There are very few things in life more entertaining than watching fate dramatically reveal ancient, world-shaking secrets…
And then immediately ruining the mood by being myself.
Naturally?
That was exactly what I planned to do.
The moment that voice echoed through Djafar Tavern—that familiar, deep, vaguely exhausted voice that always sounded like it carried the weight of five hundred years of bad memories and zero naps—I grinned so hard my face actually hurt.
Oh, this was going to be good.
Dainsleif.
Or as I preferred to call him:
My favorite emotionally constipated big brother.
Before anyone else could properly react, I moved.
Fast.
One second I was standing normally.
The next?
My arm was already draped dramatically over Dain's shoulders like we were long-lost drinking buddies reuniting after years apart instead of two people connected by cursed history, abyss nonsense, and deeply concerning lore.
"Dain, my beloved suffering scholar," I said proudly, as if introducing royalty. "There you are. You have any idea how offended I still am that you missed my engagement party?"
Dainsleif, to his eternal credit, did not immediately throw me into a wall.
Which, considering our history, our dynamic, and my current behavior, already proved remarkable restraint on his part.
He simply looked at me.
That same tired, ancient, soul-deep stare—the kind of stare that suggested he was not merely exhausted in the physical sense, but spiritually, historically, and perhaps cosmically. The stare of a man who had lived too long, seen too much, and was now being greeted by me with the energy of an unsupervised problem.
Honestly?
Fair.
"…The tides of fate are not always aligned with mortal celebrations," he said solemnly, like he was reciting a line carved into the ruins of history itself.
There was a pause.
A genuine one.
Even the air felt dramatic for a second.
I blinked once.
Then twice.
"…You know what?" I said finally, nodding slowly like a scholar evaluating sacred wisdom. "That was poetic enough that I'll allow it."
Lumine physically covered her face.
Not metaphorically.
Actually covered it.
"You cannot possibly accept that answer that easily," she muttered, sounding personally offended by my standards.
"I absolutely can," I replied immediately, because this was important. "He said it like a tragic legend. That automatically gives it at least eighty percent validity. Maybe eighty-five if there's dramatic wind involved."
Paimon floated there, looking between us like she was actively watching a scam happen in real time but couldn't quite prove it.
"Paimon can't tell if that was actually meaningful… or if Shigeru just got emotionally scammed."
"Both," Lumine said instantly.
"…Rude," I muttered, clutching my chest like I had suffered a devastating betrayal.
Nilou, meanwhile—graceful, kind, and infinitely better at first impressions than I have ever been—stepped forward politely and gave Dain a respectful bow.
"Hello… It's nice to finally meet you properly," she said warmly. "Thank you for looking after Shigeru before."
Now that made him pause.
Dainsleif looked at her for a moment, and for once—that endless burdened expression of his actually softened.
Not dramatically.
Not enough for normal people to notice.
But me?
Oh, I saw it.
A microscopic emotional shift.
Progress.
"Your kindness does you credit," he said quietly, and somehow that sounded like the closest thing to heartfelt approval one could get from a man made entirely of old grief and mysterious suffering.
Nilou smiled softly.
Then, because my fiancée is apparently perfect and occasionally more dangerous than I am in entirely different ways, she tilted her head slightly and said the single funniest possible thing she could have said.
"Big brother, please continue taking care of him when he does something stupid."
…
Time stopped.
Not literally.
But emotionally?
Absolutely.
I froze.
Lumine froze.
Paimon gasped so hard I thought she might actually inhale her own thoughts.
Greg, perched nearby, flicked his tail harder than usual—sharp, immediate, decisive. Even he respected that move.
And me?
I had never been prouder.
I pointed at Nilou like a father witnessing his child achieve peak greatness.
"That's my girl," I said, voice thick with pride and spiritual fulfillment. "Perfect. Flawless. Incredible. Ten out of ten title usage. No notes. Absolutely phenomenal."
Lumine slowly lowered her hand from her face just to stare at Nilou in disbelief.
"…You can't just casually adopt Dainsleif as family."
"Counterpoint," I replied immediately, "she absolutely can."
Dainsleif sighed then—the deeply exhausted sigh of a man who had clearly fought many impossible battles and somehow recognized this one as unwinnable.
But despite that?
He gently patted Nilou's head.
"I shall… do what I can," he said.
And that was it.
Official.
Binding.
Spiritual paperwork signed.
I immediately clutched my chest.
"Oh, he accepted it," I whispered dramatically. "This is real now. We're family."
"Please stop adopting people without permission," Lumine said, now sounding actively tired for the future.
"Never," I replied with the confidence of a man who had no intention of learning boundaries.
Once my emotional victory settled—and by settled, I mean Lumine physically elbowed me hard enough to remind me we were still in public—we finally returned to the actual reason fate had gathered this deeply concerning group together.
Kaeya.
Who, to absolutely nobody's surprise, looked significantly less startled than the average person should when being confronted by an ancient immortal carrying cursed bloodline lore like it was casual conversation.
Honestly?
Classic Kaeya.
Dainsleif's gaze shifted, sharp and direct enough to cut through atmosphere itself.
"Tell me," he said, voice low and deliberate, "what do you know about the significance of that name… Alberich?"
And there it was.
Boom.
No warm-up.
No gentle transition.
Just immediate generational trauma.
I actually leaned slightly toward Nilou and whispered, with all the energy of someone watching a play he already knew but still loved, "Here we go."
She gently nudged me, though I could see the tiny smile she was trying to suppress.
"Behave," she whispered back.
"…No promises," I replied, because honesty matters.
Kaeya, meanwhile, remained infuriatingly composed.
Not nervous.
Not defensive.
Just… smooth.
Suspiciously smooth.
"Ah," he said lightly, like this was a mildly interesting social inconvenience rather than abyssal heritage. "You've decided to join us? I was wondering how long you planned on listening in."
He tilted his head ever so slightly, expression unreadable in the way only Kaeya can somehow make charming.
"I believe I've seen you before in Mondstadt… Dainsleif, if I'm not mistaken?"
"Smooth," I muttered immediately under my breath, leaning ever so slightly toward Lumine like I was witnessing a masterclass in social maneuvering. "Suspiciously smooth. Like butter on political deception. Honestly, if charm were a weapon, Mondstadt would need regulations."
Greg flicked his tail beside us.
Agreement.
Naturally.
Dainsleif, of course, did not blink. Not even slightly. No visible reaction, no dramatic shift—just that same ancient, unreadable stillness that somehow always felt heavier than normal silence.
"So you remember me," he said. "Then we are already acquainted… Kaeya Alberich. Descendant of the Abyss Order's founder."
And there it was.
No dramatic build-up.
No warning.
Just straight to generational trauma.
Silence hit the table so hard it may as well have been physical.
Heavy silence.
The kind that doesn't just exist—it lands.
I actually felt Nilou subtly stiffen beside me, not out of fear exactly, but confusion. Which, honestly? Fair. One minute we were dealing with Kaeya being suspiciously charismatic, and the next—boom. Ancient cursed bloodline reveal.
Ohhhhh.
There it is.
Paimon nearly exploded on the spot.
"What!?" she blurted, voice rising hard enough that I'm pretty sure half the tavern reconsidered their own conversations.
Lumine's expression sharpened instantly, every trace of amusement vanishing in a flash.
"The Abyss Order…?"
Now that landed differently.
Nilou looked understandably confused—because unlike the rest of us, she had not yet been repeatedly blindsided by catastrophic lore every other nation.
"…That sounds important," she whispered carefully.
I leaned slightly toward her, lowering my voice with all the gravitas of a man who absolutely understood the severity but still somehow made everything sound worse.
"Unfortunately," I whispered back, grimly but with style, "it very much is."
Kaeya, somehow—somehow—did not panic.
No widened eyes.
No dramatic recoil.
No visible spiral.
Honestly, if anything?
He looked mildly inconvenienced.
Like someone had informed him his wine shipment was delayed by weather, and while unfortunate, not enough to truly ruin his afternoon.
"Oh my," he said lightly, with a tone better suited for spilled tea than abyssal revelations. "That's quite a lot of baggage for a surname, isn't it?"
I stared.
Not metaphorically.
Actually stared.
Then slowly—slowly—turned toward Lumine like I needed confirmation that I had not hallucinated that response.
"…Did this man just react to generational abyss lore like someone told him his wine shipment was delayed?"
"Yes," Lumine replied immediately, without even pretending to think about it.
"…Incredible."
And somehow, despite the humor, despite the smoothness, despite Kaeya being… well, Kaeya—something real slipped through his expression after that.
A thought.
A memory.
Something older.
Something heavier.
Just for a moment.
I noticed.
Of course I noticed.
Because for all his nonsense, for all his jokes, for all that weaponized charisma?
Kaeya carried things too.
Dainsleif watched him carefully, and when he spoke again, his tone lost none of its weight.
"I sincerely hope this knowledge changes nothing," Dain said. "If you have truly let go of those ties… then keep it that way."
Paimon floated closer immediately now, concern overriding her confusion.
"Kaeya… You're not secretly involved with the Abyss Order or anything, right?"
Kaeya actually looked offended.
Not fake offended either.
Genuinely, personally offended.
"Now hold on," he said, placing a hand to his chest with just enough theatrical disbelief to feel authentic. "Do I truly strike you as the sort to dramatically betray everyone over ancestry?"
I slowly raised a hand.
Not because I wanted violence.
But because honesty matters.
"…The eyepatch doesn't help," I said.
Lumine smacked me.
Immediately.
Again.
Directly.
With experience.
"OW—" I recoiled, clutching the back of my head. "I said partially trustworthy! That was nuance!"
Kaeya actually laughed.
And not the polished social laugh.
Not the charming tavern laugh.
A real one.
The kind that slipped out before he could package it properly.
"You wound me, Shigeru."
"Emotionally?" I asked.
"Professionally."
"…Fair enough."
Then, for once—rare, terrifying, and strangely reassuring all at once—Kaeya answered plainly.
"No," he said, and this time there was no performance in it. "I'll be just as delighted to hunt down the Abyss Order tomorrow as I always have been."
And somehow?
I believed him.
Mostly.
Not fully.
But enough.
Lumine crossed her arms, clearly arriving at a similar conclusion.
"I trust you," she said.
Then paused.
Because of course she did.
"…I think. Mostly."
I pointed immediately, vindicated beyond reason.
"See? Not fully because of the eyepatch."
"Shigeru."
"I'm just saying," I continued, because this system was scientifically groundbreaking now, "if he wore two normal eyes, trust would increase by at least fifteen percent. Maybe twenty if he smiled less suspiciously. Twenty-five if Diluc personally vouched for him in writing."
"Please stop assigning percentages to people's trustworthiness," Paimon groaned.
"No," I said, because I had already committed too deeply to this framework to abandon it now.
Eventually, Kaeya excused himself—apparently business, spice merchants, and alcohol profits still waited for no man.
Classic.
But before leaving, he glanced back toward Dainsleif, and somehow even that felt smooth.
"Next time," he said lightly, "no need to listen from the sidelines."
Then came that smile again.
That impossible-to-fully-trust smile.
The one that somehow felt honest and suspicious at the exact same time.
"Let me buy you a drink."
And just like that?
He left.
Cape swaying.
Rizz intact.
Mystery level somehow worse.
I watched him go—genuinely impressed, mildly concerned, and somehow still not convinced he hadn't flirted with at least three people on the way out—before slowly turning back toward Dainsleif.
There was a pause.
A meaningful one.
The kind that usually meant suffering, truth, emotional damage… or all three simultaneously.
Then I grinned.
"Alright," I said, cracking my neck slightly like I was physically preparing for psychological consequences. "Captain Cape with suspiciously attractive problems has left."
I pointed dramatically, because subtlety had never once improved my life.
"Which means there's probably another lore bomb incoming, right big bro?"
Dainsleif closed his eyes.
Then sighed.
Deeply.
Not annoyed.
Not even surprised.
Just… the sigh of a man realizing peace was, once again, no longer possible.
"…You truly never change."
I grinned wider.
"Correct."
***
The funny thing about Kaeya leaving was that somehow… impossibly… the room actually felt less dangerous.
Not safer.
Never safer.
Just… less aggressively charismatic.
One moment there was smooth eyepatch energy, suspicious charm, and enough social dexterity to emotionally confuse entire nations.
The next?
Gone.
Cape vanished.
Rizz departed.
And all that remained was us.
Which, frankly, was still deeply concerning.
I watched Kaeya disappear into the distance, probably on his way to negotiate spice deals, profit margins, or flirt with someone's auntie by accident, before finally shifting my attention back to the far more emotionally constipated Khaenri'ahn beside me.
Dainsleif gave a low hum.
"Hmph…"
Now, to normal people?
That sound means almost nothing.
To me?
Oh no.
I had known this man long enough to understand that one single "hmph" from Dainsleif could mean approximately seventeen things ranging from mild skepticism to historical disappointment, and judging by the atmospheric pressure alone, we were dangerously close to category fifteen.
Paimon, naturally, chose violence.
"You don't really trust him, do you, Dain?" she asked, floating slightly closer with all the subtlety of a flying interrogation balloon. "You're both from Khaenri'ah, but you get on like oil and water…"
"…That is one way to describe it," I muttered, mostly to myself but also very much out loud, because subtle commentary had never once been my strength.
Lumine immediately elbowed me lightly in the side—not enough to injure, but enough to remind me that apparently existing near serious conversations required standards.
"Behave."
I turned to her with genuine confusion.
"Why does everyone keep saying that like it's realistic?"
Honestly, at this point, it felt less like a request and more like a deeply misguided long-term rehabilitation project.
Dainsleif, meanwhile, remained exactly what he always was: a walking monument to burden, mystery, and historical emotional damage.
"The fact is," he said evenly, in that same tone that always somehow sounded like it had been carved from old stone, war, and regret, "I still do not know him well. It would be meaningless for me to jump to conclusions."
Now see?
That?
Reasonable.
Logical.
Suspiciously mature.
For about half a second, I almost thought we might actually get through this conversation without someone dropping a line so ancient and traumatized it would spiritually alter the room.
Then he continued.
"But can a person truly be unaffected by their ancestry?"
…Ah.
There it is.
Ancient trauma.
Classic Dainsleif.
"This remains to be seen."
And just like that, the atmosphere shifted again—that strange way heavy truths always seem to drag the air down with them.
Nilou frowned slightly beside me.
Not fearful.
Not panicked.
Just thoughtful.
And somehow?
That almost hit harder.
Because unlike most people, Nilou listened with her whole heart. She didn't just hear words—she felt them. Which, unfortunately, meant every serious conversation somehow became emotionally heavier by default.
I noticed immediately, because for all my nonsense—for all the chaos, the jokes, the catastrophically bad timing, and my deeply refined ability to derail otherwise normal conversations—I always noticed them.
Especially moments like this.
Lumine crossed her arms beside me, her expression sharpening in that familiar way it always did whenever invisible puzzle pieces started clicking together in her head. It was subtle if you didn't know her.
I did.
That look meant she was connecting dots.
Dangerous dots.
"So… you said an Alberich founded the Abyss Order?" she asked carefully, her voice quieter now, more focused than before. "I thought my sibling was the founder…"
And honestly?
That was the real question.
Not the eyepatch.
Not Kaeya's suspiciously legal amount of charm.
Not even the abyss itself.
This was bigger.
Succession.
Identity.
Origin.
The kind of answer that changes the shape of everything around it.
Dainsleif gave a slight nod, his expression unreadable in the way only ancient cursed men somehow manage.
"Well," he said, calm as ever, "I suspect that they call your sibling their Prince precisely because there is a succession of sorts."
And there it was.
Not a full answer.
Not the whole truth.
But another piece.
Another horrifying little fragment casually tossed onto the table like it wouldn't fundamentally alter how we viewed the Abyss Order.
Paimon, to her credit, actually connected the implications faster than usual this time.
There was a pause—brief, but visible—before her eyes widened hard enough to qualify as a breakthrough.
"Oh! So if your sibling was the founder, then wouldn't that make them the King!?"
"…Or Queen," Nilou added softly from beside me, because unlike the rest of us, Nilou actually remembered details before firing conclusions directly into the heavens.
Paimon froze midair.
"…Oh."
I physically watched the correction process in real time.
"Right," she said quickly, with the kind of confidence only someone actively recovering from being wrong could produce. "Paimon knew that."
"No, you didn't," Lumine replied instantly.
"Paimon absolutely did."
"You really didn't."
I nodded solemnly like a judge witnessing a doomed legal defense.
"Tragic."
Paimon whipped around so fast I'm genuinely surprised she didn't spin.
"Whose side are you on!?"
I answered without hesitation, because some truths transcend morality.
"Chaos."
Greg flicked his tail beside me with immediate approval, which frankly felt validating.
As expected.
Lumine sighed then—not a normal sigh, not even an annoyed sigh.
No.
This was the deeply personal sigh of a woman actively questioning why fate, destiny, and apparently several gods had decided her life path required me.
Then, because she was still somehow the most functional person at this table, she wisely dragged us back on track before we collectively derailed several centuries of buried history.
"So," she said, turning back toward Dainsleif with visible determination, "what do you plan to do here in Sumeru?"
And there it was.
The pivot.
The shift.
The exact moment where casual generational trauma transformed into active plot progression.
Dainsleif's expression darkened slightly—not theatrically, not dramatically, but in that deeply concerning "peace is about to leave the premises" sort of way.
"I mean to investigate the Loom of Fate."
Now that name?
That wasn't casual.
Not even a little.
Paimon reacted first, because of course she did.
"Yeah! The Abyss Order's evil plan! We learned about that back in Mondstadt!"
Lumine immediately followed, sharper now.
"You've got a new lead?"
And me?
I went quiet.
Not fake quiet.
Not "I'm about to say something stupid and dramatic" quiet.
Actually quiet.
Which, apparently, was concerning enough that Nilou noticed almost instantly.
She turned toward me gently, her voice soft enough that in any other situation it probably would've calmed me.
"…Shigeru?"
I didn't answer right away.
Not because I was trying to be mysterious.
…Okay, maybe like fifteen percent because mystery is objectively cool.
But mostly?
Because this was one of those moments.
The rare ones.
The dangerous ones.
The moments where my idiot brain—the same brain usually occupied by chaos, flirting, catastrophically poor decisions, dramatic confidence, and Greg-related betrayal—actually stopped.
And thought.
Because I knew that name.
Loom of Fate.
Not perfectly.
Not completely.
But enough.
Enough to know this wasn't just another abyss plot.
Enough to know this was bigger than revenge, kingdoms, or destruction.
Enough to know that my absurd previous life—the one featuring untimely vehicular violence and wildly inconvenient timing—had left me with fragments.
Spoilers.
Broken pieces.
Not the ending.
But enough.
Dainsleif continued, likely noticing my silence but—wisely, mercifully—not interrupting it.
"Not new," he said. "Not exactly… My memories suffer from erosion, but while I was recovering recently… I remembered something."
Even his voice changed there.
Quieter.
Heavier.
The kind of tone that automatically makes you sit straighter because whatever comes next is probably emotionally expensive.
"Your sibling… mentioned the Loom of Fate when we traveled together."
And that?
That landed.
Not lightly.
Not academically.
Personally.
Lumine froze—not fully, but enough.
"All the way back then…?" she asked, and for once, even her voice carried something fragile.
Paimon looked stunned.
"So it was already a thing centuries ago!?"
Dainsleif nodded once.
"Apparently so."
And because Paimon somehow possesses the emotional adaptability of a disaster-powered compass, she immediately shifted from existential dread straight into adventure mode.
"So we're going there, right!?"
"No," Dain said.
Flat.
Immediate.
Absolute.
Paimon physically deflated in midair.
"…What?"
Lumine blinked.
"Are we waiting for the Abyss Order?"
"No."
"The perfect moment?"
"No."
Then Dainsleif calmly turned his gaze toward the tavern counter, and with all the solemnity of a man who had fought cursed wars, crossed fallen nations, and endured centuries of suffering…
He said:
"I'm still waiting for my drink."
…
There was silence.
Then I broke.
Completely.
I physically wheezed hard enough to nearly fold over the table, one hand grabbing onto it like my life suddenly depended on structural support.
"HAHA—" I choked out, somewhere between laughter and respiratory collapse. "You know what? Valid. Deeply valid. Lore can wait. Hydration first. Priorities. Survival. This is wisdom."
Paimon stared like she had just been personally betrayed by narrative pacing.
"Seriously!?"
Lumine pinched the bridge of her nose.
Nilou?
Nilou actually laughed.
Not politely.
Not delicately.
A full, bright laugh—the kind that made the crushing weight of ancient destiny temporarily lose to pure absurdity.
Greg slapped his tail against the table once.
Honestly?
Mood.
I raised a hand toward Eymen behind the counter, and immediately—immediately—I remembered him.
Prayer boss.
Middle finger history.
A legend forged through terrible decisions and mutual disappointment.
I grinned.
Bad sign.
"Waddup, prayer boss!" I called out proudly, with all the confidence of a man who had clearly learned absolutely nothing.
Lumine froze.
Nilou looked concerned.
Paimon looked outright horrified.
"Shigeru," Lumine said slowly, with the tone of someone bracing for irreversible social catastrophe, "please tell Paimon that is not what Paimon thinks it means."
"It means friendship," I said confidently.
"It absolutely does not."
Eymen looked at me with that same deeply exhausted expression—the unmistakable "why are you back" look.
Honestly?
Deserved.
"Drinks for us too," I added anyway, grinning like exile wasn't a possibility.
There was a long pause.
Then, with the defeated energy of a man who had simply accepted this as part of his earthly burden, he reluctantly complied.
Victory.
And once I finally sat properly beside Dainsleif—stretching slightly, settling in, and allowing my usual nonsense to lower just enough—the shift was immediate.
Everyone noticed.
Lumine looked at me.
Paimon looked at me.
Nilou definitely looked at me.
Even Greg turned.
"…Oh no," Paimon whispered.
"What?" I asked.
"You're thinking."
"…Rude."
"No, seriously," Lumine said, and now she actually looked concerned. "You only do that when something important happens… or when something incredibly stupid is about to happen."
Nilou blinked softly.
"…Which one is this?"
I exhaled slowly.
Then gave the only honest answer possible.
"…Yes."
And somehow?
That made it worse.
I folded my arms, my gaze lowering now—not performative.
Not dramatic.
Real.
"Alright," I said quietly. "I'll drop it."
Silence followed immediately, because they all knew what that meant.
When I voluntarily stopped joking?
Something mattered.
"The Loom of Fate…" I began, quieter now, more deliberate. "It's bigger than just an Abyss plan."
Even Dainsleif looked at me then—not skeptically, not dismissively.
Attentively.
Because unlike most people here… he knew.
He knew I wasn't bluffing.
"I don't know everything," I admitted, and for once, there was no performance in it. "My old world gave me fragments. Spoilers. Pieces of futures I never fully reached—unfinished answers, disconnected truths, enough knowledge to understand danger without always knowing where it would strike next."
I paused briefly, because yes—reflection was important, but so was respecting the absurdity of my existence.
Truck-kun really did hit like a WWE finishing move—I swear, I can still remember that feeling like Shawn Michaels personally descended from the heavens and hit me with Sweet Chin Music straight into another universe.
Tragic.
"But from what I understand…" I continued, my tone sharpening now, "the Loom of Fate isn't just destruction. That would almost be simpler. Simpler means ruin. Collapse. Burning the world down."
I shook my head.
"No… this is worse."
That got their attention in a different way.
Because destruction?
Anyone understands destruction.
But reconstruction?
That's something else entirely.
"It's replacement," I said, more firmly now. "The Abyss isn't just trying to tear down the natural order—they're trying to create something that can stand where it once stood. A substitute. A rewritten foundation. Not just rebellion against Celestia, the gods, or fate itself…"
I leaned forward slightly.
"They're trying to build a new system."
No one interrupted.
Good.
Because if I was going to say this, it needed to land properly.
"A new Ley Line framework," I continued. "Something artificial. Something woven instead of grown. The Ley Lines now? They're memory. History. Cause and effect. Teyvat's natural recording system. The veins of the world itself."
I tapped the table lightly.
"The Loom of Fate… from what I understand… is the attempt to create an alternative. A man-made—or abyss-made—mechanism capable of weaving destiny differently. Not just observing history… but rewriting how history itself is formed."
Paimon went completely still.
For once, no floating panic.
No immediate interruption.
Just stunned silence.
Nilou's concern became visible now—not fear, but genuine emotional gravity.
Lumine didn't interrupt.
She was listening.
Really listening.
Good.
Because this part mattered most.
"If they succeed…" I said quietly, "they may not need to obey the world's current laws anymore. Not fully. Cause, effect, memory, destiny… all of it could potentially be challenged. Altered. Maybe even replaced."
Even saying it out loud felt wrong.
Heavy.
Like I was putting shape to something that should've stayed abstract.
"Not just rebellion," I said, quieter now.
"Reconstruction."
That word sat there.
Ugly.
Accurate.
Dainsleif's silence alone confirmed enough, and somehow that was worse than if he'd argued.
"And your brother…" I said, looking directly at Lumine now, my voice lowering further—not because I wanted drama, but because truth sometimes naturally arrives heavier. "Aether is tied to it. Deeply."
Lumine's breath caught.
Barely.
But enough.
"Whether as witness, participant, or something worse… I don't fully know yet," I admitted. "That's the problem. My knowledge stops before the full shape of it does. I know enough to recognize the storm…"
I exhaled.
"…But not every lightning strike."
For once?
No one joked.
No one moved.
Even Greg stayed still.
"I don't know exactly where this path leads yet," I admitted. "Because before I could fully know…"
I pointed vaguely upward.
"Truck."
Paimon blinked.
"…That explanation somehow keeps getting weirder."
"Skill issue," I muttered automatically, because emotional devastation and stupidity could, in fact, coexist.
Then I stopped.
Fully.
Rare.
Dangerous.
Important.
"But this time…" I said quietly, looking directly at Lumine now—no grin, no nonsense, no shield.
Just real.
"There's one name you need to remember."
Lumine's expression changed instantly.
Nilou straightened.
Paimon went silent.
Even Greg stopped moving.
And when I said it…
I made sure it landed.
Not like a joke.
Not like lore.
Like a warning.
Slowly.
Clearly.
"Caribert."
___________
End of Chapter 176
Quests Completed:
*Successfully ambushed Dainsleif with immediate unwanted familial affection in a public tavern.
*Forced an ancient cursed warrior into accidental big brother status through Nilou's flawless title deployment.
*Expanded family structure without consent, logic, or legal paperwork.
*Maintained chaotic commentary during an active Khaenri'ahn bloodline revelation.
*Assigned trust percentages to Kaeya based on eyepatch statistics and suspicious charisma.
*Survived multiple Lumine disciplinary strikes while continuing to speak.
*Witnessed Kaeya's smooth handling of generational trauma with psychologically alarming confidence.
*Identified Dainsleif's "I'm still waiting for my drink" priority as valid wisdom.
*Re-established contact with Prayer Boss despite previous middle-finger-related incidents.
*Successfully transitioned from tavern chaos into full-scale existential lore exposition.
*Dropped prior-world spoiler fragments without causing immediate structural collapse.
*Explained the Loom of Fate as a reconstruction mechanism rather than simple destruction.
*Delivered "Caribert" as a certified emotional damage finisher.
Rewards:
*Adventure EXP +9,500
*42,000 Mora (Hazard Pay for psychological burden and lore exposure)
*Companionship EXP: +850 (Lumine, Nilou, Paimon, Greg, Dainsleif???)
*"Big Brother Protocol: Dainsleif Edition" : (Ancient protector status forcibly unlocked through emotional ambush.)
*"Emotionally Constipated Approval" : (Rare passive. Increases trust from burdened immortals by 15%.)
*"Kaeya Trust Percentage System" : (Eyepatch reduces certainty. Suspicious charm bypasses standard calculations.)
*"Prayer Boss Reconciliation" : (Allows repeat tavern access despite historical offenses.)
*"Lumine's Bonk Protocol v4.0" : (Damage unchanged. Activation speed increased during lore interruptions.)
*"Nilou's Family Expansion Authority" : (Can assign titles so wholesome they override resistance.)
*"Greg's Judgment Silence" : (When Greg stops moving, things are officially serious.)
*"Truck-kun Residual Spoilers" : (Grants fragmented meta-knowledge. Side effects include dramatic foreshadowing and psychological whiplash.)
*"Loom Insight: Reconstruction Warning" : (Allows partial understanding of existential threats before emotional consequences fully manifest.)
*+40 (Sumeru Reputation — "Tavern Lore Catastrophe")