Kafka held Abigaille and Olivia close, tears still burning at the edges of his eyes—when suddenly he felt their bodies go slack against him.
His heart stopped. He pulled back in alarm, only to see their eyes flutter shut, their heads resting limply on his shoulders as though they'd simply...fallen asleep.
"Mom? Mom!?" His voice cracked. He shook them lightly, panic rising again.
"Don't worry." Seraphina's calm, cool voice came from behind him. "It's alright. I did that."
Kafka spun around, wild-eyed. "You—what do you mean you did that? Why would you—"
"They're fine." Seraphina interrupted, her tone even but firm. "They're only asleep. I know you're relieved beyond measure to have them back, to see them look at you with love again."
"But if you keep them awake now, after everything that's happened, they'll be confused, frightened even, and you'll only end up deepening your own guilt. Let them rest. It's better this way."
He stood there, torn, his arms trembling around their sleeping forms. Every part of him wanted to keep talking to them, to hold on, to make sure over and over again that their love was still there.
But as much as he hated it, he knew Seraphina was right. The relief he'd seen in their eyes, the tenderness in their voices, those would not vanish by tomorrow.
And in the morning, he would still see that same gaze, that same warmth.
So, with a heavy sigh, he scooped both Abigaille and Olivia into his arms. Carefully, he carried them to their bedroom, laid them down gently, tucked the blankets around their shoulders.
He lingered for a moment, brushing stray strands of hair from their faces, before leaning down and pressing a kiss to each of their foreheads.
His voice, thick with emotion, whispered, "Goodnight."
He closed the door softly behind him, exhaling as if releasing a piece of his soul, and turned back to Seraphina.
He walked up to her, stopping just a step away. His lips clenched, his gaze clouded with a storm of confusion and exhaustion. He then drew in a sharp breath before finally speaking.
"Unlike you...and unlike my mother." He muttered, his voice raw. "I don't know what's going on. At all. I don't know how my mother even got here. I don't know why my mothers suddenly don't remember what she showed them. I don't know why she was trying to force me to...to kill her. I don't know anything. And I'm tired of being left in the dark."
His voice cracked as he stared at her.
"I have so many questions, Seraphina. Too many."
Seraphina listened in silence, her cold gaze unwavering. Then, at last, she gave a small nod.
"It's natural to feel that way. Confusion, frustration, fear. You've been thrown into a game with rules you were never told. But that is why I came here. One of my reasons was to stop Lady Vanitas's madness. The other..."
She looked at him steadily.
"The other was to explain. To give you some of the answers you deserve." She glanced around the bloodstained room and shook her head. "But not here. Somewhere else more private."
Kafka frowned. "Private? What—you mean another room? Outside?"
Instead of answering, Seraphina lifted her hand. A shimmer of light rippled around them. Before Kafka could protest, the entire living room dissolved into mist.
In the blink of an eye, the floor vanished beneath him, replaced by rolling clouds glowing silver under the moon.
His breath caught in his throat. "What the—"
He staggered, staring down in horror. Below him, the world stretched endlessly, dark and vast, while above, the stars gleamed so close it felt he could touch them.
The moon loomed impossibly large, radiant and cold. And yet...he wasn't falling. His boots rested solidly on a bed of clouds, as though they were firm earth.
Kafka's chest rose and fell rapidly. He pressed a foot into the cloud, testing it, then glanced nervously at Seraphina.
"...This...this can't be real. I'm standing on clouds."
Seraphina's lips curved faintly, the barest shadow of a smile. "It's real enough."
He took another hesitant step, the cloud holding beneath him. He gave a shaky laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Are you sure this thing won't just give way? I've been eating a lot lately, you know. Wouldn't be funny if I fell straight through and broke every bone on the way down."
Seraphina's lips twitched, though her expression remained mostly stoic. "It's fine. The clouds here will not break beneath you. And even if they did..." She gave him a sidelong glance. "...with that body half-god body of yours, you would regenerate. You wouldn't lose your life."
Kafka grimaced. "Yeah, but it'd still hurt like hell. I'd rather not smash into the ground just to prove a point."
For the faintest moment, her eyes softened, as though she found his awkward honesty amusing. Then she straightened again, her cold composure returning.
"Ask your questions, Kafka. I will answer what I can. There are things I cannot yet reveal to you, but most of what weighs on your mind, I will explain."
"...Tonight is the time for that."
He drew a long breath, steeling himself.
"Then I'll start with the one that's been burning me since the very beginning."
He lifted his gaze to meet hers, confusion and desperation etched deep in his features.
"How did my mother even get here? I know she wanted to enter this world. She tried before, and you told me she couldn't. That she wasn't able to break through."
"...But now, suddenly, without warning, she's here. Standing in front of me. How? How did that happen?"
Seraphina's expression shifted. Her eyes softened, her gaze contemplative. And then, to Kafka's utter shock, she bowed her head slightly.
"...Before I say anything, I must first apologize to you, Kafka."
His breath caught.
"It was my responsibility to watch over you. To protect your family. To make sure Lady Vanitas never reached you again. That was my promise." Her voice, though steady, carried an unmistakable weight of regret. "And yet...she breached it. She crossed into your world, right under my watch."
"...That failure is mine. I was not able to hold to my vow."
She lifted her head, her eyes meeting his with quiet remorse.
"For that, I am deeply sorry."
Seraphina stayed bowed, her long golden hair spilling like a waterfall across her shoulders, waiting for the sting of his anger. In truth, she braced herself for it, scolding, bitterness, maybe even a blow...It would have been deserved.
She had failed him, failed his family, broken the vow she had sworn on her divinity. For someone like Kafka, who clung to his loved ones so tightly, anger was the most natural response in the world.
But the words never came.
Instead, Kafka let out a small, wry smile. His voice, though weary, carried warmth.
"It's alright." He said gently. "I'll take you at your word. You don't need to apologize to me."
Seraphina blinked, caught off guard. His tone was not bitter, not accusatory, it was forgiving.
He went on, his eyes steady on her. "You...You don't seem like someone who would break a promise lightly. You'd go to hell itself and claw your way back before letting it happen."
"So, if something like this did slip through, it just means it was beyond your control. Something even you couldn't stop." He gave a short laugh, more self-deprecating than amused. "You don't need to apologize for what was never in your hands."
For a goddess who had prepared to shoulder wrath, his calmness stunned her. More than calmness, it was thoughtfulness. He had seen through her intent, recognized her effort, and spared her guilt.
The resemblance struck her, and she murmured, almost without thinking.
"You really are like your mother."
"What do you mean by that?" Kafka tilted his head, confusion knitting his brows.
But before he could press her, Seraphina shook her head softly, letting the thought drift away.
"What you said is true. This situation wasn't mine to control. In fact, it wasn't in the control of any god. Not one of us, not even if we acted together, could have stopped what happened tonight. It was...inevitable."
Kafka frowned, listening intently.
She folded her arms, her voice carrying a weight that made the air between them tense.
"From the very start of this trial, you should know your mother, Lady Vanitas, has been clawing for a way into the mortal realm. She tried once before, with help from another god. You remember it, don't you? That tremor across the world, when even the air felt like it was splitting apart?"
A shiver ran down Kafka's spine. "Yeah...I remember. It felt like the whole world was going to collapse. I thought...I thought I was going to die that day."
"And not just you." Seraphina admitted. "The heavens trembled, too. It took all of us, every single god who governs this universe, to drag them back and seal the breach. Both Vanitas and Noelle were in a frenzy. Their power nearly tore apart the mortal barrier."
She paused, her gaze darkening with the memory.
"But the barrier managed to hold it. And we were glad. Because that proved even two gods, united in desperation, couldn't break into this realm. The barrier was strong, stronger than we believed."
"Strong because it is woven into the laws of the universe itself. Laws that have not changed since the beginning of creation. Laws that no god, no matter how powerful, can alter."
Kafka nodded slowly, the memory and her words settling together. "So you thought...no matter what she tried, she wouldn't get through."
"Yes." Seraphina's mouth tightened. "We thought the matter closed. We believed Vanitas's schemes would all collapse against those laws. But..." She looked at him gravely, her voice dropping. "We forgot one thing. One possibility we never should have overlooked. A single process that could unravel everything."
Kafka's breath caught. "What?"
Her answer came like a whisper of thunder:
"Ascension. The ascension of a god."
His eyes widened, baffled. "Ascension? But...that doesn't make sense. Ascension is for mortals, when a human rises to godhood. How could a god already at the peak...ascend again?"
Seraphina's gaze held his, calm and deliberate, as she began to explain.
"Normally, there are two kinds of gods in this universe. True gods...and demigods. The true gods are those who have existed since the dawn of creation. Born with the universe itself, they embody its pillars."
"The God of Love. The God of Harvest. The God of Health. Countless aspects of existence, each one anchored by a true god. They are the balance-keepers, the rulers who hold creation steady."
"They are eternal and absolute. I...am one of them."
"I am Seraphina, Goddess of Order." She said simply. "It is my role to oversee balance, to preserve the stability of all things."
Kafka listened in silence, his heart thudding.
"And then..." She continued. "...there are the others, the demi-gods. They are not born from the breath of the universe itself but from us—the true gods."
"They are our children. Half of divinity, half of something lesser. That is what you are, Kafka. A child of a true god. And normally, there are only these two classes: true gods, and demi-gods. Nothing else."
She paused, her eyes sharpening as a shadow passed over her face. "But the truth...is not that simple."
Kafka stiffened. The way she looked at him made his chest tighten. "What do you mean...?"
Her lips parted slowly, each word drawn out as if she were reluctant to even name it.
"There is...another class. One far more dangerous, far more powerful than either. A title whispered only in fear." She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a hush.
"The Eternal Sovereign of Life and Death."