[Knowledge Emporium – Secret Information Room]
The air in the hidden chamber was thick with unspoken words.
Two moon elves sat across from each other at the polished oak table—one young and restless, the other detached and composed. Between them, a small blue bird perched quietly, its usual chirpiness absent.
Nolan fidgeted, his fingers tapping against the table. The silence was unbearable.
Finally, he blurted out—
"Brother… are you going to be the manager now?"
Emory's gaze snapped to him, sharp as a blade.
Nolan flinched, immediately backtracking. "D-Don't misunderstand, brother! I-I just wanted to know, that's all!" He swallowed hard. "Now that the human is dead, someone has to take the job, right? If you don't want to, then I—"
Nolan's mouth clamped shut.
His brother was angry.
Kai, the blue bird, let out a quiet sigh, breaking the tension. "This… what are we going to do now?" His beady eyes flicked to Emory. "The boy… he's dead."
Emory didn't respond immediately. His fingers traced the edge of the table, his expression unreadable.
Kai continued, softer this time. "You saw it too. And if you're feeling guilty… don't. Even I… even I couldn't have saved him if I interfered."
Emory's voice was quiet.
Nolan glanced between them, unease coiling in his gut. His brother wasn't just angry.
That was far more terrifying.
Just how close had that human gotten with his brother?!
Emory ignored his little brother's questioning gaze, his fingers still tracing the same spot on the wood grain.
Four days of turning it over in his mind, replaying the recorded scene through Kai's eyes—the explosion, the shadows, the way Aman had vanished into the spatial tear.
Logically, he knew the odds.
A spatial explosion of that magnitude? The backlash alone should have vaporized him. The shadowy hands had ensured he couldn't escape.
99.(9)% impossible to survive.
Emory's fingers curled.
Space-related matters were abnormal.
What if the tear hadn't killed him? What if it had swallowed him? Sent him somewhere else? Or—
His thoughts cut off as the crystal orb on the side table flickered to life, pulsing with pale blue light.
Kai's feathers puffed up. "A message."
Emory reached out, activating the orb with a brush of his fingers. A holographic letter materialized in the air, the elegant script unmistakably Cassandra's.
There was only one sentence:
"You can be the manager if you want, or it can remain reserved for the right person."
Emory's expression didn't change.
He crushed the orb between his fingers, the message dissolving into motes of light.
Nolan blinked, then grinned. "Brother! Did your boss agree? Are you gonna take over the shop now?"
Nolan's grin widened. "Then can you promote me now?"
Nolan's smile died. "W-Why?!"
Emory finally looked at him, his gaze flat. "Because the job suits you."
Nolan's mouth opened, then closed.
Kai let out a quiet chirp—the closest thing to a laugh.
Nolan slumped in his chair, grumbling. "You're the worst, brother."
Emory didn't respond.
His mind was already elsewhere.
Reserved for the right person.
Cassandra's words echoed in his skull.
She hadn't said dead.
She hadn't said gone. And that—
The library was quiet, the usual murmur of students replaced by the soft rustle of pages and the distant crackle of the hearth. Winter sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, casting fractured patterns across the wooden table where Aeron and Zephyr sat.
Aeron tapped his fingers against the armrest of his chair, his gaze fixed on Zephyr. "So… we're heading out next week?"
Zephyr gave a single nod. "The vacation starts then. We'll arrive at our destination by the New Year."
Aeron exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Got it." He pushed himself up from the chair, the legs scraping against the floor. "I'll get my things ready."
Zephyr didn't respond, merely offering a subtle tilt of his chin in acknowledgment.
Aeron hesitated for a fraction of a second, as if he wanted to say something else—then thought better of it. With a final nod, he turned and strode out of the library, his footsteps fading into the quiet.
Zephyr remained seated, staring at the empty space where Aeron had been.
The destination they had discussed was Orlan Kingdom—Aman's homeland.
The academy had announced that someone needed to deliver the news to his family. Logically, they could have sent a teacher or any other responsible staff member. But they had decided otherwise.
"It should be someone who knew him," the principal had said. "Someone who can speak of him properly."
And so, they had reached out to Zephyr first.
Not just because he was one of the heroes who had saved the academy and town.
But because he had been Aman's friend.
Zephyr had agreed without hesitation.
He had already been planning to go for a few personal reasons.
And then, to his surprise, the academy had also extended the invitation to Aeron.
Zephyr had expected resistance—anger, even. But when he had approached Aeron about it, the boy had simply nodded, his expression unreadable.
Zephyr's fingers curled slightly against the armrest.
There were other reasons for this trip, of course.
The academy was sending a reward—compensation for Aman's sacrifice. The town had pooled together funds as well, a gesture of gratitude.
But none of that mattered to Zephyr.
What mattered was the truth.
What mattered was the truth.
A truth that settled like stone in Zephyr's chest: Aman's family deserved to hear it from someone who understood.
And now, here they were...
Preparing to deliver words that would shatter a family.
Preparing to carry rewards and compensation that would never fill the void left behind.
Preparing to face the place where Aman had once lived—where he had laughed, trained, and dreamed—not knowing he would never return.
Zephyr frowned slightly, his fingers uncurling from their tight grip.
How do you tell parents their child is gone?
The mission might have sounded simple—deliver the news, present the rewards, offer condolences, and take your leave.
But Zephyr knew better.
Five years of experience had taught him exactly how these moments unfolded.
The way a mother's hands would tremble before the words even left your mouth. The way a father's face would go blank, as if his mind refused to process the truth. The way siblings would stare at you, waiting for you to take it back, to say it was all a mistake—
He exhaled sharply and stood.
He needed to prepare.
Perhaps he could ask Virion to scout the location beforehand. To gauge the family's temperament, to understand how best to—
His thoughts cut off as he opened a portal with a flick of his fingers. Spatial aura hummed around him as he stepped through—
The scene before him was so absurd, so utterly unexpected, that for a moment, Zephyr wondered if he had misstepped into some bizarre dream or illusion.
A mountain of treasures stretched before him—gleaming relics, weapons, jade bottles, and artifacts piled haphazardly in a glittering hoard.
And at the center of it all—
Virion, his emerald-scaled form coiled proudly around a particularly ornate emerald crown, his wings flared in triumph.
"—and this one! You can control any sub-dragon species with it," the primordial serpent's voice boomed with delight as he dangled the majestic emerald crown from his tail. "They'll see you as their king—absolute perfection, isn't it?"
And sitting directly in front of him was a figure wrapped head-to-toe in bandages like some half-mummified corpse.
The bandaged figure nodded enthusiastically, his entire body swaying with the motion. "Mmph! Mmph mmph!"
Zephyr's brain short-circuited. (∘ ∘ ∘ ( °ヮ° ) ?)