The Arkanveil halls had always echoed with footsteps, battle cries, and spells.
They had seen duels between generals. Strategy councils by candlelight. Mana drills at dawn and oath-forgings at dusk.
But never this.
Not this laughter.
It rang like bells through ancient stone. Light. Wild. Free.
Elric's little sister had turned the legendary fortress into a playground. No one saw it coming.
Four years old. Bright-eyed. Hair a mess of soft curls that defied every attempt at order. She was a spark of sunshine, bursting through the shadowed lineage of knights and mages.
And she wasn't afraid of anyone. Not even him.
"Goldy!" she'd cry, barreling down the corridor toward Lucien, arms outstretched.
He would narrow his eyes and cross his arms.
"That's not my name."
"It is now!" she'd declare, wrapping herself around his leg.
No amount of scowling changed her mind.
---
The guards—once proud, stoic men who had faced monsters—now found themselves holding tea parties, wearing petal crowns, or being named "Sir Growly" and "Dame Tickle."
Maids who'd once walked in silence now traded gossip about whose turn it was to be "the dragon" today.
Even Elric seemed dazed. A boy who had once trained until his hands bled, now found himself pulling ribbons from his armor as his sister braided them into imaginary tails.
"I swear she's possessed," he muttered one morning, flicking a petal from his shoulder.
Lucien just smirked.
"She's a child," he said. "And she's living. You should try it sometime."
---
Lucien's youngest sister, no older than Elric's, found a companion in chaos.
Together, they were an unstoppable duo.
One quiet and curious, the other loud and fearless. They roamed the estate like bandits, collecting "treasure" (shinies from the armory), planting "curses" (flowers in training zones), and declaring war on bedtime with shocking strategic coordination.
One day, Lucien walked into his study and paused.
The girls had gotten there first.
Books were stacked like towers. A cloak was draped over a chair like a throne. And there he stood—crowned in daisies and glaring with resigned doom—as the self-declared "King of Serious Faces."
His sister pointed a scepter (a wand stolen from a cabinet) and announced, "You must smile, or be banished!"
He didn't smile.
But he didn't scowl either.
---
They all sat in the grass that afternoon, beneath a wide silver tree in the rear gardens.
The sun had broken through the clouds. The scent of spring was in the air. And Lucien, golden-haired and crimson-eyed, wasn't planning war.
He wasn't refining skills. He wasn't calculating trait combinations or mentally running through timelines.
He was… sitting.
One arm behind his head. Flower crown still in place. His youngest sister asleep in his lap, Elric's nestled against his shoulder. Elric himself sat not far off, sharpening a training dagger with quiet focus.
But even he smiled when the girls giggled in their dreams.
---
Lucien stared at the sky.
Somewhere up there, beyond clouds and fate, the gods still watched. The system still turned. Destiny still ticked forward like a loaded weapon.
He hadn't forgotten.
Couldn't forget.
The burden of Devour still pulsed in his soul like a second heartbeat. The secrets of Eye of Data flickered constantly at the edge of his perception. Every time he blinked, he saw levels. Stats. Weaknesses. Fates carved into numbers.
He was playing a game the world didn't know had started.
But even a cunning mind needed somewhere to rest.
And in their giggles, he found it.
---
Later, as twilight settled over the estate, the girls were tucked into bed—snoring softly, tangled in each other's arms.
Lucien stood at the door, watching.
Elric joined him.
"She's… different," the boy said quietly, nodding toward his sister.
"She's alive," Lucien replied. "Let's keep her that way."
A promise. A command. A hope.
Elric nodded, more solemn than before.
And Lucien turned to leave.
But just as he stepped into the hall, a soft voice reached him:
"…Goldy?"
He paused. Looked back.
The girls were still asleep.
Elric stifled a snort.
Lucien sighed.
"I swear, if that name sticks—"
"It already has," Elric said. "Long live the King of Serious Faces."
---
He walked into the night, lips twitching with something like amusement.
Not quite a smile.
But close.
Because in a world of monsters, war, and twisted fates…
Laughter was rebellion.
And they had just declared their own little kingdom.