Lyciah was not entirely sure how she kept moving forward when it felt as though something inside her had come to a halt. Naeriel had not let go of her hand. Sariel walked beside her without intruding on her space. When he spoke, his voice was gentle.

  “I will ask that something be prepared for you to eat. It is already midday, and although you may have no appetite at the moment, it would be unwise to neglect it.”

  Naeriel agreed at once. Lyciah simply nodded without saying a word. She walked with her shoulders slightly drawn in and her gaze lowered. Sariel noticed.

  “It need not be a full meal,” he added calmly. “Something small will suffice. Warm bread, perhaps. Or fruit.”

  “And if you don’t like whatever they bring, you can always complain,” Naeriel said. “Sariel is very easy to persuade when someone protests with sufficient politeness.”

  Sariel let out a brief laugh. The sound startled Lyciah more than any of the words; until then she had only ever heard him speak with calm composure, never laugh.

  “Besides,” Sariel continued, “rest works unexpected miracles. I have seen people utterly convinced that the world had come to an end… only to discover the next day that what they truly required was a particularly long nap.”

  Naeriel nodded with immediate enthusiasm. Then she looked at Lyciah with warmth.

  “And if you don’t want to sleep, that’s fine too. You can sit for a while, or look out at the garden, or be angry for a bit about everything you’ve just heard. No one here is going to demand that you pull yourself together too quickly.”

  Lyciah suddenly understood what they were doing. Neither of them was speaking just to fill the silence. They were trying to take care of her, to distract her. To keep her afloat while everything else still hurt.

  Something warm pushed through the noise inside her head, and a small smile appeared on her face.

  Sariel stopped when they reached Lyciah’s room. She lingered beside the door for a second, not yet turning the handle.

  “Thank you…” she murmured at last.

  It came out small, almost embarrassed, as if she feared the words might sound too grand for something as simple as walking her down a corridor.

  Sariel made a small gesture with his hand, dismissing it.

  “There is no need for thanks.”

  Lyciah lowered her gaze to the floor, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, her hands clasped together in front of her. She seemed to be wrestling with herself over something trivial and, at the same time, terribly important.

  “I think…” she began, without lifting her eyes, “I’d like something sweet.”

  The siblings exchanged a glance, like two people recognizing the same good news without needing to say it aloud. When they looked back at Lyciah, both were smiling.

  “Then that is precisely what we shall request,” Sariel said.

  “Something very sweet,” Naeriel added solemnly, as though this were a decision of enormous consequence.

  Lyciah let out a soft laugh. She rested her hand on the handle, opened the door, and turned back one last time.

  “See you later.”

  “Rest well,” Sariel replied.

  Lyciah nodded, stepped into the room, and closed the door carefully behind her. The soft click of the latch was the only sound that broke the silence in the corridor.

  Sariel remained still for another moment, as though expecting to hear something from the other side of the door. Some sign that Lyciah might open it again. When nothing came, he allowed the rigidity to leave his posture.

  For a while now he had been feeling something strange at his temples—a dull pressure that seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat. Sariel pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers. When he took a step, he had to stop almost immediately, reaching for support against the nearest wall.

  Naeriel watched from a couple of steps behind.

  “Again…” she said.

  Sariel kept his gaze lowered for a moment longer before answering. He closed his eyes briefly, waiting for the dizziness to pass.

  “It will fade,” he murmured.

  Naeriel stepped closer, resting her hand lightly against his back.

  “It’s been happening often lately.”

  Sariel finally removed his hand from the wall and straightened carefully, making sure the floor no longer tilted beneath his feet.

  “I have been working too much,” he said, as though the explanation were sufficient to close the matter.

  Naeriel accepted the answer without arguing. She always did.

  Sariel smoothed the fabric of his sleeve, an automatic gesture to restore his appearance. The dizziness was already retreating, leaving behind that peculiar fatigue that always followed.

  Naeriel tilted slightly, trying to read her brother’s expression, her long wavy hair sliding over one shoulder.

  “Go to your chambers for a while,” she said gently. “I will keep an eye on Lyciah.”

  He nodded and began to walk. The first steps were slower than usual, but his posture soon straightened again, recovering that quiet elegance that seemed impossible to break.

  Naeriel remained where she was, watching him walk away, a faint shadow of concern in her expression.

  Sariel turned the corner. And once he was certain she could no longer see him, he placed his hand against the wall again for a few seconds before continuing.

  The Second Light building was larger than it appeared from the outside. Caelan and Momoru had already spent quite some time walking its corridors without finding anything particularly remarkable. Bright offices, meeting rooms with glass walls, employees moving from place to place with tablets in their hands or folders tucked under their arms.

  “I suppose if one wants to run a company that claims it can speak with the dead, one must at least look professional,” Momoru remarked. “Though I must admit I was expecting something a little more…”

  He stopped mid-sentence. His ears rose sharply. Caelan noticed immediately.

  “What is it?”

  Momoru did not answer at once. His eyes had narrowed slightly, as if he were trying to listen to something no one else could hear.

  “There is…” he murmured, “a presence… familiar.”

  Momoru turned his head toward the far end of the corridor. Caelan waited for him to say more, but he did not. Instead, he simply began walking in that direction. Caelan followed, frowning slightly.

  They passed through several hallways until they reached a quieter section of the building. The movement here was lighter, the silence more pronounced. A single door broke the monotony of the corridor. It was not made of glass, nor did it bear the discreet identifying plaque that marked the other rooms. Two guards stood before it, positioned on either side as though the place required constant watch.

  Momoru stopped a few steps away. His gaze remained fixed on the door. The sensation he had perceived earlier seemed concentrated there, behind that closed wood.

  Caelan studied him from the corner of his eye. Momoru had always been calm, even in tense situations, but there was something different in his expression now: a focused, uneasy attention.

  The two guards stepped forward when they saw them approaching.

  “Excuse me,” one of them said. “This room is not open to visitors. Only Mr. Orion is permitted access.”

  Momoru did not answer. His ears remained upright, and for a second he seemed to be debating whether to say something or remain silent. Caelan looked at him again; he knew Momoru would not behave this way without reason. Then he turned back to the guards.

  “Step aside.”

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  He did not raise his voice or alter his tone. He said it with the same calm he might have used to ask someone to open a window.

  The two men’s bodies reacted automatically. They stepped aside without surprise or discomfort, as if the decision had been theirs all along.

  Momoru blinked, stunned.

  “…What was that?”

  Caelan was already approaching the door.

  “Mind control.”

  Momoru stared at him in disbelief.

  “Just like that?”

  “I need to look them in the eyes.”

  “And then?”

  “I tell them what to do.”

  The kitsune watched him for a few seconds, processing this. Caelan had explained it with the same calm someone might use to describe how to open a door. A small incredulous laugh escaped Momoru.

  “That is absurdly powerful.”

  Caelan shrugged with his usual calm.

  “Ekchron uses it to make people admit he was right.”

  Momoru let out a short laugh. The image of Ekchron using such a power for something so petty was, unfortunately, entirely believable.

  He turned back to the door and tried the handle. It did not move even a millimeter.

  “Locked.”

  Caelan stepped closer, resting one hand against the wood. He did not seem particularly concerned by the obstacle; he merely tightened his fingers. The lock gave way. The door opened inward as though the mechanism had never been meant to withstand real force.

  Momoru glanced sideways at him.

  “I’m beginning to understand why you travel so calmly.”

  Caelan did not answer. He was already stepping inside.

  The room beyond was completely different from the rest of the building. There were no office desks or screens. The lighting was dimmer, focused toward the center of the chamber, where a circular structure of pale stone rose slightly above the floor like a ceremonial platform.

  Upon it rested dozens… perhaps hundreds of feathers.

  All of them were white. Each one emitted a faint glow, a soft light that pulsed slowly, as though something within them were breathing.

  At the center of the structure floated a small paper talisman. Its surface was marked with a complex symbol.

  Momoru stepped forward, completely absorbed.

  “…Feathers?”

  His voice had lowered to a whisper. Caelan said nothing as he surveyed the room.

  “They feel the same…” Momoru murmured. “As Misaha’s.”

  Caelan frowned. Misaha, Lyciah’s mother. The former Dawnbringer. He remembered her presence, the particular way her power manifested… but he did not remember feathers. Momoru’s comparison made no sense, and yet the kitsune did not seem uncertain.

  Almost without realizing it, Momoru lifted his hand. His fingers reached toward the suspended talisman and touched it. The symbol engraved on its surface flared with sudden light. An instant later the paper caught fire. The flame raced across it from top to bottom in a second and disintegrated before it could even reach the floor.

  Momoru, pale, instinctively stepped back.

  “I…” he murmured.

  His eyes moved from the place where the talisman had been to Caelan. There was real unease in his expression now. But before he could say anything further, a voice interrupted them.

  “I must admit I was not expecting visitors in this room.”

  Both turned. Sariel stood in the doorway. He had made no sound when he arrived. His hands rested calmly behind his back and his posture was as impeccable as ever, yet the stillness in his gaze made it clear that this scene did not please him in the slightest.

  His attention slid briefly over the central structure, as though confirming that everything remained in place. The feathers… and the empty space where the talisman had been.

  “I am afraid this chamber is not part of the tour for guests,” he said calmly. “No one but myself is permitted to enter.”

  Caelan remained silent, studying him. That carefully measured calm did not sound like a simple warning. Momoru stood frozen.

  Sariel’s gaze lowered to the kitsune’s hand, still slightly extended toward the center of the structure.

  “Did you touch the talisman?”

  Momoru swallowed and nodded. He did not seem capable of saying anything else.

  For a very brief moment, something passed through Sariel’s expression. It was not a loss of composure, nor even a visible sign of anger, yet his gaze hardened before softening again beneath the same impeccable mask.

  “I see.”

  Momoru looked back at the feathers.

  “Those feathers…” he hesitated. His voice had entirely lost its usual calm tone. “It can’t be that…”

  He lifted his eyes toward Sariel, visibly disturbed.

  “Were they… yours?”

  Caelan tilted his head, confused. He did not fully understand what Momoru meant, but the sudden tension in his voice left no doubt that this carried a significance he had not yet grasped.

  Sariel did not answer. He simply looked at him… and smiled. It was not a broad smile, merely a slight curve of the lips that, without the need for words, confirmed exactly what Momoru feared.

  “…Gods.”

  Caelan looked at Momoru, then at Sariel, clearly expecting some explanation that might give sense to that reaction. But Sariel had already recovered his composure entirely.

  “I would appreciate it if you would leave the room,” he said with the same impeccable courtesy. “This place contains extremely sensitive materials. I would prefer to avoid further… interference.”

  Caelan stepped forward.

  “I want to know what all this means.”

  Momoru spoke before Sariel could answer.

  “We’re leaving.”

  Caelan turned his head toward him.

  “Momoru—”

  “Caelan.”

  He did not raise his voice, but the firmness in his tone was unusual. He was deliberately avoiding looking at the feathers again.

  “Seriously. Let’s go.”

  For a second Caelan seemed to hesitate. Finally he relented, folding his arms and walking toward the door. Momoru followed. Sariel inclined his head slightly as they passed him.

  “Thank you for your understanding.”

  Neither of them replied. And when they stepped into the corridor, the door closed silently behind them.

  For a few steps, Caelan considered saying something. Too many questions hung in the air to ignore them. But before he could open his mouth, Momoru had already started moving.

  He did not walk as before. Momoru moved down the corridor with unusual speed, avoiding a couple of employees walking the opposite direction without even looking at them. Caelan caught up with him quickly.

  “Momoru.”

  He did not respond. He kept walking as though he had not heard. Caelan grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to stop. For a moment Momoru remained with his back turned, breathing deeply, as if he needed to sort something inside himself before turning around. When he finally did, Caelan noticed how pale he was.

  “What is going on?”

  Momoru hesitated. His eyes drifted briefly down the corridor, toward the door they had left behind, though it was no longer visible from there. Then they returned to Caelan.

  Caelan did not press him. He simply watched him in silence, slowly releasing his shoulder. At last Momoru spoke.

  “Orion…” he began, but his voice came out too loud. He stopped immediately and glanced around.

  When he spoke again, it was in a whisper.

  “Orion is a seraphi.”

  Caelan raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms.

  “That is not possible.”

  He did not say it sharply or with exaggerated disbelief; simply as one might state an obvious fact.

  “The seraphi were massacred more than a thousand years ago,” he continued with the same sober calm. “None remain alive.”

  Momoru swallowed. For a few moments he seemed to seriously consider taking the words back. He knew perfectly well he should not be saying this. Lyciah did not want Caelan to know yet. But the image of the room returned to his mind. Something about all of this was terribly wrong. If Sariel was using those feathers for something…

  He exhaled slowly. When he spoke again, his voice remained low, but it no longer trembled.

  “Orion is not his real name,” he murmured at last. “His name is Sariel.”

  A couple of employees passed through the corridor at that moment. Momoru waited until their voices faded before continuing.

  “He is the prince who survived the massacre.”

  For a few seconds neither of them spoke. The constant hum of the ceiling lights suddenly seemed strangely loud.

  “…Huh?” Caelan managed.

  With visible confusion, he lifted a hand to the back of his neck for a moment, an unusual gesture for him. He looked at Momoru again. He nodded slowly… and after another second of silence, he shook his head. Even he did not seem entirely certain what he was trying to convey with that.

  Momoru watched him for a few seconds, processing this. Then he frowned slightly and leaned closer.

  “…Huh?” he repeated, in exactly the same tone Caelan had used.

  The two of them stood staring at each other in the middle of the corridor, so bewildered that for a moment it seemed neither of them quite remembered what the logical next step in the conversation was supposed to be.

  In the end, neither said anything else.

  Sariel remained in the room. His gaze slid to the place where the talisman had been. Only a few specks of ash remained on the floor.

  “The seal… was broken when he touched it,” he murmured to himself.

  He lifted his eyes toward the feathers. Something in their glow had changed. The light they emitted was no longer stable; it trembled irregularly, as though whatever they contained had begun searching for a way out.

  “Without the seal… the memories will not remain here for long.”

  He exhaled slowly, like someone accepting an unexpected complication.

  “I will have to move the process forward.”

  Lorena let out a slow breath as she sat down on the chair behind the counter. Fatigue did not fade as easily as people did.

  At that hour the light filtered gently through the shop window, bathing the interior in a warm glow. But her thoughts were still lingering on the morning.

  Ashgar. The First. Sighted nearby.

  Lorena leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes for a moment, and rubbed her forehead. Just then, the little bell above the door chimed. She lifted her head and saw the door already swinging shut… but no one was there. She frowned, looking toward the empty window. For a second she thought someone might have come in and left too quickly to notice. Or perhaps the wind had pushed the door open. She was about to lean forward again when something caught her attention.

  Beneath the blue cup, a piece of white paper was sticking out.

  The change in her expression was immediate. A small smile began to curve across her lips. Her heart started beating a little faster.

  She picked up the paper and unfolded it, her hands trembling slightly with excitement.

  You were frightened this morning when they spoke of the First on the news. I saw it.

  There is no need. While I am here, nothing will touch you.

  Rest tonight, baker.

  —Ekchron

  Lorena read the note again and again. She brought her fingers to her lips, trying to contain the smile that kept growing.

  It was completely absurd. A millennia-old demon—the most dangerous of the Seven—spending his time watching over her bakery, driving away other demons, and leaving her notes as if that were the most natural way in the world to court someone.

  But then her eyes returned to the last line of the note.

  Baker.

  Her fingers stilled on the paper. Something in her mind had just clicked.

  The word brought to mind Azul’s voice, saying it with that effortless casualness of his. He never used her name. Never. To him, she was simply baker.

  Lorena set the note on her lap and looked toward the bakery door. Azul had left a few hours earlier. She remembered perfectly how he had walked out, turning his back while lifting a hand in the air.

  “See you tomorrow, baker.”

  Azul, of course, was not even called Azul. Thinking about it now made everything feel even stranger.

  Every time she tried to coax something out of him, he reacted as though he were defending the most important state secret in the world, declaring that revealing his true name would have catastrophic consequences for the balance of the universe.

  She lowered her gaze to the note again.

  Baker.

  Azul called her that. Now Ekchron did too. And the note had appeared only after Azul had left.

  She let out a soft laugh and shook her head. It was just a coincidence, nothing more. The word itself was nothing special. Besides, she was tired. It was hardly surprising if her imagination had begun playing tricks on her.

  She folded the note carefully.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  She did not know whether Ekchron could hear her or not, but the reassurance his words left behind was undeniable.

  Which, come to think of it, said some rather worrying things about her common sense. If her sense of safety depended on the most dangerous demon in the world, perhaps it was time to reconsider a few things.