FFF Class Auto Hero: The Weakest Class Turned Out To Be The Strongest?-Chapter 41: Whispers Beneath The Moon

In the heart of Moonshadow Grove, where trees wove a canopy over a garden bursting with blue lilies, their petals gleaming like sapphires in the moonlight, Queen Seraphyne Lunaris knelt in prayer.

Her silver hair flowed down in waves, catching the moonlight’s glow, framing a face both regal and alluring. Her tribal robes, created from dark, coarse fabric, clung to her voluptuous curves, the silver-threaded hem and bone-beaded accents accentuating her lithe waist and the generous swell of her hips.

The fabric, slightly sheer in the moonlight, hinted at the smooth, bronzed skin beneath, pooling around her knees as she bowed before a ruined statue of Lunareio.

The statue, weathered and cracked, depicted the moon god with arms outstretched, though one hand had crumbled, leaving a jagged stump.

Seraphyne’s eyes, a piercing amber, were fixed on the statue’s eroded face, her hands clasped tightly before her chest. Her lips moved in a fervent prayer, her voice low and trembling with reverence and desperation.

"O Sovereign of the Silver Radiance, hear thy fallen kin... we, thy children, rot in chains. I offer my crown, my breath, my soul—deliver us, Lord of Moon and Star..."

Behind her stood her three daughters, none kneeling, their expressions a mix of shock and doubt.

Elyndra, the eldest, stood with her arms crossed, her silver hair tightly braided, her amber eyes sharp and intense. Her leather tunic, studded with bone shards, marked her as a warrior, and her stern posture gave away her fiercely protective nature.

The younger twins, Sylvara and Lysira, shifted restlessly, their silver curls bouncing as they exchanged hushed words.

Sylvara’s sly grin and the dagger she twirled absently revealed her mischievous nature, while Lysira’s wide-eyed gaze and the sketchbook tucked under her arm spoke of a curious, artistic soul.

Sylvara leaned toward Lysira, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. "What’s Mother doin’, kneelin’ before that old broken stone? She looks right daft, don’t she?"

Lysira stifled a giggle, clutching her sketchbook tighter. "Aye, ’tis queer. She only spoke of this moon god some hours ago. Never heard of him before, and now she’s prayin’ like he’s real. What’s got her so fussed?"

[A/N: ’tis queer is slang in their language, meaning right, or got it, or of course.]

Elyndra’s head snapped toward them, her voice low but sharp. "Hush, you two. Mind your tongues. Mother’s heart’s heavy with our kin’s sufferin’. Her ways ain’t for you to jest ’bout."

Sylvara rolled her eyes, tossing her dagger up and catching it. "Oh, Ely, you sound like Mother’s shadow. Ain’t it strange, though? Prayin’ to a god we’ve never seen? What if she’s gone mad?"

Lysira nodded, her curls bouncing. "Aye, and that statue’s half crumbled. If this Lunareio’s so grand, why’s his statue left to rot? Don’t make no sense."

Elyndra’s jaw tightened, but before she could retort, Sylvara’s eyes suddenly widened, her dagger freezing mid-twirl. She pointed forward, her voice a sharp gasp.

"Sisters, look! Up there!"

The three turned, their breaths catching in unison.

Before the statue, a figure materialized, glowing with a radiant silver light. He was draped in dark blue robes, their golden and silver embroidery shimmering like woven starlight.

A hood shadowed the upper half of his face, revealing only a sharp jawline and lips curved in a faint, enigmatic smile.

His skin was ghostly pale, almost luminous, and his white hair spilled over his shoulders, swaying as if touched by an unseen breeze. His presence was both regal and overwhelming—a soothing calm with a cold, commanding aura that made the air feel dense yet serene.

Seraphyne’s head lifted, her amber eyes widening as her breath hitched. "O... Sovereign..." she whispered, her voice trembling with awe and disbelief, her clasped hands falling limp as she beheld the moon god she had only known in tales and fading memory.

Her daughters stood frozen, their chatter silenced, as the grove seemed to hold its breath under the weight of Lunareio’s divine arrival.

He stepped forward, his presence silencing the grove, and gently patted Seraphyne’s head, his fingers ruffling her silver locks with a tender touch.

"I have heard your words of plea, my child... Forgive me—my absence has brought you and your kin great peril. Worry not, for your days of suffering have come to an end."

Seraphyne’s amber eyes shimmered with unshed tears, her breath catching as emotion overwhelmed her.

She bowed lower, her hands trembling as tears spilled down her cheeks, glistening in the moonlight.

"Thank you, thank you, my lord," she choked out, her voice thick with gratitude and relief. "Thy mercy... it’s more than we dared hope."

Lunareio’s hooded gaze shifted, settling on the three daughters standing behind their mother.

Elyndra, Sylvara, and Lysira stared, wide-eyed, in awe.

His lips curved into a warmer smile, and he beckoned with a gentle wave of his hand. "Come, little ones. Do not be afraid. Draw closer."

Elyndra stiffened, her braided silver hair glinting as she hesitated, her protective instincts warring with the god’s soothing aura.

But the twins, Sylvara and Lysira, had no such reservations. They squealed in unison, their silver curls bouncing as they rushed forward, their voices overlapping in excitement.

"’Tis a god! A real god!" Sylvara cried, her dagger forgotten at her side, while Lysira clutched her sketchbook, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

Elyndra’s face tightened, and she called after them, her voice sharp. "Mind thy manners, ye two! Show respect before our lord!"

She followed at a measured pace, her leather tunic creaking softly, her amber eyes flicking between her sisters and the divine figure.

Lunareio chuckled softly, as the twins skidded to a stop before him, their faces alight with curiosity. He knelt slightly, bringing himself closer to their level, his hooded gaze warm despite its mystery and the strange chill in the air around him.

Seraphyne, still kneeling, watched through tear-streaked eyes, her heart swelling as her daughters stood in the presence of the god she had prayed to for so long.

"And what be thy names, little ones?" he asked.

Sylvara bounced on her toes, her silver curls bouncing wildly. "I’m Sylvara!" she chirped, her tail wagging furiously behind her.

Lysira, clutching her sketchbook, grinned just as brightly. "And I’m Lysira!" she added, her own tail matching her sister’s enthusiastic sway.

Lunareio’s smile widened, his hooded gaze warm despite the shadow concealing his eyes.

Maybe it was because it was a god, but he understood the meaning of their names. One who dares to dream of stars, and a soul of silver radiance.

"Wonderful names," he said with genuine warmth.

"Fit for such spirited souls." The twins’ pointed ears twitched upward in delight, their tails wagging even more intensely, stirring the air with their excitement.

But as their laughter filled the grove, Lunareio’s vision blurred, a sudden haze clouding his sight. Images flashed before his eyes, vivid and jarring.

He saw Sylvara and Lysira, no older than they were now, caught in a brutal attack—flames roaring, blades clashing, their small bodies crumpled amidst the bloody earth, eyes lifeless.

They were dead...

But then.

The vision shifted abruptly, revealing them as grown women: Lysira, her silver hair tied back, painting a vibrant mural of him with a serene smile.

Sylvara, her curls cropped short, wielding dual swords with fierce precision, her eyes bright with pride. The images faded as quickly as they came, leaving Lunareio blinking, his breath catching as he steadied himself.

’What was that?’