Damien woke to warmth and a slow, steady rhythm against his chest.
Hestia's breath brushed his skin, soft and even, her body curled against him as if the night had decided she belonged there. When he carefully lifted the sheets, moonlight traced the gentle lines of her bare form, familiar now in a way that made his ears burn. Memory followed quickly. Fragments of laughter, whispers, hands that had wandered without asking permission. The kind of night that left the morning quieter than usual.
He smiled to himself, cheeks warming, and moved with care so he would not wake her.
Before leaving, he scribbled a note and placed it beside her pillow.
'I'll be at Riveria's lab in The Twilight Manor. See you at lunch. And love u.'
Haruhime was still asleep when he checked on her, tucked in properly, her expression peaceful. Damien lingered a moment longer, then dressed and slipped out, the door closing behind him without a sound.
....
The Twilight Manor was alive.
Adventurers moved in every direction, voices overlapping, armor clinking, laughter echoing through the halls. Parties formed and dissolved in seconds. Damien passed through it all untouched, shadows pulling inward as his focus narrowed. Riveria's lab waited deeper within the manor.
Except it was empty.
"Huh. She said she'd always be here," he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. "Too bad."
With nothing else to do, he sat down and closed his eyes.
Mana was everywhere. Riveria had explained that much. It filled the air, the ground, even the space inside one's breath. Words were the bindings, the guide rails that shaped it into something obedient. Damien reached out with his senses, feeling the current brush against his awareness.
And then nothing.
He could feel mana. Clearly. Vividly. But when he tried to move it, it slipped through him like smoke through open fingers.
"I really have zero talent for magic, huh?" he said aloud, forcing a laugh as he tried again.
Still nothing.
Ruler's Authority stirred in response, effortless as always. A cup slid off the desk and snapped into his palm without resistance.
"Authority isn't magic," he muttered, staring at it. "So I've got tons of mana for shadows, but none for spells or mental defenses." He sighed. "At least ordering things around is useful."
The thought barely finished forming before something clicked.
He froze.
"Wait," Damien said slowly. "Ruler's Authority doesn't use mana. It's an order. Things have to listen." His eyes sharpened. "So why not mana itself?"
He stood, extending his hand.
"Okay," he murmured. "Here goes nothing."
Instead of shaping mana, he commanded it.
Each particle resisted, pushing back like a thousand stubborn minds refusing to cooperate. Sweat beaded along his temple as he forced the order, gathering the fragments into a crude shape. For a heartbeat, the pressure mounted.
Then a weak spark burst in his palm, flaring briefly before dying out without leaving so much as a scorch.
Damien stared at his hand, breathing hard.
"…So it is possible," he muttered. "Just insanely difficult."
He leaned back into the chair with a groan. "Why can't I control mana normally at all?"
"It's likely because your body rejects new forms of power."
Riveria's voice came from the doorway.
Damien nearly jumped. "Riveria. You were watching?"
"Half of it," she said calmly as she entered, eyes thoughtful. "Using your Authority to command mana was brilliant. However, ordering individual particles is wildly inefficient. We use words to guide mana in groups, not force it one fragment at a time."
He exhaled slowly. "Figures. So what did you mean about my body rejecting power?"
Riveria adjusted her glasses, gaze sharp but curious. "This is only theory. But from what I can observe, your body contains three distinct systems. One maintains your shadow army. One governs your Authority. And the third is your Falna conversion."
Damien listened quietly.
"You don't absorb Falna as mana like we do," she continued. "You convert it directly into your own power structure. That conversion may be preventing traditional mana control. I have no proof, but it fits."
"…Yeah," Damien said after a moment. "That actually feels right."
Riveria smiled faintly. "Still, you seem disappointed."
He shrugged. "I just wanted magic for the cool factor."
She blinked. "Cool factor?"
Damien stood and struck an exaggerated pose, arm extended like a seasoned mage. "I wanna be like you in battle. Pose perfectly, say something dramatic, and boom. Magic."
Riveria laughed softly, the sound warm and unguarded. "I think you already look impressive," she said. "Bloodied, daggers flashing, shadows obeying your will. It's… very striking. Very manly."
Damien was suddenly right in front of her.
"So I win," he said lightly. "I told you I'd steal your heart somehow. Was that it?"
Color touched her cheeks, but her voice remained steady. "You stole my heart when you refused to abandon Ais and me," she said quietly. "When you stayed and fought. Your strength and knowledge don't matter to me. What matters is who you are."
He nodded once. "Then we're even."
She smiled.
"Oh," Riveria added. "Loki is looking for you. Something about an incident in the Pleasure District."
Damien sighed. "Ah. Lecture time."
Before she could respond, he leaned in, pressed a quick kiss to her cheek, and vanished down the corridor.
"See you later, Riveria!"
Her hand lingered where he'd touched, heart beating just a little faster.
"What...A fool....A Charming fool..."
...
"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!"
Loki's shout rattled the room.
Damien didn't even flinch. He was sprawled across her sofa, one arm draped over his eyes, posture so relaxed it bordered on insulting.
"I wasn't," he replied flatly.
"That's the problem!" Loki snapped, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. "You didn't just stir trouble. You slaughtered Ishtar's people. You killed an aristocrat in Orario. If the Guild connects this to you, it's over. Not just for you. For Hestia Familia. Every Familia will turn on you."
Damien shifted slightly, unbothered. "They won't."
Loki stopped. "And why's that?"
"No evidence," he said. "No witnesses that matter."
Loki's eyes narrowed. "Your shadows are evidence. One day you'll be forced to use them openly. And when you do, everyone will know who wiped out Ishtar Familia's forces that night."
Silence stretched.
Then Damien spoke, voice calm enough to be chilling.
"Then I suppose I'll kill Ishtar before that happens."
Loki stared at him.
"Declare war," he continued casually. "End her when I'm ready."
She laughed once, sharp and humorless. "You talk like Ishtar's some street thug. She's a god. A careful one. You survived once. That doesn't mean you'll survive the next move she makes."
Damien sat up.
The humor drained from his face.
"I know," he said quietly. "And that's exactly why I stopped myself."
Loki blinked.
"I wanted to kill everyone in that theater," Damien continued, voice steady but tight beneath the surface. "Not just her soldiers. Everyone involved. I wanted to tear their hearts out and leave them where Orario could see." His jaw clenched. "The fact that I didn't… is already more restraint than I ever expected from myself."
He looked away, fists slowly tightening.
"I don't understand how they walk free. How they smile. How they keep living after what they've done."
Loki exhaled, the fire in her eyes dimming. "I don't either," she admitted. "But the Guild does. And they tolerate it. Ishtar keeps peace with Kali in Telskyura. She provides benefits outside Orario. So her… tastes become an open secret."
Her voice hardened. "One the Guild pretends not to see."
Damien stood.
"I won't pretend," he said. "And I won't forgive."
He turned toward the door.
"I will kill Ishtar," Damien said, not loudly, not dramatically. "Even if she's a god."
Loki watched him leave, the door closing softly behind him.
For the first time in a long while, the Trickster felt a chill crawl up her spine.
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