The central plaza of Avalon became the stage for a new phenomenon: vanity. While the novice Hollows were still content with generic grey linen tunics, one of the veterans—who demonstrated an unusual skill in manipulating magical plant fibers with her claws—began to manifest her own change. Under Sirzechs' watchful eye, she did not seek the heat of the oven, but the fineness of the needle. Her evolution was silent, marked by the silvery glow of her magicules transforming into silk threads.
«Notice. The individual designated as Hollow Number 12 has completed the process of Self-Identification.» «Evolution to Race: Homo-Hollow (Avalon Variant)... Success.» «Naming: Genevieve... Confirmed.» «Skill Acquired: [Dimensional Weave]. Profession: Royal High Seamstress.»
Genevieve emerged from the light with the appearance of a slender woman with aristocratic European features and ebony hair. Like Benedict, she carried the mark of her origin: a small white bone mask fragment in the shape of a teardrop just below her left eye. Before even thanking Sirzechs, she looked at her own rustic garments with a disdain that made Grayfia release a rare smile of satisfaction. In a matter of hours, using [Visionary] to provide the raw materials, Genevieve inaugurated Avalon's first Tailor Shop, transforming fabrics into statements of status.
However, with elegance came friction. Benedict Village, now with a dozen newly built marble cottages, faced its first civil crisis. The problem wasn't a lack of resources, but coexistence. Benedict, focused on his ferments and alchemy, kept piles of magical firewood and sacks of flour on his porch, which attracted small mana butterflies. Next door, a new resident—a blacksmith still in shadow form—insisted on testing the durability of his blades by striking them against the marble walls in the early morning, claiming the stone's echo helped with the metal's tuning.
Sirzechs was awakened not by the sun, but by a heated argument. Benedict, in his new eloquence, complained that the smoke from the neighboring forge was giving his prize-winning loaves an unwanted "touch of soot." The Blacksmith hissed back that the smell of yeast ruined his concentration.
Grayfia appeared between the two contenders, her icy aura causing the surrounding grass to freeze instantly. She didn't bring a friendly solution; she brought a thick stack of scrolls bearing Sirzechs' crimson seal.
"Silence," she commanded, and the weight of her [Gabriel] forced the neighbors to back down. "Lord Sirzechs imagined this city to be the pinnacle of civilization, not a marketplace for disorderly monsters. If you possess the intelligence to have a home, you must have the discipline to maintain it."
She held out the scroll to Sirzechs, who signed it with a sigh, giving validity to the Avalon Residential Code of Conduct (ARCC).
"From this moment on," Grayfia declared, reading the clauses with icy precision, "noisy blacksmithing activities are prohibited between sunset and sunrise. The storage of organic supplies, Benedict, must be done in sealed compartments to avoid infestations of magical pests. And for Genevieve, the display of mannequins on the sidewalk must not obstruct more than thirty centimeters of the public way."
Sirzechs walked among his subjects, realizing that the "paperwork enemy" had become his greatest ally in keeping the peace. He explained that one's freedom ended where the other's marble began. He used [Visionary] to manifest small wrought-iron fences and demarcated gardens, giving each house a clear physical limit.
Genevieve's Tailor Shop soon became the informal court of fashion and etiquette. Hollows who wanted to climb Avalon's social hierarchy now knew they needed three things: a coin for Benedict's bread, a suit or dress from Genevieve, and above all, a clean record under Grayfia's Code of Conduct.
As night fell, Sirzechs sat in his office, watching the illuminated village. He saw Genevieve closing her shop with a bow to the street, and Benedict organizing his wood according to the new rules. Bureaucracy was the price of harmony. Grayfia placed a new stack of documents on his desk—this time, regarding the regulation of water usage from the central fountain.
"Lord Sirzechs, you have created beings that think," she said, serving the tea. "And beings that think will always find something to disagree on. My role is to ensure they disagree within the law."
Sirzechs laughed, picking up his quill. Avalon was no longer just marble and magic; it was a complex system of egos, aesthetics, and rules. The human inside him was exhausted, but the King was satisfied. The European civilization he loved so much was flourishing in the heart of Jura, one stitch and one law at a time.
The growth of Avalon brought with it an irony Sirzechs Gremory knew well from his previous life: the more sophisticated a civilization becomes, the more trivial its conflicts turn. What were once disputes over survival or territory in the Jura Forest were now heated debates over the height of garden hedges or the excessive brightness of marble streetlamps.
Author's Note:
Avalon is getting its own "HOA" (Homeowners Association)! Grayfia is the ultimate administrator, and Benedict and Genevieve are setting the standards for the new Homo-Hollow race. But while they argue over hedges, the rest of the Jura Forest is starting to notice the "Crimson Light" in the woods...