Vale stood frozen, eyes wide, as the elevator doors slid open.
Two men stepped out.
The first was tall, draped in a simple monk's robe that hung loosely from his frame. Long brown hair flowed freely down his back, framing olive-toned skin that seemed almost to glow beneath the sterile lights of the chamber. His eyes were closed, yet a serene, almost knowing smile rested upon his lips. He radiated power, quiet, immense, and unmistakable. Vale recognized it instantly. This man was dangerous in the same way a calm sea was dangerous, not loud, not aggressive, but vast beyond comprehension.
Yet Vale was not stunned by him.
It was the figure walking beside the monk that rooted Vale to the spot.
A boy, no, a young man, emerged next from the elevator. He wore a monk-like uniform as well, though his was clearly fashioned for combat rather than contemplation. Reinforced fabric hugged his form, designed for movement and endurance. His hair was a vivid crimson, striking against his sun-kissed skin, and his eyes, a brilliant, almost painful blue, seemed far too clear for someone so scarred.
His arms told the rest of the story.
They were crisscrossed with countless marks, long, thin scars like those left by whips. Old wounds. Repeated wounds. The kind that spoke not of battle, but of punishment.
Vale's breath caught in his throat.
"Eskar…" he whispered under his breath.
The world seemed to narrow to a single point as the boy stepped fully into the room. Vale could not move. Could not speak. He had not expected, had not prepared, to see Eskar again. Not after what had happened only days ago. Not after the blade, the rage, the intent to kill.
And yet here he was.
Vale was not afraid. Fear would have been easier. This was something else entirely, shock layered atop disbelief, wrapped in a faint, aching confusion. Eskar was alive. More than that, he seemed… changed. Standing beside the monk, it was clear he was now the man's student.
Barbatos noticed Vale's rigid posture and followed his gaze. His eyes settled on the two newcomers, lingering briefly on Eskar.
"Friends of yours?" Barbatos asked casually.
Vale swallowed. His voice came out strained, and distant.
"Something like that."
His eyes never left Eskar.
"The red-haired one tried to kill me a couple of days ago."
Barbatos raised an eyebrow, then turned his full attention back toward the boy.
"I see," he said simply.
Several seconds passed.
Eskar had not yet acknowledged the room. His expression was disciplined and focused, almost grim. But as his gaze finally swept across the gathered figures, it landed on Vale.
And shattered.
The seriousness vanished in an instant, replaced by pure, unfiltered bewilderment. His eyes widened, his breath faltered, and for a long moment the two of them simply stared at one another from across the chamber, separated by nearly twenty meters and an ocean of unresolved history.
The monk beside Eskar noticed the sudden distraction. He turned his head slightly, though his eyes remained closed.
"Is something wrong?" the monk asked, his voice calm and gentle.
Though they stood far away, Vale heard every word as if spoken beside him.
Eskar clenched his jaw. His eyes squeezed shut as though the sight of Vale physically pained him, and he turned his face away.
"I don't deserve to be here," Eskar said quietly.
He resumed walking beside the monk.
The monk's smile softened.
"I see," he replied. "So that child is here as well."
Vale's eyes widened.
'He knows?'
'He knows what happened?'
Eskar nodded, shame evident in every motion.
The monk stopped. For the first time, he opened his eyes, revealing irises the same vivid red as Eskar's hair. They were bright, sharp, and piercing, yet filled with warmth rather than judgment.
"Do not worry, my child," the monk said gently. "Go. Do what you must."
Eskar looked at him in surprise, then hesitated. His gaze flicked back toward Vale.
"Are you sure?" he asked, confusion etched plainly across his face.
The monk merely nodded and waved him forward.
Eskar bowed deeply in respect, then turned and began walking toward Vale.
Each step tightened the knot in Vale's chest.
Now that Eskar was approaching, Vale felt the weight of everything he knew, the boy's past, the abuse, the rage, the broken upbringing. Vale had already forgiven him for the attempted murder. That much was true. But forgiveness did not erase uncertainty.
'How does he see me now?' Vale wondered.
'As mercy? As weakness? As a reminder of what he's done?'
A cold bead of sweat traced its way down Vale's cheek.
Barbatos noticed.
"Calm down," he said quietly, drawing Vale's attention. "If anything happens, I'm here."
His gaze sharpened slightly as he watched Eskar approach.
"Though I doubt anything will happen. His emotions show deep regret… and pity."
Vale frowned in confusion, about to ask what Barbatos meant, but Eskar had already arrived.
The boy sat down across from Vale, positioning himself directly opposite him. Eye to eye, close enough that Vale could see the faint tremor in Eskar's hands.
They did not speak.
Seconds stretched into minutes, heavy with tension and unspoken thoughts. Vale became dimly aware of Evelyn watching silently from afar, her expression unreadable.
Finally, Eskar broke the silence.
"I…" he began, then stopped.
Vale lifted his gaze fully, giving him his attention.
Eskar opened his mouth again, then closed it, clearly struggling to find the right words. His shoulders sagged slightly.
'This must be hard for him too,' Vale thought, a flicker of pity rising in his chest.
At last, Eskar exhaled deeply.
"There are truly no words sufficient to express my gratitude for your generosity," he said. "And mercy."
The tension between them eased, just a little.
"However," Eskar continued, his voice steady but heavy, "I cannot deny that I am unworthy of it."
Vale narrowed his eyes slightly.
"Why?" he asked.
Eskar gave a quiet, bitter chuckle.
"Is it not obvious?" he replied. "I tried to kill you. I do not deserve mercy."
Vale studied him for a long moment, then spoke carefully.
"Maybe you don't deserve my mercy," Vale said. "But you do deserve a second chance."
Something stirred violently in Eskar's expression. His jaw tightened. Emotion surged, raw and unrestrained.
He stood abruptly.
"Forget it," Eskar said, turning away. "If you can't understand something that simple, then you're far too naïve."
He walked off without looking back.
Vale watched him go, confusion weighing heavily on his thoughts. He let out a slow breath.
"That went better than expected," Vale muttered under his breath.
Barbatos tilted his head.
"Really?" he asked.
Vale nodded, then hesitated. After a moment's consideration, he decided Barbatos should know. He spoke quietly.
"He's the child of the Oceanis Dynasty," Vale said. "His father abused him throughout his entire childhood. That's what I found during my research."
Barbatos stopped.
His eyes widened, and his teeth clenched so hard Vale could hear it. Slowly, Barbatos turned away.
"That man is not his father," Barbatos said coldly as he walked off.
Vale sighed.
He understood exactly why Barbatos would say such a thing.
After all, no real father would ever do that to their child.
Vale exhaled slowly and set the small ravens down upon the glass table in front of him. The faint tapping of their claws against the surface echoed softly through the convergence room. For several hours, he remained there in silence, watching as individuals filtered in one by one, the room gradually filling with presence and quiet tension.
Evelyn approached him occasionally, exchanging a few subdued words, brief check-ins, quiet reassurances, before returning to the others. Each time she left, the weight in the room seemed to settle just a little heavier.
Eventually, three more figures arrived.
The first was an elderly man with a long, well-kept gray beard and sharp, calculating eyes. He wore a pristine laboratory coat, its edges slightly worn from years of use. Even without introduction, Vale felt confident in his assumption.
'Mister Wolfgang,' he thought. The man radiated intelligence and experience, the kind forged through decades of research rather than combat.
The second was far more unsettling.
A tall man draped in a long black robe stepped into the room, the fabric worn and faintly stained, as though it had seen too many places and too much time. An old black blindfold covered his eyes, its material frayed and uneven. There was something oppressive about his presence, an aura that made the air feel heavier.
Brother Fe, Vale guessed.
The last of the three arrived moments later.
A woman entered with measured elegance, her movements fluid and unhurried. She was breathtakingly beautiful. Long black hair cascaded down over tanned skin, framing eyes that gleamed like polished embers. She wore a flowing white dress that contrasted sharply with the severity of the room, her features so flawless they bordered on divine.
Sister Cleo.
Yet, despite her beauty, Vale found himself paying her surprisingly little attention.
His gaze drifted back to the ravens resting quietly on the glass table. Their dark forms were reflected perfectly beneath them, dark shapes against shining transparency.
Then he noticed something else.
A reflection that should not have been there.
Vale did not have a reflection.
Which meant it could only belong to one person.
He sighed softly.
The surface of the table rippled like disturbed water, and a man with long, dark hair emerged from it as though stepping out of a mirror. He stretched lazily, then dropped onto the couch directly across from Vale. He yawned once, unbothered, before finally looking at him.
Vale was already watching, his arms crossed.
"So, kid," the man said, his voice casual and mildly amused. "You the reason for this mess?"
Vale scratched the back of his head and gave an awkward smile.
"You could say that," he replied. "Yeah."
The man chuckled, leaning back comfortably.
"Well," he said, "I guess we'll find out the full story soon enough."
No sooner had the words left his mouth than the elevator bell chimed again.
Vale lifted his head.
A tall woman with warm brown hair stepped out, her posture composed and her movements graceful. There was a quiet authority in the way she carried herself, a presence that commanded respect without demanding it.
Vale smiled faintly.
'Miss Rose,' he thought.
At last, everyone had arrived.