The grey void faded. A new summer morning, whole and unbroken, began to take shape around him. The room twisted and changed into a book-lined study. Shelves rose around him. A gilded clock hung on the wall, its steady tick the only sound. An oak desk, wide and large, stood in the center, resembling something from a painfully familiar memory. He sat in the chair now, the light entering between the curtains highlighting his features. Black hair, fair skin, piercing blue eyes.
He was Karmen again.
He was in the study once more. The same room, the same moment. He could feel the faint tremor of anxiety in the body, the grief already waiting beneath the surface. But this time, it was different. Lucid did not fight the feeling. He accepted it. He let the sorrow, Karmen's sorrow, flow through him without resistance. He understood the assignment now. It was not a battle to be won through force or cunning.
A firm, polite knock sounded at the door.
"Come in," Lucid said, his voice Karmen's voice, but tempered with a calm he had not possessed before.
The door opened, and Ivy stepped inside. She wore a familiar dark dress and dark veil over her head, she really looked like death, her expression carefully neutral, but her violet eyes were sharp with watchful anticipation. She was waiting for the breakdown, the despair, the frantic search for a miracle.
"Young Master Karmen," she said, her voice smooth, Lucid remembered those exact words by now. "I am Ivy. I was summoned by your parents to attend to your grandfather. I have just come from his chambers."
"I am afraid I bear grave news. Your grandfather has passed. His connection to mother fate was vanishing. The connection was severed from mother fate... Alisia I fear my arts could only ease his transition."
Lucid looked up from the desk. He offered a small, genuine smile. It seemed to startle her. "Oh is that so? well Ivy. Actually, I was wondering if you would care for a game of chess? I find my mind needs a distraction."
Ivy blinked. The script had been broken before, but never like this. There was no defiance, no accusation. Just a quiet, weary invitation. After a moment of visible calculation, she inclined her head. "As you wish, master."
He set up the board on a small table by the window. They played in silence for a while, the only sounds the click of pieces and the distant birdsong from the garden. Lucid played not to win, but to play. He made solid, thoughtful moves, but he left openings a player of Ivy's caliber could not miss. She took his queen in the twentieth move.
"Checkmate," she said, her voice flat.
"Ah, well played," Lucid said, leaning back. "You are quite skilled."
"Master Karmen," Ivy began, her formality cracking with a hint of impatience. "The situation with your family's health is… progressing. Should we not discuss our options? There may yet be avenues—"
"I know about Materna, Ivy," Lucid interrupted gently, his gaze steady on hers. "I know about the covenant, the promised land, the ritual of inheritance. I know you are here to break my house and claim its essence."
All pretense drained from her face. She stared at him, utterly still.
"I know everything," he continued. "And I am telling you now, I will never submit to Materna. You will never break me. Not through poison, not through fear, not through despair."
He leaned forward slightly. "In a way, you have already won. The sickness will take its course. Fate will resume. But you have not defeated me. You have merely witnessed the end of a story you did not write."
Ivy's lips pressed into a thin line. The confusion in her eyes was rapidly morphing into cold, frustrated anger. "You are a fool. You could bargain. You could secure their lives, their comfort, in exchange for a peaceful transition. Your stubbornness condemns them to suffering."
Lucid shook his head slowly. "Their lives were never yours to give or take. They are theirs to live, and mine to honor. I will not bargain with a thief for what is already being stolen. I will simply be with them while I can."
He stood up, signaling the end of the conversation. "You may go, Ivy. Thank you for the game."
She left without another word, her composure a brittle shell. Lucid watched her go, then turned to the window.
He did not search for a cure. He did not raid Lyle's workshop or brew illicit antidotes with an unwilling maid. Instead, he lived.
He sat by his father's bedside as the man's strength faded. They did not speak of the Withering, of the condition. Lucid did not mention it, sensing that Karmen's father already knew something of it, or was at least aware of the shadow Ivy represented. Instead, they spoke of old hunting trips, of foolish mistakes made in youth. Lucid recounted memories from the academy as Karmen; the memories were his now, for by this point, Lucid was entirely Karmen. There was no separation, only a single, sorrowful consciousness living through the final act.
Lucid, as Karmen, laughed at his father's weak jokes and held his hand when the pain grew sharp. He saw the confusion in the old governor's eyes slowly give way to a dawning, weary respect. This was not the grieving, frantic son he had expected. This was a man making peace, bidding his farewells with a clarity that bordered on grace. Master Valrious seemed to recognize that. He seemed to understand that his son understood, and had come to terms with it.
"You have grown, Karmen," his father whispered one evening, his breath shallow.
"I had a good teacher," Lucid replied softly.
"What I ask of you is not forgiveness, nor is it revenge," the old man said, his gaze holding his son's. "I want you to live, Karmen. Live until your heart is content."
"I am sorry," his father whispered, the words belonging to both of them. "I tried everything. But this was the only path."
"Mother Fate, Alisia, does not act without a cause," his father breathed, a final piece of acceptance. "So smile, Karmen. Smile amidst the sorrow, the anger, the happiness. I will always be there. We will be there."
Some time later, in the workshop... he brought Lyle strange components and obscure texts he remembered from other cycles, not as instructions, but as curiosities. "What if you tried linking the flux capacitor to a secondary crystalline array?" he would muse, pointing at a schematic. Lyle's eyes would light up with manic joy, and for hours they would talk of gears and Essence theory, the shadow of sickness forgotten in the thrill of creation. Lucid saw not a tool to be used, but a brilliant mind to be appreciated.
He played hide and seek with his young niece in the sun-dappled halls, her giggles echoing like bells. He took tea with his mother in the garden, listening to her stories of when she was a girl, of how she met his father. He complimented her embroidery and asked after her favorite flowers.
Ivy watched it all from the shadows, her frustration growing into a silent, simmering fury. This was not how it was supposed to happen. He was supposed to break. He was supposed to become desperate, to make a mistake, to give her the violent, chaotic end that would complete the ritual cleanly. This quiet acceptance, this profound dignity in the face of doom, was ruining everything. It was a victory she could not claim.
One by one, as the weeks bled into months, fate resumed its course.
His mother passed away peacefully in her sleep, a faint smile on her lips, her hand in his.
His father followed soon after, his last words a simple, "I am proud of you, son."
Lyle was the hardest. The brilliant light in his eyes guttered and went out not with a shout, but with a sigh, slumped over his half-finished engine. Lucid closed his brother's eyes and smoothed his hair.
Through it all, Lucid let Karmen's emotions flow. He cried. He wept until his throat was raw and his chest ached. He laughed through the tears at happy memories. He felt the devastating, human weight of loss. He did not fight it, or bury it, or try to spin it into fuel for vengeance. He simply experienced it, fully and completely, as Karmen was always meant to.
Inside their shared mind, Alice was a quiet, awestruck presence. "Lucid," she whispered once, as he sat alone in the silent study after Lyle's passing, tears drying on his cheeks. "I do not understand. This pain… it is immense. Why would you choose to feel it so deeply? You could have distanced yourself."
Lucid smiled inwardly, a tired but warm feeling. "Because it is real, Alice. This connection, this love, even the grief… it is what makes them real. It is what makes me real here. And you know, you have changed too."
"I have?" Her voice was soft, hesitant.
"Absolutely. The Divine Maiden who only spoke in formal pronouncements now grumbles when I have bad dreams and gets flustered when I tease her. You have grown from a distant power into… a friend. My friend."
He felt a wave of warmth from her, a sensation like a blush and a hug combined. "I… thank you, Lucid..."
The world, having played out its tragic tale, began to soften at the edges. The colors in the study muted. The sounds from the garden faded. The last to go was the portrait of the family above the hearth. Lucid looked at it, at the faces of the father, the mother, the brother, the niece, and the young Karmen smiling stiffly in the center.
He felt Karmen's presence one last time, not as a separate voice, but as a deep, resonant feeling of gratitude and release. There were no grand words, just a silent, profound thank you that settled in Lucid's soul.
The study, the mansion, the entire world, resolved into motes of golden dust, swirling gently in a non-existent wind before dissolving into nothing.
***
Trial Conclusion: Altered.
Condition: Farewell.
Penalty: Nullified.
***
Lucid found himself standing once more in the featureless grey room. But it was not empty. Before him stood Karmen, not as a shadowy figure, but clear and whole. He looked like he did in the portrait, but his eyes held a peace that painting never captured.
"Thank you," Karmen said, his voice clear and direct. "You gave them what I could not. Not a rescue, but a proper goodbye. You let me feel it all, one last time, without running. You gave me closure."
Lucid nodded. "They were your family. You deserved that much."
Karmen smiled, a true, unburdened smile. "The thread of my fate is cut. The hold Materna had through my lineage's unresolved tragedy is severed. You have done more than clear a trial, Lucid. You have broken a chain."
He began to fade, his form becoming translucent. "The path ahead is yours now. My part in this is over. Good luck."
"Goodbye, Karmen," Lucid said.
And then he was alone.
A new prompt appeared in the air, its text glowing with a steady, solid light.
***
Performance: Outstanding
Vanquished foe: 0
Duration: Unknown
Reward: 100 000 Fate Essence
Ascension: Error. Cannot awaken nor ascend
May your journey lead you toward enlightenment
***