HUFF. HUFF. HUFF.
Even my huffs and puffs sounded like suppressed whispers as my mind teetered dangerously close to collapse, as I braced myself for one final push, one last burst of willpower against the stubborn layer clinging to my core. This was it. The final remnants of resistance. The entire night had turned into a war of attrition, a desperate race against time, with raw mana swirling thickly around me—urgent, eager, almost pleading to fuse with my essence. It wanted to cleanse me. To carve out a new path. To break through.
I had underestimated it. I thought this would be simple—routine, even. Something I'd done before, without incident. But I hadn't accounted for my own state. I was tired. No—exhausted in both body and mana-wise. My focus wavered constantly, fractured by the chaos of recent events that refused to leave my thoughts in peace.
Dargan's warning about the awakening of Jormungandr still echoed in my head, casting a long, cold shadow. Then there was Forza, and her mission—one that I was certain would lead me straight into danger again. The image of the Chimaera kept resurfacing in my mind, a phantom of a distant memory I was yet to experience. And worst of all… Ahana. Her voice. Her house. Her shadow. That entire place—it still felt like something dragged straight from a nightmare, something not meant to be touched by human thought.
Under such conditions, any sane person would've postponed the Core Purification. Rested. Recovered. But urgency gnawed at me from all sides, and I gave in, diving recklessly into the process despite the warnings screaming at the back of my mind.
The raw mana flooded the room, mingling with soft currents of water mana that shimmered with an otherworldly blue hue, casting faint patterns along the walls of our quiet, shared bedroom. It should have felt peaceful. It looked peaceful. But the only comfort I drew came from a memory—launching into the air with Sara in my arms, just after we'd escaped that dreadful house. That moment of joy had left my core rattled, strained, and aching in strange, unpredictable pulses. And now, it throbbed with every breath I took, like it was punishing me for pushing too far. Still, I endured. I forced myself to. This was the side effect of the immediate acceleration of the mana core.
And finally, finally—after what felt like hours of pure internal agony, the third-to-last barrier gave way. It cracked open with an almost audible shudder through my being. One step closer to completion. One step closer to something greater.
I had done it. I was now an S-ranked adventurer. I thought tiredly, even my thought process was tired, worn out somehow, which was laughable to realise.
But I couldn't move.
Sara lay asleep beside me, her warm body curled gently against my side, her head resting on my arm like it belonged there. I was pinned in place—not unwillingly, but entirely. Every part of me screamed for proper rest, with my back flat on our bed, but I didn't dare wake her. Even the slightest motion could disturb the rare, peaceful sleep she'd found.
So I stayed still. Caught between triumph and fatigue.
Yet beneath that stillness, something was shifting.
My senses felt sharper, clearer—like a fog had lifted. The core within me spun faster now, pulsing with renewed energy. Mana coursed through me more smoothly, circulating in vibrant, efficient loops I hadn't experienced before. This was no small leap. It was real progress. Tangible.
But it was too early to celebrate. I knew better than to trust first impressions. I'd need at least a day—maybe more—to properly test the refinements, evaluate the flow, and understand the new limits of my strength. Though Forza's mission wouldn't wait, even if just for a while.
My body, however, was already deciding for me. The weight of the night pressed harder against me, exhaustion creeping up like a tide. The dim bedroom, awash in the soft glow of fading mana, felt like a lullaby in motion.
I let go.
My eyes drifted shut, my core still turning like a distant, quiet storm. And with Sara's warmth beside me, I allowed myself, if only for a few hours, to rest.
***
"Good morning, love," I whispered softly into her ear as she stirred beneath the covers, her eyelids fluttering open with a slow, gentle flutter. As her body shifted and stretched against mine, I finally felt the freedom to move, too. The familiar crackle of my knuckles and elbows echoed faintly in the stillness, like tiny firecrackers marking the arrival of morning.
A strange tingling buzzed through my right hand, like the faint prickle before goosebumps. Not painful, just… oddly alive.
Sara blinked a few times, her gaze swimming in the dim light as she adjusted to her surroundings. When her eyes landed on the bluish orb I held cradled in my left palm, they softened. It pulsed gently with a cool, vibrant glow—the life of a water-rich mana core sustaining its steady luminescence.
"Good morning, babe..." Her voice was a soft, husky murmur, still soaked in sleep. It tugged at something quiet inside me. I tilted closer, my nose and lips hovering just above the left side of her ear. It had turned a gentle pink, likely from pressing against my arm all night. The sight alone was enough to make my chest ache in the best way.
I leaned in and pressed my lips against it—just a small kiss. She flinched slightly, a tiny shiver running through her—but she didn't pull away. She knew. This was only the start of the morning we'd been waiting for.
"I would choose this scenery every single day if I could," Sara said behind me.
I didn't turn around. I was focused, sort of. My knife wobbled as I chopped vegetables in awkward half-moons. It wasn't pretty.
"Good morning, again," I replied, keeping my eyes on the cutting board.
She leaned lazily against the kitchen's entrance, still in her night clothes, hair wild from sleep. Even after what had to be at least fourteen hours of rest, split between two naps, she still looked like she could sleep another twelve. Her gaze flicked to the half-diced vegetables. She stepped forward, clearly tempted to help, but I motioned for her to sit down.
I had it handled. Barely.
"Why didn't you wake me up?" she asked as she settled into a chair, resting her chin on the wooden handle of the backrest.
"You were curled up like a warm little puppy," I said truthfully, trying not to smile too much. "Didn't have the heart to wake my sleeping princess."
Between us, I'd noticed something strange: both Sara and Sia were prone to sleeping way more than they liked to admit. Sia, of course, would rather bite her tongue than acknowledge it—acting like sleep was some weakness to be purged. Sara, on the other hand, took my teasing in stride. Maybe because she knew it came with affection.
But I understood why. Knights like Sia were trained to survive on scraps of rest. Sleep was a tool—nothing more. For most of us, though? It was a luxury. A comfort. A moment to sink into warm blankets and silence without needing to prove anything.
"About yesterday… I'm really sorry," Sara said suddenly, dragging me from my thoughts. "I ruined the investigation. Because of me, you had to stop early, and—"
"Don't sweat it," I interrupted, still tossing vegetables into the sizzling pan. "I chose to bring a scaredy-cat like you, didn't I?"
I knew it would sting, even if I meant it lightly.
Just as I dropped the knife into the sink, I felt it. The warmth around us stilled, like the kitchen had been vacuum-sealed. The pressure thickened, the way it always did when her emotions started simmering.
Ah, hell. Here we go again.
I raised both hands, palms out in mock surrender, before she could boil over.
"I-I'm not a scaredy-cat…" she whispered. Barely audible. The wobble in her voice made me wince.
I covered the pan and approached her. She was hunched slightly forward, trying to hide the glisten forming in her eyes.
I sighed. Guilt prickled behind my ribs. My jokes had sharp edges sometimes.
"Hey." I reached out and gently rested a hand on her head, which I realised was a bit wet and dirty... "It was just a joke. You know that. But if something really felt wrong… can you tell me?"
She hesitated, then wiped at her eyes. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, I raised my hand again.
"Not here." I nodded toward the stove. "Go freshen up. Lunch is almost ready. We'll talk while we eat, alright?"
Sara nodded quietly, standing to return the chair to its place. As she moved across the room, I watched her—how even in her smallest actions, she carried warmth with her. She filled the space differently from Sia.
Where Sia thrived in quiet meals and sharpened silences, Sara made the air feel lighter. Safer.
And maybe, just maybe, I needed both kinds of silence.
The plates were neatly arranged on the table, each one holding a hearty serving of food that let off a comforting aroma—rich, warm, and just the kind of atmosphere I'd hoped to create. As I sank into my chair, I was quietly impressed to see Sara join me almost immediately. It never stops being fascinating how quickly she manages to get ready; it's like she has some hidden shortcut to looking fresh. I served her a generous helping of the omelette and vegetables, along with a tall glass of chilled water. She adjusted the towel wrapped around her damp hair, clearly still drying off, and dove into her plate without hesitation.
"Guess she really was hungry," I thought, watching her eat with genuine appetite. We had barely eaten anything the day before—just some rushed street food. And after that twisted visit to that place, she'd pretty much collapsed straight into bed. Or maybe passed out. I wasn't sure. Either way, she hadn't said a word after we got back.
"Alright," I prompted gently, nudging her attention back to the present, "tell me what's on your mind."
She blinked, half-focused, clearly enjoying her food too much to recall the thread of our earlier conversation. The soft droop in her eyes was a giveaway. "First off," She continued with a teasing smile, "the food's good. Especially the omelette—kind of funny, considering you usually hate eggs."
I leaned forward a bit, resting my elbows on the table. "Could you pass me the salt and pepper? They'll take this up a notch-" Before she could continue, I handed her the shakers, to which she offered a quiet nod of appreciation. 'Why is she behaving so formally, so awkwardly?' My thoughts wandered as she added a generous sprinkle to her plate, giving it that heavy-handed Sara flair. All I could do now was wait, letting her ease into whatever she needed to say.
"I don't know, Lucius…" she finally murmured, her voice lower now, thoughtful. "I just couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about that place. The way those two talked… it didn't feel right. Like, something was hiding under their words. Something dark." She paused, clearly second-guessing herself. "But maybe I'm just overthinking things..."
I set my fork down. "Sara," I said calmly, "you're not. Not even a little."
I could tell she needed to be heard—really heard. Her eyes flicked toward mine, then back to her plate, still uncertain. Finally, she picked up where she left off, "The way Ahana talked about her husband? Especially that part about his shadow disappearing?" She leaned back slightly, letting her words settle. "That wasn't just strange. It was wrong. And not the usual kind of wrong. A few minutes after she said that, I felt something too—like a breath down my neck, a shiver crawling over my back. It was faint, but sharp. Unnatural. And when she stood still... her shadow... It flickered, I swear to god, just for a second."
Sara's gaze locked with mine, wide now, still uncertain. She was searching for reassurance. I saw it in the way her lips parted slightly, like she wanted to speak but didn't trust the words would come out right.
"I know how it sounds," she said softly. "But please... don't think I'm crazy."
I moved from my seat without a second thought, sliding next to her and draping an arm over her shoulder. She didn't resist—if anything, she leaned closer. I offered her another bite of food, gently holding the spoon until she accepted it, all while whispering, "You're not crazy. You're not imagining it. You're with me, and whatever you felt... I believe you."
The truth was, I'd been thinking about that place too. About how easily I'd relied on my mana senses, confident they'd warn me if something was off. But they didn't. I ignored every instinct that told me to leave. I stayed because I thought I could manage whatever was out there.
That was a mistake, a huge blunder. Even though this may seem like an overreaction for those who didn't experience what we did.
Sara's intuition had always been sharp. She noticed the things most people missed—the tiny shifts in people's voices, in their body language, even their silences. She didn't flaunt it, just like Sia, but it was there, just as reliable.
She took a deep breath, about to speak again, and I noticed something shift in her expression—a quiet realisation dawning.
"Lucius…" she said, her voice lifting in surprise, her tone shifting, "you've reached S-rank, haven't you?!"
The words hung in the air, wide-eyed and half-whispered, which turned into an announcement as the words escaped her lips, like she'd just put together the final piece of a puzzle.