Lelyah exhaled through her nose.
Not startled. Not offended.
Just tired.
"You were listening," she said quietly.
Hinata shrugged. "Please. If I wanted to kill the entire estate, I would've walked in through the front. Not hidden in the rafters."
He turned to me, eyes sharper now, colder.
"But I was there. And I saw it. The moment he stopped being your father… and became the Hoshino Executioner."
My hand twitched. Asmodeus stiffened beside me.
Lelyah didn't look at me. Not yet.
"I knew you were watching," she said. "Or had someone planted nearby. You always do."
"Of course I did," Hinata said evenly. "You're my allies. I don't like surprises."
Silence stretched.
Then Lelyah finally looked at me.
"I wasn't going to tell you yet," she said. "Not because you didn't deserve to know—but because I was still trying to figure out what to do about it."
Her voice didn't waver, but there was something underneath it. Strain. Restraint. Maybe regret.
I didn't speak.
Because what was there to say?
Hinata folded his arms. "He didn't hesitate. That's what concerns me."
"That's what broke me," Lelyah replied softly. "Not that he struck. That he did it like it was breathing."
I looked at her. "You knew he could. You stopped him."
"And I would again," she said instantly. "But that doesn't make it easier. Or forgivable."
Asmodeus finally spoke up, his voice lower than usual. "He's still around?"
Lelyah nodded. "He left the estate. Per my request. He's not to come near Chiori unless I say otherwise."
"Good," Hinata said flatly. "Because the next time he raises a blade to her, I won't let you stop me."
His words landed like iron in the room.
And I believed him.
No one argued.
Not even Lelyah.
Chiori remained quiet long after the words stopped. The room still held the weight of Hinata's threat, but no one tried to fill the silence.
Eventually, I let my gaze drift toward the nearest window. The glass reflected a pale version of myself. Tired. Composed. Distant.
"Great Sage."
[Listening.]
"Would he have stopped? If Mom hadn't intervened."
[Unlikely. Emotional and mana indicators confirmed lethal intent. Defensive calculations estimated less than 2.3 seconds before impact.]
I swallowed. My fingers curled slightly.
"Would I have survived?"
[Negative. No available outcome within survival thresholds at your mana capacity during that time.]
So there it was. A truth with no cushion.
Hinata glanced over, but didn't speak again. He was watching. Measuring.
Then he said, dryly, "Shall I call Calamitas, or is she already listening through one of her absurd magic tricks?"
The words had just left his mouth when the air behind Lelyah shimmered.
Not loudly. Not violently.
Just a slow, warping twist of presence and reality.
I didn't have to say anything.
Neither did Mom.
She moved before the distortion finished coalescing. One arm hooked me behind her, the other snapped up into a high, arcing kick glowing faintly with Light Magic.
It collided.
Sort of.
Calamitas appeared mid-laugh as Lelyah's heel struck through what should have been her face—only for the magic to ripple like a pebble dropped into a pond.
She stepped out of the distortion a split second later, perfectly intact, brushing off an invisible speck of dust from her shoulder.
"Rude," she said, grinning. "But effective."
Lelyah held her stance a moment longer, one arm still shielding me.
"Don't appear behind me again."
Calamitas held up both hands innocently. "Noted. I was simply proving a point. Also, I heard everything. Naturally."
Hinata rolled his eyes. "Of course you did."
Calamitas turned toward me, her eyes glittering with some mix of amusement and calculation. "Still alive, Little Echo? Good. I was starting to wonder if that problem with Hoshino would have shattered your mind or your mana giving up on you."
"Neither," I said flatly.
Her grin widened. "Then you might yet be worth the gamble."
Lelyah slowly lowered her leg, but didn't drop her guard.
Calamitas twirled a loose thread of mana between her fingers, the ambient tension still crackling faintly behind her smile.
"Now that introductions and near-death experiences are out of the way..." she said, stepping closer to the hearth and seating herself with unnerving ease. "Let's talk about the state of things."
Lelyah didn't move. But her voice cooled.
"You mean the mess you've been letting us clean up?"
"I prefer to think of it as… hands-off mentorship," Calamitas replied, flashing a grin. "You're doing so well. Chiori hasn't imploded once."
"Yet," I muttered.
Calamitas caught it. Smirked.
Hinata, arms folded, glanced between us all before cutting in. "We don't have the luxury of sarcasm. The nobles are talking. Rumors are mutating. Chiori's presence has sparked more than speculation."
I felt it in my gut—the implication.
"And if they suspect the truth?" I asked.
"They'll do what they always do," Hinata said simply. "Use it. Or fear it."
Calamitas' eyes narrowed just slightly. "They've forgotten what it means to fear properly."
Lelyah didn't look at her, but I could see the edge return to her posture. "And you'd remind them?"
"If necessary."
"Don't."
Calamitas tilted her head, expression unreadable.
But the room had changed again. The air heavier, no longer full of posturing—but planning.
"…We can't go backward," I said quietly. "So what happens now?"
Hinata met my eyes.
"That depends on you, Chiori."
Me?
"You've been forced to react until now. But this—this is where you begin to shape how they see you. Not the heir they expected. The one they underestimated."
Calamitas added, "Or the one they'll regret underestimating."
I looked between them—Hinata, Calamitas, Lelyah. Three people who knew too much and still let me stand on my own.
I wasn't sure if I was grateful or resentful.
But I did know this:
I didn't want to be a piece on someone else's board anymore.
"Then tell me where we start," I said.
As night fell, I was escorted back into my room by Revy. She helped me undress while I pondered what Calamitas talked about how she was gonna train me. As I put on my night clothes, I go to my desk where the Grimoire was and started to write again.
The ink bled into the final stroke, slow and deliberate.
I lifted the pen and stared at the page for a moment longer, heart beating in quiet sync with the mana pulsing under my skin. Not fast. Not loud. Just… steady.
Seven years.
Seven years of silence, whispers, and impossible progress. Seven years of building something no one could guide me through.
The first chapter was done.
Not perfect. Not polished.
But mine.
[Grimoire entry confirmed: "Path of the Hunt – Chapter One Complete." Synchronization with user's current mana structure: 91.4%.]
I exhaled, setting the pen down beside the open book.
"...Took you long enough," I murmured.
[Correction: Initial projections estimated completion within 5.3 years. Delays attributed to political unrest, inherited trauma, and spontaneous duels.]
"Remind me to thank Asmodeus for that last one," I muttered.
Outside the window, dawn broke quietly over the Tomaszewski estate, light filtering through the frost-glazed glass panes and casting pale streaks across my desk.
Seven years.
And I was still here.
The ink had dried, but the weight of the words still pressed against my chest.
"Path of the Hunt."
It was a title born of instinct. Of blood and silence and steps taken in rooms no one was meant to walk. It wasn't just about learning how to wield power—it was about surviving the weight that came with it.
I rested my palm over the page.
Seven years ago, this hand shook every time it held a pen. I was afraid of what it meant to write something real. Something permanent. Something of mine.
[Reminder: Earliest entry in this Grimoire logged at age 5. Current age: 12 years, 3 months, 18 days.]
"Thanks for the reminder," I muttered.
[You're welcome.]
A pause.
[Would you like to reflect on primary developmental milestones related to the Grimoire's creation?]
"…Sure. Show me."
The window of memory didn't open all at once.
It unraveled in layers—like pages flipped backward under moonlight.
—
Flashback: Year 1
I was still weak. Still recovering.
Dad returned quietly—his presence like a knife that never left the sheath.
He didn't speak to me, not at first.
But I remember the first time I passed him in the hall.
No words.
Just a nod.
A silent, bitter kind of understanding.
We both knew what had happened.
And what it had cost.
That same week, I had written the final lines of the Grimoire's first chapter foundation with Mom.
She didn't guide my pen.
She only sat across from me, silent, offering parchment and patience.
When I asked her why she stayed, she said:
"Because you're doing something I never had the courage to."
—
Flashback: Year 3
Asmodeus started pulling ahead in training.
His power was reckless, still, but the refinement had started to show.
He'd tease me about being "the careful one," but I saw how hard he pushed when no one was watching.
The sparring matches got more intense. Less playful.
More real.
One time, I bled.
And he cried.
He didn't let me see it. But I knew.
That was the same month I restructured the entire chapter of the Grimoire from scratch.
The section on self-restraint came after that.
—
Flashback: Year 5
Reilan stopped pretending to be someone he wasn't.
The pronouns didn't change. But the armor did.
He stopped flinching when someone called him "boy." Stopped pausing when someone questioned his strength.
He found a way to exist in-between the lines of identity and expectation.
And I started to understand something important:
Legacy isn't inherited.
It's chosen.
—
The flashbacks dimmed.
My hand moved slowly, brushing across the still page of the Grimoire.
This wasn't just a book anymore.
It was a map of everything I hadn't let myself forget.
A knock at the door—soft, careful.
I didn't flinch.
"Enter," I said.
The door creaked open, and a familiar face peeked inside.
Not Reilan.
Not Asmodeus.
But Levy.
"Young Lady," she said gently. "Your presence is requested in the council chamber."
"Already?"
She nodded. "It's the Saegusa Lord. He's returned from his northern inspection. And he's asking for you by name."
Uncle Hinata.
Of course.
He never did like waiting.
I stood slowly, closing the Grimoire with care.
"Let's not keep him waiting," I said, voice low.
Levy nodded once, stepping aside.
As I crossed the threshold, I glanced back—once—at the book still glowing faintly on the desk.
Chapter One: Complete.
But the rest?
The rest was still unwritten.
I took one step past the doorway, then paused.
"Levy?"
She stopped mid-turn. "Yes, My Lady?"
I narrowed my eyes slightly. "Where's Rei? Isn't he usually the one sent to fetch me?"
Levy hesitated—but only for a fraction of a second.
Which was enough.
"Lord Reilan was occupied with another errand," she said smoothly. "Your mother asked me to ensure the message reached you without delay."
"An errand," I echoed.
She gave a small bow. "I wasn't told the details. Only that it pertained to internal correspondence between the estate and our political allies."
I didn't answer right away.
Rei rarely missed anything involving Hinata. And he certainly never missed a moment where something important was happening.
Something tugged at me—not alarm, but… a shift. Like the threads tying people together had pulled in a new direction.
"Understood," I said.
[Observation: Subject Levy's vocal cadence suggests selective omission. Emotional masking: Moderate. Estimated reliability: 81.4%.]
Of course Great Sage would notice too.
Levy turned and began walking ahead. I followed, slower than usual, my thoughts dragging behind like a cloak I didn't remember putting on.
Where was Rei?
Why now?
And why did it feel like the air had changed again?
We turned down a side corridor, its wide archways opening to the inner training grounds below. I hadn't walked this path in a while—too busy, too watched. But the sound of clashing practice blades drifted upward, familiar as ever.
I slowed as we passed one of the larger viewing balconies. Below, a group of younger guards sparred under the supervision of one of the estate captains.
Levy kept walking.
I didn't.
A flicker caught my eye.
One of the soldiers—too small, too green to be in the advanced formation—stepped too wide, too exposed.
And the blade coming at her wasn't dulled.
Not enough.
A miscalculation. Or worse—arrogance.
She wouldn't react in time.
I didn't think.
Didn't breathe.
The air shimmered for less than a second.
The sword veered—not violently, not noticeably. Just enough. The weight shifted, the angle lost, the strike pulled too wide.
It scraped the girl's shoulder—not her throat.
She stumbled back, dazed but standing.
None of the onlookers noticed.
Not the instructor.
Not the other guards.
But one of the older soldiers—the one who'd made the strike—paused. Just briefly. His eyes narrowed toward the balcony.
I was already walking away.
[Observation: Intervention successful]
Levy looked back at me from the next hall junction, one eyebrow raised. "Is something wrong, My Lady?"
I shook my head. "Just thinking."
She nodded once and turned forward again.
I followed, my steps quiet.
We turned the corner past the last corridor separating us from the east hall when a servant emerged from the shadows—young, breathless, her posture stiff with urgency despite the quiet around her.
She bowed quickly, then leaned close to Levy, whispering something I couldn't hear.
Levy stiffened.
Just for a second.
Then her hand lifted in a quiet, dismissive wave—not rude, just enough to send the girl away without fuss.
The servant bowed again and disappeared just as quickly as she came, robes brushing against the corridor wall.
I didn't speak.
But Levy knew.
She turned slightly, offering me only a side glance.
"Unrelated," she said, too evenly.
I arched a brow. "Then why do you look like you want to bolt back the other direction?"
She hesitated. Just long enough for me to know I was right.
"…There was a breach," she said finally. "A minor one. Nothing near the estate."
"Where?"
Her silence told me more than her answer ever could.
"South perimeter," she said, measured. "Old quarry line. They've already deployed a sweep team."
I didn't move.
But the air around me did.
"They're sure it was a monster?"
"They think so," she replied, voice low. "But it was fast. And it didn't leave a trail."
My pulse ticked higher. Not fear. Instinct.
"Any witnesses?"
"Only one. A scouting post. They said the air went heavy—then vanished. No signs since."
Levy met my gaze again. "You shouldn't worry. It's likely nothing."
"That's the problem," I murmured.
"Nothing" didn't leave the air that dense.
"Nothing" didn't make trained guards whisper behind their hands.
We walked on, the corridor narrowing toward the heart of the estate.
But I felt it now.
That quiet tension at the edges of everything.
Like the monster wasn't the only thing watching.
Like something else had finally stirred.
The chamber doors shut with a soft echo behind me.
Hinata Saegusa stood at the far end, framed by the morning light that filtered through stained glass windows in hues of amber and deep violet. His arms were crossed, his gaze fixed not on me, but on something beyond the glass—like he was watching time itself.
Levy gave a courteous bow before stepping back, silent as ever. She didn't close the door fully. Just enough to grant privacy without sealing the tension in.
"You're later than I expected," Hinata said without turning. His voice was as even as always, clipped with just enough sharpness to remind you he didn't waste words.
"Levy didn't say it was urgent."
He smiled faintly at the glass. "Everything is urgent. Especially the things you think aren't."
I stepped further in. "You called for me. What's this about?"
Hinata finally turned to face me. His gaze swept over me—not as a noble would, but as a hunter would assess a blade he once forged.
"You've grown."
"People do that."
He didn't smile. "Not always well."
A beat of silence passed between us.
Then he spoke again. "Do you know why I requested you, and not your mother?"
"You wanted someone who won't lie."
"Wrong," he said. "I wanted someone who hasn't learned how."
I stared at him.
Hinata moved closer, his tone shifting.
"There are movements in the North. Small, at first. But monsters have been spotted migrating along routes they shouldn't even know exist."
I frowned. "You think someone's directing them?"
"I think someone is testing us. Pushing boundaries. Seeing what we'll tolerate before we respond."
He tilted his head.
"Your mother has spies. I have scouts. And both are whispering the same thing—something unnatural is waking."
My hands curled slightly at my sides.
"Where?"
"Casimo. Near the Obsidian Path. Old ruins."
A chill ran down my spine. That region was sealed for a reason.
Hinata's gaze sharpened. "And someone is tampering with what was left behind."
Hinata stepped forward, lowering his voice.
"I need someone I trust to go in quietly. With clearance. Observation only. No action unless provoked."
"You want me to investigate."
"I want you to witness. And then decide what kind of heir you want to be."
He paused.
"…Before the world decides for you."