[3rd POV]
While Matthew and Sasha were relaxing after being reassured by the Grand Patriarch, a single knock on the door drew their attention. Both settled on the nearby sofa before Matthew responded, "Enter."
The healer Matthew had summoned entered the room, bowed respectfully, and reported, "Patriarch, I bring word regarding the Oracle's condition."
"Proceed," Matthew commanded calmly.
"Answering to Patriarch, we applied a Tier 4 potion to his eyes and even administered it orally, yet there have been no changes. His condition remains entirely unaltered," the healer replied.
"As expected," Matthew murmured. "For now, refrain from taking any further action unless his life is in immediate danger. Simply observe and report any variation in his state."
"As Patriarch commands." The healer bowed once again and exited the room.
Matthew sighed softly. "Well, no good news here. I just hope Father brings something that can at least identify what truly happened to Malcolm."
"Indeed," Sasha nodded. "I'll wait outside Sister's room. Are you joining me, Brother-in-law?"
Matthew shook his head. "No. I have a few matters to handle before Father returns. Keep watch over Naomi and inform me if there's any change in her condition."
Sasha nodded affirmatively, stood up, and made her way toward her sister's chamber.
Matthew remained seated for a few minutes, deep in thought, strategizing how best to exploit this opportunity to strengthen his standing before the Family Elders, thereby earning greater resources and influence within the Syndicate. After some contemplation, he rose to attend his duties before his father's arrival.
---
Somewhere around the 1000th floor of the Tower of Mythus,
a golden-haired, slightly middle-aged man with a neatly trimmed beard sat upon a wooden chair. He muttered pensively, "I only hope this isn't the work of some entity from the higher floors."
As he stood to gather his belongings before departing for the Mythos Planet, his movements halted mid-step. Entering the room was a man with a youthful smile yet eyes of seasoned wisdom — green and sharp. His white hair was not a mark of age but a sign of noble bloodline. His bearing radiated composure, while the power emanating from his muscles rivaled even that of the Grand Patriarch.
"You seem in quite a hurry," the white-haired man remarked with a faint smile. "I thought you'd return home after finalizing the Syndicate's trade agreement."
Michael smiled in return. "Ah, Young Prince, I had some pressing matters, but I just received word that my daughter-in-law is about to give birth. Having concluded my assignment within the Tower, I deemed it only proper to be present. Rest assured, our arrangement remains intact, and the supplies will continue to be of the highest quality."
The Young Prince chuckled. "So, Naomi is finally due? That explains her absence in recent months. Then, by all means, hurry along — and convey my heartfelt congratulations to Matthew and Naomi for this joyous occasion."
Michael inclined his head. "They'll be pleased to hear your words." Turning to leave, he paused at the doorway and added, "It's a pleasure doing business with you, Young Prince Flareheart."
"The pleasure is mutual, Flame King Michael," replied the Prince with a cordial smile.
Once out of each other's sight, both men thought the same words — two-faced bastard.
---
Back at the Ro'nark Family Mansion,
Sasha waited outside the Matriarch's room, where Naomi was undergoing labor, receiving hourly updates. Four hours had passed since her conversation with Matthew, who had now joined her. Both sat in silence, lost in contemplation over the events that had unfolded — each devising their own interpretations and strategies to turn the situation to their advantage.
The quiet was soon interrupted by measured footsteps — a golden-haired man, slightly older than Matthew but still radiating vitality. He observed their thoughtful expressions and said in a firm yet amused tone, "Why the gloomy faces? You should be preparing for celebration — we're about to welcome the third heir of the Ro'nark Family."
Both instantly rose, dropped to one knee, and greeted in unison, "We greet the Grand Patriarch."
"Enough of that formality," Michael said with a wave of his hand. "Let's see the Oracle's condition and assess what can be done."
They stood immediately. "Yes, Father," Matthew replied.
"If Grand Patriarch permits," Sasha interjected softly, "I'd prefer to remain here. The doctor mentioned Sister may give birth within the hour."
"Of course," Michael said warmly. "She is presently the most important person in this mansion. Do not worry — everything will be fine."
Sasha bowed, and Michael, accompanied by Matthew, proceeded toward the mansion's medical wing. They walked in silence; guards and maids greeted them as they passed, surprised to see both together — a rare sight, since the powerful often spent most of their time within the Tower of Mythus, seeking strength and resources.
Upon reaching the room, Michael activated several High-Tier Artifacts to detect curses or traces of lingering energy. He also administered advanced potions, yet none proved effective. Neither artifact nor elixir could sense abnormalities or restore the Oracle's vitality.
As they left, Michael frowned slightly. "Truly peculiar," he mused. "Just as the healer said — every potion and artifact fails not because they're insufficient, but because his current state seems… optimal. In over a century of climbing the Tower, I've never encountered such a phenomenon."
"What will you do, Father?" Matthew asked. "Will you seek counsel from the Founder or any allies within the Syndicate?"
Michael shook his head. "No. We lack understanding of this condition's true nature. We must first observe the birth. That's why I came early. If the Oracle's words hold truth, the child's birth could ripple across stars and worlds alike. I intend to witness whether such an event unfolds. If it does, our family gains an unprecedented powerhouse. If not, perhaps the Oracle's vision was mere folly. Until then, keep this matter confined. Not a whisper leaves the mansion."
Matthew nodded firmly. "Understood, Father. I've already secured all exits — no one enters or departs without my approval."
Michael's stern expression softened slightly, pleased with his son's prudence.
As they neared Naomi's room, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the hall. Nurses and maids rushed about, and suddenly, a guard knelt before them, joy radiating from his face.
"Grand Patriarch, Patriarch — the Matriarch has safely delivered a healthy boy! It is a moment of great joy! Please, come quickly!"
"What?!" Both exclaimed at once — though for very different reasons.
Matthew's face lit with relief and excitement, while Michael's brow furrowed, disappointment flashing in his eyes. There had been no celestial tremor, no surge of divine aura — nothing of the sort he anticipated.
Matthew rushed ahead toward Naomi's chamber, his joy unrestrained. Michael followed more slowly, murmuring under his breath, "Well… that was anticlimactic."