"???"
Vincent went very still. "What?"
Something's wrong here.
There was absolutely no way to misremember this. The Magic Wishing Lamp belonged to Bernadette — that was ironclad canon. She had used it in a life-or-death moment to temporarily hold the power of a Sequence 1 Beyonder for a full day.
Why was she saying Roselle never gave it to her?
...Oh. This is simply the timeline. She doesn't have it yet.
North Backlund, the old Gloucester estate.
Since his encounter with the elderly butler at the Greylin residence, Stephen had taken to dropping by every so often to spend the night. The old man would repeat the same stories from the past over and over, and fill the rest of the time with pointed remarks about marriage and grandchildren.
Most of the time, Stephen found it unbearably tedious. But occasionally, in fleeting moments, he caught something that felt genuinely like family.
He missed freedom, he loved the sea — but that didn't mean he was indifferent to the idea of belonging somewhere. His parents' deaths had taken that from him; it was what had driven him to the open water in the first place.
After so many years, hearing this kind of domestic nagging — however relentless — brought a warmth he had almost forgotten existed.
"Old fellow — didn't you go to work as a butler at the Greylin house? What are you doing living at the old estate?"
"Oh, I specifically asked for that when I interviewed for the position."
The butler gave a dismissive wave, then immediately: "Now don't change the subject. I've picked out several eligible young noblewomen for you these past few days. Tomorrow you are going to meet them. The Gloucester name will not end with you."
"Come on — can we talk about something else for once? Look at the state the Gloucester family is in. What self-respecting noblewoman would have me?"
"Don't be so sure. The Gloucesters still have connections. Old friends in useful places. How do you think your barony has managed to survive intact all this time?" The butler smiled with an air of mystery. "We have people in high positions."
Stephen leaned back. "Oh? Tell me more — who's looking out for us from above?"
"The Mahert family from your boyhood — Morris Mahert. He's an MP now. One of the leading figures of the New Party, from what I understand."
Stephen tapped his chin. "Ah... I remember them vaguely. Didn't they have a daughter?"
"Don't even think about it."
The butler's eyes rolled. "They're doing you a favour by having anything to do with you. And now you want to marry into the Mahert family?"
"Well, you know what I mean — what I said earlier stands. No noblewoman with any sense would—"
"Now you see? That's exactly the problem — you come up with one excuse and then another. This matter is not going to be shelved. And you will have no say in it. Now — I'm tired. I'll see you in the morning."
Before the butler could blink, Stephen had bolted from the sitting room.
"Hey!"
The butler stretched out an arm uselessly. "I wasn't done talking!"
He sighed deeply. "That boy."
Late that night.
Stephen finished his ablutions, lay down, and spent some time carefully maintaining his various Beyonder weapons, then put the lamp out and closed his eyes.
He would admit it: one advantage Backlund had over the Dawn was the quality of sleep. Not a single snoring crewmate to contend with.
As his breathing gradually steadied, the room settled into silence.
Then, from the direction of the wardrobe mirror — a dim and ghostly shimmer. A blurred figure appeared in the glass, and then was gone.
A few minutes passed.
The surface of the wardrobe mirror rippled like disturbed water. A figure stepped through — a man dressed entirely in black.
"A man?"
Stephen had woken the moment the mirror first flickered. His surprise was genuine: mirror-traversal is a Demoness Pathway ability. How does it appear on a man?
If he remembered correctly, only a demigod-tier Demoness Pathway Beyonder could traverse mirrors. Was this a disguise via a Faceless artifact?
No time to pursue the thought — Stephen immediately reached for the Teleportation Ring.
The man moved. One step forward; a fist driving straight at the back of Stephen's neck.
Stephen rolled off the bed, flung the pillow as a distraction, and activated Distortion and Disorder to scramble the attack's trajectory — then, just as he was stepping into the Spirit World, he watched the attacker blunder straight through his own disoriented responses and drive his head directly into the wall.
Stephen froze.
That is not how a Sequence 4 demigod behaves.
A brief pause. Then he picked up the pen from his desk and tossed it.
Under the effect of Amplification, it became a blur of a projectile — and passed clean through the back of the man's skull.
Crack.
The man shattered like a broken mirror. His true form reappeared beside the wardrobe — and in the same motion, his fingers condensed a blazing white lance of flame. He hurled it and charged at the glass simultaneously.
Stephen had his answer now. He calmly Distorted the man's direction. Five fingers spread, one slow squeeze — the white fire lance and the wardrobe mirror both imploded under Chaos, shattering inward. The man's escape route was sealed.
"Good night."
In the next instant, Stephen seemed to teleport behind him. His palm came down on the back of the man's head with a hollow thud. The man grunted and crumpled to the floor, unconscious.
Click.
Stephen turned on the gas lamp, nudged the prone figure over with his foot, and looked at the face.
A man, around thirty. Utterly unremarkable — the kind of person who vanishes in a crowd.
"That fire lance — that was an Arsonist ability, wasn't it?"
He searched the man quickly. A short knife — Beyonder item, though not from the Hunter or Demoness pathway — and a revolver.
So: mirror-traversal, mirror-double, and a blazing white fire lance, all belonging to this one person.
Non-neighbouring pathway switching, leaving behind cross-pathway abilities. Unusual — but not unheard of in a demigod. Though this man's performance suggested at most Sequence 7.
"Let's have a look at what you're made of."
He was just reaching for the tools for Spirit Channelling when the old butler's voice came from behind the door: "Young master — what was that noise? I thought I heard something from your room."
Stephen walked over and opened the door with a pleasant smile. "Nothing to worry about, old fellow. I was just doing some exercise before bed. Going to sleep now."
The butler peered at him uncertainly for a few seconds. "...If you say so."
He shuffled away, unhurried and unhurried, back to his room, and settled against the headboard. In his hand he held a small golden kettle, which he turned slowly in his palm, studying it.
After a long while, he rubbed his right eye, sighed, and shook his head. "Not a thing. Still nothing."
The next morning.
Bernadette woke early and lay there, at a loss.
Of all the leads connected to her father, the only truly concrete one was the compass — and using it required advancing to demigod standing. But with the Shadow Merchant potion already digested, and Bernadette unable to add weight to the Scale while controlling the body, she had hit a wall on that front entirely.
Might as well dump the whole problem on Vivian.
Wait.
"You still have one Gift left to bestow, don't you?" Bernadette asked.
"Yes."
"Can you bestow it on me?"
To be continued…
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