Sixty-seven

Aether sighed and started walking with Mirakos again. He rushed to pick up his prosthetic arm and quickly caught up as the boy happily climbed the stairs.

"Is she Anna's mother?" Mirakos asked while Aether pulled him along, hurrying toward his room.

"No way! My room wasn't even like this..." Mirakos muttered, jumping onto the bed.

Aether shrugged off his cloak—the cross pattern still visible in its unique design—and let it fall to the ground along with his inner wear. He dropped down and began doing push-ups.

"I really don't want to join that team," he said, his voice strained, "but I know Anna's going to force me."

"But you're stronger than all of them, right?" Mirakos asked joyfully.

"Yeah…" Aether muttered, though his thoughts said otherwise.

He stood no chance against Ryuji or Marquis, or even Kai. And Anna—if he could even get close to her—would crush him. Elara, too, could take him down.

"My body evolves, so training definitely speeds that up," Aether said, exhaling. "Sixty-seven," he counted, standing back up and shifting into squats. He found them easier than push-ups.

Mirakos squirmed off the bed and joined him, pulling off his clothes to resemble Aether. He began squatting alongside him.

"Yeah, Mirakos, what's your skill set, anyway?" Aether asked suddenly.

"Skill set?" Mirakos replied, confused.

"You know, like the stuff you can do. Story skill? Your rank?" Aether tried explaining, but Mirakos only looked more bewildered.

Aether sighed. "Think of an ability and show it to me," he said, deciding to simplify things. He didn't expect much, but it wouldn't hurt to see.

His eyes widened. Is this how the tour guide felt when he saw my skill set?

Right in front of him appeared a floating display:

Mirakos Kazkar-Status

Age: 10

Story Skill: Dragon Child Disciple

Attachment Skill: Draconic Instinct

Unwritten Skill: Priest (3 Unwritten Skills)

"What?" Aether muttered, stopping his training.

"Mirakos, who is your father?" Aether asked, trying to understand how the boy could possibly be connected to him.

Mirakos paused, his face clouding as memories flooded back. As if pulled by some shared instinct, Aether's memories surged too.

Both thought of the same name: Altan.

That long white hair. That evil, predatory smile.

A shiver ran down Aether's spine. He shook his head. "I only met him once. Maybe they're related—"

Before he could finish, Mirakos screamed, startling him.

The boy clawed at his skin, his small body trembling. Mutilated bodies seemed to wrap around him, shrieking like tortured souls.

To Mirakos, his own scream felt like a whisper in a roaring sandstorm.

The vision worsened. More and more bodies swarmed the room. Mirakos ran to Aether, tears streaming, clinging to him for safety.

Without hesitation, Aether carried him out of the room and shut the door behind them.

He tightened his grip on the boy, his pulse quickening as the sobs grew louder.

I don't even know how to stop this, Aether thought, the weight of Mirakos's small frame pressing into his chest.

The boy was terrified, and Aether's mind raced for answers. Was this Altan's doing? Was he already too late?

He swallowed hard, his voice low but firm.

"From here on out, nothing will touch you. I swear on my life." It wasn't just a promise to Mirakos—it was a challenge to himself.

"You'll be a great—" Aether muttered, his mind already calculating how useful such a skill, potentially related to Altan's, could be in battle. He slapped himself.

This was a kid. A scared, grieving kid who just saw horrors he couldn't understand.

No, stop. He's not a tool. He's not another piece for the fight. I hate it when people use others, so I shouldn't either, he scolded himself.

Mirakos squirmed closer to his side.

"It's okay," Aether reassured him, gently running a hand through the boy's hair.

"Can you tell me what kind of hair your dad has?" he asked, trying to keep him calm.

Mirakos tilted his head. "Black," he answered.

Aether's eyes widened in confusion. "And your mom?"

Suddenly, Mirakos's aura spiked, and Aether felt it—malice, raw and unrestrained, pouring off the boy.

"Al...tan," Mirakos stammered, his voice trembling.

"Your mom is Altan?" Aether said in shock. Wait, is Altan a woman? No...

"He killed Ma," Mirakos sobbed, anger mingling with grief.

Aether opened the door to his room and began putting his clothes back on. His eyes drifted to the prosthetic arm lying on the floor.

He paused, staring at it for a moment before muttering, "Since I got here, I don't think I've stayed in a room and rested for a full day... unless I was dead."

He crouched and picked up the arm, turning it over in his hands. For a moment, his expression was distant, almost confused. His fingers brushed over a dent near the stub.

He sighed, inspecting the arm and how it matched the stump on his shoulder. It was almost too perfect—like the two pieces were made for each other.

With a small breath to steady himself, Aether aligned the arm and pressed it into place.

A sharp click echoed in the quiet room, followed by a jolt of pain that made him squint and clench his jaw. The connection was deep—unnervingly so—but at least it wouldn't fall off.

"That was unexpected," he muttered, rolling his shoulder. The arm's weight tugged at him, unfamiliar and awkward, but he stretched anyway, trying to find some semblance of comfort.

His movements were stiff at first, but he pushed through, forcing his body to adapt.

"Mirakos, do you know where your dad might be? Or where you used to live?" Aether asked carefully.

Mirakos nodded.

Aether already had a sense of it. Altan was insane—a walking personification of chaos. If he killed Mirakos's mother, the father wasn't far behind. Was it during those three days I was dead?

Definitely. Too much had happened in just three days.

"Not just people giving me work—this entire realm is out to get me," Aether muttered bitterly, slamming the door behind him. The impact left a massive dent in the wood.

He reached the parlor. Everyone was gone, likely in their rooms or at the training grounds.

"Wait here," Aether said, running toward the second floor.

He opened the door and leapt off the balcony, not wanting to bother with the stairs. Mid-air, the familiar tug of his prosthetic arm threw off his balance, forcing him to land with a stumble.

"I keep forgetting about this thing," he muttered.

Running to the couch, he grabbed his sword and slid it into the space in his jacket.

"Won't forget you again," he said, enjoying the weight. "Should I give it a name… hm?"

He saw Kai walking on air and paused briefly, waving. Kai, surprised, waved back. Without a word, they went their separate ways—like the first time they met. This time, Kai seemed more intrigued by Aether.

At the front gate, Aether saw Mirakos waiting exactly where he'd told him to.

"Alright then, we'll go through the lift? I should've tested my arm, but I'll save that for later," Aether said, brushing dust off his cape.

"I don't want to go through the lift. Hector doesn't really want me there, and he's dying," Mirakos said flatly, his fingernails digging into his palm.

"What are you saying?" Aether asked, confusion and fear mixing in his voice.

"Altan's thing pierced his smoke. I saw it—his smoke around his body. It's breaking," Mirakos said.

"His core," Aether muttered, a faint aura building.

They reached the lift and clicked it. No sign. No beep. No movement.

"That's probably why he asked me to take you. I... I'm sorry," Aether said, tears streaming down his face.

He didn't know why, but he already felt deeply connected to people he'd barely known for a week.

He wiped the tears away, his face becoming stone-cold.

"First your dad, then Altan," Aether said.

"No. Just Dad is alright..." Mirakos shivered.

"He won't kill. I don't think he will. He likes toying with people. We'll just ask questions. I'll ask about the war too. He seems like the type to know a lot about this stuff, alright?" Aether said, lying through his teeth.

His thoughts screamed: Kill him.

Drawing his arm forward, he said, "Let's make a hand sign—just the two of us."

"Two of us?" Mirakos's face brightened slowly.

Aether brought forth his arm—metal glinting faintly under the light—and formed a fist.

His fist connected with Mirakos's, their movements deliberate and synchronized.

The cool touch of metal surprised Mirakos, but he grinned, mirroring the motion.

They expanded their hands like an explosion, moved into scissors, interlocked, twisted fast, matched pinky fingers, then tapped their index fingers to their hearts.

"You're a natural," Aether said, laughing.

"Are you slowing down on purpose?" Mirakos asked, staring at Aether, confused.