Calamitas exhaled through her nose as the tension unraveled.
Not from her.
From them.
Hoshino lowered his wind blades like they weighed more than his sins.
Lelyah, who was a Mercenary.
Apollyon, The Saint of Ruin—kept her stance too long for someone claiming to have "given up work."
And the girl in the bed?
Silent.
Wide-eyed.
Not shaking.
Not crying.
Just… still.
She gets it now, Calamitas thought. Good.
She tilted her head, eyes flicking over the room as if inspecting a spell that hadn't finished casting.
There it was again. That invisible hum.
The Chorus was no longer dormant.
She could feel it—woven into the child's bones like a forgotten melody finally recalled. It clung to her like static in silk.
She could also sense her Gravity magic.
Old magic.
Unbalanced magic.
The kind the people tried to bury when they still had the strength to choose evolution over order.
Calamitas didn't smile this time.
Instead, she watched the girl carefully. Thoughtfully.
So small.
So exhausted.
So heavy with possibility.
And just beneath it all—her impossible mana signature.
Not even the Citadel had records of it anymore.
Not properly.
Just whispers.
She could still remember the last one who had Gravity magic. How the people culled its power to correct it.
Her fingers curled slightly at her side.
Not in fear.
Not yet.
But in recognition.
This girl was a storm front, and no one in the room had brought an umbrella.
—
I was still here.
Still breathing.
The room hadn't shattered. No one moved.
The pressure in the air was gone, but something heavier had taken its place.
I could still feel the echo of Calamitas' magic—not around me, but on me.
Like someone had paused the world just long enough to decide if it should keep spinning.
I didn't speak.
Didn't ask what had just happened.
Because I already knew.
Dadhad tried to kill me.
Mom had stepped between us.
Calamitas had stopped them both.
And now?
Now everyone was quiet.
Mom's hand was still raised.
Her magic had faded, but I could see it—the faint tremble in her fingers.
So small, it would be invisible to anyone else.
But not to me.
She was still standing between us.
Still shielding me.
Even now.
Even after everything.
I looked at her back—at the way her shoulders squared, her spine rigid.
Not in fear.
In fury.
But she hadn't turned around.
She hadn't looked at me.
Not yet.
A soft movement beside me.
Reilan.
He shifted forward, his fingers brushing the edge of the bed as if grounding himself. His voice was quiet, cautious.
"...Are you okay?"
I didn't answer.
Because I didn't know.
I wasn't hurt.
Not physically.
But something inside me had been cut open.
Split wide and filled with a truth I didn't ask for.
I opened my mouth to speak—
And stopped.
[Emotional volatility detected. Initiating passive regulation protocols.]
"...Don't," I whispered under my breath.
A pause. Then—
[Acknowledged. No further stabilization will be applied unless requested.]
Of course it would listen.
That was the difference between it and everyone else.
It didn't ask why.
Didn't demand answers.
It just… waited.
Reilan didn't ask again.
He just stayed there, his presence steady.
Not demanding.
Not pushing.
Just waiting.
That, more than anything, grounded me.
I turned my head slightly, just enough to see him out of the corner of my eye.
He looked pale. Not from fear—but from the aftershock.
Like he'd just realized how close everything had come to breaking.
How close I had come to…
I swallowed the thought.
My voice cracked slightly. "I'm fine."
A lie.
But Reilan didn't call me on it.
He just nodded. Once. Like that was enough.
I turned my eyes forward again.
Mom was still standing. Still unmoving.
"...Mom."
It came out quiet. Too quiet.
Her shoulders shifted.
Only slightly.
And then, slowly—deliberately—she lowered her hand.
She didn't speak. Not yet.
But she sat down beside me again, her back to Satoshi, her body blocking him like a wall that hadn't been dismantled yet.
Her fingers brushed mine.
Only for a second.
Not to reassure me.
Just to let me know—she was still here.
[Observation: Subject Lelyah Tomaszewski displays elevated stress response despite stable vitals. Protective behavior confirmed.]
I stared at her back—rigid, silent, but somehow… fragile.
"Yeah," I whispered in my mind, "I know."
A soft pause.
[Emotional stabilization advisory: Mental strain detected. Recommend rest.]
"That's not happening," I muttered.
[Acknowledged. Passive monitoring will continue.]
Mom's voice came quiet at first.
Cold.
Precise.
Like a scalpel, not a scream.
"You almost killed her."
She didn't even look at him.
Didn't have to.
"Not threatened. Not restrained. You drew with intent."
Each word landed like frost on open skin.
"You looked at your daughter and saw a problem to eliminate."
Satoshi didn't answer.
Not immediately.
But I saw his eyes—
The shift in his expression.
The horror slowly creeping in behind the mask of discipline.
"I didn't—"
"You did."
Lelyah finally turned her head. Not fully. Just enough for him to see her eyes.
"You did. Without hesitation."
He flinched. Barely. But I saw it.
"You weren't testing her. You weren't protecting her. You were executing a protocol that should have died with the rest of your bloodline."
A beat.
Then—
"And I should've let it die with you."
Silence thickened.
Calamitas chuckled.
"Oh, come now," she said lightly, "don't be too dramatic. He's not the first father to try and kill a child for legacy reasons."
Lelyah shot her a look, sharp and venom-laced.
Calamitas just smiled wider.
"But…" She waved a finger, a little singe of static dancing off her glove. "She's not wrong. You overreached, Hoshino."
Her tone dropped—still playful, but colder now.
"She was scared. And you were ready to carve her apart because your instincts flared. That's not legacy. That's failure."
Satoshi's hands curled at his sides. But he didn't argue.
Because there was nothing to argue.
He had raised a blade against his daughter.
Lelyah didn't stop.
She stood slowly, not with rage—but with something quieter.
Heavier.
The kind of weight that builds when you've carried a truth alone for too long.
"I knew this would happen eventually," she said.
Her voice was calm now. But that didn't make it gentle.
"I knew that if she ever awakened that thing inside her, you'd come for her."
She looked directly at him now.
Eyes level. Cold.
"Because that's what you were trained to do, right? Even if it's your child. Even if it's all that's left."
Satoshi's jaw tensed. He didn't speak.
"You think I didn't notice?" she continued.
"The way you hovered whenever she showed progress. How your silence deepened every time she reached past her limits. You weren't afraid she'd get hurt. You were afraid she'd qualify."
She took a slow breath, then said it:
"I've seen what your bloodline does to the ones it claims to be weak or too strong. I was there when a supposed Hoshino was dragged out of his own home. I heard the chants. I saw the bodies that layed when that family culled their weak."
A pause.
She tilted her head, voice low.
"You think I married into that blindly?"
That struck something.
In him.
And in someone else.
Reilan's posture shifted.
Just a little.
But not in surprise.
More like he already knew.
Like he'd been there, too.
Lelyah's gaze drifted to him for only a heartbeat.
Then back to Satoshi.
"I chose to raise her differently," she said, sharper now.
I didn't know where to look.
Mom's words were still ringing in my ears—
Sharp. Measured. Unapologetic.
I'd never heard her speak like that before.
Not to him.
Not to anyone.
There was something terrifying about how calm she was.
Like she wasn't breaking down.
Like she'd already broken, years ago—
And had just learned how to walk with the pieces.
Reilan hadn't said a word.
But I saw it.
The way his hand had tightened on the bed.
The shift in his eyes.
He knew.
He knew everything.
Not from rumors.
Not from reports.
From memory.
My breath caught.
Was everyone in this room holding back something?
Mom—who I thought was only a tactician, a healer, a diplomat.
Dad—who I'd only ever known as cold, not cruel.
Reilan—who had always just been there, steady and quiet, like a shadow I never questioned.
And me?
The girl in the bed.
The one who couldn't move.
Who couldn't even scream when her own father turned his blade on her.
I clenched the sheets weakly beneath my fingers.
They were damp.
When had I started sweating?
I didn't feel afraid.
Not really.
But there was something else crawling under my skin.
A kind of pressure that didn't come from mana.
It came from knowing.
Too much.
Too soon.
I closed my eyes.
Just for a moment.
"Great Sage," I whispered in my mind. "Are you still recording all of this?"
[Yes.]
"...Good."
Because one day, I was going to need to remember it exactly as it happened.
Not as I felt it.
Not as others told it.
Exactly.
Calamitas watched the room with half-lidded eyes.
The storm had passed.
Or at least—shifted direction.
She saw the girl—Chiori—sink back into sleep.
Not gently.
Not peacefully.
But like a body giving up the fight.
"Good," she murmured to no one in particular.
"She needs the silence more than she needs the truth right now."
No one answered her.
Not Satoshi, who stood like a statue cracked down the middle.
Not Lelyah, whose fury had finally dulled into something far more dangerous.
And not Reilan—whose silence now spoke of things Calamitas wasn't ready to unravel just yet.
Her gaze drifted to the faint flicker of residual mana that still clung to the air like smoke.
Tension like that didn't fade.
It soaked into walls, into breath, into memory.
And Chiori?
She was steeped in it already.
Too deep.
Calamitas exhaled slowly and stepped back, the shadows behind her curling like fabric.
No spark. No shimmer.
Just absence.
"Try not to kill each other while she sleeps," she said over her shoulder, voice low and amused.
"It's terribly rude."
Then she vanished.
Not with a bang.
Not with magic.
Just gone.
And the room fell quiet again.
Three Days Later.
The world didn't end.
No one spoke of the attempted execution.
No one acknowledged the scar that now stretched—unseen—across the family name.
But the tension never left the halls.
It lingered like smoke in the curtains, thick in the air, impossible to ignore.
I hadn't left my room.
Not once.
The first full day, I slept.
The second, I listened.
The third—I waited.
Voices came and went.
Servants I didn't recognize delivered food I didn't touch.
Even Reilan had been scarce—I assume he's been checking in only when I was asleep.
Everyone was careful.
Too careful.
They didn't know if I was still fragile—Or just watching.
They were right either way.
I stayed in bed. Not because I couldn't walk anymore, but because I didn't trust what might happen when I did.
[Recovery status: 98%. Physical condition: stable.]
"Still not optimal?" I murmured.
[Correct. Lingering emotional strain and mana disruption remain unresolved.]
Figures.
A soft knock.
Then—
The door creaked open without waiting for permission.
Of course.
"Asmodeus," I muttered under my breath before I even saw him.
He slipped in like a shadow, bright-eyed and grinning.
No fanfare. No hesitation.
"Finally!" he said, arms outstretched like he was greeting a ghost. "I thought you were gonna die or something. Would've ruined my week."
I blinked slowly. "Thanks for the concern."
He plopped himself down on the edge of the bed without asking, completely ignoring the tension that still hung faintly in the room.
"I mean it," he added. "When Dad said you got really sick, I thought—"
He trailed off, scratching the back of his head.
"...I dunno. I should've been here, y'know? I'm supposed to be your rival. Can't have you going down before I get to beat you again."
I stared at him.
He was saying it like it was a joke.
But the way his voice caught near the end…
I'd heard that before.
Not here.
Not now.
Before.
A memory surfaced. Not sharp. Not painful.
Just… familiar.
Lucian.
Frustrated.
Pacing by the edge of my bed as I recovered from a fever years ago.
"You idiot," he had muttered under his breath. "If you're gonna be stronger than me, at least be around long enough to prove it."
Same cadence.
Same look in his eyes when he thought I wasn't watching.
I blinked. The memory faded like steam on glass.
"You're dramatic," I said.
Asmodeus huffed. "You're one to talk. Practically gave half the estate a heart attack."
He paused, tilting his head toward me.
His grin returned, but it was softer now.
Less wild.
"I'm glad you're okay."
The words settled strangely.
Heavy, even though they were light.
I looked away.
"Yeah," I murmured. "Me too...Lucian"
The name slipped out before I realized.
My lips froze around it. My breath caught.
Across from me, Asmodeus blinked.
The grin faltered. Just a little.
"What'd you say?" he asked, head tilting slightly. Not aggressive. Just confused.
I hesitated.
Too long.
"Nothing," I said quickly. "Didn't mean to say anything."
He squinted at me, brow furrowing just a bit—trying to place it.
"Lucian," he repeated, slower. Testing the word. "That someone you know?"
My heart skipped.
But I kept my face still.
Careful. Controlled.
"Just a name I read once," I lied.
Asmodeus didn't press.
But he didn't look convinced, either.
"…Huh," he muttered, leaning back slightly. "Weird. Feels… familiar."
I didn't respond.
He didn't push it further.
But that single name hung in the air like dust suspended in sunlight.
Not fully noticed.
But not forgotten either.