3rd Person POV
6 hours later, everything is ready for Arto's return from Europe, he is still unaware of the lawsuit Nami just put Issei through because she, along with his family never mentioned it, and Nami....doesn't want him to know either.
Sitting in the living room with all decorations ready, food piping hot in the oven, pine tree shining brightly in the living room with everyone having presents ready for each other. Nami is standing before everyone in the family for one request "I don't want anyone to mention my raped past with Arlong and the lawsuit to Arto"
The silence that followed was thick enough to slice with Koneko's claws. Grayfia's fingers tightened imperceptibly around her teacup. Robin—always the first to recover—closed her notebook with a soft click. "That's an unusual request," she observed, her voice carefully neutral. "Particularly when he's just dismantled them for you."
Nami's fingers twitched toward the hem of her blouse—a tell Robin recognized from years of watching her navigate high-stakes negotiations. "Which is exactly why," Nami said, her voice steady but her eyes flicking to the grandfather clock ticking toward Arto's arrival. "He is extremely protective towards what he loves, and I know my own position in his life and his heart..."
"If he knows his CFO is endangered within this town, he will disrupt everything to 'avenge' me, and what he did in Sweden won't be his stopping point, and that might expose his secretive existence protected by Gremory and Sitri clans. Not only that,...." Nami sighs "he will be extra careful with me, I won't be as free as now, he won't let me go anywhere alone, or even distancing himself from me thinking he might awake from bad memories I had with men"
"So, I don't want him to know the details, I've moved on from the moment I became his CFO, and just let me be his CFO" Nami's voice wavered only slightly—just enough for Rias to notice. The Gremory heir leaned forward, her crimson eyes narrowing in that particular way that made lesser demons confess sins they hadn't even committed yet.
Akeno broke the silence first, her fingers tracing idle lightning patterns across her notepad. "You're asking us to lie to him."
"No." Nami's correction came sharp, honed by years of financial negotiations. "I'm asking you to omit. There's a difference." She turned to Grayfia, whose glacial expression revealed nothing. "You understand, don't you? If he starts treating me like glass—"
"—then you'll shatter." Grayfia's teacup met its saucer with surgical precision. "Understood." Her gaze swept the room like a scythe. "This stays between us."
Koneko's ears twitched. "But if he asks directly—" Nami sighs "Then let me tell him the truth, but I doubt he will ever ask. Arto knows his limits, he knows there are things we don't want to tell him, and he is cool with that. He just needs to know I am comfortable, loved, cherished living with him as his CFO and his lover"
Robin nods "Fine, we'll go with that, the harem council has heard your request and will honor it. Now,..." She turns to Albedo "You go fetch your husband, Albedo"
Albedo's wings flared with unrestrained delight as she stands up, flame coiling around her as her home outfit changes to the one she would use in public, her white horns and black swan wings are all hidden, a formal attire is worn on her perfect body consisting of sweater, skirt and stocking, along with a long feather overcoat to fit the winter.
She adjusts the cufflinks engraved with the Atreides sigil—a subtle nod to her baroness status—before turning to the room with a predatory smile. "I'll return with Master in twenty-three minutes precisely." The precision was unnecessary, but Albedo adored punctuality almost as much as she adored Arto.
"There she goes, enthusiastic as ever when Master's name is mentioned" Grayfia comments as she stands up, straightening her maid gown "Let us prepare the feast as well, everyone, and I believe you've all prepared presents for Master when he returns?"
Rias shrugs "Well, getting presents for him is easy, he is from another world, so almost anything he has never seen before would surprise him, and there are a lot he has never seen from the fact that he has only been here for 8 months and has never left Japan until now...."
Robin giggles "You do realize Arto can make literally anything on his own with his knowledge, right? His phone is what he made himself, even the highly secured app we are using to communicate and exchange documents among ourselves and with the scientists of Simulation Room, was made by him"
Nami twirls a strand of orange hair around her finger, smirking. "Which means what we give him shouldn't be just technical advancement, he can't be surprised by that because he is at the peak of technical advancement in both worlds, natural and supernatural. Cultural and historical values would surprise him more because there are things he hasn't known from this new world"
Kuroka stretches across the couch, her tail flicking against Rias' thigh. "Nya~ So sentimental presents win? Easy—I'll just gift-wrap myself with a bow~"
Koneko throws a throw pillow at her sister's face with lethal precision. "Pervert."
Grayfia clears her throat just as the grandfather clock chimes—a sound like ice cracking. "Eighteen minutes until Master's return, everyone, put your presents at the foot of the tree, and be at your best look and behavior, we'll welcome him home together"
Robin's hands flutter over her notebook—a nervous tic Nami hasn't seen in years—before she snaps it shut. "Cultural artifacts then." Her dark eyes gleam with something dangerously close to mischief. "I acquired a first edition of Milton's Paradise Lost from a Venetian auction house last month. The marginalia are handwritten by a 17th-century Sitri alchemist who annotated every demonic reference."
Akeno's lightning notepad flickers as she grins. "I may have borrowed Lady Venelana's personal grimoire of Yuletide hymns. The ones she composed during the Great War. They're... explosive."
Koneko's ears flatten. "You're all overcomplicating it," she mutters, stomping toward the tree with a clumsily wrapped box. "I got him Swiss chocolate. The kind with hazelnuts." Her cheeks pink when Kuroka coos.
Rias pats a rectangular box under the tree "I got him a violin, he has never played music before and I want to see how a man of machines and magic treat music and art"
Nami laughs "I doubt it, he doesn't even listen to music, he listens to our magical and technical broadcasts and discussions as his type of songs....that loveable freak" Grayfia turns to Nami "What about your present? What did you get him?"
Nami smirks as she waves her hands and a bottle appears, inside is a ship rocking gently amidst liquid waves—an exact replica of her first vessel with Arto, frozen in perpetual motion. "I had the craftsmen of Atreides clan craft this model of Skíðblaðnir, the greatest ship in Norse mythology, for him. If he will ever navigate his way through the Void, he has this baby as lucky charm"
Grayfia's eyebrows rose—the equivalent of a standing ovation from the stoic maid. "That's... unexpectedly sentimental of you." She summons her own present "I had him a pocket watch, made by Lucifuge craftsmen a long time ago, and my clan allowed this to be given because....." Grayfia blushes slightly.
Rias raises her hand "I get it, you said to your family you were about to give it to Arasto Atreides, right? I know Lucifuge clan too well, already having Arto's alias as a potential candidate for your hand in marriage~" She teases Grayfia with a singsong tone.
Grayfia's composure cracks visibly. "Milady," she says with the lethal calm of a glacier calving, "I would strongly advise—" Akeno chimes in "Well, it's all about your attitude towards him, Grayfia~Do you have such emotions for Arto after that much time being here with him?"
She points at Robin who doesn't seem to notice the situation "The harem council won't mind another capable woman like you among us~"
Grayfia's hand around the present box starts churning out glacier mist—a telltale sign of her losing composure. Kiba quickly snatches the box from Grayfia's hand "Okay, that's enough teasing for today, there is no need to freeze this place before senpai returns"
Koneko agrees "I side with Kiba-senpai, you've caused enough problems with your teasing, Akeno-senpai" Akeno stops with her usual smile, but not forgetting to drop one last invitation "I meant what I said, Grayfia-san, don't be shy~"
[Timeskip: Brought to you by chibi Arto walking with chibi Albedo wrapping herself around his arm]
The grandfather clock's pendulum swung with ominous precision—three ticks left before Albedo's promised deadline. Grayfia inhaled through her nose, exhaled through her mouth, and smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from her skirt. "Enough frivolity," she declared, voice colder than the winter winds battering the mansion's stained-glass windows. "Positions, everyone."
They fell into formation with practiced ease—Rias and Akeno flanking the fireplace, Robin perched elegantly on the armrest nearest the tree, Nami leaning against the grand piano with studied nonchalance. Koneko and Kiba stand together near Rias and Akeno
Only Kuroka remained defiant, she is lying comfortably under the Christmas tree with present wrappers around her cat form, a cat present for Arto to see when he arrives. Grayfia looks at her, sighs, but doesn't say anything—after all, it was very Kuroka of her.
The grandfather clock struck its final chime just as the mansion's front doors swung open with dramatic flourish. Albedo stepped through in a swirl of winter air and feather overcoat, her face alight with triumph—and behind her, still shaking snow from his boots, stood Arto.
His black travel coat was dusted with frost, the silver embroidery along its edges catching the firelight like frozen lightning. He took one look at the assembled household, the glittering tree, the mountains of presents, and blinked. "This is..." His voice trailed off as his gaze swept over the room—lingering on Kuroka's makeshift nest. "...excessive."
Kuroka stretched lazily, her tail curling around a particularly large box tied with golden ribbon. "Nya~ You say that like it's a bad thing, Aru-to~"
Arto opened his mouth—then froze as Rias clapped her hands once. The chandelier dimmed; the fireplace roared higher. Akeno's fingers danced—and suddenly the room was alive with floating constellations, each tiny star humming with barely-contained lightning.
"I never thought Christmas could be this.....magical, so all families have such things?" His fingers touched the flowing projection of the reindeer cart flying across his face with childlike wonder. Grayfia notices his fingertips tremble—just slightly—as they pass through the illusion. Her teacup clinks softly against its saucer. "Not all families, Master. Only those willing to put in the effort."
Robin's lips curl as she watches him marvel at the enchanted snowfall drifting from the ceiling. "We think it's best to give you the most joyous first Christmas—consider it cultural immersion."
"Come in, Boss!" Nami sang "We've gotten a lot to teach you about Christmas. First is dinner, it's 9:00 p.m already and we're all starving!"
Arto hesitated—just for a split second—before stepping fully into the warmth. The moment his boots crossed the threshold, Grayfia snapped her fingers. The grandfather clock's hands spun backward, its chimes reversing until—click—the hour hand settled perfectly at seven.
"You'll forgive the theatrics," Grayfia said smoothly, already guiding him toward the dining hall with a hand at the small of his back. "We wanted the full experience timed appropriately."
The dining table groaned under Venelana's Yule feast—honey-glazed ham shimmering with Sitri enchantments that made the crust crackle audibly, pear chutney shifting colors like trapped auroras.
Albedo steps next to Arto with loving devotion as she takes him to the head of the dining table, his usual seat as the head of the family.
"It's too bad you can't consume alcohol, my love~" She kisses his cheek as he sits down, his cup is empty until Grayfia fills it with the red liquid "Master, fresh grape juice from Lady Rias's aunt Priscilla Gremory's vineyard, she sent with a message wishing you happy Christmas"
Arto's fingers traced the rim of the crystal glass, watching how the firelight fractured through its facets. "Such care~Never thought she would send grape juice over here, it's so much harder to preserve than wine" His thumb brushed against the engraved Gremory crest—a subtle reminder of alliances woven deeper than blood.
Rias smirked, twirling her own wineglass. "Aunt Priscilla adores you ever since you appeared in the vineyard with me last summer, she appreciated the innovations, but more the man loving her niece~"
Then she turns to Grayfia "May I have that fresh grape juice as well, Grayfia? I want to sync with my future hubby" A nod from the head maid as she pours Rias a cup as well "Before any of you demand this, it was never intended to be for all of you, Lady Priscilla specifically sent this to deal with Master's inability to consume wine, so there isn't much"
She settles the bottle down next to her master "So, I advise you not drinking this because....." she claps her hands as a perfectly aged bottle of red wine appeared in her grasps "This is the true gift for the party from Lady Priscilla"
Arto blinked at the sudden shift in Grayfia's posture—her spine rigid with ceremonial precision as she presented the bottle like a relic. The label, embossed with the Gremory crest in molten gold, caught the candlelight. "1864," he murmured, tilting the bottle. "This predates Prohibition."
Grayfia nods "Indeed, devils are ageless, so they had a lot of time to wait for their wine to develop the full taste, this one is one of those bottles, aged for 141 years in the environment of extreme control under the care of Lady Priscilla Gremory. Now, it's bestowed upon us" Her gloved hand brushes against the neck of the bottle as if petting a sleeping dragon—respectful, but wary of its potential fury.
Nami leans forward, her orange curls catching the firelight as she eyes the wine with the scrutiny of a seasoned thief. "That bottle could worth a fortune if put on auction" she muses. "Or fund three of my offshore accounts."
"Or compensate for the damages Kuroka caused last month," Koneko mutters into her napkin. Kuroka's tail flicks indignantly. "Nya~ That chandelier was asking to be swung on—"
The banter was cut short as Grayfia masterfully opened the bottle as the fragrance of the wine hit the noses of everyone in the room. The silence that followed was for the whole family to be amazed by the power of time in the development of taste.
"It's....so hard to describe how good this smell" Robin's eyes widen, even her, a person who knows almost everything was stunned by the fragrance of the wine "Not alcoholic, but still....so rich"
Grayfia pours the wine into glasses with ceremonial precision, the liquid flowing like liquid rubies. "Lady Priscilla insists the first sip be taken in silence—to honor the centuries of patience required to create it."
Arto watches as each glass is passed, his fingers twitching slightly around his grape juice. There's something profoundly intimate about watching his family—his harem—hold their breaths in unison, the firelight painting their faces in warm hues.
Koneko sniffs her glass suspiciously before Kuroka swipes it with a mischievous grin. "Nya~ Let the adults enjoy this, kitten~"
Rias raises her glass, the wine catching the light like a blood moon. "To firsts," she says softly, her crimson eyes locking with Arto's. "And to many more."
Koneko and Kiba both hesitate because they are clearly underage to drink alcohol, same for Rias and Akeno, but they don't seem to mind the laws. Grayfia nods at them like a signal that they can enjoy this one drink because "they deserve it"—because they are devils, and devils' tradition allows drinking from age 1. But she swiftly replaces Koneko's glass with sparkling cider, much to Kuroka's amusement.
Arto lifts his grape juice, watching the way the firelight refracts through the deep purple liquid. It's strange—this celebration, this warmth. His world had blizzards, not feasts. Survival, not sentiment. Yet here he is, surrounded by women who've woven him into their lives with terrifying ease.
The first sip of wine sends a ripple through the table. Akeno's lightning flickers involuntarily at her fingertips, her eyes fluttering shut. Robin exhales slowly, her scholar's mind momentarily overwhelmed by sensation. Even Nami, who's tasted stolen vintages worth fortunes, looks stunned.
Rias is the first to break the silence with a laugh—bright and unguarded. "Aunt Priscilla outdid herself," she admits, licking a stray drop from her lips. "If Father finds out we opened this without him, he might actually cry."
Albedo leans against Arto's shoulder, her warmth seeping through his coat. "Master~ You're missing out," she purrs, swirling her glass under his nose. The scent is intoxicating even to him—a phantom burn of oak and time.
As everyone is revering the marvelous wine, Arto turns to Grayfia "Sit down, Grayfia, you should enjoy this too, let me take it from here" he gestures to the seat next to him on the left. The head maid hesitates—a rarity—before acquiescing with perfect poise.
Sitting down, Arto stands up from his seat as he comes to Grayfia with the opened bottle of wine, and starts mimicking her moves, he pours her a glass of wine "Enjoy, my lady, I'll go fetch our dinner" and disappears into the kitchen, Grayfia is stunned, she is sitting among them in formal dinner with a glass of wine poured by the man she served.
Akeno leans forward, her lightning-stained fingers tracing the rim of her glass. "My, my~ Grayfia-san, I don't think I've ever seen you blush before," she murmurs, her voice dripping with playful menace.
Grayfia's grip tightens around her glass—just shy of cracking the crystal. "It's the wine," she lies smoothly, but the tips of her pointed ears betray her, flushed a delicate pink.
Robin chuckles into her hand, her dark eyes glittering with amusement. "Three months of serving him, and he pours you wine like some noble consort. How… poetic."
Before Grayfia can retaliate, the kitchen doors swing open, revealing Arto who has the plates of their feast hovering around him like planets orbiting a star, and with an unusual fluid motion that was scarred by endless war, the food flies gently before presenting itself in the positions meant for them.
Knives and spoons move next, cutting the ham precisely, scooping the chutney fully and serve them to the feast attendants like this place is filled with servers while in truth, only one man is commanding the entire dinner. Grayfia watches with quiet astonishment—she's seen Arto manipulate machinery with surgical precision, but this casual orchestration of dinnerware speaks of a man who's honed control into something akin to artistry.
The ham slices themselves midair, landing on plates with perfect symmetry. Rias catches a pearled onion between her teeth with a delighted laugh. "Showoff," she accuses around the mouthful, eyes sparkling.
Arto shrugs, the barest quirk at the corner of his lips. "Efficiency." His gaze flicks to Nami as her fork stabs abruptly downward—intercepted by his telekinetic hold mere inches from her plate. "Ah-ah. That one's for Robin."
Nami pouts, but relinquishes the truffle-stuffed mushroom with theatrical reluctance. Robin accepts it with a demure nod that doesn't quite hide her smirk.
Akeno leans forward, elbows on the table—a breach of Grayfia's usually ironclad etiquette rules that goes conspicuously unmentioned. "So~" She swirls her wine lazily. "Did Spain teach you party tricks, or is this another experiment?"
Arto shrugs "Can't I just do something for my family to thank them for preparing for me this wonderful first Christmas?" His fingers stop "It's for those who have walked with me in this new life of mine"
Grayfia's fork clinks softly against her plate—an almost imperceptible sound, but in the sudden quiet of the room, it might as well have been a gunshot. Her wineglass remains untouched, the liquid surface trembling slightly from some unseen disturbance.
Kuroka's tail flicks against Koneko's shoulder. "Nya~ So emotional," she purrs, but her golden eyes are unusually sharp. "Who knew the great innovator could be such a sap~"
"Senpai has always been an emotional one, I've always thought he would be some cold, distant veteran, but turned out, he is quite easy to approach, and befriend" Kiba comments as he takes another bite of the honey-glazed ham, chewing slowly, savoring the taste "I wonder, senpai, what made you this way? You're not like any veteran I've ever met"
Arto pauses mid-motion, a spoonful of cranberry sauce hovering in the air. His expression flickers—something between amusement and the shadow of an old wound. "Well, when you spent thousands of years in solitude in the Void, you'd soon learn how to appreciate sounds and presence...."
The silence gives curious minds some space to imagine how things would have been if it's them who fell down the Void, but a sound broke it "Now, now, this is the time of festival, yes? So forget the despressing bits, let us continue the feast~" Rias claps her hands, her voice carrying the effortless command of a born leader.
Arto exhales—sharp and quiet—before the corners of his lips twitch upward. "Agreed."
[Timeskip: Brought to you by the plates of food running out]
The feast ends on a high note as everyone enjoys the chocolate chiffon cake Koneko made—though Kuroka insists on feeding Arto a bite directly, much to her sister's chagrin. The clock chimes midnight when Rias stands abruptly, her chair scraping against the hardwood. "Present time!" she declares, clapping her hands with childish glee.
Arto stands up first "Then let me be the first to give the presents I bought for you all from my trip to Europe"
He snaps his fingers—not theatrically, but with the precise motion of a man who understands mechanics down to the marrow. The air above the table ripples like disturbed water, and from the distortion tumbles a cascade of wrapped parcels, each landing before their intended recipient with unnatural accuracy.
The presents drop down before the receivers with gentle grace, each box wrapped with elegant simplicity—no frills, just clean lines and sturdy paper. Grayfia's fingers twitch minutely as hers lands directly atop her untouched wineglass, displacing not a single drop. The label reads For My Unshakable Pillar in Arto's sharp, angular script.
Rias tears into hers with the enthusiasm of a puppy, shredding the wrapping to reveal a velvet case. Inside lies an ornate brooch—a Gremory crest rendered in black opal and crimson enamel, behind it is a blue fire symbol—Arto's symbol on the back. "A joint sigil?" she breathes, tracing the intricate metalwork with reverence.
"I want it to signify our bond, so yes, you shine in the front, hiding me right behind you. Made in a magical workshop in France, the owner was kind enough to let me use it. I made something else there too" His eyes turn to Akeno, whose package unfolds to reveal a hairpin with cherry blossom and lightning theme—its petals unfolding mechanically when exposed to kinetic energy.
Akeno's hands tremble as she activates it; sakura petals bloom midair, each one crackling with miniature lightning, and in the center of the biggest flower, it's a small black pearl that is flaring gently with Arto's blue fire—the same hue as the Stabilizer's glow. "Oh," she whispers, pressing a hand to her mouth. "It's—" The words die as her eyes shimmer suspiciously.
Nami's present unfurls next—a car key of Rolls-Royce "Okay? What the hell?" she asks as Arto shrugs "I asked Bayonetta in our trip in Europe which car brand to choose, she answered Rolls-Royce, so I bought one and.....modified it with magic-tech, now it runs on mana at the highest efficiency, ready to take us on our private date to the casino, ahem, business trip" he teases. Nami's lips part—then snap shut as she throws herself at him, her laughter muffled against his coat. "Asshole," she accuses wetly, keys clutched tight enough to imprint on her palm.
"The car will be delivered here in a few days, and one more surprise, I've integrated it with a spell that could help us bypass every teleportation barrier of almost every countries in the world, meaning we can hit the road like....everywhere from here"
Nami's grip on the keys tightens further, her knuckles paling. "You—" Her voice cracks. "You absolute bastard." She punches his shoulder—lightly—before burying her face against his chest again. Grayfia clears her throat pointedly, but the usual reprimand dies when Nami lifts her head with wet, shining eyes. "Try to stop me from kissing him," she challenges hoarsely. Grayfia's lips purse, but she looks away—conceding.
Robin's present unfolds next—a Matryoshka doll, she tilts her head, analyzing the craftsmanship with a scholar's detachment—until she twists the waist. The doll separates with a soft click, revealing....something that makes her tears fall
"Robin-sensei?" Kiba asks, looking at her, Robin lifts her face up, a smile "Arto, where did you find this?" Arto tilts her head "A shop in Moscow, I thought it could remind you of your home, what exactly did you see?" Robin exhales "My family, each one of them, the first one inside is my great-grandma, then great-grandma, then grandpa, grandma, parents, then...me"
Robin's fingers trace the smallest doll—her own likeness—with reverence. The wood is warm under her touch, as if infused with decades of sunlight. "This... shouldn't exist," she murmurs. "The Nico Clan's records were purged after the Soviet collapse." Her dark eyes flicker with something unreadable—memory or magic, perhaps. "Unless..."
Arto leans forward, the firelight casting half his face in shadow. "It shows you the people you're craving to see, let me take that for a moment" Robin hands the doll to him, he takes it and he can feel it shakes a little before he opens it, inside, there are different people "Rias....Akeno....Koneko....Kiba.....Robin....Nami.....Grayfia.....Albedo....Kuroka....Arto...." he smiles "My new family"
Robin exhales sharply—a sound like parchment tearing. Her fingers twitch toward the doll before curling into her palm. "You—" Her voice is thick with something unnameable. "Thank you, Arto, this means a lot to me" she places a kiss on his lips before wrapping the doll back into the box.
After that, Kiba is the next to open his box, and it's a new alchemical kit from Alchemic Council in Germany—state-of-the-art tools capable of refining demonic alloys. The bladesmith's fingers tremble as he lifts a vial of liquid starlight—"How did you get your hand on this, senpai? This is for the top-tier scholars only"
"I met Edward Elric in Germany and 2 sentences from him to the Council and they handed this to him and he gave it to me with a message....to you, Kiba, the one who is learning his book: Keep going—the gate opens for those who refuse to kneel."
Kiba's breath hitches—his grip tightening around the vial until his knuckles blanch. The liquid starlight swirls violently inside, casting fractured reflections across his face. "He...he said so?" Arto scratches his head "My German is quite scrappy but that's what I've heard, the man spoke German instead of English when he said that" Koneko elbows Kiba sharply—her usual stoicism cracking into something dangerously close to a smile. "Don't cry, idiot."
Grayfia's present remains untouched, her gloved fingers resting atop the box like a queen tolerating tribute. Arto clears his throat—a sound like gravel shifting. "Grayfia-san. Open it."
The head maid's mask of composure doesn't falter as she lifts the lid with ceremonial precision. Inside lies a pair of white gloves "Made by Bayonetta using Umbra Witch magic, woven with my own touches that will help you manage this entire mansion to your liking without disrupting your elegant manners" Arto explains "The left glove enhances precision—threading needles, folding napkins, even disarming traps at a molecular level. The right...well." His lips quirk. "Let's just say it'll make disciplining Kuroka more efficient."
Kuroka's ears flatten. "Nyaaa?! Master is betraying me—"
Grayfia slides the left glove on slowly, the material shimmering as it conforms to her hand. When she flexes her fingers, the ambient candlelight fractures into prismatic streaks—proof of the temporal stabilization field humming along the seams. Her breath catches—the barest hint of vulnerability—before she schools her features. "Acceptable," she concedes, but the way her thumb strokes the inner wrist betrays her.
Albedo practically vibrates with anticipation as she claws open her package—revealing an orb, inside it's a horse-like creature "A winged horse I got you from Greek, he seems to be the same linage with this....Pegasus thing? I don't know, mythology is still way above my head" Arto shrugs.
"I love you, my beloved Master~!" Albedo shrieks, launching herself at Arto with enough force to knock his chair backward—only for Grayfia's outstretched glove to halt her midair with an audible thwump of displaced wind. The succubus dangles there, pouting, as the head maid adjusts her new glove with surgical precision. "Manners," Grayfia chides, though the ghost of a smirk plays at her lips.
"How do I ride it?" Albedo asks "Robin?" Robin takes the orb from Albedo's hands with the practiced care of an archivist handling a relic. Her fingers trace the surface—not with uncertainty, but with the slow deliberation of someone reassembling fractured memories. "Ah," she murmurs, pressing her thumb against a nearly invisible sigil near the base. The orb hums faintly, then fractures like an eggshell, dissolving into motes of golden light that coalesce into the form of a winged stallion—its coat the color of storm clouds, wings shimmering with latent magic.
The creature exhales sharply—a sound like wind through cathedral rafters—before nuzzling Albedo's palm with unexpected gentleness. "Why does he seem.....attached to me like this? Master, did you do anything?"
Arto shakes his head "I didn't do nothing, I only captured it and brought it home, what came after is beyond me, like I said, I haven't known enough of this world's mythology and pantheon"
Albedo strokes the stallion's muzzle, her fingers trembling slightly as the creature exhales warm breath against her wrist. And in an unexpected turn of event, the horse's snout moves closer to Albedo's neck as it starts licking it "What...are you doing?"
And when everyone is confused, only Arto moves as he glares the horse in the eyes with his eyes, burning violently with blue fire, forcing the horse to move back "This is....absurd, this fricking horse.....likes Albedo?"
The stallion whinnies—a sound like shattering stained glass—and rears back, wings flaring wide enough to send a gust that extinguishes half the candles. Robin's fingers twitch toward her summoned arms, but stops when the creature hides behind Albedo, averting Arto's burning gaze
Albedo tilts her head, her crimson eyes gleaming with predatory curiosity. "Master~ Are you jealous of a horse~?" Arto's eye twitched. "No."
Kuroka's tail flicks lazily as she drapes herself over the back of his chair. "Nya~ Master's lying~ His mana's all prickly~"
Robin smiles "Arto, love, you need to be reminded that Albedo is a succubus, virgin or not, she is the creature of allure, not just human, other creatures, male especially, tend to behave quite reverendly around her, including this horse over here" she comes to the winged horse, soothing it.
"It's just you who is not totally collapsed by her beauty, genius, don't force that standard on other males" Nami taps Arto's shoulder playfully before coming to the horse "Arto is so scarry, isn't he?" she asks as she pets the horse's mane gently—only for the creature to recoil violently, nearly trampling Kiba's gift in its haste to press behind Albedo.
The stallion's wings twitch nervously as it peers at Arto from behind Albedo's shoulder—like a child hiding from a thunderstorm. Its nostrils flare when Arto exhales sharply, the blue fire in his eyes dimming to embers.
Albedo giggles—a sound like silver bells dipped in honey—and scratches behind the creature's ears. "Ohhh, you're precious," she coos. "Master, can I name him?"
Arto pinches the bridge of his nose. "Do whatever you want."
"Then… Otra!" Albedo declares, pressing her cheek against the stallion's neck. "The reversed of Arto, my beloved Master~"
Rias nearly chokes on her wine. "What?" The stallion—Otra—whickers approvingly, nuzzling Albedo's collarbone with a devotion that borders on worship. Arto's jaw tightens minutely, the tendons in his neck standing out like cables. "Fine," he grits out.
Grayfia's gloved fingers tap once against her wineglass—a sound like a gavel falling. "Enough theatrics. Kuroka. Your turn." Kuroka's ears perk up as she slinks toward the present, but Arto stops her "As for your gift, Kuroka, you should open it with Koneko, I bought them in pair"
Kuroka's tail flicks with exaggerated suspicion as she drags Koneko forward by the collar of her dress. The younger nekomata hisses, swatting at her sister's hands, but Kuroka merely grins—sharp canines glinting. "Nya~ If Master's forcing us to share, it better not be boring~"
Arto exhales through his nose—a sound perilously close to a sigh—and snaps his fingers. Twin parcels materialize midair, wrapped in black silk rather than paper, each secured with a ribbon the color of their respective mana. Kuroka's claws shred through hers before Koneko can even blink.
Inside lies a bracer—sleek, matte black, its surface etched with swirling patterns that seem to drink the light. Kuroka's pupils dilate to slits as she traces a claw along the central gemstone. "Ohhh~" she purrs, flexing her wrist. The bracer clicks softly, unfolding into a gauntlet that encases her forearm seamlessly. "Master spoils me~"
Koneko unwraps hers with considerably more restraint—only for her stoicism to fracture when she sees the matching bracer, but the color is white. Arto leans forward. "They're paired artifacts. Both blessed by Bastet, the Egypt God of Cat" He hesitates. "And… they link."
Koneko's fingers freeze midair, inches from the bracer. The white metal gleams under the chandelier light, its surface etched with hieroglyphs that shift like liquid mercury. Kuroka's tail stiffens—her playful smirk vanishing. "Nya~? Link how, exactly~?"
Arto's thumb brushes the gemstone on Kuroka's gauntlet. A pulse of blue light streaks through the etchings, and Koneko's bracer flares gold in response. The younger nekomata gasps as warmth floods her wrist—not heat, but the unmistakable pressure of a heartbeat. Kuroka's breath hitches.
"You can see through Koneko's eyes, she can see through yours, you can sense and detect her wherever she is, and you can teleport to her, bypassing any barriers, if you have the mana for it," Arto says quietly, watching as Koneko's fingers tremble around the bracer. "It's a fail-safe. For both of you."
Kuroka's ears flatten—her usual playfulness evaporating. "Master…" Her voice wavers, claws retracting.
Koneko's bracer hums softly, the hieroglyphs pulsing in time with Kuroka's breathing. The younger nekomata swallows hard, her usual stoicism crumbling. "You—" She stops, jaw clenched.
Arto exhales—a rough sound. "No more hiding."
Kuroka lunges—not at Arto, but at Koneko, wrapping her arms around her sister with enough force to knock the breath from her lungs. Koneko stiffens—then melts, her face buried in Kuroka's shoulder, fingers clutching the back of her dress. The bracers glow brighter where they press together, their pulse synchronized.
Arto watches them, the barest hint of warmth in his expression—until Albedo clears her throat pointedly. "Master~Your gifts made us all happy beyond words, now it's about time we give you...our gifts" she purrs, her fingers drumming against Otra's flank. The winged stallion huffs, nudging her shoulder as if urging her forward.
Rias stands abruptly, her chair scraping against the hardwood with uncharacteristic clumsiness. "Right! Presents!" She claps her hands—once, sharp—and the chandelier dims. Only the fireplace remains, casting long shadows as she strides toward Arto with a velvet box held between her palms like an offering. "This," she declares, "is yours."
The box clicks open under his fingers
[Timeskip: Brought to you by chibi Arto opening presents]
The night Christmas Night ends when all the presents are gifted, Arto and Nami lost the bet to find the cleaning ones so now they are cleaning what's left of the package opening rampage. "Well, never thought you would give Robin that present" Arto comments on Nami's gift to Robin—a complete set of the best coffee in the world "Oh? You jealous?" Nami teases "She drinks coffee like a dragon inhales treasure" Arto shrugs "Fair point"
Nami leans against the counter, watching him sweep up shredded wrapping paper with telekinetic precision. The fragments swirl into neat piles without a single stray scrap. "Showoff," she mutters, but there's no bite in it—just lazy amusement.
Arto flicks a scrap of gold foil at her forehead. "Says the woman who turned courtroom drama into performance art."
Nami catches the foil between her fingers, twirling it absently. "Please. That was barely a warm-up." She hesitates—just a fraction—before adding, softer, "Still. Thanks. For the car."
He doesn't look up, but the pile of debris floats higher, spinning gently. "You'll need it. For the expansion of Abyssgard, can't let you go meet clients by bus, right?" He chuckles softly, "A CEO without a vehicle that matches her aura....unsettling." He puts another unwrapped present box into the trash bag, "Though....I didn't know you'd cry over it."
Nami scoffs, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder. "I didn't cry. There was dust."
Nami scoffs, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder. "I didn't cry. There was dust." Arto shakes his head "No, that's not the 'it' I was talking about, what I meant was days ago, when you called me, crying while asking me to exterminate Arlong...."
That line got Nami a little tense "So you read...." Arto cups her face "Yes, your past, now I know why you're that smart when it comes to money, both light and dark sides of money, you've been through it all, haven't you?" Nami pulls his hand away gently "Stop, don't pity me"
Arto's fingers flex slightly before he withdraws them completely. "Pity?" His voice is dangerously soft—not the careful gentleness one uses with wounded things, but the quiet of a blade being unsheathed. "I'm empathy with you"
She comes closer to her, hugging her in his arms "Two traumatic pasts meeting each other, a money printer and a living weapon" Nami lets out a soft chuckle "What a coincidence, first you, then Akeno, then Kuroka, somehow, wounded souls found their way here, forming a family" She nods "Yeah, life is weird like that"
Arto's arms tighten around her with the firmness of an anchor. Nami presses her forehead against his collarbone, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "Then let's heal each other, okay? I know you're hurt, I am too, but we patch each other's wounds, and move on where life isn't so cruel to us all."
A sharp click interrupts them—Robin leans against the doorway, sipping from an ornate coffee cup. "Sorry for interrupting this moment, go on~" She closes the door behind her with exaggerated slowness.
Nami groans into Arto's chest. "She's never letting this go."
"Neither is Kuroka," Arto mutters, eyeing the faintest flicker of a tail vanishing around the corner. Then, his hand waves a spell, isolating them from the entire home as he looks at Nami with the more serious gaze "Nami, is it true Lady Venelana is adopting you?"
Nami's fingers curl into his coat sleeves—tight enough to wrinkle the fabric. "She...offered," she stays silent for a moment "persistently" A sigh as she leans closer to Arto's embrace "You know how she is."
Arto remembers the letters—parchment sealed with Gremory wax, arriving weekly since Nami's first visit to the Underworld. Venelana's handwriting had been precise, elegant, but the contents... oddly insistent. 'The east wing renovations require your expertise', or 'These trade ledgers from the 12th century need modern appraisal'. Always a pretext. Never a demand.
Nami chuckles wetly against his shoulder. "At first I thought it was just politics. A financial prodigy under her wing? Of course she'd want that." Her nails dig in slightly. "Then she started sending care packages. Freshly pressed dresses tailored to my measurements. Notes about market trends with little doodles in the margins." A pause. "She remembered I like tangerines."
Arto exhales slowly, recalling the way Venelana had watched Nami during that first meeting—like a sculptor finding the hidden fault line in marble. The Gremory matriarch had been... different around her. Less regal, more deliberate. "She treated you like her own daughter"
"And I found a mother in her, a mother who appreciates my talents, who elevates me gently, who looked at me warmly, who protects me fiercely" she takes out her phone, showing Arto the messages Venelana sent her after their time together in that summer in the Underworld, each message full of concern, warmth, and encouragement.
Arto traces a thumb over the screen—where Venelana's latest message reads Your analysis of Sitri's textile tariffs was masterful. Attached: my notes, and a jar of Kuoh honey for your tea. His throat tightens. "You deserve this," he murmurs. "After everything."
Nami's phone clicks shut. "I know." The words are quiet, but firm—no false modesty, no deflection. Just acceptance. "But you know how complicated things are when Lady Venelana is in the scene...." Nami rests her forehead against Arto's chest.
The Abyssgard places a palm on the back of her head, gently rubbing to comfort her "So you have known what I was talking about...." Nami nods "I know, of course I know, I want to believe that she genuinely cares about me, loves me, adores me like a daughter. But....."
Her palm folds into a fist as she hammers it against his chest like a reproach "...somewhere inside, I know her, a Grand Duchess of Hell, an ingenious diplomat, it was more than motherly love, it was a....." She couldn't finish that sentence.
"...a calculation." Arto finishes it "A Grand Duchess of Hell securing a financial expert for her clan, it's a move any strategic mind would make, especially when that one has a way to map realities across the Void, the potential for trading routes are endless, not to mention...." he stops when Nami's fist slams against his chest again "Stop it, Arto"
Nami's fingers twist into his shirt like she's clinging to a ledge. "Don't do that," she hisses, voice fraying at the edges. "Don't—reduce her to just another political piece on your board."
Arto's hands hover over her shoulders—not retreating, not advancing. "Then tell me," he murmurs, "do you see what I see?" Another fist "Fuck you, Arto, I do, I fucking do. And you're the one who taught me to see it, you bastard politician!"
Nami's nails dig into his chest hard enough to leave crescent marks through the fabric. "But here's the thing," she hisses, "I don't care if it's both. I don't care if she's scheming or sincere or some fucking mix. Because for the first time in my life, someone treated me with such care and love that I want to believe her—" Her voice cracks. "Even if she's lying."
Arto exhales—slow, measured—and catches her wrist before she can strike again. His fingers encircle it gently, thumb pressing against her racing pulse. "Then trust it, believe it, live in that love and care you've never had, because despite all, even if she is acting, she is playing the loving mother role too well, and it would be a waste not to enjoy it."
He kisses her forehead "Because I, too, am bathing in her care and love as I, too, didn't know what it's like to have a mother" His breath is warm against her skin "And if she's scheming, then let her scheme—because for once, we both get to feel what it's like to be...wanted."
Nami's grip loosens. Her palm presses flat against his chest, fingers splayed like she's mapping the contours of his heartbeat. "When did you become such a philosopher?" she mutters, but the fight has drained from her voice.
Arto chuckles—a rough, quiet sound. "Since I realized I'd rather be happy than right. But, to maintain that act, which I personally believe it's not, to keep that loving side of her around, you know what to do" Nami looks at Arto in the eyes "Of course, a way out, a leverage, a kill-switch that could end it all the moment love and benefits don't align anymore"
Arto nods "Smart girl" he places a kiss on her lips "And you know what that is, right?" Nami thinks for a moment before answering "INA, Inter-dimensional Navigating Algorithm.....you've planned this adoption?"
"No," Arto denies "I just....wanted to give you a personal leverage for when things get hectic, for when the clans decide something for you that you don't want. Because when it comes to that, you're the most vulnerable among us, I have Stabilizer and Simulation Room, Robin has her secrets, Grayfia has Yelena and Lucifuge clan, Albedo is completely loyal to me, you're the only one left, not mentioning you're having an emotional gap, very easy to exploit"
Nami's lips twist—not quite a smile, not quite a grimace—as she looks at him "It's never been any genuinity for you, hasn't it? Everything's a contingency plan wrapped in sentimental paper."
Arto's thumb brushes the corner of her mouth—a gesture too tender for the steel in his voice. "False dichotomy. Love and strategy aren't mutually exclusive." He exhales through his nose, the scent of pine needles and extinguished candles clinging to his coat. "Venelana could adore you and want your skills, but when those 2 don't go together anymore, the love could fade."
Nami recoils like he's poured salt in a wound. "That's—"
Arto nods gently "Harsh? I know. Paranoid? Of course." But his eyes never leave hers "But that's how far an Abyssgard would go to protect what he holds dear, that's the only genuinity I can provide you and my women, as long as you remain in this family, this inner circle, I will always be on your side, even if it's against Gremory and Sitri clans."
A slow, deliberate breath fills Nami's lungs as she processes his words—the unspoken declaration beneath them. Her fingers uncurl from his coat, smoothing the wrinkled fabric absently. "So that's your condition for your blue fire protection, Arto? Me being here, what's holding me in this family, Arto? What is my way out when our relationship turns sour? Say that I don't trust your genuinity any longer"
Arto doesn't flinch. "You have my name, my work, my identity, you can tell the world that I exist and I made Stabilizer, I made magic-tech, by then, the world will be on your side in seizing me, and my brain, that's the kill-switch every woman of mine has, for one day that I am no longer genuine, no longer benevolent, no longer the man you love, you can end me."
The air between them thickens—not with tension, but something heavier. Nami's breath hitches, her pupils dilating as the weight of his admission settles over her. "You're insane," she whispers, but there's no horror in it. Only awe.
"Probably." Arto's lips twitch. "But it's the only way I know how to love—with an exit strategy, a plan that never meant to be used, but should always be there to make sure that we know how to behave around each other, because to me, relationship is always based on mutual benefits, when it's satisfied, we can talk about emotions"
Nami's fingers tremble against his chest—not in fear, but in something far more dangerous: understanding. Her nail traces the edge of his collarbone, precise as a cartographer mapping uncharted terrain. "You really are the worst kind of bastard," she murmurs, breath warm against his jaw. "Making me think while I'm emotionally compromised."
Arto catches her wrist, pressing her palm flat over his heart. "And yet you're still here. Meaning the mutual benefits have been met, now, it's time to mind our emotions..." He catches her lips in a romantic kiss, gentle yet deep, savoring the taste of tangerine chapstick and unresolved tension.
Nami pulls back first, her breath uneven, but her grip on his coat remains firm. "You're lucky I like complicated men," she mutters, before pressing her forehead against his collarbone. The silence stretches, thick with unspoken concessions—until she stiffens abruptly. "So INA is my trump card for when things go south with the clans?"
Arto nods "Yes, I've encrypted it with Abyssgard Code and authorized it to only you to make sure no one can read it aside from you"
Nami exhales sharply through her nose—a sound halfway between exasperation and reluctant admiration. "Of course you did, you paranoid freak" Her fingers tap against his chest in a staccato rhythm, nails clicking against hidden armor weaves. "Fine, I'll take that deal, love~" She leans back just enough to meet his gaze—her smirk sharp as a freshly minted dagger. "But you forgot one thing."
Arto's brow lifts—the only tell he allows himself. "Oh?"
Nami's thumb brushes the hollow of his throat—a threat disguised as a caress. "If I ever have to use that kill-switch..." Her voice drops to a whisper, citrus-sweet and venom-laced. "I'm keeping the car."
The choked laugh that escapes Arto is entirely undignified. He catches her wrist, pressing his lips to her pulse point in mock surrender. "Deal."
[Arto's bedroom]
Nami comes to Arto's room after her conversation with Arto to sleep, she sees everyone is waiting for her, Rias and Akeno are watching something together on Arto's tablet, Robin is on her book, Albedo is playing with Kuroka. When seeing Nami, Robin asks "So, did you tell him?"
Nami flops on the bed "Tell him what?" Akeno looks up from the tablet "Oh, I don't know about the boy who tried to blackmail you with...." Nami cuts Akeno's voice "Of course not, he doesn't need to know that, if not, he would flip this town upside-down to look for that boy and what's next is beyond my imagination"
Nami shivers slightly, Arto has no moral barrier when it comes to those he hates, especially those who hurted his loved ones "I can't even imagine what he would do to that Hyoudou if he found out....." Rias chimes in "...could it be worse than mother?"
Nami shrugs "Now that reminds me, I almost leaked that news to him when showing him the messages Lady Venelana sent me, fortunately, he only saw the ones where she showed her care for me instead of the one where she insisted to be at the court to be my lawyer"
Robin snaps her book shut with deliberate precision. The sound echoes like a gavel. "An oversight," she murmurs, fingers drumming against the leather cover. "but it got me curious about Lady Venelana in court, she is an ingenious diplomat, law was never a problem for her, she can read the official law of Japan once and apply every single gap she found to put Issei into prison without rehabilitation"
She opens her phone and accesses a messaging app to the newest messages of Venelana 'Let me be your lawyer, Nami, I'll make sure that boy knows messing with my daughter would result in something worse than hell flame' Nami sighs "See? That's why I didn't tell Arto, I don't want to escalate things beyond court"
Rias exchanges a glance with Akeno—the kind that speaks volumes in silence. Akeno's fingers pause over the tablet screen, her usual playful smirk absent. "Nami," she says carefully, "you do realize not telling him is its own kind of risk, right? If he finds out later—"
Nami cuts her off with a wave. "Then we'll deal with it. But right now, I need this mess contained." Her fingers tap nervously against her thigh. "Besides, Issei's already punished. What more could Arto possibly do?"
Kuroka's tail flicks lazily from where she's sprawled across Albedo's lap. "Oh, I dunno~" she sing-songs, "maybe dissolve him?" She wiggles her claws in mock menace. "Or turn him into a living example for messing with his family. Or—"
"Stop." Nami's voice cracks like a whip. The room falls silent. Nami exhales sharply, rubbing her temples. "Look, I get it. Arto's protective. But I handled it. It's done, let me just move on with my freaking life"
[Meanwhile]
Arto is accompanying Grayfia is leading Otra to his new stable, the horse is quite obedience (It's scared of Arto) as it walks behind him and Grayfia to a corner of the garden where Grayfia, with a wave of her new gloves, set up a new, warm and comfortable home for the horse.
Grayfia gives Otra a gentle pat on his neck "Well behaved." She then turns to Arto "You scared him." The statement is factual, devoid of judgment. Arto shrugs "It was necessary, he was getting too handsy with Albedo."
Grayfia's lips twitch—the closest she ever gets to a smile. "Jealousy doesn't suit you." Arto scoffs. "It's not jealousy. It's...preemptive boundary enforcement." He watches Otra nuzzle against Grayfia's palm, far more docile now.
Putting the horse into the stable, Grayfia carefully closes the latch—her enchanted gloves humming faintly as they reinforce the wards etched into the wood. Patting the horse once more "Sleep well, Otra" the horse neighs in obligation as he finds a comfortable place in the stable to sleep.
Arto and Grayfia then accompany each other back to the mansion as Arto starts asking her about a matter that has been wandering in his mind "Grayfia?" she turns to him "Yes, Master?"
"Why are you staying here? I remember you've finished studying systematic magic a while back and I have nothing left regarding magic to teach you, and your service as this family's head maid has been enough to pay the studying fee, which you insisted to pay while I didn't ask for any. Meaning you have no restraints left with this place, what is keeping you here?"
Grayfia doesn't answer immediately. Her heels click against the garden path in perfect rhythm, her posture as impeccable as ever. She stops beneath a magnolia tree—its bare branches casting skeletal shadows under the winter moonlight. When she speaks, her voice is softer than usual. "Because to me, this place is like....Caladan."
Arto freezes mid-step. The reference isn't lost on him—the ancestral home of House Atreides, a sanctuary amidst political storms. "The peaceful haven? Does this place mean so to you?"
Grayfia turns her face slightly, the moonlight catching the faint silver streaks in her otherwise pristine white hair. "A place where I can be what I want, not what I'm required to be." She flexes her gloved fingers—the Umbra Witch enchantments shimmering briefly. "Here, I'm not Lucifuge's prodigy. Not a blade. Not even a bargaining chip...." Her voice trails off.
Arto watches a magnolia petal drift between them, its descent slowed by Grayfia's subconscious magic. "You're just Grayfia," he finishes quietly.
She nods once, sharp as a blade. "And that is... enough." The admission hangs between them—frailer than the petal now cradled in her palm.
Arto exhales through his nose. "Even with all my scheming? My contingencies?" He gestures vaguely toward the mansion. "The chaos?"
Grayfia's lips quirk. "Especially that." She crushes the petal abruptly—its remnants dissolving into motes of light. "You think the Underworld doesn't scheme? That nobles don't hedge bets?" Her glove wipes against her skirt, though no residue remains. "At least your plans come with..." She searches for the word.
"....a heart? Like Duke Leto Atreides?" Grayfia's glove pauses mid-air. The comparison lingers—unexpected, yet precise. She exhales through her nose—a sound that might've been a laugh, had she been anyone else. "No," she murmurs. "You lack his nobility."
Arto barks a laugh—too loud for the quiet garden. "Fair enough."
Grayfia's glove resumes its path, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her skirt. "But you share his... pragmatism." Her eyes flick to him—brief, assessing. "And his willingness to burn for those under his banner."
The magnolia light motes swirl between them, casting fleeting patterns across Grayfia's impassive face. Arto watches them dance—buoyed by the residual magic clinging to her gloves. "But in Caladan....he doesn't need to burn anything"
Grayfia's fingers twitch—an aborted motion toward her glove's enchantments. "Precisely," she says. The word lands like a verdict. Then, softer: "And I found peace in my life here, in you, in the people living in this mansion, and the relative peace of Kuoh town, far away from Underworld politics."
Arto studies the way moonlight catches the frost forming on the hedges—how it mirrors the silver strands in Grayfia's hair. "And if that peace is disrupted?"
Her reply is immediate, clinical. "Then we burn the disruptor." A beat. Arto grins—sharp, approving. "Spoken like a true Atreides."
Grayfia's glove flexes. The wards on the garden path hum in response, synchronizing with her pulse. "No," she corrects. "Spoken like your head maid." The distinction is deliberate.
Arto then takes out the pocket watch Grayfia gave him as Christmas present "And about this pocket watch, from what I see, it's like an heirloom of Lucifuge clan" he holds it in his palm, feeling the frost of it over his hand, and the marks of Lucifuge clan, everywhere "So what's the meaning of giving this to me?"
Grayfia's gaze flickers—briefly—to the watch. "An heirloom," she confirms, voice flat. "One that a Lucifuge would give to their.....spouse" pink shades start appearing on her cheek as Arto remembers something he saw Sirzechs usually takes with him, a pocket watch, similar to this "Wait, so the one Sirzechs is holding...."
"...was given to him by my big sister Yelena with the same meaning" The watch suddenly feels heavier in Arto's palm—the engraved silver catching moonlight like frozen breath. He exhales through his nose, watching his own breath mist between them. "You realize what you're implying, Grayfia?"
Her gloved fingers twitch against her skirt. "I do." No hesitation. No blush now—just that same cutting precision. "But traditions are malleable. Among Lucifuge, such gifts can signify... chosen bonds beyond matrimony."
Arto's thumb traces the watch's crest—a stylized raven mid-flight. "And which bond would this signify?"
Grayfia nods "If I will ever be set in a marriage, it would rather be....Arasto Atreides than anyone else. Because like Lady Jessica, in her duty to Bene Gesserit, she married the Duke of Atreides, but found love in Leto, I, Grayfia Lucifuge, in my duty to my clam, I would marry Baron Arasto Atreides, because I know I could find a haven in the man behind that jet black mask, Arto Abyssgard"
Arto feels the pocket watch vibrates subtly in his palm—a latent enchantment responding to Grayfia's words. "So this is your way of telling me that no matter what happens, you're tying yourself to me?" His voice is lower than intended, rough at the edges.
Grayfia's glove rises—hesitant—to hover near his wrist. "Not tying," she corrects. "Choosing." The distinction is razor-sharp. "Just as you chose to pour my wine yourself at dinner." Her fingers don't quite touch him, but the watch's glow intensifies, casting fractured shadows across their faces. "Mutual benefit first, emotions later—wasn't that your philosophy?"
A gust of wind sends magnolia petals spiraling around them. Arto pockets the watch abruptly, its weight suddenly tangible against his thigh. "You've been paying too much attention."
Grayfia's exhale might've been a laugh, had she been anyone else. "It's my job, Master." She turns toward the mansion, her silhouette remains printed inside the mind of the man.