Ray lay still now. Too still. His chest rose and fell faintly, shallow breaths like the world itself was afraid to disturb him. The shadows had retreated, warmth slowly returning to the room—but the air still carried the lingering pressure of something immense having passed through it.
Arthur sat beside the bed, hands folded neatly, posture immaculate despite the faint tension still coiled beneath his calm. His crimson eyes never left Ray's face.
"…You said something," Kael finally spoke, his voice low, measured.
His throat felt tight. "Before."
Arthur didn't look at him.
Kael swallowed. "You said Ray looked like someone."
Silence stretched.
Nora held her breath.
Joren watched Arthur like a man staring at a bomb moments from detonation.
Arthur exhaled slowly, as if weighing whether the question deserved an answer.
"I was speaking aloud," he said at last. "A lapse. Rare."
Kael stepped closer, fists clenched. "Like who?"
Arthur's gaze shifted—just slightly—finally lifting to meet Kael's.
"You," he said simply.
Kael blinked. "…Me?"
Arthur's eyes returned to Ray.
"When you were younger. Around his age."
A pause.
"The shape of his face. The brow." His voice lowered. "And especially the eyes—scarlet, like blood. Full of defiance."
Kael's jaw tightened. "You wouldn't know that."
Arthur's expression didn't change, but his eyes sharpened by a fraction.
"You were never there," Kael said, heat creeping into his voice. "You didn't see me grow. You weren't there during my childhood—so don't pretend you know what I was like."
For a moment, it looked like Arthur might dismiss him outright.
Instead—
Arthur leaned back slightly in the chair.
"I never claimed I was present," he said coolly.
"But absence does not mean ignorance."
Kael let out a bitter laugh. "You spied."
Arthur nodded once. "Yes."
Then, quieter—unapologetic.
"Yes. I did."
The room tightened, the air growing heavier.
Kael stared at him. "What?"
Arthur turned fully now, crimson eyes steady, unreadable.
"You thought I severed myself entirely? That I turned my back and never looked again?"
His voice sharpened. "I am not foolish enough to let my greatest secret be guarded by you alone. What if you broke your promise?"
He gestured faintly toward Ray.
"You lived in my shadow long before you ever had this boy. And that shadow stretches far."
Kael's voice dropped, trembling with restrained fury.
"So you think knowing fragments of my life gives you the right to it?"
"No," Arthur replied calmly. "I observed outcomes. Ripples. Possibilities."
He leaned forward just slightly, his presence pressing in.
"When you married, I didn't care. When your son was born, I didn't care."
Kael flinched.
"But things are different now."
Kael's breath hitched. "How?"
He gestured sharply toward Ray. "If you're talking about soul deterioration—it happens. To mages. To knights. Even to noble children. There's nothing special about that."
Arthur's gaze softened—not with kindness, but with the focus of a scholar examining a dangerous anomaly.
"How many times," he said quietly,
"has it happened to a child born in a remote village like this?"
He met Kael's eyes.
"I'll answer for you."
A pause.
"Never."
The word settled like a verdict.
Arthur looked back at Ray, crimson eyes reflecting faint light.
"This boy should not be able to do what he did," he said.
"And now that I have noticed him—"
His voice lowered, his gaze hardened, sharpening into something precise and merciless—
"the world will not ignore him again."
Arthur rose from the chair, the movement smooth, unhurried, yet heavy enough that the room seemed to adjust around him. He stood at Ray's bedside, looking down not like a grandfather, nor even a mage, but like a judge examining an impossible case.
"Soul deterioration," he said, voice measured, exact, "is not an accident."
Kael frowned. "You just said it happens—"
"It happens," Arthur interrupted calmly, "only when a soul chooses to give more than it is built to endure."
He raised one hand, fingers slightly apart, as if holding something invisible.
"The soul is not a container. It is a regulator. A gate. Under normal conditions, it limits how much mana may pass through it. Even in moments of fear or rage, it resists self-destruction."
Arthur's fingers curled slowly into a fist.
"Soul deterioration occurs when that restraint is overridden—when the soul is forced to open wider than it safely can."
Kael's brow furrowed. "That still doesn't explain why—"
"It requires two things," Arthur said, cutting in again. "Always."
He lifted one finger.
"First: exceptional mana affinity. Not potential. Not lineage. Actual, instinctive control. Without it, the soul cannot even attempt such an output."
A second finger rose.
"Second: a will strong enough to suppress the soul's instinct to survive."
Silence fell heavier than before.
Arthur turned his head slightly, crimson eyes glinting.
"That is why most people cannot cause soul deterioration even if they try. Their soul refuses. It shuts them down. They faint. Their mana collapses. Their body protects itself."
He looked back at Ray.
"This boy's soul did not."
Nora's hand flew to her mouth.
Joren's voice was barely audible. "He… forced it?"
Arthur nodded once.
"Without training. Without theory. Without understanding what mana even is."
A pause.
"He did it because his soul understood."
Kael's stomach dropped.
Arthur continued, relentless.
"This is why nobles use imitation methods. Controlled strain. Artificial expansion. Pain without destruction. They want the result—greater mana pools—without risking the soul itself."
His voice cooled further.
"What Ray did was the original sin those techniques are built to avoid."
Kael swallowed. "But… if it's so rare—"
"It is unheard of," Arthur corrected. "For a child. In a village. With no preparation."
He glanced back at Kael.
"And yet he did it."
The words hung there—terrifying in their implication.
Arthur folded his hands behind his back.
"When a soul survives true deterioration," he said quietly, "it adapts. Its recovery rate increases. Its capacity expands. Its will continue to do so."
Kael's voice trembled. "So… he'll be stronger?"
Arthur didn't answer immediately.
Then:
"He will be a disaster if not proper treated correctly ."
That was worse.
Arthur's gaze softened just slightly—not with warmth, but with inevitability.
Kael's hands were digging deep in his skin as he drew blood.
"Ray does not want power like that at all," kael said to Arthur.
"That much is obvious. But the world does not care what you wants. Only what it wants."
He turned fully toward Kael now.
"You wanted a ordinary life for him," Arthur said calmly. "In an our world."
Kael nodded once. "Yes."
Arthur's crimson eyes burned faintly.
"You should have know that the world never allows anyone to live a simple life."
He looked back at Ray one last time.
"And now that I have seen him," Arthur said, voice low and final,
"neither will I."