Chapter 32 - The visit

3rd Person POV

Arto woke slowly, the way a man wakes after drowning and being pulled back to shore—first the sensation of air in his lungs, then the weight of limbs that answered him again, then the quiet warmth of bodies pressed close.

He was in his bed at the Gremory estate.

The familiar scent of Underworld jasmine drifted through the half-open window, mingling with the softer notes of Rias's shampoo, Akeno's faint ozone after a storm, Nami's citrus lotion, and Robin's old-book-and-herbal-tea smell. The sheets were tangled around them all in the usual post-nightmare chaos: Rias curled against his left side, one arm draped possessively over his ribs, crimson hair fanned across his chest; Akeno tucked under his right arm, wings half-folded like a protective cloak, her breathing slow and even; Nami sprawled across the foot of the bed, one leg thrown over his ankle, orange hair a bright slash against black silk.

And Robin…

Her arms were wrapped around his head like a living halo—extra hands sprouted from her shoulders, forearms, even the small of her back, cradling his skull with impossible gentleness. Thin filaments of black petal-mana still lingered at his temples, faint and fading now, but they had been there all night—stitching, cooling, rebuilding. Her real hands rested against his scalp, fingers threaded through his hair, as though she had fallen asleep mid-surgery and never let go.

He tilted his head upward.

Above the headboard, a delicate spell circle glowed low and steady—pale teal runes arranged in a perfect sterile lattice. Aseptic field. No bacteria, no contaminants, no stray mana interference. Surgical theater in the middle of a bedroom. Robin had cast it sometime after they woke from the Arena, while the rest of them were still lost to exhaustion. She had performed brain surgery—on him—while unconscious herself, guided only by the map she had memorized and the last dregs of her power.

Sweat still glistened on her brow, dark circles carved deep under her eyes, lips pale. She had pushed herself far beyond what even a Nico should be capable of sustaining. And she had done it in her sleep. Arto stared at her for a long moment. The others slept on—peaceful, oblivious—breathing in soft rhythm around him. He spoke quietly, voice rough from disuse. "Robin."

No answer at first. Then her eyelids fluttered. One extra hand twitched against his cheek—reflexive, protective—before her real eyes opened slowly. She blinked once, twice, focus sharpening as she registered his face. "You're awake," she murmured, voice hoarse, cracked from strain. A small, tired smile curved her lips. "Good. I was starting to worry the map had a blind spot."

Arto exhaled through his nose—almost a laugh, almost a sigh. "Why?" The question came out simpler than he intended—raw, unguarded. Robin's smile softened further. "Why what?"

"Why this much?" He lifted one hand—careful not to disturb the others—and brushed sweat-damp hair from her forehead. "You burned your network. You performed surgery in your sleep. You nearly killed yourself to keep me breathing while the sword tried to erase me. Why sacrifice that much… for me?"

Robin studied him for a long moment—eyes tracing the lines of his face, the faint blue glow still lingering at the edges of his pupils. "Because you asked me to," she said simply.

He frowned. "I didn't—"

"You did." She shifted slightly, one extra hand gently cupping the back of his head while the others withdrew like wilting petals. "Not with words. With everything else. The way you looked at us in the Arena. The way you stalled your own body to give us openings. The way you refused to let the Synthesis finish us even when it had full control. You asked—without asking—if we would keep fighting for you. And we said yes."

She exhaled shakily. "I'm a Nico. We don't abandon patients. Especially not the ones who finally make us feel like we're more than tools ourselves. You gave me back something I thought I'd lost forever—someone worth protecting, not just observing. Someone worth bleeding for. So yes… I gave everything. And I'd do it again."

Robin's quick peck landed soft and fleeting against his lips—barely more than a brush of warmth, gone before he could even react. Her breath trembled against his skin for half a second, then she pulled back just enough to meet his eyes again. The faint, tired smile was still there, but now it carried something rawer, something unguarded.

"Don't tell the sleeping girls, okay?" she whispered, voice barely audible over the quiet rhythm of their breathing. "Love you… the man who made omniscience curious."

She let the words hang for a heartbeat—simple, unguarded, devastating in their honesty—then continued in the same hushed tone.

"And yes… I'm okay with sharing. With this polygamy situation Rias and Akeno are putting you in." Her gaze flicked briefly toward the sleeping forms curled around them both, then returned to him. "But only because they came first. If I had been the one who found you first—stepped out of the rift and saw you standing there, lost and burning—I would have kept you all for myself, my innovator."

The last two words came out softer, almost possessive, laced with a wry affection that made the title sound like an endearment.

She settled her head back against his chest, one real hand splaying over his heart while the last of her extra limbs finally dissolved completely into faint black petals that drifted and vanished. Her breathing was still shallow, still ragged from the night's toll, but steady. Safe.

Arto remained motionless for several long seconds, letting her words settle into the quiet spaces between heartbeats. Then—slowly, carefully—he lifted his free hand and threaded his fingers through her dark hair, cradling the back of her head with the same gentleness she had used to cradle his skull all night. "Robin," he murmured—voice low enough that it vibrated against her ear rather than carried across the bed—"you already have me."

"I know," she whispered back. "But I want to keep you, so I gave it all to keep you with me, with us. So how are you going to answer to that, Arto?" Arto smiles "Well, in a situation of dealing with many emotional sources, I think it's best to do the tactic of divide and conquer, having each of them play a specific, special role in my life, so that everyone is special and unique in their own way. And I will appreciate their role in their own unique way that no one else can have"

Robin's smile deepened against his chest, small and knowing, as she listened to him speak. The exhaustion in her body hadn't faded, but the tension in her shoulders eased just a fraction at his words.

"Very strategic of you, legion leader," she murmured, voice still hoarse but laced with gentle amusement. "Divide and conquer. Assigning roles. Classic Abyssgard doctrine applied to the heart. I approve the theory… but I would need some examples to sign off on the final report."

Arto let out a soft huff—almost a laugh, the sound so rare it felt foreign in his own throat.

"Fine, peer reviewer," he replied, matching her tone. His fingers continued their slow path through her hair, grounding them both. "Rias is the foundation. The first. The one who reached into the rift and pulled me out when I had no reason left to believe anyone would. She gave me shelter, a name that wasn't just a serial number, a place to stand instead of fall. Without her, none of you would have even known I existed. She is the most important woman in this new life of mine. The cornerstone. Everything else is built on her choice to care."

Robin gave the tiniest nod, cheek brushing his collarbone.

"Akeno is the dream guardian," he continued quietly. "Not just the Arena—though she fought that monster beside you all. But the older nightmares. The ones that weren't programmed, just… memory. The arenas. The starvation. The Creator's voice still echoing sometimes when I close my eyes. She walks into those dreams and pulls me out before they can swallow me whole. Every time I wake up without screaming, it's because she stood between me and my own past."

His voice dropped even lower.

"And you… my intel master…" He tilted his head so he could see her face in the dim light. "You challenge me the most. You make my brain work the hardest it has since the Legion's war rooms. Those nightly discussions—Spellcrafting Formulas spread across the table, arguments over mana efficiency, dimensional bleed, recursive stability, history no one else remembers… they were the most valuable conversations I've had. Ever. Not because they were useful for survival, but because they made me think. Not react. Not endure. Think. You make me feel like more than a weapon that learned to talk. You make me feel… curious again."

Robin's eyes shimmered faintly in the dark—tired, but bright. She lifted her head just enough to rest her forehead against his. "So I get the brain," she whispered, teasing but tender. "Rias gets the heart and the foundation. Akeno gets the dreams. And Nami…?"

Arto's gaze drifted down the bed to where Nami was sprawled, still clutching the edge of his shirt in her sleep like she was afraid he'd vanish if she let go. "Nami gets the future," he said simply. "She counts the odds, maps the paths, turns chaos into strategy. She sees profit where others see only risk. She makes me believe tomorrow can be better than today—not just survivable, but good. She's the one who reminds me that life isn't only about guarding against loss. It's about building something worth keeping."

Robin exhaled a soft, shaky laugh. "Very thorough allocation of resources, Commander Abyssgard." She pressed another feather-light kiss to the corner of his mouth—this one lingering a heartbeat longer. "Approved. With enthusiasm. But that's only their relationships with you, but among each other....It has always been obvious the more people living in one place, the more likely the conflicts could arise, no matter how much they love each other."

"That's why I need you, the woman who knows everything...to help me manage the interconnections between the hearts revolving me. I'm not looking for a star-shaped network, but something like a web with one anchor at the center. And I know this certain someone who has been running that kind of system for years. She has this sweet voice that could keep everyone to attention, this wits that could resolve problems by one glance, along with the authority of an omniscient queen that would make them listen and respect your words"

Robin's soft laugh faded into a quiet, thoughtful hum against his chest. She lifted her head just enough to look up at him properly—eyes still heavy with exhaustion, but sharp now with that familiar spark of curiosity and calculation that had always drawn him in.

"So," she murmured, voice low enough not to wake the others, "you're not just assigning roles to each of us individually. You want me to manage the whole constellation. The interconnections. The potential friction points." Her lips curved in a small, knowing smile. "You want me to be the spider in the center of the web."

Arto didn't deny it. He simply held her gaze. "I'm not built for subtlety in matters like this," he said plainly. "I can command a legion, break an adaptive nightmare, guard a battlefield. But hearts… emotions… the slow, invisible wars that happen when four strong people share the same space, the same man… that's not my domain. I'll miss the signs. I'll misjudge the silences. I'll think everything is fine until it isn't."

He brushed a thumb gently across her cheek—still damp with the remnants of earlier tears and sweat. "But you see everything. You always have. Even when you were only observing me from the shadows, you mapped me faster than I could map myself. You understand patterns—people, motives, unspoken tensions—better than anyone I've ever known. And you have the voice for it. Soft when it needs to soothe. Sharp when it needs to cut through bullshit. Authoritative when it needs to command respect without ever raising its volume."

Robin's smile grew—slow, almost fond. "You're asking me to be the queen of your little harem," she teased gently, though the word carried no mockery, only playful acknowledgment.

"I'm asking you to be the one who keeps it from tearing itself apart," he corrected. "Not because I don't trust them. I trust them with my life—tonight proved that beyond any doubt. But trust doesn't automatically mean harmony. More people, more histories, more needs. Sooner or later something will snag. Jealousy. Misunderstanding. Exhaustion. I don't want to wake up one morning and realize I've hurt one of you because I didn't see the fracture forming."

He exhaled slowly. "I want a web. Not a star with me at the center and everyone else as spokes that only connect through me. A real web—stronger because every thread touches every other thread. And I need the spider who knows how to weave it. Who knows how to sense the first vibration of trouble… and how to mend it before it tears."

Robin studied him for a long moment—searching, weighing, memorizing this new layer of the man she had just fought death to keep. Then she leaned up—slowly, carefully—and pressed a longer, deliberate kiss to his lips. Not quick. Not teasing. A quiet, certain seal.

When she pulled back, her voice was barely a breath. "Very well, Commander Abyssgard. I accept the position." She settled back against his chest, one hand splaying over his heart again. "I'll watch the threads. I'll listen to the silences between words. I'll nudge when someone needs to be heard, mediate when egos clash, remind everyone—gently or firmly, depending on what the moment calls for—that this web only holds if we all choose to reinforce it every day."

Her fingers traced a small, absent circle over his skin. "And when jealousy or insecurity or simple human messiness inevitably appears… I'll handle it. Not by hiding it from you, but by making sure it never festers into something that could wound any of us. Including you."

Arto let out a long, slow breath—relief, gratitude, something dangerously close to peace. "Thank you," he said—two words that carried more weight than any legion oath he had ever sworn. Robin's smile turned sleepy, satisfied. "You're welcome… my favorite anomaly." She yawned softly, head nestling under his chin. "Now sleep, legion leader. Your intel master needs rest before she starts writing performance reviews."

Arto shook his head gently, careful not to jostle Robin too much where she lay curled against him.

"I'll go for a quick exercise," he murmured, voice pitched so low it barely disturbed the sleeping rhythm of the others. "You and the girls keep sleeping as long as you want. It's hard for me to fall back asleep once I'm awake."

Robin made a small, sleepy sound of protest, but didn't open her eyes. Her fingers flexed once against his chest—reflexive, possessive—before relaxing again.

He shifted slowly, sliding out from under the warm pile of limbs and wings with the practiced silence of someone who had once moved through enemy camps without waking sentries. Rias mumbled something incoherent and rolled into the space he left behind, automatically seeking his warmth. Akeno's wing twitched, then settled over Nami like a living blanket. Nami muttered "five more minutes" into the pillow and burrowed deeper.

Arto paused at the edge of the bed, looking down at the four women who had just fought a three-thousand-year nightmare to keep him breathing. Then he looked back at Robin—still half-conscious, cheek pressed to the sheet where his heartbeat had been seconds ago. "But before I go…" he said quietly, "is your… intel network okay?"

Robin's lashes fluttered. One eye cracked open—violet, tired, but clear. "It's all good, love," she whispered. "I just turned it off completely for a while to focus on you. And considering my state…" She gave a small, self-deprecating huff. "It's a week away from going back online. So… I will have one more week of silence for myself. No sounds. No visions. No secrets."

She smiled faintly—exhausted, but content. "Just me. And quiet. And the knowledge that the most important secret I've ever kept is still breathing right here."

Arto studied her for a long moment. Then he leaned down—slow, careful—and pressed his lips to her forehead. Not a quick peck. A lingering touch, steady and warm, the way a man who had spent millennia without gentleness finally learned how to give it. "Thank you," he said against her skin. Two words. Simple. But they carried everything he still didn't know how to say properly.

Robin's hand found his wrist—weak, but firm—and squeezed once. "Go run," she murmured. "Or lift something heavy. Or stare at the sunrise like it personally offends you. Whatever legion leaders do to feel normal again."

Another faint smile. "I'll be here when you get back. Sweaty. Cranky. Probably stealing your pillow. And still very much in love with the man who finally remembered his own name." Arto straightened. The blue flames in his eyes flickered once—soft, steady—then dimmed to their usual low glow. "I'll be quick," he promised. "And we'll hit the onsen once I'm back"

[Gremory Estate]

A few days had passed since the Dark Arena's final collapse—days filled with quiet recovery, soft conversations, and the slow return of normalcy to the Gremory estate. Robin's network remained dormant (she insisted she enjoyed the "vacation from omniscience"), Akeno's wings still carried faint scorch marks from lightning overuse, Nami had taken to obsessively charting mana-flow patterns in the Simulation Room "just in case," and Rias… Rias had barely left Arto's side, as though afraid the void might reach back for him if she blinked too long.

But life moved forward. This morning, at the long breakfast table in the estate's sunlit dining hall, Arto finally broached the subject that had been quietly waiting. He set his teacup down—black, no sugar, the way he always took it—and looked across at Lord Zeoticus and Lady Venelana Gremory. "I promised Sona I would visit the Sitri domain," he said without preamble. "Before everything… escalated. I intend to keep that promise today."

Zeoticus paused mid-bite of toast, eyebrows lifting in mild surprise before settling into an approving smile. Venelana set her own cup down, expression warm and thoughtful. "Finally," Zeoticus said with a chuckle. "Sora's been asking after you ever since the protection pact was signed. He'll be delighted—and probably try to recruit you into one of her long-term water-affinity research projects the moment you step through the gate."

Venelana leaned forward slightly, eyes twinkling. "You should bring gifts. It's only proper, especially given how much the Sitri clan has invested in your… innovations." She glanced meaningfully toward the direction of the hidden Simulation Room wing. "And since you're representing the Gremory name as well as yourself, let's make it thoughtful."

Arto inclined his head. "I was planning on it." Zeoticus snapped his fingers lightly. A servant appeared almost instantly. "Fetch a bottle from Priscilla's private reserve—the 87-year-old Midnight Nectar. The one aged in shadow-oak casks under the northern vineyard. And make sure it's the one Sora always tries to steal from me at clans gatherings."

The servant bowed and vanished. Venelana smiled wider. "My younger sister-in-law's vines produce the finest wine in the Underworld—rich, velvety, with notes of starlit plum and midnight frost. Sora's favorite. She'll pretend to be diplomatic about it, but she'll be thrilled."

Arto nodded once. He remembered Priscilla Gremory clearly from the one visit he had made with Rias to the extended family estates. The woman had greeted them in the middle of her sprawling grape garden—rows upon rows of deep indigo vines stretching toward a perpetual crimson sky. She had laughed easily, pressed a cluster of fruit into Rias's hands, and spoken of soil pH and lunar cycles with the same passion most nobles reserved for political intrigue. Later, in the Simulation Room, Arto had duplicated that entire vineyard down to the last leaf vein. The vines thrived there—untouched by seasons or blight—and the wine they produced now rivaled even Priscilla's originals.

"I'll bring one of the estate's bottles as well," he added. "From the replicated vines. He might enjoy comparing them." Venelana's smile turned approving. "Smart. He loves a challenge."

Arto continued. "And fruit. Fresh from the botanical sectors—Gremory specialties only. The crimson star-apples, moonlit peaches, and dusk-berries. The current harvest batch sold out in under thirty seconds at the last market delivery."

Zeoticus laughed outright. "You've turned our orchards into a luxury panic-buy. Sora will appreciate the gesture. Fresh produce from the Simulation Room is practically currency in certain circles these days."

He leaned back, expression turning more thoughtful. "As for the Sitri domain itself… it's one of the most beautiful territories in the Underworld, if I do say so myself. The main river—the Sapphire Current—runs straight through the heart of the estate, wide and slow, with smaller tributaries branching off like silver veins. They create natural gardens, small waterfalls, private coves. The climate is gentle year-round—cool mists in the morning, warm sun in the afternoon, never too hot, never too cold. Perfect for growing rare herbs and flowers Sora uses in her medical research."

He gestured vaguely with his fork. "Wildlife is abundant. Rare species—lunar foxes, mist deer, sapphire-winged songbirds, even a few colonies of healing-spring nymphs that migrated there centuries ago. The Sitri family has always maintained the land carefully; it's as much sanctuary as territory. And the medical facilities…" Zeoticus's tone turned proud. "Best in the Underworld, bar none. Sora's personal hospital wing alone could probably resurrect half the noble houses if they ever needed it."

Arto listened carefully, committing every detail to memory. Venelana reached over and patted his forearm lightly. "Take your time there. Sora will want to show you everything—especially the river gardens and the new research pavilion. And don't let Sena talk you into signing any long-term research contracts on the spot. She's persuasive when she wants to be."

Arto gave a small nod—almost amused. "I'll keep that in mind." The servant returned moments later with a velvet-lined case. Inside rested a single dark bottle—Midnight Nectar, label hand-written in elegant silver script. Beside it, a woven basket lined with soft cloth, overflowing with perfect crimson star-apples (their skins shimmering like polished rubies), moonlit peaches (soft silver fuzz glowing faintly), and dusk-berries (deep indigo, each one heavy with sweet juice).

Arto rose. "I'll leave immediately," he said. "Thank you—for the gifts, and for the insight." Zeoticus stood as well, offering his hand. "Bring Sora our regards. And tell her we expect her to visit soon. The families should gather more often now that… well, now that things are finally settling."

[Timeskip: Brought to you by chibi Arto sitting on the training with a fruit basket and a bottle of wine]

The Crimson Line train glided silently through the Underworld sky, its sleek obsidian-and-crimson carriage cutting a smooth arc above low-hanging clouds that glowed like molten garnet in the perpetual twilight. Arto sat alone in the private compartment—reserved at Zeoticus's insistence—wine case and fruit basket secured on the opposite seat. The bottle of Midnight Nectar rested in its velvet cradle, label catching faint reflected light from the passing mana-lanterns strung along the track. The fruit basket gave off a subtle, sweet perfume: crimson star-apples, moonlit peaches, dusk-berries—all harvested that very morning from the Simulation Room's botanical sectors.

He had expected beauty. Zeoticus's description had been vivid, almost poetic. But nothing in words could have prepared him for the reality of the Sitri domain as it unfolded below.

The train began its gentle descent toward the main estate, and the view opened wide.

The Sapphire Current was the first thing he noticed—wide, slow-moving, its surface shimmering with an inner luminescence that made it look like liquid starlight poured across the landscape. Smaller tributaries branched off like silver veins, weaving through emerald valleys and mist-shrouded glens, creating natural gardens, cascading waterfalls no taller than a manor house, private coves framed by weeping willows whose leaves glowed faintly violet in the dusk. Mist deer moved in small herds along the banks, their antlers catching the light like crystal. Lunar foxes darted between reeds, tails trailing faint blue afterimages. Overhead, sapphire-winged songbirds wheeled in lazy spirals, their calls carrying soft, bell-like notes across the water.

And yet… the domain was no untouched wilderness.

Magic-tech had arrived here—not as an imposition, but as a careful, respectful partner.

Cities rose in elegant clusters along the river's main flow—towers of translucent crystal and polished dark stone, their surfaces etched with flowing water-runes that pulsed gently in time with the current below. Bridges of living ice arched gracefully over the tributaries, lit from within by soft blue-white mana conduits. Floating platforms drifted above the larger coves, supporting open-air laboratories where healers in Sitri colors worked beneath shimmering barrier domes. Automated hydro-gardens lined the banks—glass spheres suspended on slender silver frames, each one a miniature biome growing rare medicinal herbs under perfect climate control. Street lamps shaped like blooming lotus flowers cast gentle, rippling light across cobblestone paths that followed the river's natural curves rather than defying them.

High-tech and high-nature did not clash here. They harmonized.

A research pavilion rose on a gentle rise overlooking the main river bend—curved walls of water-forged glass, roof open to the sky yet shielded by a faint mist curtain that kept the interior temperate. Drones shaped like dragonflies skimmed the surface of the water, collecting samples without disturbing the nymphs that danced beneath. A small hospital complex nestled among flowering cherry groves—its architecture blending seamlessly with the trees, wards open to fresh air yet protected by layered healing arrays that glowed like soft auroras.

Arto leaned closer to the window. It was beautiful. Not in the austere, brutal way the Lowest Ring had once been beautiful in its cruelty. Not in the cold efficiency of the Legion's forges. This was alive.

Gentle. Mysterious. Precise without being sterile. Nature and technology had reached an agreement here—one where neither had to dominate the other. The river flowed unchanged, yet its power now fed clean mana grids that lit the cities without smoke or scar. The forests remained wild, yet rare species thrived under subtle monitoring wards that healed rather than hunted.

Then his phone vibrated—sharp, insistent.

He glanced down. A message from Amon, lead engineer of the Gremory Defense Grid Project.

Subject: Urgent – Family Visit & Construction Update – West Border Priority Sector

Arto opened it without hesitation.

The text was concise, professional, but carried the undercurrent of controlled urgency only someone who had worked under Arto's direct oversight could convey.

Lord Arto,

The Gremory family delegation arrives today at 14:00 local time: Lord Zeoticus, Lady Venelana, Lady Grayfia Lucifuge with young Lord Millicas, Lady Rias and her peerage, plus Miss Robin and Miss Nami. They wish to inspect the west border sector (former Phenex-occupied territory reclamation zone). Construction progress: 10% overall after three months, accelerating with each new cohort of engineers completing Simulation Room certification. New R&D magic-tech batches are being integrated daily.

Priority sector (west border) is on schedule but experiencing minor issues with newly deployed machines. Maintenance Centers are critically understaffed—most personnel currently deployed on emergency field repairs for client units damaged during prying attempts. No immediate support available from them.

Respectfully request your guidance on the following:- Intermittent mana-flow instability in the primary barrier emitters (Model G-7v3).- Overheating in the secondary adaptive rune matrices during stress tests.

I apologize for disturbing your visit to the Sitri domain. If you can spare even a brief remote consultation before the delegation arrives, it would prevent any visible delays during the tour.

Your obedient servant,Amon KaelthornLead Engineer – Gremory Defense Grid

Arto's expression didn't change, but the blue flames in his pupils flickered once—sharper, more focused.

He typed a single line in reply: On platform now. Open secure channel. Tell me everything.

Then he pulled his laptop from the slim case slung across his shoulder—black, matte, etched with faint protective runes—and opened it on the station's stone railing. The screen bloomed to life with encrypted overlays: live feeds from the west border site, mana-flow graphs, thermal imaging of the emitters, diagnostic logs scrolling in real time.

Amon's call connected within seconds—holographic projection snapping into place above the keyboard. The engineer's face appeared: young, sharp-featured, hair disheveled from long hours under hard hats, eyes tired but alert.

"Lord Arto," Amon began immediately. "Thank you for responding so quickly. Progress summary first: overall grid at 10%, but west border sector is at 18% completion—highest priority zone, fully concealed under illusion veils and low-profile construction drones. The new engineers from Simulation Room training are performing exceptionally; they've cut assembly time on rune-matrix arrays by 42% compared to baseline."

Arto nodded once. "The instability and overheating?" Amon exhaled. "Primary emitters—G-7v3 models—are experiencing micro-fluctuations in mana-flow regulation. The stabilization runes are holding, but under sustained load they drift by 0.3–0.7%. It's not catastrophic yet, but during the family tour, if we run a live demonstration… it could cause visible flickering. Phenex spies might still be monitoring the border; we can't afford any sign of weakness."

He swiped, sending a thermal overlay to Arto's screen. "Secondary matrices are overheating during adaptive stress tests. The new R&D cooling circuits are supposed to dissipate heat via micro-phase-change channels, but they're clogging under high demonic-energy throughput. Maintenance Centers are empty—everyone's out on emergency calls for private clients whose units were damaged during failed prying attempts. They're overwhelmed. I had no choice but to contact you directly."

Arto studied the graphs for a long moment—eyes scanning numbers, heat signatures, rune integrity readings. Then he spoke—calm, precise. "Emitter instability: increase the recursive feedback loop in the stabilization array by 14%. Add a tertiary dampening coefficient using the Sitri water-affinity formula—Sona sent me the parameters last month. It'll smooth the flow without sacrificing response time. Test it on one emitter first; if it holds, propagate to the chain."

Amon nodded rapidly, already typing notes. "Overheating: the phase-change channels are clogging because the new machines are running hotter than spec. Bypass the secondary coolant loop and route directly through a tertiary mana-sink lattice—use the dusk-berry extract coolant we prototyped last month. It has higher thermal capacity and self-cleansing properties. Divert 8% of the primary power feed to reinforce the sink. It'll drop temperatures by 22°C within two minutes. Monitor for any crystallization residue—clean it manually if it appears."

Amon's expression cleared visibly—relief washing over him. "Understood, sir. I'll have the adjustments implemented before the delegation lands. We should be able to run a full, stable demonstration without issue."

Arto closed the laptop with a soft click. "Good. Keep the west sector under maximum veil. No visible construction drones during the tour—use illusion overlays only. If Lord Zeoticus or Lady Rias asks about progress, tell them exactly what you told me: 18% in the priority zone, accelerating. No need to mention the temporary issues. They're resolved."

Amon bowed his head in the hologram. "As you command. And… thank you, sir. We were starting to panic." Arto's gaze softened—just a fraction. "You've done well, Amon. Keep the grid strong. We don't build it for show. We build it so Phenex never dares cross that border again."

The call ended.

[Timeskip: Continue with Arto going going through his work while the train is still running]

Arto worked steadily through the remainder of the train ride, fingers moving across the laptop keys with quiet precision. Amon's updates streamed in real time: the west border emitters now stabilized at 0.1% fluctuation after the recursive loop adjustment, secondary matrices cooling to acceptable ranges with the dusk-berry bypass. Progress graphs ticked upward—18.4% in the priority sector. Acceptable. Not perfect, but acceptable for a live demonstration in front of the family.

The Crimson Line's soft chime sounded through the compartment. "Next stop: Sitri Capital Station. Arrival in two minutes."

Arto closed the laptop with a decisive click, secured it in its case, and stood. The wine case and fruit basket waited beside him—both still perfect, untouched by the journey. He lifted them and stepped toward the exit as the train slowed, gliding to a halt above the open-air platform of the Sitri capital station.

The doors parted.

Cool, mist-kissed air washed over him—carrying the scent of river water, blooming nightshade, and faint mana-charged ozone from the nearby research pavilions. He descended the steps into the lounge: a wide, open space of polished sapphire marble and living-vine columns, soft blue lanterns drifting overhead like lazy fireflies. A few travelers moved quietly; most gave him a respectful berth, recognizing the quiet lethality that still clung to him even in civilian clothes.

Arto found a secluded alcove near a window overlooking the Sapphire Current and reopened his laptop—just long enough to send Amon a final message: All adjustments confirmed. Run final stress test at 13:45. No visible anomalies during the tour. Report post-demonstration.

He shut the screen again. Minutes passed in companionable silence—only the distant murmur of water and the occasional chime of arriving transports. Then footsteps—measured, unhurried, deliberately announced.

A tall, silver-haired man in immaculate Sitri livery approached: charcoal coat with sapphire piping, posture impeccable, expression calm but warm. Bernardo, head butler of the Sitri leading family. "Lord Arto Abyssgard," Bernardo said with a slight bow—deep enough to show respect, shallow enough to indicate equality between noble retainers. "Welcome to the Sitri capital. The car is ready for departure whenever you are. Lord Sora and Lady Sena are expecting you at the mansion."

Arto rose smoothly, lifting the wine case and fruit basket. "Thank you, Bernardo. Lead on." They walked together through the station's arched corridors—Bernardo matching Arto's pace without effort, hands clasped behind his back. The car waited outside: a sleek, low-slung vehicle of dark sapphire and silver, roof open to the mist, pulled by four ethereal water-serpents that shimmered like liquid glass. No driver—self-guided, of course.

They settled inside. The serpents glided forward without sound, carrying them smoothly along a winding riverside boulevard toward the heart of the capital. Arto did not open his laptop again. Instead he turned slightly toward Bernardo. "You've served the Sitri family long," he observed—statement more than question.

Bernardo's faint smile held centuries of memory. "Five hundred years as head butler," he confirmed. "Since the last one fell in the Devil Civil War. But I was here before that—lower roles, mostly. Footman, steward, aide during the early reconstruction years. I watched Lady Serafall take her first steps across the main hall carpet. I held the umbrella when Lord Sora proposed to Lady Sena under the old river willow. I was present the night Lady Sona was born—Lord Sora wept openly, something he rarely allows anyone to see."

He glanced out at the passing scenery—crystal towers rising beside flowering groves, children laughing on floating lily-pad platforms. "And now I witness the innovations you have brought. The way the Simulation Room has duplicated entire ecosystems without harming the originals. The way the new mana-tech flows through our grids without scarring the land. I am not privy to the full scope—nor should I be—but I see enough. The Sitri domain has never been stronger, nor more beautiful. And both Gremory and Sitri know exactly who made that possible."

Arto's expression remained impassive, but the blue flames in his pupils flickered once—acknowledgment, not pride. "I don't do it for praise," he said quietly. "I do it because it needs doing."

"You've served Sora and Sena for a long time," Arto said quietly, breaking the comfortable silence. "I've only met them once—briefly, at the signing of the protection pact. I know very little beyond their reputations."

Bernardo inclined his head slightly, a small, fond smile touching his lips. "Lord Sora and Lady Sena… they are not easy people to know at first glance, my lord. But they are worth knowing deeply."

He paused, gazing out at the river as though gathering memories from its flow. "Lord Sora is stoic. A man of few words and fewer smiles. Lady Sona inherited that quiet strength from him almost entirely—the way she observes before speaking, the way she weighs every decision like it carries the weight of the clan itself. But Sora was not always so cold on the surface. The Underworld changed him. The Great War took his parents—powerless to protect them, he watched them fall in a skirmish that should never have reached their estate. Then the Devil Civil War, five centuries ago, carved even deeper. Cousins, uncles, childhood friends—gone in factional purges or betrayals within the clan itself. He ascended to head of the Sitri house amid that chaos, opposed by older relatives who saw him as too young, too scarred, too rigid. He proved them wrong through action, not argument."

Bernardo's voice softened. "Deep down, he is still the boy who couldn't save his family. Every medical facility in this domain, every healing array, every rare herb cultivated under controlled mana-flows… it is his vow made manifest. He promised himself—and Lady Sena—that no one under his protection would ever suffer what he suffered. Powerless no more. That is why the Sitri clan now boasts the finest medical infrastructure in the Underworld. It is compensation for his losses, yes, but also a shield for everyone who calls this place home."

Arto listened without interrupting, blue flames in his pupils flickering gently as he absorbed the words. "And Lady Sena?" he asked.

Bernardo's smile warmed noticeably. "The exact opposite on the surface, and yet… cut from the same steel underneath. She is talkative, warm, quick with a laugh or a gentle tease—much like Lady Serafall inherited from her. But Sena's heart is unyielding. She was a field doctor during the Great War's aftermath, treating the wounded who staggered back from battlefields. That is how she met Sora. He was brought to her triage tent—bleeding, silent, eyes hollow from watching his parents die. She treated his body… and, in time, soothed his soul."

A soft chuckle escaped Bernardo. "They fell in love quietly. But she was not of a Pillar house. No noble bloodline, no political weight. Sora could not marry her openly—not then. Yet they had Serafall together, a living bond stronger than any contract. When the Civil War erupted, Sora seized the chaos as his opportunity. He consolidated power within the clan, silenced the opposition—sometimes with words, sometimes with colder means—and married Sena openly. No one dared object after that. Sona came later, a quiet child who watched everything and spoke little."

Bernardo's gaze turned toward the approaching mansion—its white stone walls glowing softly against the river's reflection. "Lady Sena still faced whispers in those early years—'the commoner wife,' 'the healer who seduced the lord.' She endured them with grace… and steel. She turned her outsider status into strength. She built diplomatic bridges between Sitri and other clans, mediated disputes with a smile that hid a mind sharper than any blade. Today, no one questions her place. They respect her. They fear disappointing her more than they fear Sora's silence."

Arto leaned back against the cushioned seat, the gentle sway of the water-serpents pulling the car along the river boulevard creating a soft, almost hypnotic rhythm. The city lights of the Sitri capital reflected off the Sapphire Current in fractured silver and blue, painting shifting patterns across the interior.

Arto leaned back slightly in the seat, the soft hum of the water-serpents pulling the car along the river boulevard providing a gentle counterpoint to Bernardo's words. The city lights danced across the Sapphire Current in fractured silver, but Arto's attention remained fixed on the butler. "I see," he said quietly, processing. "So they were made for each other."

Bernardo smiled from the driver's seat—small, fond, the kind of smile that came from centuries of watching two people weather storms together. "Indeed, my lord. So much so that Lord Sora never found the same resonance from any other woman, no matter how many hands in marriage were offered to him. The same can be said of Lord Zeoticus and Lady Venelana."

Arto's gaze sharpened slightly, the blue flames in his pupils flickering once with quiet interest. "Hoh~?" he murmured. "So they both are loyal to only one partner… in a society where harems are common things?"

Bernardo nodded without hesitation. "Yes. That is precisely why Gremory and Sitri have fewer alliances with other Pillar clans than one might expect. They never involved themselves in political polygamy. No strategic marriages for heirs, no alliances sealed with additional wives or concubines. They stay completely loyal to one partner only. It is a choice that has cost them influence in some circles… but earned them something far rarer: unbreakable trust within their own houses and between the two families."

He chuckled softly, the sound warm with long memory. "It is also the reason Lord Zeoticus and Lord Sora are best friends—and why their arguments about who has the better wife are endless every time they meet. They are like brothers who are always at each other's throats, yet always have each other's back. I have seen them debate the merits of Lady Venelana's diplomatic grace versus Lady Sena's healing compassion for hours over wine… only to end the night laughing together, shoulders clasped, planning the next joint project or family gathering."

Arto let the words settle, staring out at the passing river gardens—floating lanterns drifting above blooming water-lilies, mist deer grazing in perfect calm. "In my time… loyalty like that was rare even among the Legion," he said after a moment. "We guarded what was precious, but most of us had already lost too much to believe in permanence. To choose one person—only one—and hold to them through war, politics, centuries… that is a different kind of strength."

Bernardo glanced at him in the rear-view mirror, eyes reflecting the soft blue glow of the car's interior. "It is, my lord. And it is why both clans have endured. Not through numbers of heirs or webs of alliances, but through depth. One heart bound to one other, fiercely, completely. It creates a stability that harems and political marriages rarely achieve."

The car slowed as they approached the mansion's private dock—white stone steps leading up to the river pavilion, soft lanterns glowing along the path like fallen stars. Bernardo brought the transport to a gentle halt. "We have arrived, Lord Arto. Lord Sora and Lady Sena await you in the pavilion. Shall I carry the gifts?"

Arto shook his head once, already lifting the wine case and fruit basket. "I'll carry them." He stepped out onto the dock, mist curling around his boots. Bernardo followed a pace behind—silent, watchful, ever the perfect retainer. As they ascended the steps toward the pavilion's open arches—where Sora and Sena's silhouettes were already visible against the warm lantern light—Arto spoke one last quiet question. "Bernardo… in all these centuries, have you ever regretted staying loyal to them? Through the wars, the losses, the endless rebuilding?"

Bernardo paused at the top of the steps, looking out over the river once more. "Never," he said simply. "I have watched them build something enduring from ruin. I have watched them raise daughters who will carry that same strength forward. And now I watch you—someone who could have remained only a weapon—and see you change our world in a way I haven't been able to comprehend. It reminds me why I stayed."

They stepped into the pavilion together.

Lord Sora Sitri stood at the center of the open-air platform, tall and composed, his raven-black hair tied back in a neat, low tail that revealed the sharp lines of his face. His pink eyes—dark, almost magenta in hue—held the steady, unreadable calm of a man who had long since learned to weigh every word and action before committing either. Beside him stood Lady Sena Sitri, her own raven hair falling in loose waves to her shoulders, her pink eyes a lighter rose shade that carried warmth and quiet amusement. Sona stood a half-step behind her parents, posture impeccable, expression serious—her features a near-perfect blend of both: her father's stoic gaze, her mother's gentle bone structure.

Arto approached without haste, the wine case in one hand and the fruit basket in the other. He stopped at a respectful distance and bowed his head—deep enough to show deference to the heads of a Pillar house, but not so low as to imply subservience. "I've come as invited, my lord, my lady," he said, voice low and even. "Thank you for receiving me in your estate today. Here are some gifts I've prepared. Please accept them."

He extended the wine case first—Midnight Nectar from Priscilla Gremory's private reserve, label gleaming faintly under the pavilion lanterns—then the woven basket overflowing with crimson star-apples, moonlit peaches, and dusk-berries, their skins still kissed with the morning dew of the Gremory botanical sectors.

Sena stepped forward immediately, her smile blooming bright and genuine as she accepted both items with graceful hands. "Oh, Arto, how lovely!" she exclaimed, eyes lighting up as she lifted the lid of the fruit basket just enough to inhale the sweet, fresh scent. "These are exquisite—straight from the Simulation Room harvests, aren't they? The star-apples are practically glowing. And this—" She turned the wine bottle in her hands, tracing Priscilla's elegant script with a fingertip. "Midnight Nectar. Sora's favorite vice. You've made my evening already."

Sora gave a small nod—minimal, but sincere. His voice was deep, measured. "Thank you, Arto. The gesture is appreciated. Please, sit."

He gestured to the low table already set with tea, chilled river-fruit slices, and a small array of medicinal herb infusions—Sena's personal touch. Sona moved to pour tea for their guest, her movements precise and quiet, pink eyes flicking once toward Arto with the same analytical curiosity she always carried.

Arto took the offered seat across from Sora, placing his hands lightly on his knees in the formal posture he had learned long ago in the Legion's command tents. Sena settled beside her husband, still holding the wine bottle like a cherished prize. "Sora has been looking forward to this visit more than he'll admit," she said with a conspiratorial smile toward her stoic husband.

Sena's conspiratorial smile widened as she leaned slightly toward her husband, the Midnight Nectar bottle still cradled in her hands like a newborn treasure. "Sora has been looking forward to this visit more than he'll admit," she said, voice lilting with gentle teasing. "He's been dying since the clan's R&D division handed him your design on the new function of the Simulation Room—what was it? Right, time-dilation, isn't that right, honey~?"

Sora had no choice but to nod—slow, measured, the barest hint of resignation softening the edges of his stoic expression. "Indeed," he said, voice deep and even. "We've been limited by the time consumed for experiments—especially new medicines and treatment protocols. Gremory's burst is more explosive than us at the moment, and Zeo is smugging too much for his own good." A rare, dry flicker of humor touched his dark pink eyes. "But with this, the bridge will be closed. Time given by your innovation, Arto. The gap narrows."

He paused, fingers drumming once—almost imperceptibly—against the arm of his chair. "But I still have one more thing to ask you." Arto leaned forward slightly, posture attentive but relaxed, the blue flames in his pupils steady and calm. "Go ahead, my lord. I'm all ears."

Sora's gaze sharpened—direct, appraising, but not unkind. "You see, I was thinking of using this new technology in the hospitals of our Sitri domain. Cut down the time for surgery, accelerate recovery protocols, allow us to treat more people in the same span of hours. A single complex procedure that once took eight hours could be reduced to one—without sacrificing precision or safety. The throughput would increase exponentially."

He gestured lightly toward the river beyond the pavilion, as though the idea flowed from the same gentle current. "Of course you will have a cut in this. Royalties, licensing fees, priority access to any medical breakthroughs we achieve using the dilation chambers—whatever terms you deem fair. The deal will be taken care of by Sona."

Sona's head snapped up, pink eyes widening in genuine surprise. "What? Me?" She turned fully toward her father, composure cracking just enough to reveal the young heiress beneath the polished surface. "You want me to… negotiate this matter?"

Sora met her gaze without flinching. "Yes," he said simply. "You've been training under your mother in diplomacy for years. You understand the value of alliances, the weight of words, the balance between gain and trust. This is the first major matter I can let you handle as the heiress of this clan. Not as my daughter. As the future Lady Sitri."

Sona's lips parted, then pressed together again. She glanced quickly toward Arto—searching his expression for any sign of discomfort—before returning to her father. "But father… the ones I will have to deal with are Nami and Robin." Her voice lowered slightly, almost reluctant. "I don't want to turn down your offer—I understand the importance—but they are not the ones to mess with. Especially when it comes to our family's benefits. Nami sees every number like it's a battlefield, and Robin… she sees everything else. If I make even one misstep in the terms…"

Sena reached across the low table and laid her hand gently over Sona's. The touch was light, but it carried the same quiet steel that had silenced entire council rooms centuries ago. "Sona," she said softly, "breathe."

Sona exhaled—short, controlled. Sena's rose-pink eyes held her daughter's darker gaze without flinching. "Despite our partnerships, benefits are still benefits. When everyone knows exactly what they get—and is genuinely satisfied with it—inner turmoils and hidden resentments never have the chance to take root. The alliance cements itself not because we compromise out of fear of losing status as allies, but because both sides walk away stronger than they came in."

She gave Sona's hand a small, reassuring squeeze. "Negotiating against Arto's side is not war. It is not conflict. It is simply a serious, adult conversation about finding the balance point that satisfies both houses. That requires laying every term, every condition, every need on the table—clearly, honestly, truthfully, transparently. No games. No feints. Just facts, numbers, and mutual respect."

Sona's shoulders loosened a fraction. Sena smiled—small, knowing, maternal. "As for Robin and Nami… I hold no hard feelings. Neither does Venelana. They bested the best negotiators both clans had to offer and took a bigger bite than anyone expected. That was a fair-and-square win for Arto's side. We underestimated two lionesses. We paid the price. But we won't be careless again."

She leaned back slightly, folding her hands in her lap. "Which is why I will consult with you on this. I will help you map what both sides hold, what both sides want, what both sides truly need. We will chart the possible balance points together until we find one that leaves no one feeling short-changed. But the final call—" Sena's voice firmed, gentle but unyielding "—is yours. Your father assigned this matter to you. You will be the one to deliver the terms across the table. I will only advise. You will lead."

Sona stared at her mother for several long seconds. Then she nodded—once, sharply. "I understand." Sora spoke then—his deep voice cutting through the quiet like a river stone smoothed by centuries. "You are not walking into that room to lose. You are walking in to build something lasting. Robin and Nami respect strength and clarity. Give them both. They will respect you in return."

Sona met her father's dark pink gaze. "I will, Father." Sena's smile returned—warmer now. "Good. Then finish your tea and go fetch your peerage, Sona. They would want to try these." She gestured lightly toward the fruit basket Arto had brought, its contents still gleaming with morning freshness: crimson star-apples catching the pavilion lanterns like polished rubies, moonlit peaches glowing softly silver, dusk-berries heavy with deep indigo sweetness.

"I think Tsubaki, Momo, and Reya are inside the library—probably buried in one of the new medical herb compendiums again. Tomoe and Tsubasa are out jogging along the eastern tributary path, or at least that's what they claimed when they slipped out earlier." She turned her head toward Bernardo, who had remained a respectful half-step behind them. "Bernardo, please have these fresh fruits Arto just brought cut for me. I want to taste them properly. Venelana has been skeptical about her own deliveries and never saved any for me—now I can finally try them myself."

Bernardo bowed with practiced grace, already reaching for the basket. "Of course, my lady. I shall have them prepared immediately—sliced thin, arranged with mint leaves from the river garden, and chilled with a touch of sapphire-current ice for optimal flavor release."

Sena's eyes sparkled with anticipation. "Perfect. And bring enough for everyone—Arto, Sona, the peerage when they arrive. No one should miss this." Bernardo inclined his head once more and departed with the basket, his steps silent on the polished stone floor of the pavilion. Sona rose smoothly from her seat, smoothing the front of her uniform skirt. "I'll collect them," she said. "Tsubaki will want to analyze the fruit's mana signature before she even tastes it, and Momo will probably start calculating nutritional yields on the spot."

Sena laughed softly. "That's my girl's peerage. Go on, then. We'll keep Arto company until the rest of your family arrives." Sona gave a small nod—respectful to her parents, then a brief, polite incline toward Arto—before turning toward the mansion's interior corridors. Her footsteps echoed lightly as she disappeared through the arched doorway leading to the library wing.

Sena watched her go for a moment, expression softening into something purely maternal. "She worries too much," she murmured. "Just like her father. But she'll do wonderfully at the table. She always does."

She turned back to Arto, gesturing for him to remain seated while she poured him another cup of tea herself—herbal infusion this time, pale green with faint threads of silver light swirling through the liquid. "Now," she said, handing him the cup with both hands in the formal Sitri gesture of hospitality, "while we wait for the others…tell me, Arto, what do you think of my daughter? You've been training her the most these past months"

Arto set his teacup down with deliberate care, the soft clink against the low table the only sound for a moment. He lifted his gaze—blue flames steady and calm in his pupils—and looked first at Sora, then Sena. "I must say, my lord, my lady… Sona is cut to be a leader."

He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, posture open but commanding attention without effort. "You have seen it yourselves from the first test run of Sector 1: Adaptive Training Ground in the Simulation Room. Sona took the role of macro leader without hesitation. She viewed the entire battlefield—not just her own peerage, but Rias's as well—and came up with support for everyone. Strategy. Environment control spells. Buffs. Debuffs. Protection arrays. She adapted every layer in real time, according to the situation at hand, with a speed and precision I have rarely seen in anyone her age."

His voice remained even, measured, but carried the quiet weight of genuine respect. "Even when faced with hard decisions—sacrificing ground, repositioning allies into higher-risk zones to preserve the overall formation—she made them without flinching. She plays chess on the battlefield: always three moves ahead, willing to lose a piece if it means winning the war and keeping her comrades alive. And she has been doing it continuously—adapting, evolving, never stopping her learning. Every session in Sector 1, every debrief, every adjustment to the systematic magic curriculum… she absorbs it, refines it, and returns stronger."

Arto paused, letting the words settle. "She inherited your stoicism, Lord Sora—the ability to weigh every choice coldly and commit without regret. And she inherited your warmth, Lady Sena—the understanding that a leader's first duty is to protect those who follow her, even when the math says sacrifice is necessary. That combination… is rare. Dangerous, in the best way. She will not just lead the Sitri clan one day. She will redefine what leadership means in the Underworld."

Sora's dark pink eyes remained unreadable for a long moment. Then—slowly—one corner of his mouth lifted in the smallest, proudest of smiles. Sena's hand found her husband's under the table and squeezed once. "She has grown a lot under your care I see"

Arto nodded once—measured, deliberate. "Indeed. She has learned a great deal from me when it comes to magic, and from Robin when it comes to intel gathering and processing… but she has also taught me something. Something eye-opening."

Both Sora and Sena leaned forward slightly—almost imperceptibly—when they heard those words. Their daughter… teaching Arto Abyssgard. The man who had rewritten the rules of magic-tech, who had forged a defense grid that made even the most cautious Underworld lords take notice. The shift in posture was subtle, but unmistakable: curiosity sharpened into something deeper, something parental.

Arto noticed. He met their gazes calmly, unflinching. "On the train down here, Sona was with us. She insisted on taking the qualification test to become a teacher in my magic class. One part of that test requires proposing improvements to the book I use to teach them—Spellcrafting Formulas."

He did not elaborate on the book's contents. Neither Sora nor Sena pressed; they understood discretion as well as he did. "Sona didn't just give me improvements," Arto continued. "She proposed writing an entirely new chapter." He took a measured breath, letting the weight of that statement settle between them. "She called it 'Mana Governance & Systemic Spell Architecture.' And she asked me questions that made me question every decision I've ever made about large-scale spell deployment."

Arto's voice remained even, but there was a quiet reverence in it now—rare, unguarded. "'What happens when the same spell is cast simultaneously by hundreds or thousands of casters across an entire battlefield, city, or territory? When leyline nodes are shared? When ambient mana is drawn from overlapping domains controlled by different clans or factions? When political, territorial, or even seasonal mana currents interfere with each other?'"

He paused again—longer this time—letting the questions echo in the pavilion air. "I've never thought of magic that way. Of my book that way. I've always treated bigger spells as simply bigger mana—more input, more output, scale the numbers and the equations hold. But Sona opened my eyes to the systemic layer I had overlooked. The governance of mana itself. The politics of power flow. The hidden costs when domains collide. She showed me possible reasons why some of my past decisions—decisions that cost lives in battles long forgotten—were flawed. If I had had her mind beside me then, or even just someone who asked the questions she asked… things would have been better."

Arto bowed his head slightly—not in deference, but in genuine acknowledgment. "Your daughter didn't just learn from me, my lord, my lady. She saw aspects I have never saw in my time, I still have much to learn...."

His voice trailed off as the soft sound of footsteps approached from the interior corridor.

Sona returned, her peerage trailing behind her in loose formation. Tsubaki, Momo, and Reya walked on her right—poised and attentive, the three of them already exchanging quiet glances toward the fruit basket on the table. Tsubasa and Tomoe flanked her left—still slightly flushed from their jog, hair damp with mist, but their steps light and eager.

The moment they saw Arto, the group straightened in unison. "Good day to you, sensei," they chorused—courteous, respectful, the title slipping out naturally despite the informal setting. Arto let out a low, genuine laugh—short, warm, the kind that surprised even him when it escaped.

"Oh, come now," he said, waving a hand dismissively as he rose to greet them. "Don't need to call me that. We're around the same age here. Anyway—come over. I want you all to try the new batch of specialty fruits from the Gremory domain. Freshly harvested from the Simulation Room this morning."

At that exact moment, Bernardo glided back into the pavilion carrying a wide silver tray. The fruits had been sliced into perfect bite-sized pieces—crimson star-apples arranged in translucent ruby fans, moonlit peaches cut into delicate crescents that shimmered with faint silver dew, dusk-berries halved to reveal their deep indigo hearts. Thin mint leaves and a dusting of edible silver powder framed the arrangement, making the plate look more like a piece of art than food.

The fragrance hit the air immediately—sweet, crisp, almost intoxicating. A wave of ripe summer warmth rolled outward, carrying notes of starlit plum, chilled honey, and something indefinably fresh, as though the fruits had been picked seconds ago under an open sky.

Everyone's heads turned. Sona's eyes widened slightly—rare for her to show unguarded surprise. Tsubaki inhaled deeply, already reaching for a small plate. "That smell… it's even stronger than the market deliveries."

Momo leaned forward, analytical even now. "The mana signature is incredibly stable. No degradation at all. The Simulation Room really does preserve peak freshness." Reya simply smiled, already selecting a dusk-berry half. "I'm not analyzing. I'm eating."

Tsubasa and Tomoe exchanged a quick glance—then both dove in without ceremony, Tsubasa popping a moonlit peach slice into her mouth with an appreciative hum. Sena laughed softly, delighted. "Venelana really has been keeping these to herself, hasn't she? Bernardo, you've outdone yourself with the presentation."

Bernardo bowed modestly. "Only the finest for the finest company, my lady. Please, enjoy"

Lord Sora accepted a small porcelain plate from his wife, selecting a single crimson star-apple fan with deliberate care. He took a measured bite—expression unchanging at first—then paused. The ruby flesh yielded with a crisp snap, releasing a cascade of flavors: bright citrus at the forefront, followed by deep, wine-like richness and a lingering note of frost-kissed sweetness. His dark pink eyes flickered once—almost imperceptibly—with appreciation.

Sena wasted no time. She speared a moonlit peach crescent and slipped it between her lips, eyes fluttering closed as the cool, luminous taste washed over her. "Oh, my," she breathed, hand rising to cover her mouth in genuine surprise. "This is… transcendent. No wonder the market batches vanish in seconds. Venelana must be fighting off thieves at her gates."

Sona—ever composed—chose a dusk-berry half. She bit down neatly. The tart snap gave way to velvet richness, indigo juice staining her lips faintly purple. She chewed slowly, analytically, then gave a small, involuntary nod. "The mana preservation is flawless," she murmured. "No degradation. Peak ripeness captured perfectly."

Her peerage followed suit in a small wave of delighted sounds. Tsubaki took a star-apple slice with careful precision, eyes closing as the flavor unfolded. "This… this could be weaponized," she said seriously. "The balance of sweet and bright is almost unfair."

Momo bit into a moonlit peach and immediately started muttering calculations under her breath. "The sugar-acid ratio is 3:1 with a 0.4-second flavor release curve. No wonder they're trending—pure sensory dominance."

Reya simply popped a whole dusk-berry into her mouth and sighed happily. "I don't care about the numbers. This is happiness in fruit form." Tsubasa and Tomoe were already reaching for seconds—Tsubasa grabbing another peach slice, Tomoe snagging two dusk-berries at once. "We're going to need more of these," Tomoe declared through a full mouth. "Like… a whole orchard. In our pockets."

The pavilion filled with soft laughter and appreciative murmurs—the river's gentle rush providing a perfect backdrop. Even Sora allowed himself another small bite of star-apple, chewing thoughtfully before setting his plate aside with quiet satisfaction.

Sena leaned toward Arto, eyes sparkling. "You've given us a small miracle this morning, Arto. Venelana will be insufferable when she hears how much we enjoyed them, but I'll take it"

[Timeskip: Brought to you by chibi Arto picking fruit from a tree]

When the plate was wiped clean—not a single crumb or drop of juice left behind—Arto rose slowly from his seat, rolling his shoulders once in a smooth, deliberate stretch that spoke of centuries of conditioning rather than mere idleness.

The pavilion had grown comfortably quiet after the fruit disappeared, only the soft murmur of the Sapphire Current and the occasional chime of wind through the hanging lanterns remaining. Everyone's expressions carried the same satisfied, slightly dazed look: the unmistakable aftermath of tasting something truly exceptional.

Arto glanced around the table—Sora still holding his empty plate with faint surprise, Sena licking a trace of dusk-berry juice from her thumb with unapologetic delight, Sona methodically stacking the small porcelain dishes, her peerage exchanging quiet, awed glances. "I'd like to walk the capital a little," Arto said, voice calm and even. "See it up close. Not from a train window or a car."

He paused, letting the request settle. "But I need two things first." Sora's dark pink gaze lifted immediately—attentive, measuring. Arto met it directly. "First: the pact of secrecy. I need to know—exactly—who outside this estate knows my name, or knows what I do for Gremory and Sitri. I want to walk out there as a nobody. No titles. No whispers. No eyes following me because they've heard rumors of the outsider who brought the Simulation Room and the Stabilizer."

Sora didn't hesitate. "Only the immediate family heads and their most trusted retainers—those in this pavilion right now, plus Zeoticus, Venelana, and a handful of our personal aides who signed blood-oaths. No one else. Not even the engineers working on the west border grid know your face or your full name. They know only 'the consultant' or 'the architect.' Rumors exist—inevitably—but they're vague. 'A foreign expert.' 'A reclusive innovator.' Nothing concrete. Nothing traceable to you personally."

Arto nodded once—satisfied. "Good." He turned his attention to the second point. "And second… I need a tour guide. Someone who knows the city—not just the official paths, but the real places. The quiet streets. The markets. The corners most visitors never see."

Sena's eyes lit up with mischief. Before Arto could even finish the sentence, she reached out and gently nudged Sona forward by the shoulders. "Here," she said brightly, smirk widening. "My daughter knows every inch of the capital—official routes and hidden ones alike. She'll show you everything worth seeing."

Sona froze mid-step. Her peerage, however, did not.Tsubaki's lips curved in a knowing smile. Momo coughed once—very poorly disguised amusement. Reya's eyes sparkled. Tsubasa and Tomoe exchanged a lightning-fast glance before both spoke at once: "Sensei, Lady Sona would be delighted to guide you—"

"She's been mentioning how nice it would be to show someone the river markets—"

"—especially someone who appreciates good fruit—" Sona's face flushed crimson in under two seconds. "Enough," she snapped—voice higher than usual, hands flying up in a warding gesture. "That is not what I said. Stop. Immediately." The peerage dissolved into stifled laughter—quiet enough to be polite in front of Sora and Sena, but not quiet enough to hide.

Sena laughed outright—bright, delighted. "Oh, darling, your face is the same shade as the star-apples. It's adorable." Sora gave the tiniest sigh—almost fond—before turning to Arto. "Sona knows the city better than most of our intelligence officers. If you're comfortable with her company, she will serve you well."

Sona—still red to the tips of her ears—straightened her spine with visible effort. "I… would be honored to guide you, Arto," she managed, voice mostly steady. "If you'll have me." Arto regarded her for a moment—blue flames calm, unreadable.

Then he inclined his head once. "I'd be grateful." Sena clapped her hands together happily. "Wonderful! Then it's settled. Sona, take him wherever he wants to go. Show him the real capital—not just the polished parts we show diplomats."

She leaned toward her daughter with a conspiratorial whisper that everyone could clearly hear. "And maybe buy him something sweet from the river stalls. He deserves it after bringing us heaven in fruit form." Sona looked like she wanted the river to swallow her whole.

[Timeskip: Brought to you by chibi Arto walking with chibi Sona]

Arto and Sona walked side by side along one of the quieter riverside paths branching off from the main boulevard. The Sapphire Current flowed lazily to their left, its silver surface reflecting the soft glow of drifting lotus lanterns. Mist clung low to the cobblestones, carrying the faint scent of night-blooming water lilies and distant mana-infused orchards. Few people passed this way—mostly locals on quiet errands—so the two of them moved in a pocket of calm amid the capital's gentle hum.

Arto kept his pace even, hands clasped behind his back, the blue flames in his eyes dimmed to their usual steady glow. He had been trying—deliberately—not to dwell on Sona's proposed chapter since the train ride. The idea had lodged in his mind like an unresolved equation, nagging at him during every quiet moment. Seeing her now, walking beside him with that familiar serious expression, made avoidance impossible.

He broke the comfortable silence first. "Sona," he said quietly, "about the chapter you proposed for Spellcrafting Formulas—'Mana Governance & Systemic Spell Architecture.' I've been trying not to think about it too much. But seeing you now keeps bringing it back."

Sona's steps slowed for half a heartbeat. She glanced at him sidelong—pink eyes sharp, curious, a little surprised he had brought it up so directly. "I've been thinking about it too," she admitted. "More than I expected to. Macro management of spells… it turned out to be far larger than I initially realized. The book covers scaling beautifully for individuals—amplification operators, convergence matrices, recursive outputs—but when you extrapolate to hundreds or thousands of casters, shared leyline nodes, overlapping domains, seasonal mana currents, political interference… the book barely touches it. It assumes clean, isolated conditions. Real battlefields—or real territories—aren't clean."

Arto nodded once, encouraging her to continue. Sona exhaled softly, as though releasing a breath she had been holding. "So I consulted Robin. She's the closest thing to a macro leader I've seen in action—inside Sector 1, at least. Whenever we run group sessions, she's always the one mapping the battlefield, assigning roles, redirecting resources before anyone even asks. I shared my outline with her two weeks ago. She didn't just give feedback—she started guiding me. Step by step. How to structure the chapter, what variables to prioritize, how to model cascading interference without drowning in complexity. She even sketched preliminary equation frameworks for domain-overlap penalties."

Arto's brows lifted slightly—impressed, but not surprised. "She's good at seeing systems," he said. Sona gave a small, rueful smile. "She is. But four days ago… she suddenly went offline. No messages. No replies. Nothing. I thought maybe she was deep in a project, or resting after a long night, but… it's been four days. I've been working on it alone since then—refining the draft, running simulations in Sector 1 during off-hours. If you want, I'll hand you the papers when we return to the estate. But…"

She stopped walking. Turned fully to face him. "What happened to her, Arto?" Arto met her gaze steadily. The blue flames in his eyes flickered once—soft, controlled. He did not look away.

Then he began to speak—quietly, without embellishment, but leaving nothing out. "The Dark Arena," he said, "is the version of Sector 1 that exists inside my head. Not a projection. The real thing. Sector 1—the Adaptive Training Ground you and your peerage have been fighting in all this time—is only its echo. A controlled shadow. The Arena itself… is where I've been trapped for three thousand years. Every night. Every time I closed my eyes. Until four nights ago."

Sona's breath caught—barely audible, but he heard it. He continued. "Four nights ago, Rias, Akeno, Robin, and Nami entered it with me. They fought beside me. Against me. Against the Synthesis—the final form the Arena created out of my own body and mind. They broke it. They forced the sword to fall early. But the cost…"

His voice roughened for the first time. "Robin burned her entire network—every eye, every ear, every filament she had ever extended across worlds—to keep my brain from cooking itself alive while the sword tried to erase the Synthesis. She performed surgery on me in her sleep. She mapped every particle of me beforehand so she could rebuild me faster than the flame could unmake me. That's why she's been offline. That's why she hasn't answered you."

Sona stared at him—eyes wide, lips parted. The river continued its gentle flow beside them. Sona swallowed once—hard. Then she stepped closer—close enough that the faint scent of her tea lingered between them. "Is she… all right now?" Arto nodded once with a smile "Well, she is alright now, she is using this chance as an excuse to slack off and turn off her intel network, you won't believe how much she sleep yesterday"

Sona's expression softened into something almost amused. "And you were with her?" Arto turned his head to meet her gaze—and found her smirking, just a little, pink eyes glinting with quiet knowing. He blinked once. "How did you know that?"

Sona shrugged one shoulder—casual, but deliberate. "Well… if I escaped a nightmare that's been haunting me for millennia, I'd spend days sleeping like a log to catch up on all the rest the trauma stole. And I'd want the person who helped pull me out to be there when I finally let myself crash. It's not hard to guess."

Arto looked at her for a long moment—blue flames in his pupils flickering gently, as though reassessing something he had only half-noticed before. "You know, Sona?" he said slowly, voice low but carrying a rare note of warmth. "You understand me too much for someone I rarely talk to about my personal life."

Sona's smirk softened into something quieter—almost shy. "I observe," she said simply. "It's what I do. And you… you're not as closed off as you think you are, Arto." She gestured ahead with a small tilt of her head, the river path curving gently toward a wide, tree-lined promenade. "Now, let us use this to move through town."

They walked another minute in comfortable silence until the path opened into a small plaza bordered by flowering vines and low stone benches. Along one side stood neat rows of bicycles—sleek, minimalist frames in silver and sapphire, each one locked to a charging post that glowed faintly with embedded mana runes. No two looked exactly alike, but they all shared the same elegant, almost organic design: narrow handlebars, thin tires that shimmered with a subtle water-repellent sheen, and a small, unobtrusive panel on the right grip.

Sona stopped beside the nearest rack and pulled out her phone. A quick scan of a QR code on one of the posts, then another. Two soft chimes sounded in sequence. The locks on two bikes released with a quiet click.

She lifted one effortlessly and held it out to Arto by the handlebars. "Cycling tour?" Arto said, accepting the bike with a faint upward curve at the corner of his mouth. "I like that." Sona swung a leg over her own bike with practiced ease, settling onto the saddle. She tapped a small button on the right handlebar—a discreet sapphire rune that lit up briefly under her thumb.

"You have no idea what this baby can do," she said, voice carrying a rare note of genuine excitement. "It's a new model made right here in the capital. Famous way of moving around this place—quiet, clean, and versatile. See that button? Press it when you reach water and the tires reconfigure. Hydro-foils deploy, mana-propulsion kicks in, and you glide across the river like it's solid ground. No splashing, no wake, just smooth transition."

She pushed off lightly, rolling forward a few meters before glancing back at him. "Let's go, Arto. I'll show you around Sitri capital." Arto mounted his bike in one fluid motion—centuries of legion drills making even this simple act look precise. He tested the pedals once, felt the faint hum of embedded mana assist beneath his feet, then followed her lead.

They started slow along the promenade—wide enough for side-by-side riding, bordered by blooming water-irises and low mist fountains that cooled the air without soaking anyone. Sona pointed out landmarks as they went:

"That's the Eastern Lotus Pavilion—public lecture hall for open mana-theory seminars. Tsubaki loves it there." "Over there, the River Market arcades—best place for rare herb teas and hand-made charms. We'll stop later if you want." "Ahead on the right, the Sapphire Observatory—small dome where students chart leyline currents in real time. Momo spends half her free time inside."

Arto listened, occasionally nodding or asking a short question—mostly letting her guide the pace and direction. When they reached a wide, shallow ford where the main path crossed one of the river's smaller tributaries, Sona glanced at him with a small, challenging smile. "Ready?"

She pressed the button on her handlebar. A soft mechanical whir sounded—barely audible—followed by a faint shimmer along the tires. Thin, translucent hydro-foils unfolded from the wheel hubs like delicate wings, mana channels glowing pale blue. Her bike rolled forward without hesitation—tires lifting just above the water's surface, gliding across the current as smoothly as if it were pavement.

Arto mirrored the motion. His own bike hummed in response. The foils deployed, mana propulsion engaged with a gentle push, and suddenly he was crossing water—weightless, frictionless, the river sliding beneath him without a ripple. The sensation was oddly exhilarating—quiet power, controlled grace, nothing wasted.

Sona looked back over her shoulder, hair fluttering in the breeze. "See? No one builds bridges everywhere when you can just cross the water." Arto's lips curved again—small, but real. "Efficient," he said. "And elegant."

They continued deeper into the capital—through quieter residential lanes where mist deer grazed beside glowing flower beds, past small open-air workshops where artisans shaped water-glass lanterns by hand, along elevated boardwalks that let them ride above blooming lily ponds.

At one point Sona slowed beside a modest stall selling chilled river-fruit skewers. She bought two—handing one to Arto without asking. "Try this. Dusk-berry and moonlit peach, glazed with sapphire honey. Better than anything from the estate basket."

Arto accepted it, took a bite. The flavors hit in layers—tart dusk-berry giving way to cool peach sweetness, then the faint floral lift of the honey. He chewed slowly, savoring. "Better," he agreed. Sona's smile turned almost mischievous. "Told you." They rode on—side by side—talking little now, simply sharing the city's quiet rhythm. "Better," he agreed. Sona's smile turned almost mischievous. "Told you."

[Timeskip: Brought to you by chibi Arto and chibi Sona riding bicycle together]

As the sun dipped fully behind the crimson horizon, the Sitri capital underwent its quiet evening transformation. Street by street, building by building, the city softened into dusk—lanterns blooming like slow-motion flowers, mana conduits glowing warmer, the Sapphire Current catching the last light in molten silver streaks.

Then the river itself began to change.

Arto slowed his bike instinctively as the water beneath them lit up—not with reflected light, but from within. Thin veins of pale blue-white luminescence traced along the current, branching outward into the smaller tributaries, glowing brighter with every passing minute until the entire river system shimmered like living starlight poured across the landscape.

He glanced at Sona—eyebrows raised in silent question.

She smiled, slowing to match his pace, then tapped the same sapphire button on her handlebar again. A soft mechanical whir answered, followed by a gentle lift. The hydro-foils retracted halfway; mana thrusters along the frame hummed to life at a lower intensity. Her bike rose smoothly—first a few inches, then a foot, then higher—hovering just above the glowing river surface. "Follow me," she said. "And press the same button twice in quick succession. Hold the throttle steady."

Arto mirrored the motion. His bike lifted—weightless, stable—rising until they were gliding a meter above the water. The city lights stretched out below in perfect reflection, doubled by the river's own glow. Sona glanced sideways at him, eyes bright with mischief. "Have you ever seen the movie E.T.?"

Arto shook his head once. "Never heard of it." Sona laughed softly. "Then this will be better than any movie. Come on—higher." She tilted her handlebars forward slightly. The bike responded instantly, climbing in a smooth arc until they were fifteen, twenty meters above the river. Arto followed without hesitation, the mana thrusters purring under his grip.

And then he saw it.

From this height, the Sapphire Current and all its branching tributaries revealed their true shape: a vast, luminous tree spreading across the capital. The main river formed the trunk—wide, steady, glowing brightest at the center. Smaller streams and canals branched outward like limbs, then twigs, then delicate capillaries, each one pulsing with soft blue-white light. The pattern was organic, almost fractal—rivers splitting and rejoining in perfect symmetry, mirroring the growth of a living tree.

Streetlights, building runes, and floating lanterns traced the branches in complementary gold and violet, turning the entire city into a living canopy of light. At the very heart—where the main river split around the Sitri mansion—stood the brightest node, like the crown of the tree.

Sona slowed until they hovered side by side, bikes drifting gently on invisible currents. "We call it the Tree of Life," she said quietly. "Not official—just what everyone here calls it. Especially at night. The river's natural mana veins glow when the ambient temperature drops below a certain threshold. The city planners built everything around it instead of against it. No dams. No forced channels. Just… harmony."

She glanced at him. "Tourists come for the bridges and pavilions, but the locals come up here. Flying bikes like these are the only way to see the whole tree without disturbing it. No engines, no noise, no wake—just light and silence."

Arto stared down at the glowing pattern—trunk, branches, crown—all of it alive, all of it balanced. "It's beautiful," he said simply. No elaboration. No poetry. Just truth. Sona's smile turned softer. "It is. And it's one of the reasons I love this place. No matter how much magic-tech we build, we never forget what we're building on."

She tilted her head toward a distant cluster of glowing platforms near the tree's "crown." "Want to go closer? There's a small observation deck up there—best view of the whole tree. No crowds this time of evening." Arto nodded once. "Lead the way." Sona tapped her throttle gently. Her bike glided forward, rising higher

Arto and Sona glided through the sky along the luminous crown of the Tree of Life, the flying bikes humming softly beneath them as they followed the brightest branches of the river system. Below, the capital had fully awakened into its nighttime splendor: every tributary, every canal, every man-made stream now traced in living blue-white light, forming a vast, glowing tree that stretched across the city like veins of starlight. More people had joined them—couples, small groups, lone riders—hovering on their own bikes at respectful distances, silent and reverent as they took in the view. The sight was almost meditative: dozens of faint sapphire silhouettes drifting against the dark sky, lanterns on their handlebars adding tiny golden sparks to the blue glow.

Sona guided them in a gentle arc toward a small observation deck perched at the highest point of the tree's "crown"—a circular platform of translucent water-glass suspended above the main river split, ringed by low railings of living vine and soft blue lanterns. She pressed the descent button on her handlebar; the bike dipped smoothly, foils retracting as the mana thrusters eased them down until the tires kissed the deck with barely a sound.

Arto followed suit, landing beside her with the same controlled precision. They dismounted together. Sona reached down to her bike's frame and pressed a small rune at the stem. The entire machine shimmered once—then collapsed inward in a quiet cascade of silver light, folding and compressing until only a slim, elegant handband remained in her palm: matte sapphire with a single glowing rune. She slipped it onto her wrist like a bracelet.

Arto mirrored the motion on his own bike. His folded down just as neatly, shrinking into a matching band—black alloy with faint silver veins—that he fastened beside the one he already wore. Sona noticed his glance at the bands and smiled faintly. "Your magic-tech touch," she said. "The R&D division took your compression matrices and miniaturization runes and turned them into something practical for daily life. No one wants to park a bike in the middle of a crowded river market. Now the whole city rides like this—quiet, clean, and gone in seconds when you don't need them."

Arto gave a small nod—almost approving. "Efficient." They stepped onto the deck together. The platform was empty save for them—no tourists at this hour, no vendors, just the soft hum of mana conduits beneath the glass floor and the river's endless silver flow far below. Railings of living vine curled upward, dotted with tiny glowing blossoms that opened and closed in slow rhythm with the city's light.

From here, the Tree of Life was overwhelming in its beauty.

The main river formed the trunk—wide, steady, brightest at the center where it split around the Sitri mansion. Branches spread outward in perfect symmetry: thick limbs of light splitting into thinner ones, then delicate capillaries that traced every street, every garden, every hidden cove. The city itself had been built to complement the pattern—towers rising where major branches met, bridges curving along the natural flow, lanterns and mana conduits following the same fractal logic until the entire capital looked like a living organism made of light and water.

Arto rested one hand on the vine railing, gazing down at the glowing tree. "Magnificent," he said—quiet, honest, without flourish. Sona stepped up beside him, arms folded loosely on the railing. "It's my favorite view in the capital," she admitted. "Especially at night. During the day it's beautiful, but at night… it feels alive. Like the city is breathing with the river."

Arto's phone buzzed once—sharp, familiar. He glanced down. Nami's name glowed on the screen. He accepted the call, then flicked his wrist. A soft hum answered; the phone projected a holographic screen that expanded outward in a gentle arc, large enough for both him and Sona to see clearly. The image stabilized: four faces looking back at them, steam curling around their shoulders, cheeks flushed pink from heat and wine.

Rias, Akeno, Robin, and Nami sat together in the private outdoor onsen at the Gremory estate—stone basin carved into a hillside, surrounded by night-blooming jasmine and low lanterns. Towels draped loosely over shoulders, glasses of deep red wine in hand, a half-empty platter of Simulation Room fruits scattered between them.

Rias noticed Sona first. "Sona!" she called, waving with her free hand. "You're showing him the city already? Good. Make sure he sees the river gardens before he starts analyzing leyline flow like it's a battlefield." Akeno laughed, leaning against Rias's shoulder. "He's probably already calculating optimal flight paths for the bikes. Hello, Sona~."

Robin—looking far more rested than she had any right to after the past few days—gave a small, tired wave. "Good to see you both." Nami leaned forward until her face filled half the projection, eyes wide and glittering. "Wait—wait—back up. What the hell is that behind you two?!"

Arto turned the projection slightly so the camera caught the full view of the Tree of Life—trunk, branches, crown—all of it pulsing gently in the night. Nami made a strangled, delighted sound. "That's gorgeous. That's obscene. That's—Arto, you're standing in front of the most beautiful thing I've ever seen and you didn't call me sooner? I'm booking a ticket right now. Screw the budget meeting tomorrow. I need to see that tree up close."

Rias and Akeno exchanged a fond, knowing look. "We've seen it before," Rias said, swirling her wine. "Family visits when we were younger. It's stunning, but… we're more fascinated the flying bikes… we haven't tried those yet. That looks like fun."

Akeno nodded, resting her chin on Rias's shoulder. "He's not measuring bridge load capacities or mana conduit density. That's the real miracle here." Sona laughed—soft, genuine—then turned her attention to Robin. "Speaking of miracles… Robin, how are you feeling? Really?"

Robin's smile was small but warm. She leaned back against the smooth stone edge of the onsen, steam curling around her dark hair. "I'm fine, Sona. Truly. I just… needed a break. So I took one. A full week with the network completely off—no eyes, no ears, no secrets pouring in every second. Just this."

She gestured vaguely at the onsen, the wine, the sleeping city beyond the estate walls. "Onsen soaks. Wine from Rias's aunt's vault—Priscilla's reserve is criminal. Fruits from the Simulation Room that taste like summer never ended. Afternoons lying on the hill behind the estate, watching clouds drift by. Quiet nights in the library with nothing but books and silence."

She exhaled—long, content. "It's… worth it. Every second I spent pulling Arto's sorry ass out of his own dreamscape was worth this week of peace." Nami snorted. "She says that now. Yesterday she slept for fourteen hours straight and woke up demanding more peaches. We had to ration them."

Robin shrugged, unrepentant. "Priorities." Arto watched the exchange—blue flames in his eyes soft and steady—then turned the projection back toward the Tree of Life so they could all see it properly.

Nami immediately leaned closer to the screen. "Okay, seriously. How do we get up there? Is it open to the public? Private? Do I need to bribe someone?"

Sona smiled. "Public observation decks are scattered around the crown. The one we're on now is usually quiet this time of night. The flying bikes are available at any charging station—just scan and go. No bribes needed."