Gunmage-Chapter 231: Not human, not anything

Lyra and Xhi moved swiftly through the labyrinthine corridors of Cross Manor, their footsteps echoing faintly against the polished stone floors.

Around each bend and corner, the distant sound of voices—some panicked, others simply curious—grew louder.

The noise from the shattering windows had clearly stirred the manor to life. By now, the house guards were undoubtedly mobilizing.

Given the intensity of the impact, it would have been a miracle if they weren’t.

The reason no one had arrived sooner was simple: the room they had just left, like most within the Cross family estate, was soundproof.

Silence was a foundational principle of the Cross household—woven into their magic, embedded into their discipline, and eventually etched deep into their habits.

For generations, quietude had been both a shield and a weapon, revered as a pillar of control.

Which was precisely why Lyra had always stood out. Too loud, too curious, too alive.

Since childhood, she’d been regarded as a strange outlier, barely tolerated and never truly accepted.

An outcast who had returned to her cage. freёnovelkiss-com

These halls held few good memories.

Shaking off the pull of unwelcome nostalgia, she stole a quick glance at the drowsy figure slumped against her shoulder. Lugh’s aura, once oppressive and unnatural, had mostly faded.

But Lyra could sense it—like the breath before a scream. Another surge could come at any moment.

Taking Xhi’s advice, they slipped beneath the arched galleries and through servant’s paths, moving discreetly past clusters of guests.

Their hurried movements didn’t escape the eyes of the maids and stewards, many of whom stared after them with wide, uneasy expressions.

Eventually, they arrived at their destination: the great training hall.

The chamber opened before them like the inside of a vast, hollow sphere. Every surface—walls, ceiling, even the floor—was covered in intricate murals that shimmered slightly in the afternoon light.

Rows of seats rose around the room in perfect rings, designed for spectators rather than trainees. This was not just a hall for sparring. It was an arena, meant for observation, judgment, and spectacle.

During the day, sunlight filtered through the geometric carvings of the high, open windows, painting shifting shadows across the murals.

But once night fell, the entire chamber would be bathed in the eerie glow of phosphorescent blue lamps—pale and cold, like moonlight in deep water. The kind of eerie atmosphere synonymous with the Cross family.

It was here that her match against her father had been scheduled. A quiet confrontation beneath flickering lamplight. At night.

Which was why the house had been blindsided when the Von Heims announced their early arrival.

The whole affair was spiraling into something far more theatrical than Lyra had intended. She didn’t have an obsessive love for the limelight.

While she wouldn’t shy away from it, she understood well the dangers of attention. There was always a point when spectacle became a trap.

And truth be told, she had no desire for the position of family head. Had it not been for Xhi’s quiet insistence, Lyra would have left the politics behind and returned to the military without looking back.

But that was a concern for another time.

Now, inside the soundproof arena, safely encased in thick reinforced walls, Lyra carefully laid Lugh down on one of the front-row seats nearest to the sand-dusted training floor.

He slumped against the wooden frame, unmoving, his limbs heavy with exhaustion or something far worse.

"Why is this happening to him?"

She murmured, unable to hold the question in any longer. It had been gnawing at her ever since the aura burst.

"Well, who knows,"

Xhi replied casually, her voice frustratingly detached.

Lyra’s eyes narrowed. Her gaze locked onto the priestess like a hawk tracking prey.

"Xhi... what did you do?"

She asked, voice low and controlled.

The woman didn’t answer immediately. She merely offered Lyra a glance, her lips drawn into a familiar, unreadable line. A few quiet moments passed before she finally replied.

"Now, whatever could you mean?"

Lyra groaned quietly and rubbed her face with both hands. When Xhi acted like this—cryptic and maddeningly evasive—there was little hope of getting a straight answer. Still, she tried again.

"So you’re saying you don’t have a hand in any of this?"

Xhi held the silence for a few lingering seconds before finally shrugging.

"Well... not exactly."

"What—"

Lyra began, but the priestess cut her off.

"I simply put things into perspective for the boy, that’s all."

"Oh, really?"

Lyra deadpanned, unimpressed. Her tone turned sharp with skepticism.

"So just putting things into perspective is enough to turn him into... this?"

Her eyes drifted toward Lugh. His head hung at a crooked angle, his eyelids half-shut, the irises behind them glassy and dull.

He looked like a drunkard lost in a haze—an image made more disturbing by the unnatural stillness of his form.

She couldn’t help but recall Selaphiel’s spell and the strange way it had embedded itself inside him.

A quiet unease crept through her, old instincts stirring. Her subconscious fear of elves, long buried since the fight with Emrys, began to itch at the back of her skull.

Xhi’s voice drew her back.

"Firstly, yes. Simply putting things into perspective can absolutely produce this kind of result. You’ve noticed it, haven’t you? Lugh doesn’t see himself as a human."

Lyra blinked.

"Huh?"

"Forgive me,"

Xhi corrected herself.

"It would be more accurate to say he doesn’t see himself as a living creature at all. Not human. Not elf. Not... anything."

Lyra stared in stunned silence. This was the first time she was hearing any of this. Since when had things deteriorated this far?

Xhi’s expression didn’t change. She continued, her voice calm, almost clinical.

"It’s a coping mechanism. After what happened in Drakensmar... well, if he didn’t dissociate like this, his mind would’ve broken."

"What? What are you even talking about?"

Lyra’s voice rose slightly, tension threading through her words.

"What happened in Drakensmar?"

But the priestess didn’t answer her. Not directly.

Instead, she went on as if the question had never been asked.

"And secondly... Lugh is already ’this.’"

She made air quotes around the word.

"He’s not becoming something else. He already is."

Lyra didn’t reply. Her mind was too full, racing in a hundred directions. She bit her lip and stayed silent.

Xhi seemed pleased by that. A rare occurrence. She rewarded the silence with something closer to a full answer.

"You see,"

She said softly,

"Lugh isn’t human anymore. Not even close."

Lyra opened her mouth to speak, but stopped herself just in time. Her heart pounded.

"He’s now part of something much greater,"

Xhi went on, her voice brightening—pride or awe, it was hard to tell.

"Adapting to that... comes with complications."

For a brief moment, the priestess looked almost joyful, but the emotion flickered and died just as quickly. Her face returned to a grim neutrality.

Internally, Lyra was a storm of thoughts. It wasn’t often that Xhi shared anything for free.

And right now, the trick was to keep her mouth shut. To just... listen.

But it was too much.

The words had weight. The kind that buried things.

She couldn’t stop herself.

When it came, her voice was quiet. Low and flat.

"...What exactly happened in Drakensmar?"

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