Ziraiah stepped into the lounge and froze.

  On the sofa, legs dangling like a child, sat Mr. Baby — or Sultan — sipping noisily from a baby bottle while the Seer-screen flickered before him.

  Her eyes narrowed as she strode across the room.

  “…What are you doing?”

  He didn’t look at her, just waggled the bottle between his teeth. “What it look like? Mi watchin’ Seer.”

  Ziraiah’s voice sharpened. “Shouldn’t you be in your cell?”

  Sultan smirked, sucking loudly on the bottle before answering. “They release mi. Looks like you an’ mi gonna be havin’ a likkle adventure.”

  Ziraiah’s brows furrowed. “…What are you talking about?”

  He leaned back, eyes gleaming. “Go ask dat old elf.”

  Ziraiah’s hands curled into fists. “You did not just call Aunty Ann old.”

  “What? She not?”

  Ziraiah stepped closer, her height shadowing him. “Word of advice—if you want to survive long enough to see adulthood, don’t ever call her that again.”

  Before he could reply, footsteps creaked through the door. Eryndor, his tall frame pristine as always.

  “Where have you been?” Ziraiah demanded.

  Eryndor’s eyes flicked to her calmly. “Alvin… inundated me with innumerable inquiries.”

  Before Ziraiah could press further, a sharp voice from outside cut the air.

  “Daaamn iiiit!”

  It was Valerius.

  ---

  From her window, Eliana leaned out, her chin propped on her hands, amusement in her gaze as she watched him.

  “I think you should relax,” she called softly. “You’re too tense.”

  Valerius crushed another glass in his hand, shards spilling at his feet. His voice was ragged with frustration.

  “How can I relax? Do you know how hard I’m trying? You’re strong too. Do you use this technique?”

  Eliana shook her head lightly. “Oh no. Without muscle augmentation, I’m just as strong as any normal elf. I can touch things just fine.”

  Valerius glanced at the bench. Only one glass remained. He reached for it—CRACK. Shards fell.

  He exhaled sharply. “Looks like that was the last one.” He raised his voice. “I need more glasses!”

  Stereen appeared in the doorway, bowing slightly. “I’ll go buy more immediately.”

  Behind her, the butler emerged with a silver tray. Upon it sat a single porcelain cup.

  “Would you care for a drink, Master Valerius?”

  Valerius glared. “That’s not funny.”

  The butler chuckled behind his mustache. “Oh my… however do you mean?”

  ---

  Maloi stood beside her, arms folded, shoulder against the wall. Her eyes followed Eliana’s line of sight, then narrowed.

  “I still can’t believe Elvheins are that powerful. And with all that strength… you’re saying he lost? To that man?”

  Eliana’s gaze dropped, her voice quiet but edged.

  “He was beaten so badly I pitied him. It was painful to watch.”

  Maloi’s brows knitted. “I thought the Spellbounds were the pinnacle. But if people like that exist… there are powers out there we can’t even imagine.”

  Eliana’s eyes hardened. “I saw an elf who uses Bravo.”

  Maloi’s head snapped toward her. “…Was it him?”

  “No.” Eliana’s tone was heavy. “Someone else. He was terrifying. Even with Eryndor, Ziraiah, and me together, we couldn’t beat him. But the man who crushed Lerius…” She trailed off, shivering at the memory. “He was even stronger. My guardians struck him point-blank with their light beams. It did nothing.”

  Maloi swallowed hard. “…So, what did Pungence speak to you about?”

  Eliana’s fingers tightened on the windowsill. “The spirit.”

  “I told you,” Maloi said quickly. “You shouldn’t have made that contract.”

  Eliana’s eyes flicked to Valerius below, still refusing to quit. Her voice softened.

  “If I hadn’t… would we even still be alive? And now—I can sense Bravo users.”

  Maloi’s eyes widened. “What?”

  “It must be Selestine’s energy,” Eliana whispered. “But it’s… frightening. Look at Lerius down there. His aura—it feels like it could erupt any moment. Violent. Unstable. I don’t know how he contains it.”

  She paused, shivering faintly. “When we were on the Waver, and Uncle Pungence got that call… for the first time, I was scared of him. The way his energy felt… it was like suffocating. Then, just like that… it vanished.”

  ---

  Footsteps descended the grand staircase. Andrea appeared, her expression cool, her presence commanding.

  “Sit down, you two.”

  Ziraiah and Eryndor joined her at the long table. Andrea’s eyes swept across them, then narrowed.

  “What do you know about the Primordial Witches?”

  Ziraiah hesitated, scratching her head. “Well… not much. Only that people worship them as gods. I think they even have a church here.”

  Andrea’s voice dropped low, steady, like she was reciting words carried across centuries.

  “Correct. Long ago, four lights fell from the sky. Four stars… They say they were women shaped from flame, each carrying the breath of divinity within them.”

  Ziraiah’s brows knit.

  “You mean… the Primordial Witches?”

  Andrea nodded solemnly.

  “They were not born. They were sent. Each one different. Each one a gift.”

  Her gaze swept over the siblings.

  “The gods didn’t teach us how to use Vitalis. The Witches did. That is why temples worship them. They were the first to hear the gods’ voices — and the first to understand. The priests say they were divine messengers, sent to teach balance… and mercy.”

  She leaned forward, her tone deepening.

  “When darkness rose — when the First War scorched the world — the Witches did not flee. They led. Four women at the head of heaven’s armies. Four queens astride golden beasts, wielding blades forged by gods themselves.”

  Andrea’s eyes glimmered in the light.

  “In the end, each was given a throne in the sky. They still listen, even now. But before they departed… they left behind grimoires. Tomes of their knowledge. For eons, people have hunted for them. A handful were found, but none could be read. None could be used. Their words were written in the Ancient Tongue… a language long dead.”

  Her gaze flicked toward Mr. Baby, lounging on the sofa with his bottle.

  “And yet, somehow, this one knows where a grimoire lies. He will take you there. Pungence told me you understand the Ancient Tongue. If that’s true, then perhaps that book is meant for you.”

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  Eryndor and Ziraiah sat silent, absorbing every word.

  Andrea’s voice sharpened.

  “We don’t know when Bumble will come again. He will not stop. He nearly killed you once. I won’t allow him another chance. You need to arm yourselves.”

  “Bumble?” Ziraiah asked, frowning.

  “Who is that?”

  “The man who tried to kill you,” Andrea said flatly.

  “I see,” Eryndor murmured, his eyes narrowing.

  Outside in the yard, Valerius crushed another glass in his hand. His jaw tightened, his teeth bared.

  “Bumble, huh… Next time we meet, it’ll be you beneath my boot.”

  ---

  In the living room, Andrea folded her legs, her eyes heavy with resolve.

  “I want you to find that grimoire. It may be the only way you can protect yourselves from him.”

  Eryndor straightened. “When do we depart?”

  Andrea’s tone cooled. “That depends on you. Not until your mana recovery has improved.” She tilted her head. “How are you feeling now?”

  From the sofa, Mr. Baby spluttered.

  “Wait—wait, hold up. What you mean? Ain’t we leavin’ now? You expect mi fi stay here?!”

  Andrea’s glare pinned him.

  “If you want your freedom, you’ll do as I say.”

  Eryndor exhaled slowly, his composure unbroken. “My reservoir of mana has… recuperated to approximately seventy percent.”

  Andrea’s eyes narrowed. “You have impressive physical stamina, but your mana stamian is, well, deplorable. You should never have cast a spell of that magnitude under mana strain. It’s a miracle you’re alive.”

  Ziraiah leaned forward. “What are you talking about?”

  Andrea’s tone was grave.

  “Pungence told me that when he arrived, Eryndor had no mana left. Not a single drop remained. He was completely drained — something unheard of. Just as you can never expel every breath from your lungs, even if you force it, mana can not be spent in full. And yet… he forced it. ”

  Her eyes turned to Eryndor.

  “What happened after you cast that spell?”

  Ziraiah answered softly. “He passed out. We couldn’t wake him until his body reconstruction began. I was terrified. He’d never collapsed before — well, except once, in the ruin, but that was blood loss.”

  Andrea’s eyes narrowed as she spoke, her tone edged with both scolding and concern.

  “You’re like someone who walks every day but never runs — but then, all of a sudden, you try to run a marathon without rest. You push yourself past the limit, past what your body can endure… until you collapse. Of course it’s going to take days for you to recover.”

  Andrea rose to her feet, the floorboards creaking beneath her step.

  “Then you’d better start training. I’m not letting you leave Zitry until your recovery improves.”

  Her voice was final, brooking no argument. She climbed the stairs, her presence lingering even after she disappeared from sight.

  ---

  In a vast and hollow chamber, its scale was beyond comprehension. A single bridge of glowing blue light stretched endlessly into the abyss — narrow, seamless, suspended in a sea of nothingness. No walls. No floor. No ceiling. Only void.

  At its end, a circular platform hovered, radiant and alive with a low azure hum. Upon it, two towering holograms flickered — humanoid in outline, but cold and artificial, their translucent forms pulsing with distorted streams of light.

  Bumble stood at the center, shoulders squared.

  One hologram’s voice broke the silence, warped and mechanical.

  “You have failed, Bumble.”

  The other followed, its tone jagged and alien.

  “What were our instructions?”

  Bumble’s jaw tightened. “Eradicate the Elvheins.”

  “Then why do you not have their heads?” the first demanded.

  His teeth ground together. “Because… the Kottors were involved. Seven of them.”

  A low ripple of distortion passed through the holograms.

  “Seven… on that island? Hm. We did not anticipate their presence.”

  The other hissed. “Even so. This is the second time you have failed. Elvhein blood stains your hands, which means you engaged them. Yet you, an Enforcer, could not kill a few stragglers? Were you toying with them? Answer, Bumble. Why did you not kill them instantly?”

  Bumble’s head bowed, voice rough. “I’m sorry. It will not happen again.”

  “You had better hope so.” The first flickered dangerously. “Have you delivered the blood for testing?”

  “Yes,” Bumble answered.

  “Good. Then let us pray it is not as we feared.”

  Bumble hesitated. “If I may… why do you despise the Elvheins so much? What did they do to you?”

  The hologram’s form warped violently, its voice sharp as a blade.

  “Do not tread dangerous ground, Bumble. The less you know, the longer you live. You may go.”

  The giant doors groaned open. Bumble turned without a word, his steps echoing across the light-bridge as the chamber closed behind him.

  Outside, two figures waited. One was a titan of a man, fourteen feet tall, with a mane of crimson hair and a beard like fire, his eyes burning with the same molten hue. He leaned against the wall, arms folded, aura heavy.

  Bumble’s gaze met his. Neither spoke. After a moment, Bumble continued on, footsteps fading into the hall.

  Beside the red-haired colossus stood a broad man of ten feet, with sharp features and calculating eyes. He glanced at the chamber doors.

  “What’s inside that room?”

  The red-haired man’s lips curved into something dangerous. “If I told you, Pestry, I’d have to kill you.”

  He pushed off the wall and strode forward. Pestry fell into step behind him.

  “What are the updates on the Continental Crater?” the red-haired man asked.

  “We’ve run the tests thousands of times already,” Pestry said grimly. “The results don’t change. It was Bumble’s power.”

  The man stopped cold, crimson eyes narrowing like smoldering coals.

  “…That’s impossible. Bumble was in Yardrad.”

  “I know,” Peatry replied. “But the results don’t lie.”

  The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. The red-haired man’s eyes burned brighter, a storm rising within them.

  ---

  To Be Continued...