The room had fallen quiet again.
The faint echo of Asmodeus' laughter still lingered in the corners like smoke—loud, chaotic, comforting in a strange way. But he was gone now, and with him, the last thread tethering the moment to anything normal.
Now, it was just me.
I layed still beneath the covers, my body still sore in a way that went beyond magic or injury. The aftermath of everything—the awakening, the accusation, the near execution—pressed into me like the weight of gravity itself. Ironic, considering.
[Status: Stable. Recovery at 98%. Mana reserves at 12%. Light activation permitted. Heavy spell usage still restricted.]
The stillness wasn't peace. It was the calm after a landslide. Shattered ground pretending to be whole.
I stared at the ceiling, unblinking.
I wasn't going to talk about it. Not yet. Not to anyone.
"Great Sage," I thought again, this time more focused.
[Listening.]
"Don't log any of this. No trauma markers. No memory flags. Not now."
A pause.
[Understood. Emotional response storage deferred.]
I exhaled, slow. Controlled.
Then, carefully, I sat up.
The sheets rustled beneath me like a whisper of protest. My limbs ached, but not enough to stop me. My body could heal later.
Now, I needed answers.
"Time to move."
I slid out from beneath the covers, wincing as my bare feet touched the cold floor.
[Warning: Core temperature differential detected. Recommend footwear.]
"I'll survive."
I stood slowly, allowing the tails to manifest—only one at first, then a second, both shimmering faintly as they braced my weight. Not fully stable, but stable enough. They anchored me like canes made of mana.
My footsteps were nearly silent as I padded across the room. I paused at the door, listening.
No voices.
No footsteps.
Not even Rei's quiet breathing.
Good.
I slipped into the hallway, the cool air prickling my skin as my mana-adjusted balance took over. I didn't have a plan, not exactly. But I knew what I was looking for.
Not a person.
A room.
One I'd only passed once, years ago. Sealed. Protected. Never opened in front of me.
Dad's study had books. His personal archives had records. But the sealed room behind the ancestral shrine?
That had secrets.
The hallway stretched out in front of me like a test. Every step echoed more in my mind than in reality.
"Great Sage."
[Listening.]
"Track ambient mana signatures. Show me what's been sealed or hidden in the last twenty-four hours."
[Compiling…]
[One result. Hidden chamber detected. Located: East Wing, behind ceremonial chamber.]
I stopped mid-step.
That wasn't where I expected.
"…Why there?"
[Insufficient data. Would you like to generate hypotheses?]
"No. I'll see it myself."
I turned on quiet feet, tails adjusting to keep my balance.
Toward the East Wing.
Toward the chamber no one was ever supposed to enter.
The deeper I moved into the estate, the more I felt it.
Surveillance.
Not cameras. Not magic wards. People.
Servants. Guards. Shadows wrapped in silence.
They weren't looking for me, not yet. But they were watching everything.
And it meant I had to be perfect.
"Great Sage," I whispered again in my mind.
[Listening.]
"Expand scan radius. I want the whole floor."
[Expanding. Scanning…]
A new overlay flickered in my mind's eye. Dots. Trajectories. Moving lines representing patrols.
[Thirty-two active life signatures within radius. Estimated sixteen on standard patrol cycles. Eight stationary sentries. Four irregular movements.]
[Projected safe path: Updated. Proceed with caution. Next blind spot window: Six seconds.]
I counted the beats of my pulse as I pressed my back to the wall. The corridor ahead glowed faintly in the projection—too exposed. The next corner would put me in view of a rotating guard unless I moved with precision.
The air was still. Cold.
Even my tails hesitated. The second one flickered at the tip, barely holding its shape.
"Recalculate tail output. Prioritize balance over speed."
[Understood. Redistributing mana flow.]
My legs braced, my steps light. I crossed the hallway just as the projected window opened—silent, smooth, controlled. A breath too slow, and I'd be caught in the sweep of an attendant heading from the western staircase.
I ducked into an old storage passage. Dust clung to the air. I didn't cough. I didn't flinch.
Just waited.
Footsteps passed again.
Two this time. Conversing. Not guards. Retainers.
"I heard she collapsed again," one whispered.
"You think she's cursed?"
"Don't say that out loud."
I clenched my jaw and forced my heartbeat to steady.
[Continue straight for 40 meters. Turn left at the draped mirror. Descend via servant stairs. Hallway unguarded for next 3 minutes 22 seconds.]
I moved again.
I didn't know if I was being smart or reckless.
But I couldn't sleep under that roof without knowing what secrets it was built on.
And that sealed room—the one hidden behind tradition and ceremony—
It had answers.
It had to.
So I kept walking.
Kept hiding.
And kept listening to the voice in my mind that had never failed me.
"Great Sage," I whispered again as I reached the mirror-draped alcove.
"Keep watching. Don't let me fall."
[Always.]
I slipped into the dark.
The servant stairwell creaked under my weight.
Even with my mana tails absorbing most of the impact, every step echoed like a drumbeat in my ears. Stone walls closed in around me—too narrow to maneuver, too silent for comfort.
[Update: Two minutes remaining before next patrol shift enters East Wing central corridor.]
"I'm moving," I murmured. My voice was dry.
[Trajectory optimal. Stealth rating: 87%.]
I exhaled through my nose, kept moving. The walls here were colder. Older. The further I descended, the more the estate changed. Less regal. More forgotten. As if I were walking into the throat of something ancient and still breathing.
Then—
[Notice: Unknown mana signature detected.]
I froze mid-step.
"What?"
[Unidentified presence within proximity range. Anomaly exists outside field of vision. Signal inconsistent. Interference suspected.]
My breath hitched. I scanned the stairwell behind me.
Empty.
Stone. Shadow. Stillness.
And yet—
[Unable to triangulate location. Signature flickers irregularly. Active tracking not possible.]
Someone was following me. But not normally.
No footsteps. No sound. Not even pressure in the mana around me.
Like they were watching through something else.
"Is it a magical construct? A familiar?"
[Negative. No binding traces. Presence is organic. Pattern of movement suggests deliberate concealment.]
I didn't have the mana to defend myself. Not properly. And this wasn't just a patrolling guard I could sneak past.
Someone had noticed me.
And they didn't want to be seen.
I gritted my teeth and kept moving. Slowly. Controlled.
[Redirecting route. Recommend deviation through unused archival corridor. Risk of direct confrontation: Lower.]
"Take me there."
The path shifted slightly in my mind. A sharp turn at the stairwell's base. Down the older servants' hall, past the shuttered scullery. A detour—but not one that would stop me.
Each step felt heavier now. My hands were colder. The air was thinner.
The kind of cold that wasn't just temperature.
The kind that came with eyes.
Still, I didn't stop.
Because if someone was following me…
Then I must be close.
Closer than anyone was supposed to get.
Closer than they wanted me to be.
I pressed forward, into the dark—
[Left turn. Five meters. Disguised entrance ahead—behind collapsed shelving unit.]
I followed Great Sage's overlay, the shadows stretching long along the corridor walls. This part of the estate wasn't used anymore. The servants didn't clean here. The dust hadn't been disturbed in months.
Except now, it had.
My foot slid across the floor, smudging a faint track someone else had already stepped through.
The shelving unit came into view—heavy, toppled, half-rotted from moisture.
[Entrance concealed behind—layered illusion and material seal. Hoshino construct. Would you like to begin dismantling process?]
"Not yet," I whispered.
I crouched beside the shelf, one tail anchoring me for balance, the other flicking softly behind me in rhythm with my heartbeat.
[Notice: Mana interference spike. Unknown presence remains within range.]
They were still there.
Close.
But never visible.
I pressed a palm to the shelf.
Cool. Solid.
Real.
But the illusion was layered beneath it, not above. I could feel the mana lines now, threading through the stone like veins of sleeping light.
They didn't want this place found.
And yet I was here.
"Begin."
[Initiating illusion dispel: Layer one.]
A ripple passed through the stone.
Like reality twitching.
[Layer two requires biometric confirmation.]
My heart skipped.
"…What kind?"
[Hoshino lineage imprint.]
Of course.
I leaned forward, pressed my fingertips to the etched pattern just barely visible now.
The seal flared faintly. Recognized me.
Accepted me.
And the wall moved.
Stone shifted. Metal hinges groaned beneath magic-suppressed weight.
A breath of cold, dry air rolled out.
Not stale.
Preserved.
Like the room beyond had been waiting.
Waiting for me.
I slipped inside as the door sealed behind me.
And the chamber swallowed the light.
The air inside was colder.
Not the kind that bit at your skin—no, this was the kind that settled in your lungs, made you breathe slower. Like the room itself was holding its breath.
My tails flicked softly behind me, absorbing what little ambient mana lingered in the air. The chamber wasn't large, but it was dense—crafted with purpose.
Stone walls. Reinforced sigils, some faded, some still faintly pulsing. Not decorative. Functional.
The floor was smooth, polished obsidian. It shimmered faintly under my mana-adjusted vision. Every line, every groove, was intentional.
There were shelves against the far wall—dust-covered and time-worn. Most were empty, but some held scrolls, thick leather-bound tomes, and cases sealed with wax and reinforced thread.
But none of that held my attention.
Not at first.
Because in the center of the room was something different.
A pedestal.
Black marble. Etched with the Hoshino crest.
And atop it—a mask.
Not ornate. Not ceremonial. Simple.
Steel-gray with deep-set eyes and no mouth. Cold. Silent. Waiting.
It wasn't magical.
It didn't need to be.
[Identified: Executioner's Mask. Standard of the Final Line.]
My breath hitched.
This was a relic.
Not a weapon.
Not a text.
A reminder.
The kind of thing passed down—not to preserve legacy, but to warn those who came after.
The air felt heavier now.
I moved toward the pedestal slowly, every step an echo swallowed by stone.
"Great Sage," I whispered, voice low, "what is this place?"
[Designated: Hoshino Reflection Chamber.]
[Purpose: Storage of condemned records, execution logs, and ancestral mandates.]
[Access: Restricted to active Hoshino lineage.]
That explained the seal.
But not why it had been left undisturbed.
I turned to the shelves again, letting my fingers brush a worn journal. The wax cracked under my touch. The thread held.
Not for long.
[Ambient mana scan: No hostile traps detected. However, 83% of written material is categorized as Red-Level—Restricted Knowledge.]
One tome stood out from the rest.
It was slightly larger than the others—wider, thicker, wrapped in a material that shimmered faintly under the chamber's mana saturation. When I pulled it from the shelf, it was heavier than expected. The seal on the front wasn't a ward—it was a wind glyph.
I opened the first page carefully.
The ink was neat. Familiar.
Satoshi Hoshino.
I blinked.
"…This is his," I whispered.
It wasn't just a journal.
It was a spellbook. Complete.
Every page detailed a wind-imbued technique, its internal theory, and a structured chantless casting alternative. Every few pages, diagrams and arcane notations layered over sketches of battlefield scenarios. This wasn't just research—it was refined. Battle-tested.
"…He finished it," I muttered. "All of it."
I turned to another page. Then another.
"How does he know so much about chantless casting?"
[Clarification: The tome in question is a Completed Spellbook. Spellbooks are categorized in structured chapters, typically composed of five core sections: Foundational Theory, Lesser Enchantments, Combat Applications, Advanced Constructs, and Singularity Magic.]
"Singularity…?"
[Singularity Magic: A unique spell that embodies the caster's personal breakthrough with their elemental affinity. Each Completed Spellbook concludes with one. It cannot be replicated by others without significant dedication and degradation.]
I stared at the final few pages. They were sealed. Bound by a mana thread keyed only to him.
"…So this is more than just a record," I murmured. "It's a legacy."
[Correct. Completed Spellbooks are traditionally passed down—but only when the creator deems the successor capable.]
"Then why is it here?"
No answer.
I closed the tome slowly.
And for the first time…
I wondered if he ever intended for me to find it at all.
I looked down at my own hands.
No wind. No light. No trace of the elements my parents wielded.
Mom, a Light element User. A summoner, a healer…I…I think.
Dad, a wind element user. His magic form Melee, a blade in human skin.
And me?
Gravity.
Unstable. Uncharted. Nearly forgotten.
I hadn't met another Gravity mage. Not once within my 5 years.
"Great Sage…" I murmured, still staring at the sealed tome in my hands. "If no Gravity spellbook exists…"
[Analysis: No Gravity-based Spellbooks detected in current archives.]
I tightened my grip.
"Then the only way forward…"
[Inference: Subject Chiori Tomaszewski may be required to develop her own Gravity Grimoire.]
I exhaled slowly.
Create my own.
No templates. No lessons. No inheritance.
A blank page.
[Notice: High-risk. Low-reference frameworks. Probability of failure—90%.]
But I already knew that.
I just didn't care.
Because if there was no path…
Then I'd carve one myself.
I moved to the shelf again, scanning other tomes.
Some were journals, some archives. Some personal. Some clinical. But one stood out—a charcoal-bound volume with no title.
Inside, scrawled entries. Memories. Names. Directives.
They were Hoshino.
Execution orders. Transcripts. Doctrine.
And in the margins, a repeated phrase: "The Chorus must only sing when silence fails."
My breath caught. I flipped deeper into the tome—past bloodlines, past ranked enforcers—until I reached a faded page:
[Record: Manifestations of The Chorus – Known Symptoms and Trigger Conditions]
I read through them quickly.
And something clicked.
"Great Sage…" I whispered, "why hasn't The Chorus activated again?"
A long pause.
[Status: Dormant. Suppressed.]
"Suppressed?"
[Cause: Excessive ancestral response. Too many voices speaking at once. System initiated suppression to prevent psychological fracturing.]
"…So I was being overwhelmed."
[Correct. Continued use without regulation would result in cognitive collapse. Suppression protocol initiated to preserve user integrity.]
I stared down at the tome. At the countless names. The blood.
"Then… what am I supposed to do?"
[Recommendation: Integration. One voice at a time. Control before memory. Memory before legacy.]
I closed the book gently.
In order to understand my past… I'd have to understand the voices that came before me.
One at a time.