"A potential candidate for becoming a Sovereign? That Rangi?"
Harriet's voice held skepticism, though he kept it measured.
"Indeed, Harriet." Erika's smile was poised, her fingers delicately lifting the teacup to her lips. The soft clink of porcelain followed as she set it down. Steam curled in the space between them, carrying the faint scent of bergamot.
She swirled the liquid idly. "According to what you and I have observed, we've seen magic never before utilized in this era, correct? More than that... it never existed in the first place."
The candlelight flickered over the polished surface of the table, casting long shadows against the gathered reports. Among them were sketches of arcane symbols, and fragmented notes.
Rangi Ifgenia.
"As the Hero, I expect you to learn from his ways."
Harriet swallowed.
"I'll try..."
His eyes avoided Erika's.
Though his devotion to her was unwavering, he couldn't ignore the impossibility of her demands. It felt less like guidance and more like being pushed toward a fate already decided for him.
As if this was the only thing pushing him toward the path of heroism.
"Quainne Nethercott... the undefeatable. I wonder if Rangi has something up his sleeve to counter her spells?"
Lysanthir broke the silence, musing as he rubbed his chin.
"The Sovereign of Eternity existed alongside the Elven Hero. Though powerful, Quainne has never devoted her life to villainy or heroism. It pains me to see that her only interest is overseeing events from afar..."
Erika's hand hovered over the sugar bowl before she casually tipped a single cube into her tea. The soft splash echoed in the quiet.
"How about Ifgenia?" Harriet whispered.
"He has been dormant ever since. The Sky Fortress is no longer as active as before. Only the spawns of the Sovereign of Ruination keep his name spreading."
Lysanthir's gaze flickered upward to the distant shape of an island floating in the sky, barely visible through the window's frame.
"I wonder if the Great Dragon will take action because of these abnormalities in the Dungeons..." Lysanthir mused as he closed the curtains, his blue hair fading into the dim light.
"According to historical accounts, Ifgenia has, and always will, aim for power. I have this feeling that he is planning to dethrone Mistress Quainne from her number-one spot," Harriet whispered, his voice almost fading under the weight of the nagging feeling in his chest.
"Which is why you should start getting stronger. Don't stay foolish, Harriet." Lysanthir chimed in with a flat tone, as if he were stating the obvious.
This made Harriet click his tongue.
"The other Sovereigns have kept themselves hidden," Erika continued, her tone light, deliberate. "Well, except for the Demon Lord Yonemitsu. Perhaps someone Rangi could replace."
That smile of hers never wavered.
"Are you planning to push him toward that path... to raise our credit?" Harriet's eyebrows furrowed.
There was no doubt that their party's credit would skyrocket. Not only that, but Novatlanta's trust in them would flourish once again.
If this was Erika's plan, Harriet was amused.
She is truly intelligent and perfect...
Harriet heaved a sigh. Recalling the secret meeting he had with Erika and Lysanthir made his stomach growl.
What does it take for a person to be considered a Hero?
That question lingered in Harriet's mind for a while.
He watched Kafka handle the reports of their recent Dungeon expedition, effortlessly letting her fingers dance on her laptop.
Unlike her, Harriet was never the strong combatant, just a reckless one. It slightly pained him to realize that he had barely even fought against Ezen.
What made him so strong? What made them so strong?
"Teleportation..." Harriet muttered under his breath while slouching on a beanbag.
He recalled Ezen's movements, the way he tricked them, the way he carried himself.
Ezen demonstrated such feats with ease.
"Would it be easy to learn it..?" Harriet mused.
"I've never tried it, but teleportation sure is convenient magic," Kafka responded, her eyes focused on the screen.
"I was just thinking, maybe I should give teleportation magic a try." Harriet heaved an exasperated sigh before turning over, slumping on the beanbag with his chest.
"I'll look forward to that, then."
Kafka's words rang in Harriet's head.
It was as if she was already anticipating how she could counter his new tricks. It made Harriet roll his eyes.
"Isn't it time for the new guy's party?" he blurted out while stretching his arms forward.
Kafka shot a glance at the wall clock, then traced her hands over the laptop before closing it.
"Yeah, shall we go?" she said as she stood up, tidying her workspace.
"Damn, the thought of Lys's food makes my mouth water..." Harriet mumbled with a smile while approaching the door.
Kafka followed suit.
"Welcome to the party, Rangi!"
The scene panned to where Rangi was awkwardly seated on a chair with a party hat on his head.
"...Thanks." he shyly mumbled, speechless at that.
An array of delicacies covered the round table, from meaty lasagnas, pizzas, and chicken sliders to desserts like ice cream sandwiches and cakes.
It was a small yet satisfying celebration.
Harriet's gaze locked onto the pizza, his mouth watering as he impatiently waited for the greetings to end, eager to replenish his palate.
"By the way, Rangi, this is the member you haven't met before," Kafka stated as she clung to another blue-haired member of the group. The man, clearly unimpressed, scowled as she dragged him forward.
"This is Lysanth—"
"Lysanthir Ludwig," the newcomer interrupted, his tone flat. "Nice to meet you. Oh, how joyful it is to be here, to be at a party..." His deadpan delivery was followed by him yanking his arm free from Kafka's grip. "I am perfectly capable of socializing. Don't drag me around next time, gremlin."
"My bad, my bad." Kafka playfully chuckled.
"So, Rangi Ifgenia. What a strange name..." Lysanthir stroked his chin, his tone light yet laced with curiosity. "The Elven Hero who betrayed your father, that's a chaotic choice of name."
Rangi let out an exasperated sigh. He was used to these kinds of comments.
"At least a kindergartener can write my name. Unlike yours."
Lysanthir's brow arched. A small smirk flickered across his lips. "Touché."
"N-nice meeting you again, Rangi!" a familiar voice echoed from behind, it was Penny.
"I'm Penthyenne Novaris... I am Madam Erika's handmaid," she gingerly introduced herself, avoiding eye contact.
Penny didn't seem to look like Erika's maid before, probably because of her casual clothing the first time they met. Now, she wore a Victorian-style maid outfit with a golden ribbon tied around its collar.
"Nice to meet you guys too..." Rangi mumbled as he watched Kafka and Lysanthir bicker, with Penny fidgeting before him.
"I am delighted that you actually considered being a part of our team, Rangi," Erika chimed in, her signature alluring smile playing on her lips as she idly swirled the sparkling wine in her champagne glass.
"Tell me, what do you think of our party?"
Rangi then turned to face Erika, his expression is as unreadable as ever.
"Great." he briefly answered.
"Hm. Then I'm glad you found it that way," Erika responded, musing about what Rangi might truly think of the group.
Yet, he had only seen Kafka actually fight, so at the moment, Rangi pondered the other members' capabilities.
Or so Erika assumed, casting him one last glance before turning away to join Penny.
Rangi once again found himself unmoving.
His gaze drifted across each of the 'new' people he had met over the past several days.
Something felt wrong.
He took a bite of the lasagna, mulling over the emptiness he felt. It didn't sit right with him.
"You good?"
Harriet's voice made Rangi tense.
"You seem lost in thought," he mumbled before taking a bite of his pizza. "I mean, you always look like that, but there's this faint feeling that you're not doing too well."
"I'm fine, just not really good with parties," Rangi reasoned, chugging a glass of cola.
"Seems like Lys finally has a tandem when it comes to these kinds of things." Harriet chuckled at his own attempt at humor.
"Probably.." Rangi sighed.
"Though.. I've been thinking," Harriet whispered, gripping a chicken leg in his hand. "What kind of magic did you use to defeat that monster…" He trailed off, still musing over Rangi's power.
"Ah, that..."
"It was quite destructive, you know, the kind that completely annihilates a single creature but doesn't really affect the surroundings," Harriet noted, taking a bite of the drumstick.
Rangi took this as a cue that Harriet might be eager to learn about magic.
Yet for Harriet, something about Rangi was suspicious. His magic was unorthodox. It was as if it never existed in this world in the first place.
He shot a glance at Rangi, a subtle hostility in his gaze, one that Rangi didn't notice. In fact, he would be more than willing to train Harriet.
"It's a technique called Selective Annihilation."
"What's that...?"
"Instead of conjuring barriers around the object you plan to destroy, you will—"
"Rangi! You should join the limbo!"
Kafka's voice interrupted them, her bright smile beaming as she grabbed Rangi and dragged him away, cutting off Harriet's attempt to probe the new member.
Time passed with Rangi getting backaches from Kafka's proposed games, earning him an earful from her about the importance of exercise.
Sigh...
...
"You are one clumsy bitch..."
The voice rang inside his head, unshakable. It wasn't real—just a phantom whisper from somewhere in his past. He lay motionless on his front, a pillow pressed against his face, drowning in fatigue.
What was it that he was forgetting...?
The party didn't feel right. What was it that he did before that always felt right?
"Harriet, Kafka... Erika, Penny, Lysanthir..."
Rangi counted on his fingers.
There was supposed to be a sixth.
He heaved an exasperated sigh, dark circles clinging beneath his eyes.
Sleep threatened to take him, but then—
A girl.
Blurry. Distant. Like a ghost trapped in the recesses of his mind.
The moment he saw her, his body jerked as though struck by lightning. His breath hitched. He shot upright, hand gripping his coat with urgency before he even realized he was moving.
A series of emotions rained on him—her smiles, her anger, her hand.
Everything felt rough, yet it was the warm feeling that Rangi had forgotten.
He held on to his chest, as if he was instinctively searching for her battle-hardened hand.
Who was she?
Rangi gritted his teeth. All he knew was that she was important.
Paseri...
She who was cursed with a bountiful womb—she who was prophesied to give birth to the Greatest Threat of the World.
She who should not be forgotten.
Rangi wove through the streets, agitated. He was looking for someone. A girl. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead.
He had almost forgotten. The final piece.
Rangi pushed through the crowded streets, frantic. His pulse hammered in his ears, his palms damp with sweat. He had nearly let her slip through the cracks of his memory. Nearly let the final piece disappear.
His fingers clenched into fists.
"Where is she...? I was supposed to meet her here..." Rangi whispered, frustration creeping into his voice. He was pissed—pissed at his own absentmindedness.
February 14th... I was supposed to meet her.
On this fateful day, I have to.
THUD—!
Rangi rubbed his chin, wincing at the pain from the collision.
"Watch where you're going, dumbass!"
Her voice—sharp, familiar, alive.
Rangi's breath hitched. His gaze snapped downward.
Minimal clothing barely covered a body built for battle, her scars hidden beneath layers of cosmetic powder. Her hair, freshly dyed blonde, was tied back into a ponytail.
And her eyes—fiery, untamed, burning with the same reckless defiance he had known before.
She was furious. Beautiful, even in anger.
And suddenly, it all clicked.
"Pellista..!"