The toxic green light flared from the center of the temple ruins, bathing their weary faces in a sickly hue. The voice, deep, commanding, and very much alive, felt like a physical blow to Siron's chest. "Siron. My descendant. I have come to take what is my birthright." Out of the green radiance, a man stepped forth. He was tall, his long black hair tied back neatly, wearing clothes that were jarringly modern, a sharp black suit, yet his eyes burned with the same green light as the eruption. His face was handsome and sharp, bearing an undeniable resemblance to the portraits of Aethelford ancestors Siron had seen in books. This was Alaric, but not a vengeful spirit. This was a physical form, living and whole. "Alaric..." Siron muttered, his voice caught in his throat. "The original," the man replied with a thin, cold smile. "Not the spiritual fragment you defeated. I am Alaric, King of Aethelford, whose body and soul were preserved in the space-between, waiting for the moment the le
最終更新日 : 2026-01-02 続きを読む