Scene 11 – Final Part (Crimson’s Despair):

The screen lingers in stillness. Blood pools beneath her lifeless body, spreading like spilled ink across the cold marble floor. The soft echo of her final heartbeat fades into silence.

Then—

Footsteps.

Rushed. Uneven. Slapping against the ground in panic.

Crimson.

The red-haired boy stumbles into view, chest heaving, breath sharp and ragged. His youthful face is flushed with fear, eyes scanning the devastation—shattered stone, scorched walls... and then he sees it.

Her.

The woman who raised him. Who trained him. Who tucked him into bed not ten minutes ago.

Lying still. Broken.

Crimson (softly, like denial):
“…No…”

His knees give out.

He crashes to the floor beside her, trembling fingers reaching toward her bloodied face. He touches her cheek, still warm, still soft—he brushes away a lock of hair, then more urgently shakes her shoulder.

Crimson:
“Master? Master, wake up…”

Her eyes remain closed. Her body limp.

His lips quiver. His voice cracks.

Crimson (louder):
“Wake up! Please… please wake up! MASTER!!”

His scream pierces the silence like a dagger.

Tears spill freely down his cheeks, dripping onto her armor, mixing with the blood already there. His hands grip her tighter—shaking her, cradling her face, pressing his forehead to hers, desperate for a flicker of life.

And then—

Something changes.

Crimson’s eyes flicker.

A deep, glowing red aura pulses from within them, like a dam cracking open. The air grows heavier, the ground beneath him quivers slightly, and the candlelight in the distant hallways flickers as if gasping.

He doesn’t notice. He’s too lost in sorrow.

But Kealvor does.

Standing a few feet away, partially cloaked in shadow, he watches silently. His wide, eyeless grin doesn’t waver, but for the first time—his head tilts slightly.

Curious.

Tempted.

Kealvor (whispers, amused):
“…So this is the boy.”

He raises his hand slightly, fingers curling as if to snuff out Crimson like a candle.

But then—
Shouts. Footsteps. Guards.

The sounds of armored men rushing down the corridor. Too close.

Kealvor clicks his tongue in annoyance. He lowers his hand.

A swirling deep blue portal rips open beside him, glowing like a wound in reality.

Kealvor (low, disappointed):
“Tch. Another time, little ember.”

With a final glance—he steps through the portal. As it seals shut behind him with a distorted hum, the screen glitches violently—warping, distorting, like the world itself is in pain.

Cut to black.

The only sound left: Crimson’s broken sobs echoing into the void.