends a single soldier to face us?” His voice was mocking, but there was hesitation in his stance.

Sunday smiled coolly, his wings twitching slightly. “I am no mere soldier,” he said softly, his voice carrying over the distance with ease. “I am Sunday, the First Light, Archangel of the Holy Light. And you will not take another step toward the queen or her children.”

The captain’s sneer faltered, but he held his ground. “We have our orders from King Slogan. You can’t stop all of us, angel.”

Sunday’s smile faded as his eyes blazed with golden light. “I don’t need to stop all of you. Just enough to make you understand.”

With that, he raised his hand toward the sky. A beam of golden light shot forth, slicing through the air with a sharp crack. The soldiers flinched, shielding their eyes from the blinding light. When they looked again, the ground beneath Sunday’s feet was glowing with holy runes, pulsing with power.

“Last chance,” Sunday said, his voice like thunder. “Leave now, or face judgment.”

The captain hesitated, glancing back at his men. But the loyalty to Slogan ran deep, and his face hardened as he lifted his blade. “Attack!”

The soldiers surged forward, weapons raised. But before they could close the distance, Sunday moved. In a flash of light, he was among them, his wings slicing through the air like blades. With every movement, holy energy burst from him, knocking soldiers back as if they were weightless.

One soldier swung his sword at Sunday’s back, but the archangel pivoted, catching the blade in his hand. The steel crumbled under his grip, turning to dust as he pushed the soldier aside with ease. Another lunged at him from the side, but Sunday’s wings flared out, knocking the man to the ground before he could strike.

As the soldiers surged toward Sunday, one of them, a younger man with quick reflexes, fumbled with a small communication device hidden beneath his armor. While his comrades engaged the archangel, he crouched behind a tree, his shaking hands managing to activate the device. 

"King Slogan! This is the West Gate Squad! Help! There's—" 

Before he could finish, Sunday’s glowing eyes locked onto him. In a single fluid motion, Sunday hurled a beam of light straight through the soldier’s chest, silencing him instantly. The young man crumpled to the ground, his body dissolving into a faint shimmer of gold dust. But it was too late. The call had gone through.

Sunday’s jaw tightened as he heard the crackle of static from the fallen device. Slogan had been warned. He knew what was coming next—the Sun King would soon arrive.

The rest of the squad, emboldened by the desperate attempt for backup, lunged at Sunday, their swords and spears flashing in the dying light. But Sunday was relentless, his wings moving like blades, cutting through the soldiers with swift, precise strikes. His golden aura flared as each man fell, their armor crumbling like paper under the sheer force of his holy power.

Within minutes, the battlefield was silent again. The last of Slogan’s men lay motionless at his feet, their weapons scattered and their bodies broken. Sunday hovered for a moment, his wings still humming with residual energy. The fight was over, but the real battle was yet to come.

He glanced up at the sky, where the queen’s carriage had long since disappeared. He’d bought her time, but not much. Slogan would be coming, and he would not stop until he had what he wanted.

But for now, the queen and her children were safe.

Sunday’s golden wings gently flapping as he surveyed the carnage below. The soldiers lay scattered in the clearing, lifeless and still. He knew more would come, but it was Slogan himself that he was waiting for now. The Sun King would arrive soon, and the archangel could feel the shift in the air, the ominous pull of dark power drawing nearer.

Instead of chasing after the queen’s carriage, Sunday descended slowly, landing softly in the midst of the fallen. His bright golden eyes dimmed as he took a deep breath, folding his wings behind him. There was no need to rush now. Slogan would come, and when he did, Sunday would be ready.

He knelt on the ground, his hands resting on his thighs as he entered a state of meditation. The world around him seemed to blur as he focused inward, his breath slow and steady. The light within him flickered like a flame, and he began to channel the energy of the Holy Light, drawing it into his body, preparing for the inevitable clash.

Patience. Power is nothing without patience,he reminded himself. His wings shifted slightly, their golden feathers catching the fading sunlight as he centered himself. He could feel the weight of his duty pressing against him—the queen, Luna, the future of the kingdom. Everything rested on this moment, and he would not fail.

The trees rustled around him, the wind carrying with it the faint scent of smoke and fire. Slogan’s presence grew stronger, a dark energy that gnawed at the edges of Sunday’s awareness. It was only a matter of time now.

But Sunday did not move. He sat still, waiting. Waiting for Slogan to come, for the confrontation that would decide everything. And when it happened, Sunday would meet him not as a mere soldier, but as the First Light.

The forest fell into a tense silence.