Transmigrated as the Villainess Princess - Chapter 189

Chapter 189: Light Beside You
Archinsyne had long forgotten what it meant to care, what it meant to feel the warmth of a purpose burning inside him.

His days had been empty, his nights devoid of meaning, drifting through time with no attachment to the world.

But now, standing beside Ahcehera on the battlefield, he felt something he had not felt in centuries, light.

It was not just the light of the battle raging around them, the fire from burning warships, or the glow of plasma weapons cutting through the dark hordes of zergs. It was her.

Ahcehera moved like a tempest, swift and untouchable. Her blade was a streak of silver, slicing through the monstrous creatures as if they were made of air.

Every time her foot touched the bloodstained ground, it was with purpose, with a determination that rivaled even the gods.

She was relentless, unyielding, a goddess of war draped in crimson.

Archinsyne fought beside her, his strikes precise, his instincts sharper than they had been in lifetimes. He did not fight because he had to.

He fought because he wanted to, because standing by her side felt right. He felt the darkness in his soul recoil, suffocated by her presence.

His entire being, once steeped in cold apathy, was now caught in the gravity of her existence. She was like a star, radiant, untouchable, and burning far too brightly.

He saw her through red-colored glasses, the kind that made her seem untarnished by the cruelty of the world, a being above all others.

Even as blood smeared her face, even as exhaustion weighed down her movements, she was magnificent.

He had never seen someone fight like her, not just with power but with conviction, as if she was holding up the universe itself with her bare hands.

His admiration deepened with every moment, growing like an unquenchable thirst.

He had wandered for so long, seeking something to fill the emptiness, and now it was as if he had taken his first drink of water after an eternity of drought.

He did not know if he deserved to stand by her side, but he knew he could not look away. The battle surged around them, but his focus was only on her.

She fought with ruthless precision, but there was something more beneath the surface, something hidden beneath her steel-like resolve.

A mystery he wanted to unravel. Who was she, truly? What drove her to fight like this? What was it about her that made him feel, something?

For centuries, Archinsyne had lived as a ghost in his own skin, walking through existence with no purpose, no desire, nothing but the passage of time.

He had once loved, once burned with passion, but that love had twisted into something unrecognizable, something that had destroyed him.

He had sworn never to feel that way again. But Ahcehera was different.

She did not belong to him, nor did he wish to possess her like he had once desired another. No, this admiration was purer. It was awe. It was reverence.

It was the quiet acceptance that she was beyond his reach, like a celestial body hanging in the sky, beautiful and untouchable. And yet, he would protect her.

Not because she needed protection. Not because he sought to earn her favor. But because, for the first time in an eternity, he had found something worth fighting for.

The battle reached its peak, the zergs swarming like an unending tide. Ahcehera stood at the center of it all, her presence a beacon that called warriors to her side.

He saw soldiers rally around her, saw the way they looked at her with hope in their eyes.

She was their strength, their unshakable leader, and yet, as Archinsyne watched her, he knew she was something even greater.

She was hope itself. And hope was something Archinsyne had long abandoned. But not anymore.

When the final zerg fell, its monstrous body collapsing into the blood-soaked earth, silence followed.

The battlefield was a graveyard of the fallen, a land soaked in death. Soldiers dropped to their knees, exhausted but victorious.

And in the midst of it all, Ahcehera stood tall, her sword still dripping with the dark blood of her enemies.

Archinsyne exhaled, his body aching, his hands still clenched around his weapons.

He turned his gaze to her once more, as if to confirm that she was still real, that she had not been a vision conjured by his desperate need for meaning.

She was there. Alive. Unbroken. And in that moment, he knew, he would follow her to the ends of the universe.

Not because he was bound to her. Not because he sought redemption. But because she was the first light he had seen in centuries, and he could not bear to lose it.

Archinsyne found himself standing in the aftermath, staring at Ahcehera as she surveyed the battlefield.

Her gaze was sharp, calculating, taking in every detail of the carnage without flinching. Blood smeared her uniform, and there was a faint cut on her cheek, but she did not seem to notice.

The wind carried the scent of iron, ashes, and something else, something like the distant echo of destruction.

His chest ached, but not from exhaustion. It was something deeper, something unnameable.

He had never cared about the outcome of a battle before. He had fought, he had won, he had survived.

But today, he had fought with a purpose, not to protect himself, not to simply exist another day, but because he could not let harm come to her.

She turned to him then, her expression unreadable. “You fight well.”

It was not praise. It was a simple statement, factual and precise, as if she had already expected as much.

Archinsyne met her gaze, unblinking. “I only fought because I had to.”

She tilted her head slightly, as if considering his words. “Then you must have found a reason to wield your blade.”

He said nothing.

Ahcehera looked away, her attention already shifting elsewhere. She was like that, never lingering too long, always moving forward, as if the universe itself could not keep her still.

And Archinsyne, despite everything, found himself following.