Zakharov

Icarus never, in his entire miserable existence, thought he'd be learning how to paint.

It was ridiculous.

But apparently, when that weirdo said she wanted to be an artist, she wasn't just daydreaming.

She was good.

Too good.

Every piece she painted felt like it belonged behind the gilded doors of a Sovereign's private gallery.

And somehow, she'd roped him into it.

Icarus had never cared about art or culture—pointless distractions, both of them.

But… painting was strangely calming.

And just like that—

Another failure.

He scowled, setting his brush down with visible frustration.

"Bloody hell…"

A heavy thwack landed on his head.

Hard.

Icarus hit the floor with a grunt, rubbing his aching skull.

If she'd used even a fraction of her Transcendent strength, he'd be dead.

"What the hell!? Why'd you do that!?"

She frowned at him, shaking her head as if he were the biggest disappointment in existence.

"Stop cursing. It's a bad habit. I don't want some brat with a filthy mouth in my house."

Icarus narrowed his eyes, a sneer forming on his face.

"Fucking—"

Her sharp glare cut him off.

"Did you just curse at me?"

Icarus blinked, tilting his head like he'd missed something.

"No, I said… fair point."

She sighed, clearly exasperated.

This kid.

He was, what, fourteen? Maybe a little older?

And yet, he was such a pain in the ass.

"Listen, darling," she said, her tone softening, "Stop looking at everything through skepticism, pragmatism, or that awful pessimism of yours. Life's more than just fighting."

She paused, her voice dipping into something a little more serious.

"It's love, happiness, excitement, satisfaction…"

Icarus said nothing, but his fingers twitched on the brush.

She continued, her gaze soft but filled with a quiet melancholy.

"It's also sadness, loneliness, guilt, and pain. It's not perfect, but… it's not that bad, right?"

Icarus stayed silent.

He didn't want to answer that.

Instead, he turned back to the canvas, his focus sharp.

…Huh.

This one actually didn't look too bad.

Thank you, Divine Eyes of Void! This beggar is forever grateful for his innate ability!

He smirked, absurdly proud of himself.

The painting depicted a wolf standing at the edge of a still lake, the moon towering above. The wolf's eyes burned a brilliant, blood-red.

Nadia watched him quietly, blinking in surprise.

He really did pick things up quickly, huh?

Her lips curved into a small, amused smile.

Not bad. Not bad at all.

"Well… someone's feeling happy, huh?"

Icarus grinned, turning to face her.

"You know, when you first told me about this, I thought you were a dumb fuck. But looks like that's not the case."

Silence.

The temperature in the room dropped.

Her piercing gaze locked onto him.

Icarus gulped.

His damned Flaw!

Why the hell did it make him blurt out every stupid thought?

And then—

SLAP!

His jaw dislocated with a sharp crack.

Icarus blinked in shock, staring at the ceiling.

…Yeah.

That was deserved.

He'd spent days with her, yet now that he thought about it…

He'd never even asked for her name.

That realization was—

Strangely embarrassing.

He couldn't just keep calling her "weirdo" or "fucking bitch" forever.

Well, he could.

But it would get awkward.

His gaze drifted to her, momentarily caught by the way she worked. She focused intently, her expression serene but tinged with something more—something that didn't quite fit.

Transcendents often had a presence that affected their surroundings, their emotions seeping into the air around them. Even among Saints, Nadia was different. Too peaceful. Too calming.

Clearing his throat, Icarus broke the silence.

"What's your name?"

She rested her chin on her palm, tilting her head with a charming, amused smile.

"Oh? Now you decide to ask? Haha. Relax, darling. It's fine. I'm Nadia."

Icarus exhaled, nodding.

"Well… thanks for everything. And… it's a pleasure to meet you, Nadia."

Her smile softened, and she reached out to ruffle his hair.

Icarus frowned but didn't pull away.

Instead, he asked the real question.

"Why did you save me?"

Nadia tilted her head, smile still in place.

"Is it so wrong to save someone? Let alone a child? Do I need a reason?"

She chuckled.

"Besides… you remind me of my son."

Icarus blinked.

"You had a son?"

She laughed lightly as she walked toward the kitchen.

"Of course. I was a mother… Maybe I still am. Who knows?"

Her voice dropped, quieter now.

"But my son's dead. When he failed his first nightmare and became a nightmare creature… I had to kill him."

Icarus paused.

He couldn't even imagine…

She continued, her tone casual, but the weight of her words hit harder than he expected.

"As for my daughter… I don't know where she is. And even if I did, it wouldn't matter. I'd just bring her more problems."

Icarus' confusion deepened. Her? A Saint? Causing problems? That was absurd.

Unless…

His mind clicked.

She must have done something. Something to anger other Saints. Or worse—Sovereigns.

His expression darkened.

"What did you do?"

She grinned, slicing into a slab of meat like it was nothing.

"Well, I learned things I shouldn't have. For example… your father's death."

Icarus froze. So, she knew…

His face turned cold, emotionless.

"What about it?"

Nadia paused, her eyes flickering with something sad.

"Don't misunderstand. I'm not judging you."

She set the knife down, her hands still, as her voice softened.

"I know about the Obel Scale. I know what Broken Sword would've unleashed if he'd gone through with his plan."

Her eyes met his.

"Millions would've died. A war between Great Clans… and a world torn apart. You know what Sovereigns can do in a war."

Icarus clenched his jaw, staring at her.

She continued, quieter now.

"I can't judge you, Icarus. You carried the weight of the world on your shoulders."

She paused.

"You sacrificed everything so the innocent could live. But…"

Her gaze softened.

"That weight… isn't something a child should carry."

Icarus' hands curled into fists.

"So what?"

She sighed, leaning against the counter.

"Your name… There's a myth about the title 'Morning Star.'"

Her gaze never left his.

"It also means Hope."

She smiled, but there was something bittersweet in her eyes.

"Isn't it poetic? That the one bearing such a name… saved the world?"

Her voice dropped, barely a whisper.

"But how much have you suffered?"

Icarus' breath hitched.

"You're burying it all under sarcasm and humor. But at the end of the day…"

Her eyes locked with his, sharp and full of understanding.

"You're just a broken child."

CRACK!

The table shattered as Icarus slammed his fist into it.

His whole body trembled with fury.

"Child? CHILD!?"

His voice shook, ragged with emotion.

"I'm not a child! I never was!"

He shook, his voice raw, filled with something darker than rage.

"I'm not even Icarus anymore!"

"My face is gone! My past is gone! My family is gone!"

"THERE'S NOTHING LEFT!"

The room fell into a heavy silence.

Nadia didn't flinch.

Didn't recoil.

She just smiled.

A soft, sad smile.

"I see…"

Icarus slumped into a chair, his breathing uneven, trying to steady himself. The air felt thick with the weight of his thoughts.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, barely above a whisper.

Nadia raised an eyebrow, her tone teasing.

"Apologizing? Now that's a surprise."

She chuckled softly, leaning back with a sparkle in her eyes.

Icarus stared at her, confused, unsure whether this woman was too calm for her own good or if there was something more to it.

"What?" he asked, brow furrowed.

Her grin widened.

"You said Icarus is dead," she mused, spreading her arms in grandeur with charming smile. "How about becoming my son?"

Icarus froze. Was she serious? Was this some kind of twisted joke?

She read his expression, grinning even wider.

"No," she added, her tone softening. "I'm not trying to replace my son. It's not like that. But… your stubbornness reminds me of him. Even so, You're still you, love."

She lit a cigarette, taking a slow drag, watching him with that same playful glint in her eyes.

Icarus tilted his head, skeptical.

"Isn't that harmful?"

She laughed, warm and carefree. Then, handing him the cigarette, she winked.

"Try it."

He hesitated, then took the cigarette, inspecting it like a puzzle. Finally, he brought it to his lips, inhaling. The smoke burned slightly, but strangely enough, it soothed him more than it hurt.

Exhaling, he watched the tendrils rise.

Nadia's grin widened.

"So? What do you think? Hmm? Don't worry, love. I give you permission to call me 'mommy dearest.'"

Icarus stared at her, blinking. What kind of game was she playing?

But something about her, something in the way she carried herself… it was hard to ignore. Even someone like him, who prided himself on control, couldn't figure her out.

With a sigh, he shook his head.

"Fine, fine. Whatever."

Her eyes danced with delight, and she sprang to her feet, lifting him with effortless ease.

"Then let's give you a new name," she declared. "No longer Icarus of Immortal Flame. You'll have a new name. My name."

She paused, thoughtful, and then—grinning like a mischievous child—she announced, "You'll be Klaus… Nicklaus Zakharov."