The Heroine is My Stepsister, and I'm her Final Boss-Chapter 65: For Her.

Now it was too late.

A slow creak echoed through the cavern. Shifting stone. A weight too heavy for silence to hold.

{{{What happened?}}} came the voice from the shadows. Deep. Earthy. Like mountains cracking open.

The giant, Veil, stepped forward. His moss-covered shoulders brushed the cavern ceiling. One eye gleamed dimly in the gloom. His gaze swept over Elizabeth, collapsed like a marionette with cut strings.

He paused, perhaps expecting defiance. Command. Anything but the sight of an Empress clawing dirt.

After a breathless eternity, he asked again—softer this time, but still as deep as a landslide.

"What happened?"

Elizabeth didn’t look up. Her fingers curled inward, soil caking her nails. Her voice, when it came, was a husk.

"It’s finished," she whispered. "He’s gone."

Veil tilted his massive head. "Gone where? Is he safe?"

She shook her head—not no, not yes—just a tremor of motion, empty of meaning. Her throat burned, but no words followed. Her mouth opened once, then closed.

Her grief had eaten her language.

Void Veil stepped forward. It moved silently—its body not walking, but gliding—as if it wasn’t bound by earth the way mortals were. It tilted its blank face toward Elizabeth. For a moment, it simply stood there, silent.

Then it shivered.

A resonance pulsed in its core.

"...I feel him," it said at last, its voice not echoing in the cave, but ’inside’ his mind. "Faint. But real. He left something behind. A trace. An intention."

Elizabeth slowly raised her head. Dirt clung to her hair. Her lips parted. "...What do you mean?"

Void Veil turned slightly, its body flickering between solid and shadow. "Atlas instructed me to take you out of the Dark Continent. He called it his final action... for your sake."

She blinked. "My... sake?"

The words tasted wrong. Like a kindness she didn’t deserve.

"Yes," the Void repeated. "He asked me to ensure your survival. Whether you join him or fight him again... he said you had to live first."

Her chest ached.

She wanted to scream. To sob. But she did neither.

"What did he say?"

Veil’s eye gazed at the castle, his intention clear as day within the dark realm. "Sleep...."

"Sleep...?" Elizabeth questioned in confusion.

The veil nodded, saying nothing more, as atlas told him the same.

The giant folded its arms. {{{Sleeping near the castle, huh? Intriguing instruction. Very well. Let’s follow it.}}}

The ancient creature turned, heavy steps rattling the walls. Dust rained down from the ceiling like snowfall. Void Veil floated behind it—but not before pausing at Elizabeth’s side.

"Come," it said gently. "We cannot delay."

Elizabeth didn’t move.

She stared at the ground where she had once felt his presence . The echo of his presence still hummed faintly in her magic. A resonance. A ghost. A heartbeat fading.

’Why would he do this for me?’ she thought.

After everything. After her betrayal. After she offered him the world, and he returned it in ashes.

’Because he’s not like me,’ she realized.

’Because he never was.’

Slowly, painfully, Elizabeth pushed herself up. Her joints protested. Her muscles screamed. She brushed the dirt from her palms, but it clung like guilt.

She took one step.

Then another.

And each step felt heavier than war.

.

.

.

The world outside moved on.

But within the shell of his flesh—within the storm Atlas could no longer name—he floated.

Suspended.

Weightless.

Trapped inside his own skin while the GUIDE walked in his stead.

Atlas watched the echo of his hands flicker like dying stars, barely able to form fingers around anything but regret.

Time didn’t flow here. Not like it should have. Seconds felt like centuries. Emotion bled across the walls of his mind like oil on water. It was a place without language. Without touch.

And yet—there was a presence.

Always a presence.

The GUIDE. Before he was only a voice, but now, somehow he formed before him, his whole body similar to his own but more taller, more mature, more good looking. Reaching Eight Feet tall like some celestial being, holy and unholy at the same time. He stood across from him, draped in a silhouette of infinite void. Not just shadow, but ’absence’—a hole in the world where a man should be.

Yet he smiled like a prophet. Eyes glowing not with malice, but ’reverence’. Like he pitied Atlas for trying to cling to his own name.

"Well?" the Guide asked, voice smooth and warm like candlelight in a cathedral. "You have that look. The ’I’m-about-to-ask-for-something-I-can’t-do-myself’ look."

Atlas didn’t reply right away. He let silence stretch between them, hoping—foolishly—that silence might be stronger than the gravity of what he needed.

"...She’s still in the Dark Continent," Atlas said finally. His voice was a husk. "She won’t survive long. Not like that. Not alone."

The Guide’s smile widened. "And you want ’me’ to save her?"

"I want her out," Atlas said. "Alive. Back with her people. She thinks she’s ready for this war—but she’s breaking inside."

"Aren’t we all," the Guide replied softly. "And yet you come to me. The fragment of yourself you fear becoming."

Atlas’s spectral hands curled into fists. "Just do it."

"I could," the Guide mused, walking in a slow circle around him. "I could bring her to safety. Walk her out myself. Whisper the right words into the right minds. I could deliver her to the Empire’s gates untouched. I could even ensure no monster follows her shadow..."

He leaned close, voice low, reverent. "But nothing is free, child of paradox. You know that. You ARE that."

Atlas closed his eyes.

He already knew the answer. He just hated it.

"Name your price."

The Guide exhaled. "Next time you fall... next time your spirit cracks... I walk again. No resistance. No games. You ’let me in’."

A pause.

Atlas’s voice was smaller now. "Next time?"

The Guide smiled, and it was not unkind.

"You’ll fall again. You always do. You know that. Death isn’t the final trial, Atlas. ’Living’ is."

Atlas hesitated.

Seconds passed like hours.

The idea of the Guide inside his body again was unbearable. The way he wore Atlas’s smile like a mask. The way he moved like a god wearing a corpse.

But Elizabeth...

He saw her again in his mind—kneeling on stone, voice trembling, holding air as if it could hold her together.

"You’ll never see her again unless you yield something," the Guide whispered.

"Why?" Atlas asked finally. "Why would you help her?"

The Guide tilted his head. "Because you loved her. And I..." He placed a finger to his chest. "I love the way you love. Don’t forget, you are my incarnation. We are one in the same."

Atlas stared.

The Guide’s tone was velvet now. Seduction not of flesh, but of soul.

"Your love is not weak. It’s catastrophic. It unravels timelines. Breaks prophecy. It is a rebellion against design. I ’envy’ it actually. That’s why I created the Book of the Damned, page after page, chasing the infinity you bring into every wound you survive in the future."

He stepped closer, and for the first time, his glow dimmed into something softer.

"I will save her," he said, almost gently. "I will take her out of that cursed land. She will breathe air not poisoned by loss. She will see her stars again. All you have to do... is accept what you already know. That one day, you will not be strong enough."

Atlas swallowed.

He hated him.

He hated how much he ’understood’ him.

"...You’ll bring her out?" Atlas said quietly.

"I swear it by the lawless page," the Guide replied, eyes gleaming. "By the fifth truth of the damned: ’Love demands memory. Even if it’s borrowed."

Atlas’s hands trembled.

Then opened.

"...Fine."

The Guide nodded, eyes closing. "Just tell your girl to sleep, I can reach her as I am in the dreaming, and after that, it will be done."