Mr. Calder sat beside his daughter, who was quietly drawing on the dining table. The faint scent of parchment and chalk mingled with roast chicken and burning wood. Warmth and comfort woven together. A special dinner for a special day.
He watched her for a long moment — eyes gentle, sincere, yet shadowed by a strange longing, as though looking at something that didn't quite belong to him.
His sword and shield hung by the fireplace, polished clean but scarred with stories that refused to fade. The firelight danced upon them, flickering across memories he'd buried for peace he thought he'd earned.
Mrs. Calder entered from the kitchen, setting down the roast with care. Her gaze softened at her daughter's smile — then trembled, ever so slightly, as if the air itself had changed.
Outside, dusk painted their land in amber and violet. The Calders lived quietly on the edge of Methys. Too far from the capital to hear its chaos, yet not far enough to escape what was coming.
Mrs. Calder clenched her hand, worry leaking through her expression. She looked to her husband.
"Honey—"
Knock, knock, knock.
Before she could finish, a firm rapping echoed through the cabin. Mr. Calder rose and went to answer. When the door opened, a soft, composed voice greeted him.
"Good evening, Mr. Calder."
Standing before him were three envoys of the High Arcanum. Their white and gold robes gleamed faintly in the amber light.
"May we come in?" asked the leader, his tone calm, practiced.
"Of course, Sire. Please," Mr. Calder replied, stepping aside. His face betrayed nothing.
The envoys entered, their eyes sweeping over the modest room. The leader's gaze lingered on the sword and shield above the hearth.
"You were a soldier, Mr. Calder?" he asked.
Mr. Calder's eyes softened. "Yes. I served the kingdom in the Battle of Harthvale eight years ago."
The leader's brows lifted slightly. "Then," a faint smile crossed his face. "That would make us brothers-in-arms."
Mr. Calder said nothing, his gaze fixed on the old blade. The firelight flickered across its surface, reflecting in his unreadable eyes.
Mrs. Calder watched them quietly. Her fingers twitched. Her breath trembled.
Then the leader turned toward their daughter. He knelt beside her, his expression softening.
"You must be Mira."
The girl blinked, fingers fidgeting, and gave a small nod.
The leader smiled and gently rested a hand on her head. "Happy tenth birthday, Mira."
He straightened, motioning toward a nearby chair. "May I?"
"Of course," Mr. Calder replied, his voice steady but distant.
Mr. Calder sat across from the envoy, his daughter close by. Beneath the table, his fingers twitched.
"I'm sure you are aware, Mr. and Mrs. Calder," the leader began, his tone courteous but firm.
Mr. Calder looked up, eyes steady yet dimly guarded. The envoy's gaze shifted to Mira.
"Your daughter, Mira… is gifted."
Mr. Calder's breath caught. Mrs. Calder's heart sank.
Gifted.
The word hung there — heavy, final.
Mira's eyes moved between her father, the seemingly kind man seated across him, and the two envoys standing watch behind.
Mr. Calder's jaw tightened. His eyes darkened. The leader's calm expression did not waver.
"On behalf of the High Arcanum," he continued, "I wish to thank you for caring for Mira these past ten years."
Mrs. Calder's hands twisted around her apron. Mr. Calder's fists clenched beneath the table, his knuckles whitening.
"We will escort her to the temple," the envoy said evenly, "where she will be educated under the High Arcanum's care."
Mr. Calder's brows furrowed. His throat tightened — words caught halfway.
"Is Papa and Mama coming?"
The question cut through the silence.
Mr. Calder's eyes darted to his daughter. Every gaze in the room followed. Mira sat upright, small hands gripping the edge of her chair. Her wide eyes locked onto the envoy.
"If Papa and Mama don't come," she said, her voice trembling but firm, "I'm not going!"
Mrs. Calder's breath hitched. Mr. Calder's knuckles trembled against the table.
"…Mira—" Mr. Calder's voice cracked, barely holding together.
"Mira." The leader's tone was gentle, but there was something steely beneath it. He shifted closer, lowering himself slightly. "This is for your future."
His hand rose toward her head.
"You will do great things for the world—"
Mira swiped his hand away before it could touch her.
The room froze.
"No!" she cried, eyes burning. "I'm not leaving Papa and Mama!"
The envoy stared at his hand — a hand swiped away by a child. His fingers twitched. His eyes hardened.
"Sire!" Mrs. Calder's voice shattered the silence. Every gaze turned toward her.
Mr. Calder's eyes widened. His mouth trembled. "…Honey—"
"Please!" she cried, her voice breaking, hands trembling. "Don't take my child away…"
Mr. Calder froze. His fists clenched beneath the table.
The envoy stood still for a long moment. His expression unreadable. His shadow stretched long in the firelight.
Then, slowly, he rose to his full height. His hands curled into fists, and his voice turned to ice.
"By decree of the High Arcanum," he said, each word deliberate, "all gifted children must undergo education under the Arcanum's care."
He looked down at them, the warmth gone from his tone.
"You were made aware of this since the day she was born."
The air in the room thinned.
Mr. Calder's palms grew slick with sweat. His knees weakened, his throat dry. He opened his mouth—but nothing came.
"Please, Sire!" Mrs. Calder pleaded again, tears welling in her eyes. "She's all we have!"
The envoy stood silent.
Then—
"Sire!"
Mr. Calder shot to his feet, the chair scraping harshly against the floor.
The envoy's gaze shifted toward him, slow and measured.
Mr. Calder's eyes were wide—frightened, yet burning with resolve. His whole body trembled.
"Raise my tax!" he cried. "Take half my land—take anything! Anything but her!"
His voice cracked at the end, raw and pleading.
The words hung in the air like a blade suspended by a thread.
The envoy's expression remained unreadable, yet the air grew taut, every breath heavy with dread.
Finally, he sighed.
"Hold them."
The two guards moved without hesitation, gripping the parents' arms.
"No—! Please!" Mrs. Calder screamed, tears spilling freely down her cheeks.
The envoy reached forward, seizing Mira's hand.
"Papa! Mama!" she cried, thrashing in his grasp.
"Mira!! Wait—no!!" Mr. Calder shouted, struggling until a guard slammed him to the floor. Blood dotted the wood where his forehead struck.
"Mr. and Mrs. Calder," the envoy began, his tone now cold, deliberate. "You will be compensated for your decade of service to the High Arcanu—"
"Pardon my intrusion."
The words rolled from the doorway — low, calm, yet carrying a weight that froze every movement in the room.
Every pair of eyes darted to the door.
A figure stood there — cloaked, hood drawn low. As he stepped into the home, the air thickened. The warmth of the hearth turned suffocating, and the ground seemed to drag everything down.
"Wha—!" The envoy stumbled backward, his balance lost.
"Who are you?! State your busin—"
He never finished.
The envoy dropped to the floor like his strings had been cut.
No one moved. Or perhaps they couldn't.
The two guards, trembling, forced themselves upright, their hands darting for their blades—
—and in the space between heartbeats, the hooded figure vanished.
A whisper of air. Two dull thuds.
The guards collapsed, motionless.
"Mama!" Mira cried, breaking free, rushing to her mother's side.
Mrs. Calder could only stare — eyes wide, trembling, paralyzed by shock.
Mr. Calder dragged himself upright, blood streaking his cheek. He reached for his sword by the fireplace, hands shaking as he raised it.
"Who are you?!" he shouted, voice shaking but filled with defiance. "What do you want from us?!"
The intruder lowered his hood.
There he stood. Calm as an ocean under moonlight, expression unreadable, deep-violet eyes hiding a thousand storms. His ark hair caught the light with violet undertones; tiny coils of aura twined near his fingers.
Matsuo Kazuki.
"I've come to bring you a choice," he said quietly, his gaze steady on Mr. Calder.
Mr. Calder stood frozen, his fingers trembling around the hilt.
"Choice…?" he managed to whisper.
Kazuki took a step forward.
"Don't move!" Mr. Calder barked, raising his sword.
Kazuki paused, then continued toward him, slow, deliberate.
Mr. Calder's breath hitched. He tightened his grip and swung. Kazuki shifted, narrowly evading the strike—until Calder pivoted mid-motion, feinting the first blow and driving the blade toward Kazuki's throat.
The edge stopped mere millimeters away.
Kazuki's hand was already there, gripping the blade.
"What—!" Mr. Calder tried to pull back, but the sword didn't move. His eyes widened as Kazuki's fingers clenched.
A faint crack echoed. Then another.
The blade shattered — silent, clean, sliced apart by something unseen.
Mr. Calder stepped back, staring at the remnants of his blade — fragments glinting faintly on the floor. His mind refused to grasp what he'd just seen.
Kazuki advanced, his steps unhurried.
"Eight years since your last battle," he said softly. "And you still move like that. I commend you."
Mr. Calder stumbled. "W–Wait—!"
Kazuki reached out a hand, calm and unyielding.
"I offer you a choice."
Mr. Calder froze.
"Stay," Kazuki continued, "and lose your child to the Arcanum,"
There was no anger in his tone — only the weight of truth.
"Or come with me."
Mr. Calder said nothing. His mind churned, trying to piece together the meaning behind those words.
"…What do you mean?" he finally asked, his voice trembling between fear and disbelief.
Kazuki's gaze softened — just slightly, almost imperceptibly.
"I offer you freedom," he said. "Take your family, and come with me."
Mr. Calder's breath caught.
Freedom.
The word echoed in his mind — foreign, tempting, cruel.
He looked at his wife, still trembling in the guards' grasp, her eyes red and pleading. Then at Mira, clinging to her mother, tears streaking her cheeks.
And then at Kazuki — calm, steady, unyielding.
"Freedom…" he muttered, almost to himself. "From what? From duty? From the law?"
His voice cracked. He lowered his gaze, hands shaking.
"I've served the Kingdom… and they serve the High Arcanum," he said. "They gave me this house, this land. My life… belongs to them."
Kazuki's expression didn't change.
"Then your daughter's life belongs to them as well."
The words cut deep — clean and merciless.
Mr. Calder's lips parted, but no sound came. The room seemed to shrink around him, suffocating. His knees nearly gave out.
He looked again at Mira — at her small, fragile form — and something inside him began to break.
He clenched his fists, trembling.
"…If we go with you…" His voice was barely a whisper. "Will she be safe?"
Kazuki didn't answer at once. He looked down at the man — not with pity, but with understanding.
"I cannot promise safety," he said quietly. "Only that she will never be theirs."
Silence lingered as Mr. Calder contemplated his decision. Even the fire seemed to quiet, as if the room itself was waiting for his answer.
"Make your decision." Kazuki's gaze shifted to the envoy. "They won't sleep forever."
Mr. Calder's eyes hardened. "I accept! Take us with you!"
Kazuki gave the faintest smile. "Very well. Gather what you can — I'll wait outside."
The family rushed to pack their belongings. When they stepped out into the night, they found a strange vehicle waiting by the road — sleek, metal, and faintly humming. Kazuki stood beside it, arms crossed, his cloak stirring in the breeze.
The Calders hesitated.
"Is that… a carriage?" Mr. Calder asked.
"Something like that," Kazuki replied, opening the passenger door and gesturing inside. "Come."
The door shut with a soft thud. Kazuki climbed into the front seat. Beside him sat a woman with short off-white hair, eyes gleaming in the dim light.
"Everyone good?" she asked, her voice light, almost teasing.
Kazuki gave a small nod. "Let's go."
The vehicle hummed — a low, steady vibration that felt alive.
Mr. Calder blinked from the back seat. "…Wait. This carriage doesn't have a hors—"
Before he could finish, the machine surged forward, vanishing into the night.