The faint smell of roasted barley filled the quiet interior of Hoshigawa, Arata's restaurant. Sunlight fell lazily across the wooden tables, highlighting the subtle shimmer of his golden aura as he sat cross-legged, sipping tea like nothing extraordinary was happening in the world outside.
Outside, of course, everything was happening.
Kaelven had taken the four children—Asar, Mitsuki, Rei, and Nax—on a controlled sortie into the dungeon breaks. Monsters roamed the city outskirts, dungeons erupted spontaneously, and chaos brewed for miles. But Arata didn't worry. Kaelven could handle himself, and the children, under his supervision, were safe.
He lifted the cup to his lips and exhaled softly. Steam spiraled upward, coiling like the edge of his thoughts.
"Training circuits through combat… efficient. Minimal risk."
He set the cup down, eyes half-closed, serene. The faintest glow of his soul circuit pulsed at his temples.
Then the air shifted. Not a tremor, not a sound—just the subtle presence of something vast, ancient, and beyond mortal comprehension.
A shadow fell across the restaurant, and the golden shimmer around Arata's form flickered.
"Ah."
The creature didn't emerge in the physical sense—it manifested. A massive presence, scales like fractured starlight, wings stretching infinitely beyond the constraints of the room, eyes piercing into the very fabric of Kael'Ar.
Veydra, the dragon from the other dimension, the one that had chased Kaelven across realities with its seven billion Double Count, slowly took form in front of him.
The air vibrated with tension, yet it was calm—like a predator stepping into a familiar playground.
"So," Veydra's voice rumbled like a collapsing moon, "you let the boy run free, train with monsters, while chaos devours the world."
Arata's lips curved into a soft, almost mischievous smile.
"They're fine. Kaelven can handle himself. The children are fine too. Nothing for me to worry about."
The dragon's massive head lowered slightly, blue-gold eyes scrutinizing him.
"Hm. I see."
It paused, observing something beyond the restaurant's walls. The faint tremors of battle, the rippling mana across Kael'Ar, and then…
Arata's attention subtly shifted to the distance. There, fighting a colossal dungeon lord, two figures danced with lethal grace.
Alzwalt Light, fluid as a storm made flesh, weaving between blows, blades shimmering with the intensity of his Storm circuit.
And John Merciless, calculating, merciless as ever, slicing and dicing with precision that blurred thought and reaction.
The dungeon lord, a towering monstrosity with six jagged arms and scales that shimmered like molten obsidian, roared with frustration as it tried to keep pace.
Veydra's gaze softened just slightly, a low rumble escaping its throat.
"These guys… really are enjoying themselves, aren't they?"
Arata chuckled softly, shaking his head, the faintest flicker of irritation passing through his smile.
"Always," he murmured. "They never do things quietly. Never quietly fight, never quietly train, never quietly live. But I suppose… that's why they're worth watching."
Veydra shifted its massive wings, a shadow falling over the restaurant like night swallowing day, yet the warmth of Arata's calm persisted.
"You… find this amusing?"
"I find it necessary," Arata replied. "The world thrives on chaos. Even a little fun is… instructive."
The dragon let out a low hiss, almost a laugh, and the scales on its head shimmered in complex patterns.
"Hm. I suppose I'll indulge this spectacle a little longer."
Arata raised his teacup, as if to toast the chaos itself. Outside, the world burned, monsters clashed, dungeons broke, heroes rose, and yet here, in the stillness of his restaurant, he sipped tea and smiled.
"Let's see… how long they can keep this up."
The shadows of the battles stretched across the horizon, Alzwalt's laughter ringing through the trees, John's presence cutting through the monsters with uncanny precision, and Kaelen's circuits sharpening under Tessandra's guidance—all under the calm, calculating gaze of one man who watched it all unfold.
And above it, Veydra hovered, curious, amused, yet aware that the one quietly sipping tea beneath it all—the one orchestrating without a whisper—was the only true constant in this unfolding storm.
"Chaos," Arata murmured, "is best observed from a cup of tea."
And he sipped again, as if nothing else mattered.