Morning light filtered through the high, arched windows, soft and golden, painting warm streaks across the stone floor. It would've been peaceful, maybe even serene, if not for the surreal sight in front of me: Arden, stoic as ever, sitting cross-legged on a cushioned stool with Sora perched delicately on his lap, humming while he wove careful braids into her golden hair.
It was absurdly domestic. Ridiculously soft. Uncomfortably... normal, considering everything else.
I tried not to stare.
Instead, I sat cross-legged on the floor, doing my best to look like someone who knew what they were doing. Arden had told me to try and "feel my mana," whatever that meant. Something about how Light magic worked differently. Something about my mana core being like a second heart—his words, not mine—and how people with Light or Dark affinities didn't use magic the way normal elemental mages did.
That was the most I'd gotten out of him. When I asked for clarification, he just gave me one of his signature non-explanations. Said it was too annoying to explain in detail and that I'd figure it out eventually. Helpful.
So here I was, eyes closed, doing my best not to think about how Sora kept making quiet, pleased little noises whenever Arden's fingers brushed her scalp. She looked absurdly content, almost feline in the way she rested—limbs tucked delicately, head slightly tilted, humming as Arden's fingers worked through her hair—and if she got any more comfortable, I was going to have to leave the room or combust.
From the corner, Lysandria huffed. Loudly.
"I have better things to do than watch this... whatever this is," she muttered, arms crossed and expression sharp enough to cut steel.
Yet she didn't leave. She stayed right where she was, glaring daggers with the kind of intensity that would've set lesser people on fire. I couldn't tell if she was annoyed, jealous, or both. Probably both.
Then came the click of polished boots on stone.
Seraphina entered without knocking. As always, she looked like someone who'd stepped out of a painting meant to both impress and intimidate—her outfit today was a long, flowing garment that shimmered like woven bronze and charcoal, cut high at the sides for mobility but detailed with feathered layers that gave her the look of some ancient priestess or ceremonial huntress. Elegant yet primal. Beautiful in a way that made you forget to breathe for a second.
She offered a small bow, sharp and efficient.
"The Emperor has appointed me to oversee and assist with your mission regarding the cult," she said simply, voice like velvet dipped in steel.
Her gaze swept to Lysandria first. The princess's lip curled slightly as she turned away without a word, which probably counted as polite by her standards.
She then met Arden's gaze, gave a nod sharp enough to slice parchment, and turned to me.
I tensed.
It was always like this with her—like she could see right through me, every crack and splinter. Her stare was clinical, surgical. Not cruel, but certainly not soft.
"What are you doing?" she asked, with just a hint of arch amusement.
I opened my eyes slowly. "Uh... focusing on my... mana core? I think? Arden said to try to feel it."
Her head tilted slightly. "And have you?"
"Define 'feel,'" I said flatly.
She didn't smile, but something in her expression shifted, like she was biting back one.
Seraphina crossed the room and knelt in front of me with fluid grace, her outfit whispering against the floor as she moved. She didn't ask for permission. She simply placed a hand lightly over my sternum and said, "Breathe deep. Not with your lungs—with your will. Push your awareness inward, as if you're trying to listen to something inside you."
I blinked. That wasn't helpful. But I tried anyway.
"You won't hear it the first time," she added, softer now. "But if your affinity is truly Light, the core will be different. It won't burn or surge. It'll glow. Faintly. Steadily. Like a star seen from afar. Look for that."
...Oh. That was actually kind of poetic.
I breathed in again, this time not trying to focus so hard. Just listening inwardly. And maybe—just maybe—I thought I saw it. A faint, distant glimmer. Like something waiting to be noticed.
Arden's voice broke the moment. "You're doing better than I expected."
Of course he was watching. Of course.
And somehow, without looking up from Sora's nearly finished braid, I knew he meant it as praise.
Which somehow made it worse.
Still, I couldn't help but sit a little straighter. It wasn't much—barely a flicker—but it had been something. A start. Seraphina gave a short nod, stood without a word, and returned to her poised, elegant stance beside the door. I had a feeling that was the closest I'd get to encouragement from her.
Arden finally tied off the last braid in Sora's hair, patting her head like someone sealing a masterwork with a stamp of approval. Sora leaned back to look at him, beaming like he'd just hung the moon. He gave her one of his faint, unreadable nods in return. She practically glowed.
"Are you done?" Lysandria's voice snapped through the air like a whip. "Because some of us are still deciding whether or not to forgive you, Arden."
He raised a brow, glancing over.
"I meant what I said," she continued, arms crossed. "You knocked me unconscious and dragged me around like some sack of grain. The least you could do is fix my hair. It's been ruined since your little display."
Her tone was biting, imperious—but there was a flush at her cheeks that told a different story. Vulnerability masked by hauteur. Still, she wasn't hiding her horns anymore, not since Radames had oh-so-casually dropped the news that he knew exactly who she was and didn't particularly care. Seraphina knew too, apparently, and had yet to so much as blink at the sight of her. Which meant the ridiculous wide-brimmed hat Arden had bought her yesterday could finally die the quiet death it deserved.
Arden blinked slowly, gave her a long, unreadable look, then gestured for her to sit down in front of him without a word.
Lysandria rolled her eyes and crossed the room with all the pride of a cat pretending it hadn't just fallen off a windowsill. "Don't make it weird," she muttered, brushing a few rebellious strands from her face as she sat with exaggerated grace, careful to keep her posture regal even on the floor.
"I wasn't going to," Arden said, already reaching for the comb he'd used on Sora.
From my seat, I could see the way her shoulders tensed, just a little. She was letting him near her again, after all. Not something I thought I'd see anytime soon, given the whole 'you knocked me unconscious' incident. Either way, it felt like watching a lion present its throat—not weakness, but something dangerously close to trust.
A few hours later, just as I'd started to wonder if we'd been forgotten, Seraphina returned, silent as ever, and gestured for us to follow her without a word. We obeyed, falling into a loose sort of formation—Arden at the front with Sora trotting close beside him, me awkwardly in the middle, and Lysandria stalking behind us like she was too important to walk next to anyone.
The halls of Radames' mansion were still ridiculous, all polished obsidian tile and glowing magi-lamps shaped like golden vines. I kept expecting to run into a parade of servants or something, but it was oddly quiet. Eventually, we reached what I guessed was a dining hall, though "feasting chamber" might have been more accurate. The vaulted ceiling arched so high it seemed to disappear into shadow, and a chandelier made of floating magi-glass crystals cast a warm, pulsing glow over the enormous table set in the center of the room. Food was already laid out—roasted meats, steaming stews, fruits I didn't recognize, and wine that sparkled in the light.
Radames was already seated at the head of the table, elbow propped on the armrest of his grand throne-like chair, swirling a glass of wine with the casual air of someone who was either a seasoned tyrant or a very bored noble. Maybe both.
He raised the glass slightly as we entered. "Ah, good. I can finally offer my hospitality properly. Apologies for the delay—empire-building waits for no one."
We sat. Or, well, we tried to sit normally. Sora nestled in beside Arden without hesitation, and Lysandria took the farthest seat from him while still keeping him in her line of sight. I awkwardly picked the seat next to Seraphina, who remained standing until Radames gave a lazy nod.
"Let this be a toast to our soon-to-be victory," Radames said, lifting his glass higher. "You've all done well. More trials await, but I've no doubt you'll see them through."
We raised our glasses—water for me, unfortunately—and drank.
He set his goblet down with a soft clink. "Seraphina will be at your disposal for this mission. As much or as little as you require, she is to act as your eyes, your voice, and your shield."
Seraphina inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment.
"And," Radames continued, "once you've rested, she will also escort you to meet the head of our Research Division. I imagine you've been curious about our magi-tech. It's time you saw the engine behind the empire's edge."
I exchanged a glance with Arden. Magi-tech scientist. That… could either be incredible or terrifying. Maybe both.
I hadn't eaten anything this good in… ever, honestly. I'd had decent meals on the road, thanks to Arden's Item Box and his suspiciously well-stocked supplies, but this? This was something else. Every bite was warm and rich and strange in the best possible way.
I didn't even realize I was crying until Sora gently passed me a napkin.
"I'm not crying," I muttered, dabbing at my face like it wasn't a total lie.
Sora just smiled. Arden, to his credit, said nothing, but I caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Close enough to a smirk to be suspicious.
The food made me remember things I'd buried. Warm firelight in our cottage. My parents' soft voices. The way the air had smelled of bread and pine. And later, after they were gone, the drafty, broken-down hut in the slums where I'd lived alone. The endless errands. The trash work. The looks people gave me when I came begging for scraps. Rat. Leech. Nothing.
But now… I wasn't alone. Arden had saved me. Brought me here. Taught me—well, tried to teach me. I still didn't really understand half of what he said, but he'd stayed. Helped. Watched over us.
Maybe I looked up to him. Not that I'd ever say it out loud. But something had shifted. And it glowed.
And maybe… maybe I looked up to him. A little.
Just a little.
The hallways of the complex were quiet, too quiet, the kind of stillness that made you feel like you were walking through something that didn't breathe. The walls shimmered faintly with magic, a soft hum vibrating underfoot. It was strange, unsettling, like I was walking in the bones of something ancient and alive.
We passed more of those strange figures—tall, hunched shapes that moved with precise, mechanical steps. I couldn't help but stare, but I tried to be subtle about it. They didn't look entirely human, but they didn't look like machines either. Their movements were stiff and jerky, as if someone had sculpted a person out of metal and gave them a soul—but not the kind of soul that made you feel warm inside.
One of them turned the corner ahead, and I watched as it disappeared from view. My stomach churned a little, unsure of what to make of them. "What are those?" I asked, unable to hold back my curiosity any longer.
Seraphina, ahead of us, glanced over her shoulder, her face as unreadable as ever. "Automatons," she said, her voice calm, almost like she was naming an everyday object.
"Automatons?" I repeated, feeling the word slip off my tongue awkwardly. It wasn't a word I was familiar with, and I could tell from the way she said it that it wasn't something particularly special in this world.
Seraphina gave a slight nod, her expression unchanged. "Machines. Constructed beings. They are built to serve a variety of purposes, depending on their design. Some are tools, some are protectors, and others are... more specialized."
I blinked, not quite understanding what she meant by that. "So, like... they're alive?"
Her gaze drifted to one of the automatons ahead, which was walking with its stiff, measured steps. "Not alive," she said. "But they act like it, sometimes. Some even learn. A few of them can even think for themselves, to an extent."
I glanced at the one she'd pointed out. It didn't seem like it was thinking about anything at all, just walking in a straight line with mechanical precision. "And you... you trust them?"
Seraphina's lips twitched slightly, almost as if she were suppressing a smile. "Trust is an odd thing. I find them useful. And I suppose... I find them a bit cute, in a way. In their own manner, of course."
That was the most terrifying definition of 'cute' I'd ever heard. The idea of finding those things—those things—cute was hard for me to grasp. But Seraphina said it so matter-of-factly, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
She didn't seem bothered by them, so I wondered if maybe I was just overreacting. But then again, I had the distinct feeling that Seraphina didn't react to much.
We passed more of them as we went on, and I couldn't help but notice that some of them had strange, glowing markings on their bodies, flickering like distant stars in the dark. The sight made my skin crawl, though I couldn't explain why.
"Why are they here?" I asked, trying to shake off the uncomfortable feeling that was slowly creeping up on me.
"They are part of the Dalthun Empire's infrastructure," Seraphina explained, her voice unwavering as we walked deeper into the labyrinthine corridors. "They perform tasks that require precision, stamina, and consistency—things that even the best of humans can't manage. They are useful in ways you might not understand just yet."
Before I could ask any more questions, we reached a vast chamber cluttered with all sorts of things I didn't understand. Copper pipes snaked across the ceiling like overgrown vines, and shelves were packed with half-built gadgets, mana conduits, and glowing blueprints etched on transparent stone. It looked like the workshop of someone who thrived on chaos—or perhaps, created chaos.
In the center of this mess, a figure looked up from her workbench.
She had short green hair, sticking out wildly from beneath a hat covered in gears, compasses, and monocles. Her overalls were stained with what I hoped were oils or inks, not... other substances. Her waistcoat was half-buttoned, and round, wire-framed glasses were perched precariously on her nose. She didn't look up as we entered, too absorbed in whatever bizarre contraption she was tinkering with.
"Oh!" she chirped, practically skipping toward us. "New faces! Live ones, too! How delightfully squishy!"
I blinked. Arden blinked. Sora blinked.
Lysandria stepped back like she'd just seen a particularly unfriendly ghost.
"I'm Thalia," the girl announced, adjusting her glasses with both hands—she looked like she'd done it a hundred times and still never got it right. "Lead Magi-Tech Engineer of the Dalthun Empire's Applied Innovation Division. Or, you know, Mad Genius Extraordinaire, depending on who you ask. I prefer 'Visionary of Vivisection,' personally, but the 'uppers' disagreed." She offered an overdramatic bow, so deep it nearly toppled over a stack of sparking crystal cores. "You must be the chosen ones! Or test group 7G, depending on the paperwork. I don't really do paperwork. Too many acronyms and not nearly enough unauthorized field testing."
Seraphina sighed heavily, clearly used to this. "Thalia. We discussed the protocol."
Thalia waved her off dismissively, and then her eyes zeroed in on Sora. Her head tilted, eyes narrowing in curiosity. "Hold on," she murmured, stepping closer to Sora with the unnerving intensity of someone who had just spotted a bug under a magnifying glass. "What are you?" she asked, squinting as if Sora's entire existence was some unsolved riddle.
Sora looked up at her, her smile flickering just a bit. "I'm... a person," she said, voice quiet but firm, like she wasn't entirely sure she'd be believed.
Thalia leaned in even closer, practically vibrating with the need to poke and prod, but before she could ask another question, Seraphina snapped her fingers, sharp as a whip.
"Thalia," she said, her tone clipped and sharp, "that's enough."
Thalia blinked, then glanced at Seraphina like she was being pulled out of some mental rabbit hole. She straightened up immediately, looking almost apologetic but also a little annoyed. "Oh, right. No questions unless they're signed off on," she muttered, before turning back to us with a grin that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Well, I guess that's one rule I'll have to remember. So! Who wants a tour of my lab? I've got talking weapons, thinking slimes, and a teapot that may or may not be sentient. Still deciding."
Seraphina didn't so much as twitch. She just gestured for us to follow, her eyes still a little too focused on Thalia to show any softness. "Come along."
And just like that, she was off—humming something that sounded like a war march with a missing beat. A maddening war march, to be honest.
I looked at Arden, who merely shrugged, as if he was well accustomed to this bizarre scene. Then I turned my gaze to Sora, who stood by his side, her expression more open than usual, though still a bit guarded. She looked... uncomfortable, but not in the way she usually did. She gave me a faint smile when our eyes met, like she was trying to reassure me—but of what, I wasn't sure. Her fingers twitched at her side, and I could see her eyes scanning everything around her, as if trying to make sense of it all.
Lysandria muttered something under her breath as we followed Thalia down the stairs. "Mad genius, my foot," she grumbled. "What kind of lab doesn't even have a single normal person?"
I had no answer. Normal had become a distant memory the moment I'd met Arden.
The air shifted as we descended—cooler, denser, heavy with that peculiar hum of magic and machinery layered together. The stairs creaked underfoot, and the light grew dimmer with each step, like the walls were closing in. I found myself leaning forward, not because I wanted to—but because I had to see.
Something waited down there. I didn't know what. Answers, maybe. Or questions I didn't want to ask.
But the deeper we went, the clearer it became: the surface was only the start.
And something beneath it all was watching.