Ekchron took a second to react. Not because he hadn’t heard her properly. But because his mind had just stumbled over a word that wasn’t in the script.

  He had planned many things. Infatuation. Manipulation. A breakup. Death.

  What he hadn’t planned for was a husband.

  “Your… what?” he asked, his smile frozen in place.

  “My husband,” she replied with her usual calm. “He thinks I’m too easygoing.”

  Lorena didn’t seem to notice the micro-collapse she had just caused. She shrugged lightly as she stirred her coffee. She had chosen the blue mug, the one with the tiny forget-me-not.

  “He’s a businessman,” she went on. “He’s doing pretty well, actually. He’s always travelling, or in meetings, or on calls at the weirdest hours… you know how it is.”

  Ekchron kept smiling.

  Husband.

  As Lorena spoke, Ekchron began sorting through methods, causes, and possible endings with the efficiency of someone who had spent five thousand years perfecting the art of erasing people from the world.

  A car accident.

  Too impersonal. The car did all the work while he simply watched. No dialogue. No time for understanding what was happening. No eye contact.

  A fall from a building.

  A classic. Elegant. But gravity didn’t negotiate. Too fast. One moment of panic and then… nothing. No room for comprehension. No time to beg. It would be over before it truly began.

  “Sometimes I think he doesn’t understand that not everything has to be so… perfect,” Lorena was saying. “He’s always worried about appearances, about control…”

  Control, Ekchron thought, a spark of amusement flashing through him. Such an optimistic concept.

  A disappearance.

  That always worked nicely. One day he was there, the next he wasn’t. No body. No closure. Wonderful for ruining lives in the long term.

  Although… no. That would be boring. If he was the husband, he deserved something more… personal. Something that made it very clear he had touched what he shouldn’t have.

  “But well,” she added with a faint smile, “I suppose everyone copes in their own way.”

  Ekchron nodded slowly, still smiling, while already imagining his death.

  How long would it take him to beg?

  How many escape attempts before he understood there was no way out?

  Interesting. Very interesting.

  “Don’t you think?” Lorena asked suddenly.

  Ekchron blinked. The smile was still there, but now slightly off-kilter.

  “Hm?” he said. “Sorry… were you saying something?”

  She looked at him for a second. Then she shook her head, amused.

  “Nothing important,” she continued. “I was just saying that… well, sometimes people expect you to make ‘appropriate’ decisions for your age.”

  She leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on the table.

  “And you, Azul…” she added. “You always seem to have time. You’re very young, but you don’t study, you don’t work…” She paused, resting her chin on her hand. “Do your parents know all that?”

  Ekchron went still.

  In his mind appeared Papa Ekchron and Mama Ekchron. Dead for five thousand years. Watching him from some high, undefined place, in silence. They weren’t smiling. They weren’t nodding. There was no pride in their eyes, no approval, not a trace of comfort for everything their son had done across millennia.

  Ekchron nodded slowly, very serious. They’re proud of me, he thought. Obviously.

  “I don’t need to study or work,” he said calmly. “My father is the CEO of a very famous company in Greece.”

  Lorena blinked in surprise, lifting her head and resting both arms on the table.

  “Oh. Really? Which one?”

  Ekchron’s smile didn’t shift a millimetre.

  Hm. Humans. They always think they can catch me in a lie. Adorable.

  Time froze. Lorena went still, the blue mug suspended halfway to her lips. The coffee didn’t move.

  Ekchron leaned back slightly in his chair, took out his phone, and slipped on a pair of black gloves with faintly glossy fingertips—the only way a touchscreen would respond to fingers that had been dead for millennia.

  “Seriously…” he murmured as he unlocked the screen. “A power that breaks the causality of the universe… and this is what I use it for.”

  He typed calmly. Famous companies Greece CEO. Scrolled. Read. Chose.

  He rehearsed the name out loud once. Twice, just in case. Put the phone away. Sat upright again. Snapped his fingers.

  Time resumed. Lorena completed the motion and took a sip of her coffee.

  “The company is called…” Ekchron began, with that minimal pause used by people who know they’re about to impress.

  And he said it with such absolute certainty, so childishly proud, that no one would have doubted him. Not even his parents, watching from above.

  Sorian had gone a full day without answers.

  The offer was still lodged in his mind like a thorn. Help. A way to keep Lyciah safe. Too many promises for too few explanations.

  The ruined building gave him far too much time to think. Broken columns, walls blackened by the smoke of an ancient fire, shattered glass crunching beneath his boots as he moved. The ceiling had collapsed in several places, letting dawnlight pour through in slanted beams that cut across the dust hanging in the air.

  “A day has passed,” he said at last, without raising his voice. “You said you would help me.”

  “And I will.”

  The voice came from behind him, deep and calm.

  Sorian turned. He was there, leaning against a wall almost entirely devoured by shadow, so still he looked like just another crack in the building.

  “But I needed time,” he continued. “Some things can’t be improvised. Especially when they’ve been buried for a thousand years.”

  He pushed off the wall and walked forward slowly. With one more step, he emerged from the darkness into one of the shafts of light falling from the broken ceiling. The sun traced his silhouette, set his white hair ablaze, and revealed the unsettling red of his eyes. A smile appeared on his face.

  Sorian clenched his jaw.

  “A thousand years buried?” he repeated quietly, unsettled. “That’s… that’s how long the seraphi have been dead.”

  The stranger didn’t answer.

  Sorian leaned against a cracked column. Half his body remained in shadow; the other half was bathed in the light filtering from above, creating an uncomfortable contrast, as if he himself were split in two.

  “I still can’t get used to seeing you here,” he added. “I thought no one was left.”

  He paused. A flicker of pain crossed his eyes.

  “The demons hunted us until we were almost erased.”

  He looked up at the blue sky visible through the gap above.

  “Lyciah still dreams of flying through the sky the way our mother wanted. Without hiding her wings.”

  He dragged a hand over his face, weary, letting it rest over his eyes.

  “She doesn’t understand that Elyndra is the only safe place for a seraphi like her. This place isn’t. Healing magic always leaves traces. It always gives you away. And she…” He exhaled slowly. “She always tries to help.”

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  Silence settled between them.

  The stranger stepped closer until he stood in front of him. He didn’t invade his space; he merely observed him from close range, arms crossed.

  “I need to know if you can truly help me,” Sorian said, still not looking at him. “We have to return to Elyndra.”

  He finally lowered his hand and met his gaze.

  The man didn’t answer immediately. He bent down and picked up a fragment of glass blackened by fire. He held it between his fingers, turning it slowly, watching how the sunlight warped across its broken surface.

  “You have to return to Elyndra…” he repeated at last, with a soft nasal laugh. “Of course.”

  The glass cracked between his fingers with a dry snap. When he let it fall, it no longer reflected the light.

  Sorian frowned and took a tense step toward him.

  “If you’re going to mock me—”

  “There are parts of the story you were never told,” the man interrupted, lifting his gaze. “And the cage you call a refuge is one of them.”

  Sorian looked away. He sank to the floor, back against the wall, as if exhaustion had struck him all at once. He inhaled slowly.

  “You’re saying…” he began, then stopped himself, shaking his head. “No. Elyndra is our refuge. It always has been.”

  The man didn’t contradict him. He simply raised his hand and pointed upward. Above them, the sky forced its way through the ruins—clear, bright, vast. Free.

  Sunlight washed over Sorian’s face for a brief moment, and something in his expression fractured. Not in anger, but in doubt.

  Far away—under that same sky—Lyciah leaned against her windowsill and stretched her arm toward the light, as if she still remembered what it felt like to fly.

  Hours later, when that light had already faded, Elric was bent over a small mirror, brow furrowed in solemn concentration. With two fingers, he tried to tame one of his unruly locks.

  “No, not like that,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair again.

  “You know that’s not going to work, right?”

  Elric jolted so violently he nearly slammed his forehead into the mirror.

  “AH—! DON’T LOOK AT ME!” he yelled on instinct.

  Bright red, he spun around with a jump, clutching his chest. Seliane stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with her usual serene smile, as if she hadn’t just given him a minor heart attack.

  “Seliane! Don’t do that! You scared me half to death!”

  “I walked in,” she said with a shrug. “I didn’t materialise or anything strange.”

  “I didn’t hear you!” he protested, clearly flustered.

  Elric dropped his gaze, mortified, and tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. Seliane approached with her hands clasped behind her back, studying him for a few seconds—taking in the contrast between the deep black of his hair and the white strands scattered through it.

  “Hey. Those white streaks…” she said suddenly. “They stand out a lot. I thought maybe it was a species thing, like Momo’s orange hair.”

  Elric froze for a moment. Then he lifted a hand and touched one of the pale strands, embarrassed.

  “Oh…” he said softly. “Yeah. It’s… it’s pretty common among werewolf.”

  “Oh? Really?”

  “Yeah,” he nodded. “A lot of us are born with mixed colours. Sometimes it’s grey, sometimes white… depends on the family. And other things.”

  Seliane beamed.

  “I love it,” she said without thinking. “It suits you so well.”

  Elric turned red instantly.

  “D-Don’t say that!” he protested, turning back to the mirror. “Stop looking at me like that!”

  Seliane laughed quietly, delighted, as he resumed his hopeless battle with a lock of hair that clearly had no intention of obeying.

  Lyciah descended the stairs carefully, one hand on the railing, still half-lost in her thoughts. Reaching the last step, she looked up without much attention and—

  “Is Elric here again?!”

  Elric jumped so hard his foot caught in the rug.

  “S-Sorry!” he blurted out at once, bowing on reflex. “I didn’t mean to bother you, I was just—Seliane told me that—”

  Lyciah froze completely. Her hands clenched against her chest, heat rushing to her face without permission.

  “N-No! I mean— it’s fine,” she rushed to say, waving her hands nervously. “It’s just… I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “I-I wasn’t expecting you to come down right now either!” he replied, just as red as she was. “I mean, yes, you live here, that makes perfect sense, but—”

  He cut himself off, rubbing the back of his neck, utterly defeated by his own words.

  Between them, Seliane watched with growing delight, leaning casually against the wall.

  “Honestly,” she said, amused. “This never stops being funny. Every time it’s like you’re meeting for the first time.”

  Lyciah took a small step back, as if she needed space simply to exist.

  “I thought you were… I don’t know… with Caelan or something.”

  “I was,” Elric nodded. “Well. A little while ago. He stayed outside checking the barrier or something like that. I came in. But I can leave if I’m in the way, really, it’s fine—”

  “No!” Lyciah blurted out too quickly. She cleared her throat, embarrassed. “I mean… you’re not in the way.”

  Elric nodded several times, unsure why, and looked anywhere that wasn’t her. Lyciah fiddled briefly with the sleeve of her clothes.

  “T-then I’ll just…” she began, vaguely pointing toward the door. “...Caelan.”

  “Of course!” Elric replied far too quickly.

  The laughter that followed was brief and nervous—the kind that doesn’t quite know why it exists. Lyciah walked to the door, opened it, and stepped outside. When it closed behind her, Seliane burst out laughing. Elric protested.

  Lyciah closed the door carefully and saw him. Caelan stood a few metres from the house, perfectly still, with the same austere posture as always. He looked like a statue that had been there since before the house existed.

  For some reason, Lyciah’s heart began to race. She cleared her throat and took a breath, gathering all the courage she had.

  “Are you… checking that the house barrier is still holding?” she asked timidly as she approached.

  Caelan turned to her.

  “Yes. After the Seventh pierced my chest, I was weakened for several days. I deemed it prudent to check now that I’ve regained some strength.”

  Lyciah brought a hand to her chest, alarmed.

  “And is… everything alright?”

  “The barrier is fine,” he replied. “I am not.”

  He said it with the same gravity one might use to announce the end of the world. Lyciah lost the battle and laughed.

  Caelan crossed his arms. His expression hardened. He looked… offended. More human than usual.

  “Did I say something wrong?” he asked, perfectly serious.

  “N-No! No, no,” she rushed. “Sorry, it’s just that… um…”

  The words began tripping over one another.

  “Sometimes I laugh when I’m nervous, and I—”

  She stopped to take a breath, but it didn’t help much.

  “I really am sorry about what happened to you. Truly. Getting your chest pierced sounds awful, and I shouldn’t have laughed. That was very insensitive of me, I didn’t mean to downplay it, I just—”

  “It’s fine,” Caelan interrupted. “I’ve had worse experiences.”

  “W-Worse…?”

  “Yes. This one was annoying. Like bumping into a piece of furniture.”

  “…”

  “But the furniture was Ekchron.”

  Lyciah clapped a hand over her mouth, laughing despite herself. Caelan frowned, genuinely confused.

  “I still don’t understand what I’ve done wrong.”

  It took Lyciah a few seconds to calm down. She wiped a small tear from the corner of her eye. He continued to watch her in silence. Something in his expression had softened, as if that nervous, clumsy laughter was… acceptable. Perhaps even pleasant.

  Then Lyciah looked toward the forest. Something was glowing among the trees. Small golden flickers drifted between the trunks, moving slowly. They looked like fireflies, but their light was stronger, more alive.

  “That…” she murmured, unaware she’d spoken aloud.

  Caelan followed her gaze. It took him a second to identify them.

  “Minor spirits,” he said. “They only appear when the forest is calm.”

  Lyciah frowned slightly, tilting her head, a finger resting on her chin. Caelan caught her doubt.

  “When there are no demons,” he clarified.

  She lowered her gaze for a moment. She remembered her arrival in the human world. The escape. The chaos. The smell of blood and fear.

  “Then… it’s safe now,” she murmured, more to herself. “Not like last time.”

  “It is now,” he replied.

  Lyciah lifted her head sharply.

  “Really? Because if it isn’t, that’s fine. We can stay here. Or go back. Or pretend I didn’t see anything bright and mysterious in the forest, which I’m also very good at doing.”

  Caelan watched her for a second longer than strictly necessary.

  “If you want to go,” he said, “we’ll go.”

  That was enough.

  The forest welcomed them in silence. The air beneath the trees was cold, heavy with moisture and the deep scent of earth. They walked slowly, following the floating lights.

  Lyciah spoke softly. Small comments. Unimportant things. Caelan didn’t interrupt. He walked beside her, attentive to every word, as if they weren’t banalities, but something worth listening to with care.

  The trees opened suddenly, revealing a familiar pond. The water lay perfectly still, smooth as a mirror in which the moon reflected clearly. The spirits drifted around it, doubling in the surface, creating an unreal, almost dreamlike effect.

  Lyciah stopped.

  “It’s… here,” she said timidly. “Where we met. Where…”

  She blushed at the memory.

  “Where I talked to you about penguins because I was too nervous.”

  Caelan lowered his gaze as he remembered. That was the moment he had believed she was his enemy. And even so, he hadn’t raised his sword against her.

  Lyciah approached the water slowly. The minor spirits reacted to her presence, surrounding her with curiosity. Their light bathed her figure in a soft, golden glow. The moon illuminated her white hair, which shimmered with an ethereal sheen.

  Lyciah smiled. It wasn’t nervous. It was genuine, unburdened, free.

  “I’ve never…” she murmured. “I’ve never felt this free before.”

  Her reflection duplicated her in the water, as if the pond wished to preserve her. The flowers growing around the edge—small, pale, with translucent petals—swayed gently in the breeze.

  Caelan remained still. He watched her longer than he should have. Longer than was prudent. Longer than his stoicism usually allowed. He didn’t think of beauty, nor of words that might describe her. He simply thought that this was an image he didn’t want to lose.

  They sat at the water’s edge, among the flowers. She folded her legs to one side, hands resting quietly in her lap, her posture small and careful, as if trying not to disturb the moment. He sat beside her with one knee drawn up, a forearm resting upon it, his back straight and composed—more like a knight at rest than a man relaxing. The pond remained motionless. The spirits floated around them like discreet guardians.

  “Thank you,” Lyciah said softly. “For protecting me. For staying. For… everything.”

  Caelan took his time answering. When he did, his voice wasn’t as steady as usual.

  “My main reason for protecting you,” he said, “is that I still don’t know who you truly are.”

  He turned his head slightly, looking away toward the pond.

  “And I want to find out.”

  Lyciah blinked. Then she laughed shyly, fidgeting with her intertwined fingers.

  “Then…” she murmured, her cheeks flushing red, “if I confessed right now what I am… would you leave me?”

  A small flicker of surprise crossed Caelan’s face. Lyciah didn’t have the courage to look at him after asking that. Her heart was pounding so loudly that Caelan probably heard it.

  “Don’t be foolish,” he replied at last.

  He didn’t add anything else. Neither did she. And yet, in the middle of that silence, Lyciah knew she wasn’t alone.