Cecilia felt as though she were dreaming.
She had just returned to Schicksal Headquarters with Shamash in hand when Amber appeared at her side as if she already knew everything, guiding her to the residence where Otto had been living with her these past few days.
And then—
She saw Otto standing tall in the kitchen, an apron tied around his waist, completely focused on… making soup?
"You're back?"
He looked up. Those eyes—the ones that had gazed at her before he took Shamash, eyes she would never forget for the rest of her life—were watching her gently, patiently awaiting her answer.
Yes. I'm home.
Cecilia felt dazed for a moment. Then the haze melted into warmth.
She opened her arms, her aquamarine eyes fixed on him—there was a girlish sweetness in her expression, like a younger sister acting spoiled toward her elder brother, yet also the soft allure of a woman at the height of youth.
Hug me.
She said it silently in her heart.
Otto understood immediately. He parted his lips as if to speak, but said nothing. He extinguished the flame, hung the apron aside, and stepped forward to embrace the emotionally trembling woman.
But Cecilia was not satisfied with such restraint.
She stepped closer, pressing her flawless white cheek against Otto's neck.
He unconsciously held his breath.
In front of him, Cecilia often carried a subtle psychological deference, her gestures playful like a younger sister's. But this deeper embrace—this closeness—revealed something else. Beneath her sacred purity and girlish heart lay an intoxicating beauty, a charm both innocent and alluring.
Her supple body pressed tightly against his. The soft fullness of her chest molded against him. Warm breath brushed his shoulder, sending a faint itch through his heart. Her cherry lips grazed his neck as though stealing a kiss.
So soft.
Her body was pliant, elastic. Otto inhaled the lily-like fragrance of her skin. One hand encircled her slender waist; the other lifted her silver hair and gently brushed it back, patting her back in slow, quiet motions.
Words were unnecessary.
In that simple, warm embrace, a sudden impulse surged within Cecilia. Youthful emotion rose like an evening wind stirring her snow-white hair, reopening the scar named first love.
Her eyes darkened and brightened at once—like a white flower falling into a black abyss.
She wanted to bite his shoulder gently, to trace it with her tongue.
She wanted to stop thinking about the future entirely, and stay in this warmth forever.
For that—
She might be willing to pay any price.
Yes.
Any price.
He was the only one she could rely on now.
If he abandoned her too, a voice whispered, she would have nothing left.
They held each other for a long time before Cecilia reluctantly stepped back. Her pale face was flushed. Her eyes were filled with dependence.
Clear, luminous pupils—fragile, almost vulnerable.
Otto still felt the warmth of her at his neck. Even his steady heart beat a little harder. He smiled faintly, gestured toward the white porcelain pot in the kitchen, and returned to his task.
Cecilia did not leave.
She leaned against the glass door, watching his busy figure in silence.
Since when had she been granted such indulgence?
In the past, Otto had often worn a teasing expression, treating her like a tool with his words, reminding her of her identity. Only during their annual outings did he become gentle and kind—enough to make her sink into longing.
Was his coldness an act?
Was she a tool—or family?
Young Cecilia had pondered this endlessly, never finding an answer.
Until the Siberian snowfield.
When Otto appeared with a sigh, she had suddenly (believed she) understood the concern he kept hidden.
He must care about her. How could years of nurturing contain no emotion?
He merely concealed it—for he was the Overseer. She was a Valkyrie, a saint destined to give her life to the world. To grow too attached would cloud his judgment, and burden him after her sacrifice.
Extreme strength invites humiliation. Deep emotion shortens life.
Yet at the crucial moment, that annual elder brother had softened. He had prepared a substitute body for her in secret.
She had thought that was the last time she would understand his heart.
How could human power overturn a divine end?
And yet—
He had raised Abyss Flower with her, pulled her from certain death, and carved out survival from a checkmate.
If he willed it, he could.
That was how Valkyries described him.
Cecilia believed it deeply—though she had never dared hope to receive such favor herself.
But he had given it to her.
Twice he had saved her life.
She knew those two acts had branded her heart forever. From now on, no matter what happened, the first thing she would consider would be Otto's interests.
Even if it meant betraying her ideals.
Even if it meant standing against everything in her heart.
She would stand before Otto Apocalypse and clear the path for him like Abyss Flower itself.
At most, she would wither in despair afterward—
But she would not defy his will.
Because this life had been granted by him.
Though he repeatedly told her to learn to live "selfishly," Cecilia had already been dyed in Otto's color.
In this life and beyond, there was no room for another.
Durandal might rival him emotionally—but that was maternal love.
Toward Otto, Cecilia was absolute obedience.
She belonged to him.
Cecilia Schariac belonged to Otto Apocalypse.
For the rest of her days.
Forever unchanged.
"Fu Hua told me that in Shenzhou, chicken soup symbolizes warmth," Otto's voice sounded near her ear. At some point, he had finished everything and taken her wrist gently. "In winter, a bowl of soup clears the mind."
He led her to the table and placed the steaming bowl carefully before her.
Cecilia obediently lowered her head and took a sip.
"Wait—it's fresh off the stove—"
"Mm—!"
Too late.
She swallowed.
Immediately she jerked up, eyes misted with tears, lips parted in grievance.
"Told you not to rush."
He stepped closer.
"Open your mouth."
She complied, revealing neat white teeth. Steam rose from her tongue.
Otto touched her lips lightly. A small piece of ice formed in her mouth.
"Hold it. I'll cool the soup."
She nodded shyly, lips closing around the ice. Her tongue moved instinctively—and when she realized what she was doing, blush bloomed across her pale cheeks.
When the ice melted, the soup was cooled.
"Don't drink too fast. There's chicken at the bottom."
She nodded, sipping slowly. The chicken was tender, chestnut and yam melting softly. Warmth spread across her tongue, making her close her eyes in contentment.
"How is it?"
"Delicious," she replied. "Perfect in color, aroma, and taste."
Otto froze.
"Wait. Color, aroma, and taste?"
"Yes. I love it. Thank you, Brother."
"…Really?"
She saw a flash of wild joy in his gentle eyes.
"I—I think so…"
"That's wonderful—you've regained your sense of taste," he said cheerfully, cleaning the table. "I'm amazing."
He lowered his eyes so she wouldn't see the calculation within them.
The side effect of Godslayer Blood was loss of taste.
It seemed… resolved.
But who resolved it?
If the original Otto had—why was there no record?
A faint smirk curved his lips.
So the ripple of his golden finger had brought back more than the dead.
Interesting.
In the kitchen, his eyes darkened as he tapped the porcelain pot thoughtfully.
He had spent considerable time with Cecilia—and only now noticed her taste had returned.
If there wasn't something hidden here, he'd eat the pot itself.
"Ah—!"
Cecilia suddenly remembered her old ailment.
Since awakening, her body felt not merely healthy—
But ideal.
Even her sense of taste restored.
So thoughtful.
As expected of my brother.
Her eyes curved into crescents, a soft smile blooming.
"Had I known, I would've made more dishes," Otto called from the kitchen, water running as he washed dishes. "I wasn't confident, and it was late, so I only made soup."
"Even without taste, warm soup conveys the cook's feelings. You can consider that an excuse for my poor skills—this is my first time making Shenzhou cuisine."
"It's truly delicious. Thank you."
"No need for thanks."
He returned, tapped her forehead lightly.
"I'm not telling you this for repayment. Cecilia—no matter gain or loss, rise or fall—you deserve to be protected."
"There will always be someone willing to protect you."
"Not necessarily…"
She remembered Siegfried and Theresa's anger. Her eyes dimmed.
An hour ago she had nearly been consumed by Shamash—not by Honkai, but by the man she once scolded.
He had charged at her like an enemy.
"Theresa—don't worry. My dear granddaughter can't resist you looking like that," Otto said lightly. "As for Siegfried…"
His tone cooled.
"I've notified the Kaslana family. Your relationship will be dissolved."
Warmth flickered through Cecilia—but she still reasoned:
"Brother… if Mr. Kaslana realizes I am not a clone, he will return to Schicksal. That would give you another powerful ally…"
"Do you want to return to his side?"
Otto cut her off.
His voice was calm.
His eyes were not.
Don't disappoint me, Cecilia.
Behind his back, golden feathers drifted into his palm.
A tranquilizer weapon formed silently behind her.
The Key of the Abyss shimmered faintly by the table.
Seven Thunders crackled with violet arcs—
Waiting.
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