Chapter 633: What

Indeed… it's getting closer and closer… and… not in one direction… but in two…

Ilya hadn't had time to ask "two what," the wall in front of her exploded.

Debris flew in through the hole that had been punched through, slamming down headlong.

Ilya only managed a scream, shoved the ruby into her chest, and threw herself flat onto the ground.

A Black Shadow swept over her head with a whistling wind; she only saw a vague dark‑purple mass flicker in her peripheral vision, then a huge crash as it struck something.

Dust poured in from the punched‑through hole, filling the whole room so nothing could be seen, only the Lapis Flame kept burning in the ash, lighting the drifting dust into rolling clouds.

Then something else fell down.

It struck within three feet of Ilya, the sound louder than the Black Shadow's landing, shaking the entire house.

Ilya lay on the ground, the gust flipping her to the side, her back hitting a broken table leg, causing her to gasp sharply in pain.

Dust still drifted, her eyes filled with ash, unable to open, she could only squint to see a vague silhouette beside her, like a sword planted in the ground; when the dust reached the silhouette it automatically dispersed, as if repelled by something.

Then the silhouette bent slightly, as if lowering its head, and a black‑red object longer than Ilya herself was lifted up to her face; Ilya could even see the crimson patterns flowing over it like living tissue.

It was a sword.

It was Saber's sword.

Ilya's mind went blank in that instant.

She lay on the ground, head tilted back, watching the black‑red great sword hovering less than two feet from her face, its blade patterns drifting slowly in the dim light as if a living thing were breathing.

She could not see Saber's face, only her eyes looking down from above, cold and without any warmth.

Ilya felt tears welling up again, she opened her mouth to call Saber's name, but the two syllables stuck in her throat, unable to be forced out.

"Ilya—!!!"

The ruby's sound burst from her chest, the Magic Staff's light flared sharply, the beam bounced off Saber's blade, rebounded, and flashed across Ilya's face.

Saber's eyes blinked in that light.

Then the sword was withdrawn.

Saber stood there, head lowered, watching Ilya lying on the ground, something moving in those eyes.

Her lips moved, Ilya didn't catch it, she said it again.

"Ilya?"

That voice differed from the Saber in Ilya's Memory.

It was distant, as if on a night with beautiful moonlight, Saber stood outside a castle, looking down at her hidden behind a tree, asking in the same puzzled tone, "Who?"

Ilya lay on the ground, head tilted back, watching Saber crouch, her brows furrowing, a expression on the pale face that Ilya could not quite read.

"What's wrong with you?"

Saber's voice was slightly softer than before, carrying a hesitation Ilya had never heard.

She reached out, the hand hovering briefly as if unsure where to land, then slowly settled atop Ilya's head, above the hair that had turned deep violet.

Saber's fingers paused a moment on her head, then withdrew, her gaze shifting from the hair to the face, then to the eyes, and finally to the Magic Staff in Ilya's chest, bent like a noodle.

Her brows furrowed tighter, and that pale face showed something Ilya had never seen.

"Your hair…"

Saber's voice paused, "How did it become like this?"

Ilya gave no answer.

She merely lay on the ground, watching the rigid lines on that pale face soften point by point, and then Ilya's tears finally fell.

She reached out, the hand trembling in midair, then grasped Saber's cuff.

"Saber…"

Ilya's voice squeezed out from her throat, thin and hoarse, like a string stretched too long finally snapping, "Saber… Saber… Saber…"

She shouted three times, each louder than the last, each more shattered than the previous.

She didn't know why she shouted her name, nor what to say afterward; she only felt that if she didn't utter it, the blockage in her throat would fill her completely, from top to toe, bursting her, shattering her, turning her into fragments drifting in this room with only three walls, impossible to reassemble.

Saber's body tensed.

Watching the purple‑haired little girl lying on the ground clutching her cuff, watching those eyes—no longer shining—streaming tears that overflowed from the sockets, sliding down her cheeks, dripping onto the dust‑covered pink dress, spreading small wet patches.

She didn't know what had happened, nor why Ilya had become like this.

But Saber knew the child was crying.

Saber's hand rose again, this time without hesitation.

The hand landed on Ilya's head.

"I'm here."

Saber said, voice soft, "Don't be afraid."

Ilya buried her face directly in her knee, crying even louder.

Weiba Daye floated in midair, the Flame‑shaped face turned to the other side, not watching them.

Its expression was complex—mouth corners downturned, eyes narrowed, the whole face twisted, as if impatient, as if something choked it, unable to swallow or spit out.

It could hardly stand this the most, even more intolerable than seeing people cry.

Weiba Daye hummed and turned its face away.

It floated to the other side of the room, farther from the two people huddled together.

Weiba Daye fixed its gaze on the Black Shadow that rose from the ruins.

That Black Shadow was the thing that first smashed through the house—a broken Mecha.

When it rose from the collapsed shards, the Lapis Flame on its body flared brighter than before, seeping from the cracks, slowly flowing over the damaged armor, turning the dark‑purple metal into an indefinable green‑black hue.

And now it stood there, motionless.

The flames burned on its body, seemingly smoothing the jagged breaks.

Weiba Daye's Flame jumped once.

It stared at the pulsing azure on that Mecha for a long time, so long that it itself began to feel something was off.

That color was too familiar to it, familiar enough that it could recognize it with its eyes closed— it was its own color.

"Interesting."

Weiba Daye muttered.