The warmth in the dining hall hadn't yet faded—but the moment Eryndor uttered that word, a subtle tension pulled through the air like drawn wire.
Pungence's hand froze halfway to his wine. His gaze slowly turned to Eryndor, sharp now. "Where did you hear that word?"
Eryndor kept his voice composed. "An acquaintance enlightened us. He, too, was Elvhein—like ourselves."
Pungence leaned in slightly. "What was his name?"Eryndor glanced at Ziraiah, then said, "Kaelan."
Ziraiah nodded, brushing her fingers against her sleeve. "He was the first person we met after arriving here."
Pungence leaned his cheek into his palm, tapping the table with his fingers as he muttered softly to himself. "Kaelan… Kaelan… Kaelan…"
A pause. Then his eyes flicked upward.
"…That's Sotiphar's son."
At that, Andrea raised her brow. Zeliona blinked. Juval just frowned.
Pungence didn't explain further. Instead, he turned his head toward the younger ones at the table.
"Isabela. Juvian," he said, voice steady. "Excuse us, please."
Isabela groaned. "Ugh, but why now?"
Juvian slid off his chair with a sigh. "Come on, come on."
As they walked off, Isabela whispered, "What's Bravo?"
"No idea," Juvian replied flatly, eyes narrowed with curiosity.
Back at the table, Pungence clasped his hands together, elbows resting on the wooden surface. His fingers formed a steeple in front of his face, and he peered over them like a man staring through fog.
"Tell me everything," he said quietly. "Everything Kaelan told you. And everything that's happened to you… since coming here."
Eryndor's eyes lowered slightly. He began to speak—his tone firm but steady.
He recounted their arrival on Yilheim. Their first encounter with Kaelan. The strange, shimmering woods around Mystvir. Their journey to Ignir. The day they were kidnapped by the Black March. The beniek ruin. The scientist from Mystvir. Their encounter with the hooded man. The pain. The rescue.
He told of Festitude Academy, how he learned of Valerius's disappearance. And finally, how it led to this hilltop, to this meal, to now.
By the end, even the silverware on the table seemed to sit in solemn silence.
"I see," Pungence murmured.
Zeliona exhaled softly. "That ruin was all over the news," she said, brushing her fingers along the rim of her glass. "To think… you lived it."
Juval sat straighter, eyes narrowed. "The Black March. I heard they kidnapped Gozay's family recently too."
Andrea clenched her fists. "Those bastards are still conducting experiments on Earthers?" Her voice trembled with fury. "Didn't they learn their damn lesson last time?"
Zeliona looked to Eryndor, her expression a mix of concern and confusion. "But… how does your brother have Bravo in him? That shouldn't be possible."
"I cannot say," Eryndor replied. "That is merely what the elf conveyed."
Pungence leaned back in his chair, running a hand slowly down his face. His voice was quieter now—measured.
"Some time ago, another batch of Earthers arrived. Four groups, in different places. The ones who appeared in Ignir were rounded up and put in one place by Gozay. On my recent visit, I had them moved to Earther's Farm."
He paused, eyes dimming slightly. "We're still trying to locate the others."
He reached for his glass, took a small sip, and looked at Eryndor—not with suspicion, but something closer to weighty expectation.
"Tell me, Eryndor," Pungence said softly, "Why did you think I could teach you Bravo?"
Pungence's question lingered in the air, quiet but heavy.
Eryndor straightened his posture slightly, meeting his eyes.
"My sister recounted how you vanquished our captors with disconcerting ease," he said. "Kaelan delineated two principal paradigms of power within this world. And at present…"—his voice softened, laced with curiosity—"I perceive no emanation of mana from you. Thus, I deduced: you must be a practitioner of Bravo."
Andrea leaned back in her chair with a smirk. "He's good," she said. "He's even in Section Three now."
Pungence's brows lifted. He turned to her, surprised. "What?"
She nodded proudly. "Yep. The boy's a genius. And Ziraiah? She's already a Silent Caster."
Pungence looked between the siblings, clearly impressed. "Wow… That's great."
He exhaled, then turned back to Eryndor, his face growing solemn.
"To answer your question, Eryndor…" Pungence's voice dropped. His tone had lost its warmth—what followed was final, unflinching. "You will never be able to use Bravo."
Eryndor blinked. "For what conceivable reason not?"
Andrea answered before Pungence could. "A person can't use both mana and Bravo. It's simply not possible. Once you start using one, it's locked in. There's no going back."
She leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing. "So you better forget about it. And never say that word outside this room again. Do you understand, Eryndor?"
Eryndor's lips parted for a moment, then closed. He nodded. "Yes."
A quiet settled over the table again. Soon after, the meal wound to a close. The dishes cleared, the lights dimmed.
It was time for the royal family to return.
One by one, they rose from their seats, exchanging goodbyes. Juval gave Pungence a handshake that turned into a half-hug. Zeliona pulled Andrea into a brief, sisterly embrace. Juvian ruffled Eryndor's hair to annoy him, and Isabela bent over to give Ziraiah a gleeful wink.
"I'll come visit you, Ziraiah!" Isabela said with a grin.
"Please don't," Ziraiah replied dryly.
Isabela just laughed and ran to the carriage with her brother.
As the royal convoy rolled down the slope, Ziraiah watched them disappear into the distance.
"They're really nice," she said, arms folded. "Not like the other nobles at school."
Pungence scoffed. "Oh, they were just as proud and disrespectful as the rest."
Eryndor raised an eyebrow. "What precipitated this alteration in demeanour?"
Pungence gave a nostalgic grin. "They spent two months with Aunty Ann. Got to see life from… well, a different perspective."
They all chuckled, walking back toward the house under the golden hue of the setting sun.
Just as they reached the door, Ziraiah turned and looked up at him.
"Pungence," she said, "I've been meaning to ask… why were those kidnappers so scared of you?"
Pungence stopped. He turned to face her, the light catching the sharp edge of his smirk.
"Well," he said, hands on his hips, "that's because… I'm Pungence. And Pungence has no equal."
Behind them, Andrea raised an eyebrow and turned to Stereen. "Did he just speak in third person?"
Stereen nodded, completely deadpan. "Yes. Yes, he did."
Andrea flopped down onto the couch and rolled onto her side. "There he goes again… bragging to kids who don't know anything. If only they knew what kind of man he really is."
Pungence's eyebrow twitched. "What's that supposed to mean, woman?!"
Andrea, lying comfortably on the sofa, didn't even look at him. "Whatever you want it to mean."
Across the room, Ziraiah nudged Eryndor gently.
"I like their chemistry," she said, her voice softening. "It reminds me of Mom and Dad."
Eryndor allowed himself a faint smile. "Mother's meticulous disposition, paired with Daniel's irreverent nonchalance…" He gave a quiet chuckle. "Indeed, they rendered our household a most captivating spectacle."
---
Far, far away—Valerius lay in silence.
His body, torn apart by the cannibal man's hands, had gone limp. Limbs severed. Blood soaked the soil in dark pools. He had fallen unconscious long ago. Yet as the man sank his teeth deep into Valerius' shoulder, his mind was suddenly invaded.
Not by pain.
But by memory.
A flash—bright and warm—struck through the cannibal's brain like lightning. And in it, he saw…
---
The Delindor Estate.
A sleek, modern marvel of Earth's elite. The house stretched across several acres like a steel-and-glass fortress kissed by elegance. It was all angles and harmony, a structure of concrete grace and architectural perfection.
The morning sun glinted off the floor-to-ceiling windows, reflecting the surrounding flower gardens and pristine fountains below. An infinity pool shimmered beside the house like a blue mirror, and professional landscaping shaped the estate like a painting—flawless, geometric, expensive.
Lawns were always trimmed. Flowers always in bloom. The fountains never stopped. And no neighbor ever questioned how anyone paid for it all.
---
Valerius stood on the balcony of his massive room, shirtless, green eyes narrowed at the sun. His dark hair curled slightly in the breeze, and as he stretched, the sunlight danced across his skin.
At fourteen years old, he stood over six feet tall, a giant among his peers. His limbs were long and powerful, his shoulders broad, his posture relaxed. He didn't play sports. Didn't train. But there was a rawness in him—a quiet, unshakeable confidence. A strength he never questioned.
He didn't know why he was different.
He'd asked his mother before.
She never answered.
Behind him, his bedroom could've belonged to royalty. Navy-blue walls lined with shelves of comics and martial arts books. A mounted punching bag hung near the desk. LED lighting traced the ceiling edges. Gold-accented furniture gleamed under morning light, and on the floor sat a guitar he never played and a pair of sneakers he hadn't worn in weeks.
His phone buzzed.
> Ryan: Bro u coming to school or sleeping in that castle again?
Valerius smirked.
He grabbed his backpack, slung it over his shoulder, slipped in his earbuds, and began dancing casually across the room to a beat only he could hear.
---
On the same floor, he barged into Ziraiah's room.
The door creaked open to a soft pink glow. Her room was a tapestry of soft rugs, plush pillows, floral wallpaper, and hanging fairy lights. A faint scent of rose perfume lingered. A collection of stuffed animals sat near the bay window, and a pale desk housed a row of pastel stationery.
Ziraiah sat cross-legged on her bed, a silver laptop open on her thighs. Her wavey black hair was tied in a puff, and her oversized hoodie nearly swallowed her frame.
Valerius strolled in like a hurricane.
He knocked a pillow off her bed, spun in a slow dance move, and rubbed her head vigorously, messing up her hair.
Ziraiah didn't flinch. Her eyes followed him like a judge tracking a criminal.
He winked, closed her laptop with one hand, grabbed a banana from her side table, peeled it, and took a bite.
Still chewing, he strutted toward the door—paused—and let out an exaggerated fart.
"That stupid idiot." Ziraiah muttered, but didn't move.
Valerius grinned. "Later."
Downstairs, the house bloomed into white marble and warm wood. Chandeliers floated like hovering starlight above the atrium, and family portraits decorated the walls—some of them could shift depending on who was looking.
---
In the kitchen, Daniel was humming off-key, flipping eggs in a skillet. The man wore an open morning robe, slippers, and boxers with cartoon fish on them. His messy beard framed a warm, mischievous smile.
"Morning, Dan," Valerius called, dropping his bag by the counter.
"Morning, ma boy!" Daniel sang. "Want some eggs?"
Valerius raised a brow. "Obviously."
Daniel pointed at the breakfast bar. "Then go sit your butt down and throw some food in the belly."
A melodious voice echoed from the top of the stairs.
Lyriana.
"You could speak like a gentleman, you know," she said, her tone smooth and commanding. "You sound like those bush people."
Valerius turned as she descended the staircase.
It never ceased to strike him—his mother's beauty.
Lyriana was thirteen feet four, a tower of grace and power. Her black hair adorned with green streaks shimmered like obsidian silk, and her green eyes seemed to glowe faintly in the light. She wore a deep crimson silk robe that fell in waves down her perfect form, her bare feet silent against the polished steps.
Even now, she looked like a queen.
Daniel grinned. "What's wrong with what I said? Isn't he throwing food in the belly?"
Lyriana shot him a glare, though her lip twitched with a smile.
Daniel turned to Valerius with an over-the-top flourish. "Devour that food, ma boy!"
Valerius nearly spat out his juice laughing.
Lyriana rolled her eyes. "You'll never change."
Daniel winked. "That's why you married me."
She muttered something in synelee and walked past them, adjusting a painting with one hand.
The kitchen—like the house—was built to Lyriana's scale, with giant counters, oversized appliances, and dual seating arrangements: one set for regular people, and another for her.
After scarfing down a mountain of eggs, Valerius stood and slung his bag back over his shoulder.
Lyriana placed a hand on his head and bent down to kiss his forehead.
"Be careful," she said. "Don't do anything… out of the ordinary."
"I'm always careful."
With a glint in her eye, she pinched his cheek and lifted him effortlessly off the ground.
"Ah—awww—oww!" Valerius groaned, flailing.
She smiled as she held him like a rag doll. "Who do you think you're talking to?"
Daniel snorted into his coffee. "Should've known better."
Valerius rubbed his face and muttered, "You didn't have to squeeze so hard…"
But his voice was warm.
There was love here. A strange, powerful love. In this strange family.
He didn't understand his life.
But he was okay with that.
To Be Continued...