In one of the sunlit side rooms of the estate, laughter echoed softly. The windows were cracked open, letting in a crisp afternoon breeze that ruffled the embroidered curtains. Inside, nestled atop cushions and thick rugs, Rosin sat with her arms crossed—her usual scowl fighting a losing battle against the warmth of the moment.
Terria and Sonia flanked her on either side, legs tucked beneath them, eyes sparkling with excitement.
"I can't believe we might become sisters soon!" Terria chirped, practically bouncing in place.
"Real sisters!" Sonia added, her small hands clapping together. "Well, not by blood, but still!"
Rosin clicked her tongue and turned her head away, her braid flicking over her shoulder. "Tch. You're both so noisy…"
Sonia giggled. "You don't have to pretend to be annoyed, Big Sis Rosin~"
"I'm not pretending!" Rosin snapped, cheeks flushing red. "And stop calling me that! I haven't agreed to anything yet!"
Terria leaned forward with a grin. "But you want to, don't you? You like us. We know you do."
Rosin opened her mouth to fire back—but paused. Her gaze lowered for a moment, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes. She huffed, then looked away, arms still folded. "…This place is pretty nice," she mumbled.
The two younger girls beamed.
"We have warm beds," Sonia whispered like it was a secret too good to be true. "And soft towels… and that pink soap that smells like berries!"
Terria giggled. "And the lemon cookies! I didn't even know cookies were real!"
Rosin clicked her tongue, lips twitching upward. "Hmph. That's nothing. You haven't even seen the indoor garden yet. There's a whole tree in there. A real tree. Inside."
Terria gasped. "No way!"
"Way," Rosin said, smug now, raising her chin. "And the flowers? They change colors at night. Only nobles can afford that kind of thing." The flowers did change colors, but they didn't have many here, since it was very expensive to get those kinds of flowers, even for House Cavias.
Sonia's eyes sparkled. "That's so cool! You really know everything, Rosin!"
Rosin tried to scoff, but the pride slipped through. "Well… someone's gotta show you two around."
"Big Sis Rosin it is!" Terria declared, grabbing her hand.
"I said stop callin' me th—!" Rosin snapped, but Sonia grabbed her other hand with a playful giggle.
And just like that, Rosin was trapped—between tiny hands, soft sunlight, and a warmth she didn't know she'd missed until now. Her scowl faded just a little, her lips twitching into a reluctant, crooked smile. Maybe being their Big Sis wasn't the worst thing in the world.
There was a soft knock-knock on the door before it creaked open.
A maid peeked her head in, her eyes gentle as they swept across the room. "You have a visitor," she said softly.
Behind her, Matthew stepped in, his small hands fidgeting at his sides, looking a bit unsure.
Terria gasped and bounced on the couch. "Matt-Matt!"
Sonia scrambled up beside her, clapping her hands. "Matthewww!"
They ran over and hugged him, nearly knocking him back as they wrapped around his waist like happy puppies. Matthew laughed, startled but smiling. "H-Hey—! Careful…"
Rosin, still seated with her arms crossed, scoffed and looked away. "Took you long enough," she muttered, her voice low but sharp.
She watched him from the corner of her eye. He's just like me… same age… but he can see the One Power, she thought bitterly. He even made a real Fireball. A real one. Not fair…
Matthew glanced at her, offering a small smile. "Hi, Rosin."
"Hmph."
He scratched his cheek awkwardly, clearly used to her attitude by now. "I, uh… just came to say hi."
Sonia looked up at him with wide eyes. "You wanna see the lemon cookies?"
Terria tugged at his sleeve. "We saved you one! But I licked it a little. Just a little!"
Rosin rolled her eyes. "Babies…" But even she couldn't hide the tiny twitch of a smile as she stood up, brushing off her skirt.
"So," she said, tilting her chin up. "You gonna show off more Fireball tricks or what?"
Matthew blinked, then chuckled nervously. "I… I dunno. I kinda got in trouble for that one."
"Good," Rosin snapped, folding her arms again. "You shouldn't show off anyway."
But the faint redness in her cheeks, and the way she didn't look away this time, told a different story.
Matthew sighed under his breath, his eyes flicking toward Rosin. She's so moody… he thought, but there was no heat in it. Just the tired kind of patience a boy only slightly older than the others could manage.
Rosin plopped back on a cushion and crossed her legs like a grown-up. "So, Mister Fireball," she said, tossing her hair with far too much attitude, "what's so great about Arts anyway?"
Matthew sat on the floor between Sonia and Terria, both already clinging to his arms like little koalas. He shrugged. "They're just… cool. I like how they feel. When I use one, it's like I'm doing something no one else can. Like… I dunno. Like I'm flying, even when I'm standing still."
Terria blinked up at him. "You can fly?!"
"No, no," Matthew laughed, "it just feels like that."
Sonia gasped, starry-eyed. "Can you make a flying cookie?!"
Rosin groaned. "That doesn't even make sense…"
"It does too!" Sonia puffed her cheeks. "If you can fly, cookies can fly."
"Cookies don't have legs or wings," Rosin shot back.
"Well, maybe they will," Terria said proudly. "If Matt-Matt makes a Cookie Art!"
Matthew snorted. "I don't think that's a real Art…"
He glanced over at Rosin, who was smirking again in that smug, crooked way. "What about you?" he asked. "You like Arts, don't you?"
She paused, pretending to inspect her fingernails like she wasn't bursting to talk about it. "I guess. I like the flashy ones. Fire. Lightning. Things that go boom."
"Figures," Matthew muttered with a smile.
Rosin narrowed her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing," he said innocently, but his grin gave him away.
Rosin huffed. "Well, what do you like then? Boring stuff like Earth Walls?"
Matthew tilted his head. "Actually… kinda. Earth Arts are useful. You can build things, protect people. It's not flashy, but it helps."
Rosin looked… conflicted. "Huh," she said, like the idea had never occurred to her.
"Big boom Arts are cool too," he added quickly, trying to soften the edge he didn't mean to have. "But I think the best ones are the ones that… make people feel safe."
That made the room go quiet for a second.
Rosin looked down, brushing invisible lint from her sleeve. "...That's dumb," she mumbled.
"It's not dumb!" Sonia said, puffing up. "Matt-Matt is smart!"
Terria nodded. "He saved us with Fireball, remember?"
"I could've done it too," Rosin mumbled, cheeks red again.
Matthew looked at her, then smiled faintly. "Maybe one day… you will."
She blinked, startled, and glanced away. "Tch. Whatever."
He could tell she wanted to say more, but didn't know how. And honestly, he didn't either. Not today.
But for a moment, things felt light again.
Like flying—even while sitting still.
Matthew kind of understood where Rosin's attitude about Arts came from. She'd been saved from a kidnapping once—by none other than the Green Sage, the strongest Arts user in the kingdom. It made sense that she wanted to be like that. Someone strong. Someone who could save others. But her father had forbidden Arts in the house, and Rosin didn't know where to begin. She couldn't even see the One Power—the source everyone needed to shape in order to perform Arts.
Honestly, Matthew wouldn't have seen it either, if it weren't for that odd old man who passed through their village a month ago. A ragged cloak, wild hair, and a strange air about him, like he belonged somewhere else. He'd worn white, called himself the Truth Seeker, and told Matthew he was blessed. Then, just like that, he taught him the Fireball Art and vanished the next day.
Matthew had never heard of anyone with that title before. Truth Seeker. It didn't ring any bells. Not that he knew every big name in the world, but… he knew a lot. Still, something about that man felt too real to forget.
Matthew blinked, then gave his head a small shake, as if trying to scatter away the thoughts buzzing behind his eyes. He looked toward Rosin, who was still watching him with that crossed-arms, raised-chin kind of confidence that she always wore like a knight's helmet—except her eyes were a little too focused, like she was waiting for something more.
He decided to just talk, to keep things light.
"So," he said, slowly, "Do you wanna learn Fireball next?"
Rosin immediately perked up, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Maybe. I mean, it looked okay. For a first Art."
Matthew raised an eyebrow. "Just okay?"
Rosin shrugged, leaning back on her hands. "It wasn't that big."
"You froze in place when I did it."
"I did not!"
"You did," he said, a small grin slipping through as he leaned against the wall beside her. "You even hid behind Sonia after the fact."
Sonia giggled from her seat on the bed, where she and Terria had been braiding scraps of ribbon they'd found. "She did! She pulled me like this—" Sonia flopped over dramatically. "I almost fell off!"
"I was protecting you!" Rosin shot back, cheeks puffing with heat. "What if it exploded?"
Matthew laughed softly, the tension easing in his shoulders. The teasing felt good. Familiar. Safe.
But then Rosin quieted. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her dress as her voice dropped, a rare flicker of uncertainty slipping into her tone.
"…Are you gonna stay?"
The question hit like a stone tossed into still water.
Terria stopped playing with the ribbon.
Sonia went still, eyes wide and waiting.
Matthew blinked. His throat felt dry. He looked down at his hands, resting in his lap. Hands that had tried to hold too much these past few days.
He didn't want to lie. Not to them. Not to her.
"…Your father," Matthew began, voice low, steady, even if his heart thudded, "The Fierce Lion. He told me… he can't adopt me."
He didn't say more than that. The words sat heavy between them, too real to laugh away.
Rosin let out a small, quiet "Oh."
It barely made a sound. But something in her face shifted—a flicker in her brows, a tiny twitch at the corner of her mouth. Her arms were still crossed, but her grip on them had softened. She looked down, lashes lowering over her eyes, hiding the disappointment that clung to her expression like a shadow.
She wouldn't say it, not out loud. She was too proud for that. Too stubborn.
But she had wanted him to stay.
Not just because he was interesting, or because he could use the Arts when no one else their age could. Not just because he was brave, or serious, or weird in that calm way that made her want to ask questions but also prove she was better.
She had kind of liked him.
And the idea of him becoming her brother… it wasn't as awful as she'd told herself. It was… kinda nice.
But now her father had refused him.
Because of Arts.
Rosin bit her lower lip. That felt like more than just rejecting Matthew—it felt like he was rejecting her too. Her dream. Her wish. Her hope.
And her father's voice—stern, unbending—rang in her head again. "No Arts in this house."
It had felt final then. It felt carved in stone now. It wasn't going to change. Not ever.
If even Matthew couldn't make him budge… who could?
Across the room, a sniffle broke the silence.
"I don't wanna stay without you," Terria whispered, her eyes shiny, voice trembling.
"Me neither!" Sonia cried, blinking fast, her cheeks already wet. "We'll go with you! We'll go wherever you go!"
Rosin's heart dropped.
Her head snapped up, eyes wide as she stared at them.
"W-What? No, you can't—!" she started, panic rising in her voice. She uncrossed her arms, stepping toward them. "You just got here! This place is good! There's cookies and baths and—and books with pictures!"
Terria wiped her nose with the back of her hand and shook her head fiercely. "Don't care! We want Matthew!"
Sonia grabbed her hand, holding on tight. "We're a team!"
Rosin's breath hitched.
She liked Matthew… but she loved the two girls.
They'd called her big sis. They'd clung to her. They made her feel warm in ways she didn't know how to explain.
And now they wanted to leave.
Because her father said no.
Her knees felt wobbly. She looked back at Matthew, fear creeping into her chest now.
She didn't want them to go.
She didn't want to be left behind.
Matthew took a breath and crouched in front of the girls, putting on the gentlest smile he could manage. His voice was soft, calm—the way Asvin always spoke to him when things felt like too much.
"Hey," he said, brushing Sonia's hair back gently. "You don't have to leave."
"But we wanna be with you," Sonia sniffled, her nose red and runny.
Terria nodded hard, fists clenched at her sides. "You're our brother now!"
Matthew smiled again, but it was a little sadder this time. He looked between them, his throat tightening. "I'll visit, okay? All the time. And you can visit too. This place is safe, and warm. Better than anywhere I've ever been."
"No!" Sonia's little voice cracked, tears spilling. "We already lost our house! We lost Mama and Papa! We're not gonna lose you too!"
Terria started crying then, her tiny shoulders shaking. "We don't want to sleep alone again…"
Rosin hovered nearby, twisting her fingers in the hem of her tunic. She stepped closer with a little frown and huffed, "You guys are being babies. He's not going forever."
But the wobble in her voice made it clear she didn't believe that either.
Terria glared through her tears. "We're not babies!"
Sonia hiccupped. "We just love Matthew!"
Rosin pouted and looked away. "Y-Yeah, well… I didn't say you couldn't love him…"
Matthew let out a breath and tried again, touching both their hands now.
"I promise I'll come back. I won't be far. And I'll write letters. We can even draw pictures and send them to each other."
But neither of them nodded. They just cried harder, hugging his arms like lifelines.
Rosin knelt beside them, her proud face creased in frustration. "Come on, you two! You're gonna get him in trouble or something!"
Matthew didn't stop her. He knew she was trying. Trying not to cry, trying not to let go, trying to help… but it wasn't working.
And the worst part?
He didn't know what would.
Matthew sighed, long and deep, then closed his eyes for a moment.
He remembered his father, Ron—not just the way he stood tall, but how he always softened when people needed him most. He thought of this morning too, of Asvin's quiet voice, that warmth in his tone that made everything feel a little less heavy.
So, Matthew took a deep breath just like Asvin showed him.
He opened his eyes and looked at Terria and Sonia, his gaze steady, his voice calm.
"Do you two…" he hesitated, then asked, "Do you love me?"
Both girls nodded instantly, sniffling, tears still glistening in their eyes.
He gave them a small smile, gentle, like the ones his father used to give. "Then please…" he said quietly, "Stay here. For me."
Rosin went quiet beside them, her hands balled into little fists. Her eyes were shiny now too, her lips trembling—but she said nothing.
Terria's brows furrowed, and she stamped one foot. "That's not fair…"
Matthew let out a small laugh, the corners of his lips tugging upward. "I know," he said. "You're right. But I'm asking anyway."
Silence hung for a long moment. The girls looked at one another, something passing between them in their quiet way. Then, finally, Sonia gave a little nod.
"…Only if you visit once a week," she said, wiping her face with the back of her hand.
Terria frowned. "No. We visit once too. You come, and we come. That's the deal. Or we won't stay."
Matthew laughed softly. "Okay," he said, nodding. "Deal."
It was clear the girls didn't want this—not really. Their little faces were still scrunched up with sadness, and their arms wrapped tightly around Matthew like they feared he might vanish any second. But because he had asked them… because he had smiled and said please... they relented. They held onto him fiercely, their small bodies shaking with the last of their sobs, refusing to let go just yet.
Matthew held them back, gently, brushing a hand over Sonia's hair and giving Terria's shoulder a light pat, comforting the only way he knew how.
Rosin, meanwhile, let out a slow, trembling breath.
She quickly turned her face away, brushing at her eyes with the back of her sleeve before anyone could see. No way was she going to cry in front of them—not her. She was a Cavias. Her papa always said Cavias girls didn't cry over small things. But still... something felt strange. Her chest was tight and her throat ached, not with sadness exactly—but something else.
She hadn't known the Marlston girls long—barely over an hour now. And yet, when they'd said they wouldn't stay without Matthew, it was like something in her had cracked.
Why?
Why did it hurt so much?
Maybe it was because she'd never really had friends before. Not real ones. Not ones who held her hand and pulled her into hugs and called her big sis like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And now they were staying.
Now they were hers, even if she'd never say it out loud.
So Rosin stood there quietly, her fists at her sides, the tears drying from her cheeks, and wondered…
Did she really love them this much already?
...
The room was massive—far too big for someone as small as Matthew to feel anything but exposed.
Golden pillars lined the sides like proud sentinels, their edges gilded and gleaming beneath the warm glow of a crystal chandelier that sparkled like frozen starlight high above. A deep red carpet stretched out beneath his feet, soft and lush, yet it did nothing to soothe the tension rising in his chest. This wasn't a place meant for children. It felt like a room where history was written—where kings might argue with nobles, where wars might be decided.
Matthew stood at the center of it all.
On either side of the chamber sat six men—older, broad-shouldered, and heavy with presence. Their clothing was fine, their gazes sharp, and every one of them was staring at him and the two girls beside him.
At the head of it all stood the Fierce Lion himself—John Cavias.
Tall, commanding, and impossibly still. His face was a carved mask, unreadable, forged by years of battle and decision. He looked down at them with the eyes of a man used to leading armies.
Behind him stood his family.
Lady Rania, with a noble grace that somehow softened the air around her, even in a room this cold. Theresia, composed and quiet, hands clasped in front of her, her eyes focused on him with a curious glimmer. Asvin—his stance straight, but not tense, wearing that same patient look he always did, the one that somehow felt like a hand on your shoulder. And finally, Rosin. Her small form nearly hidden behind her brother's, expression taut as she watched—though whether she was nervous or trying not to seem so, he couldn't tell.
Matthew's heart thumped.
The weight of the stares made his clothes feel heavy. Terria clung to his left side, her little hand curled into the hem of his shirt, while Sonia pressed into his right, half-hiding her face in his sleeve. He could feel their tiny fingers tighten every time one of the men so much as shifted.
He swallowed. Hard.
He was used to feeling small—being a child in a world of adults. But here, now, in this hall that smelled faintly of polished wood and authority, he felt tiny. Like any wrong move might shatter something important.
And yet… he couldn't move. Not with their hands holding onto him, not with all those eyes. All he could do was stand tall, shoulders squared as best he could, trying not to look like his legs were shaking. Trying to be brave for the girls.
Even if deep down, he felt the same as them. Terrified.
John Cavias took a single step forward, his voice calm yet heavy with command, the kind that filled the vast room without needing to rise.
"I've made a decision."
All six men seated in the chamber shifted slightly. No one interrupted. A few inclined their heads respectfully. One gave a barely-there shrug. Others simply looked away, indifferent or resigned.
"I've decided to take in these two girls," John said, voice steady as stone. "They will become daughters of this house. Not servants. Not wards. Daughters."
Matthew could feel Terria stiffen beside him. Sonia stopped fidgeting and went completely still. Both girls' hands tightened against his sides.
John turned his eyes on them now, softer—but only just. His gaze had none of the fire it held in battle, only weight and expectation.
"Terria Marlston," he said.
Her eyes widened as he spoke her name.
"Sonia Marlston."
Sonia's grip fluttered, and she peeked up from behind Matthew's sleeve, eyes glistening.
"I will not take your names from you. You will keep them. You are Marlston, and you will remain so. But from this day forward, should you choose, you will also bear the name Cavias. As your second name. As your shield."
The girls blinked up at him, overwhelmed.
"I will treat you as my blood. I will raise you as such, clothe you, feed you, protect you. No less than I do my own children. But—" he let the word settle for a moment, "You will not inherit from me. That honor is reserved for my bloodline. You must understand this."
He paused, gaze narrowing just slightly.
"Do you still wish to become part of my family?"
Terria and Sonia didn't answer right away. Their eyes turned, almost at once, to Matthew.
He met their gaze. Gave them a quiet nod. Nothing forced. Just gentle, reassuring.
Terria looked back at John. She took a deep breath.
"Yes."
Sonia nodded fiercely after her sister. "Yes."
And just like that, something shifted in the room. Not the air. Not the men. But in them—two little girls, no longer without a home.
Rania's hand fluttered to her chest as the girls gave their answer. For a brief second, her composure cracked—the kind of instinct only a mother could have when her heart swelled too fast to contain. She almost stepped forward without waiting for her husband to finish. Almost.
But John turned his head, ever so slightly, and gave her a pointed look.
She blinked, caught herself, and straightened. Then, clearing her throat gently, she walked forward in dignified silence, golden heels tapping softly on the polished marble.
When she reached the girls, she didn't speak at first. She simply knelt, level with them, and gently brushed back a strand of Terria's hair. Then she leaned in, planting a kiss on her forehead. Sonia followed, her eyes wide and round as she received the same soft kiss.
Rania wrapped them both in her arms, firm yet gentle. "From this day on," she whispered, voice thick, "You are my daughters. And I will make sure—every day—you feel like it."
Terria blinked quickly, lips trembling. Sonia leaned in closer, hands clinging to Rania's dress.
Behind them, Rosin rolled her eyes and folded her arms, scoffing lightly. But even so, a smile tugged at the corners of her lips, stubborn as ever.
Theresia stepped down from her father's side and quietly joined her mother, kneeling and wrapping her arms around both little girls from behind. "We're sisters now," she said softly. "All of us."
Sonia beamed. Terria nodded into Rania's shoulder.
Off to the side, Asvin chuckled, folding his arms and shaking his head with a quiet grin.
The gathered men didn't react. Their gazes shifted politely away, eyes lowered or turned aside—not out of disapproval, but in quiet deference. In a hall like this, it was not proper to watch a noble lady cry, nor a mother's embrace. But they heard the words. They felt the weight of the moment.
John cleared his throat, a deep, commanding sound that echoed lightly across the hall. The tender moment ended there.
Rania stood at once, smoothing her dress and nodding to her husband. Her eyes lingered on the girls for just a second longer before she turned to Theresia. The young woman gave a respectful nod to the men, then gently took Sonia's hand while Rania took Terria's.
Rosin hesitated a moment—her eyes flicked toward her father, then to Matthew—before Theresia gave her a subtle look. With a small grunt, she followed, trailing just a step behind.
Matthew gave one last glance toward the assembled men—he wasn't sure if he felt like prey or a guest—and then quietly turned to follow the women.
He then glanced up at John, expecting him to say something, but the man only gave a nod.
So Matthew turned without a word and quietly followed after the girls.
The golden doors closed behind them with a soft, heavy thud.
Only the men remained now. The silence was different—thicker, heavier, full of unseen weight. The air in the hall shifted. It was no longer warm.
It was business now.
...
The room felt quieter, though still bathed in warm afternoon light. Theresia gently closed the door behind them, the soft click somehow louder than it should've been. She turned and slowly walked with her mother across the hallway, their steps nearly in sync, dresses trailing behind them like drifting petals.
Matthew sat on one of the cushions with the girls close beside him, Sonia curled into his arm and Terria leaning against his side. They were calm now—tired, maybe—but the warmth between them made the silence feel almost peaceful.
But for Rania and Theresia, peace was the farthest thing from their minds.
They should've been beaming. Two new daughters—sweet, gentle girls who had already nestled into their hearts. It should've been a moment of joy. And it was. In part. But it was tainted.
By the boy who wouldn't stay.
Theresia stole a glance at the door. He must have been smiling at the girls and whispering something, making Sonia giggle through the sniffles. His eyes were gentle. But there was something else in them too—something far too heavy for a child that age. He was already bracing himself for the weight to come.
Because they all knew where he'd end up.
The orphanage. The only one inside Coupitia City.
Theresia's fingers clenched against her side.
She'd been there once. Years ago, with Asvin. That day had haunted her ever since. Cramped beds, thin blankets, cold food, colder gazes. A place meant for children, yet devoid of everything a child needed. She had vowed then to build a better one—one with gardens and books and soft beds and warm hands. But the talks never went anywhere. Politics, funding, permits—it was always something.
She looked again at the door and felt her chest tighten.
He didn't belong in a place like that.
But her father's stance was iron. And Matthew had already accepted it.
It wasn't fair. It wasn't right.
Rania's silence beside her said the same. The lady of the house kept her expression composed, but her eyes had dimmed. A mother's eyes. She, too, wanted to reach out and fix this, to change things—but she couldn't.
Not when her husband had spoken.
And so they watched, hearts full and heavy at once, as the boy who wasn't staying gently wiped the tears from the cheeks of the sisters who were.
...
Sonia swung her legs back and forth as she sat on the carpeted floor, her wide eyes locking on Rosin with sudden excitement. "Hey, Rosin," she piped up, "Have you ever played tag before?"
Rosin blinked, a bit surprised by the question. "Um… once," she said, her voice quieter than usual. "With Asvin. But that was a long time ago."
Terria gasped dramatically. "Only once?!"
Sonia leaned forward with a grin. "That's criminal! You're seven! That's like… old!"
Rosin crossed her arms, trying to look unimpressed, but the twitch of a smile tugged at her lips. "I've been busy."
"Busy being a noble lady," Terria said in a singsong voice.
"That's fancy talk for boring," Sonia teased.
Rosin's cheeks flushed pink. "It's not boring!"
"Then play with us!" Sonia chirped. "Come on! Let's go to the garden!"
At that, Rosin's eyes widened a bit more seriously. "Uh… the garden's a maze. Really. You'll get lost. It's got hedges taller than my dad."
Terria's jaw dropped. "Taller than the Fierce Lion?!"
Rosin nodded gravely. "He got lost once. He never talks about it."
Sonia giggled. "Okay! Then let's go to the frontyard!"
Rosin hesitated, glancing toward the door. Then, shyly, she looked at Matthew. "Um… do you wanna play too?"
Matthew blinked, caught off guard. Then he let out a soft chuckle and nodded. "Yeah. Why not."
That was all it took. Sonia cheered, Terria grabbed Rosin's hand, and the girls sprang to their feet like little sparks of energy, pulling her along with giddy excitement.
...
Later that day, the golden hue of dusk had just begun to kiss the sky, painting the clouds with warm amber and soft lavender strokes. Inside the estate, within one of the upper chambers, John Cavias stood tall and still—his broad frame relaxed for once, his arms gently wrapped around Rania, who leaned into his chest with quiet ease.
They stood together before a large arched window, one that overlooked the estate's frontyard, its glass catching the fading light like a mirror of fire.
Down below, laughter echoed faintly through the stone and glass. The children were playing tag. Rosin was "it" now, her face a mixture of annoyance and determination as she tried to catch the ever-darting Sonia and Terria, who squealed and ran in dizzying circles, their small feet stirring up dust and grass.
"She's going to trip if she keeps running like that," Rania murmured with a soft chuckle, watching Rosin huff and dart around a bush, only for the younger girls to scamper just out of reach again.
John said nothing, but his eyes remained locked on the scene. His hold on his wife remained firm, grounding.
Rania exhaled slowly, her voice quieter now, touched with curiosity and something else—concern, perhaps. "What did you talk about… during the meeting?"
The silence settled again, the question lingering in the air.
Outside, the game went on, laughter chasing the last rays of sun.
"We discussed yesterday's attack," John said at last, his voice quiet but firm. "The Black Tower's attack. The one that led to Sonia and Terria… and to Matthew staying here for the day."
Rania's smile faltered. Her body tensed subtly in his embrace, and her eyes—once warm with the sight of the children—grew dimmer, shadowed by the weight of that name. Her jaw tightened, lips parting slightly as if to speak, but she said nothing. The silence was heavy now, not peaceful like before. Just heavy.
John continued, his tone low and grim. "Yesterday, the Black Tower launched coordinated strikes. Four factions. Eight villages."
He paused for a beat, long enough for the numbers to settle.
"Seven were completely destroyed. Not just raided—erased. Barely anyone made it out alive."
Rania closed her eyes, a slow, deliberate blink as she breathed in, then out, as if bracing herself. Her fingers gripped at his sleeve, a small motion, but it told everything.
"One of them… was Ronia," John added quietly. "The village Matthew and the girls came from."
A silence fell between them. Cold. Final.
"And the eighth village?" she asked, her voice tight.
"Transton," he replied. "Somehow… it wasn't destroyed."
A second passed in silence, the weight of the news lingering in the stillness between them. Then John's voice broke through again, quieter now—almost contemplative.
"Transton didn't get destroyed," he said slowly. "Somehow… all the Arts Users from the Black Tower sent there were found dead."
Rania turned her head slightly, brows drawing in.
He nodded, his tone darkening. "Someone intervened."
She drew in a sharp breath, her grip on his arm tightening.
"A group like that… they would've had Rank 1s. Maybe even Rank 2s. And definitely a handful of Rank 0s," he continued. "And yet… they were all slaughtered. Wiped out. Not a single one made it out."
Rania's eyes widened, lips parting in disbelief. "Who…?"
"No one knows. A lot of villagers were still killed before the fighting ended," he admitted, his voice heavy, "but a lot more were saved… thanks to whoever stepped in."
He shook his head slowly, eyes still on the children in the distance.
"Even I, as a Rank 5 Fighter, couldn't save an entire village alone," he muttered. "Not against that kind of force. So whoever did this… had to be at least Rank 6. Maybe even 7. Or higher."
A pause.
"Unless it was a group… in which case, we still don't know. It's a mystery. For now."
Rania nodded slowly, processing the implications. Then, her voice soft but tense, she asked, "Which four factions were attacked?"
John's gaze didn't waver from the window, his arms still wrapped around her. "One of them was ours, of course. Decartium," he began. "The others were Al-Bark and Solfia."
Rania's brows knit, troubled, but she waited—he wasn't finished.
"And the last…" he paused for effect, "was Victoris. In Maria."
Rania stiffened in his arms, her body going rigid. "Victoris? In the northern subcontinent…?"
He gave a solemn nod.
Her breath caught in her throat. "But… Al-Bark and Decartium are strong. Solfia even more so. But Victoris… they're on another level. And yet..."
John's silence answered for her.
Her voice dropped to a whisper, disbelief dripping from each word. "And yet the Black Tower attacked… and succeeded?"
He gave no reply. He didn't need to.
The truth weighed heavier than any words.
She gulped, trying to steady her breath, then asked in a low voice, "So… what now? What will they do in retaliation?"
John gave a quiet, humorless chuckle. "Retaliation?" he repeated, almost bitterly. "They've attacked before, Rania. Not this coordinated, sure. Not eight villages in one night. Not four different factions all at once." He shook his head. "But they've hit hard before—one, two factions at a time. Still… no one did anything."
He tightened his hold around her slightly.
"And they won't now either."
Rania looked up at him, horrified. "Not even the Great Empire…?"
"They stayed silent," he said plainly. "Just like the rest. The Black Tower is no longer just some threat in the shadows. They're growing… and fast."
He paused, his voice quieter now. "They're becoming a superpower. Like the Three Empires… the Republic... And so on. One of the top factions in the world."
Rania turned back to the window slowly, eyes fixed on the children playing below. The sky above them was turning gold—but it no longer felt warm.
—End of Chapter.