CHAPTER 45 —
(Arc 4 — THE AGE OF EXCEPTIONS)
Morning returned to Aetheria without ceremony.
No bells rang to announce it. No magic shimmered across the sky. The sun simply rose, pale and steady, spilling light over rooftops and stone streets that had learned how to endure silence.
Airi watched it from the window.
She had been awake long before dawn, sitting cross legged on the edge of the bed, hands folded loosely in her lap. The room was familiar. The walls. The curtains. The faint scent of polished wood and dried flowers that always lingered here.
It was her room.
That should have been comforting.
Instead, it felt like wearing clothes that no longer fit quite right.
She slid off the bed and padded quietly toward the window, pressing her forehead lightly against the cool glass. Below, the city moved.
Slowly.
Carefully.
People stepped out of their homes like guests entering a hall where something important had already happened. A baker opened his shop, pausing before lighting the oven as if waiting for permission from the air itself. Two guards changed shifts at the corner of the street, movements precise, eyes alert.
Nothing was wrong.
And that made it worse.
Airi hugged her arms around herself.
"Onii Chan…" she murmured, though he was not there.
She exhaled and turned away from the window.
If she stayed here, thinking, the feeling would only grow heavier. She knew that. So she did what she had always done when her chest felt tight.
She decided to go outside.
The hallway was quiet as she stepped into it. Servants bowed instinctively as she passed. Not deep. Not dramatic. Just enough.
She flinched every time.
"Y-you don't have to do that…" she said softly to one woman, her voice almost apologetic.
The woman froze, then bowed again, deeper this time.
"I apologize, Princess."
Airi's fingers curled.
"I said you don't have to…"
But the woman had already stepped aside, eyes lowered, hands folded. Respectful. Proper.
Distant.
Airi walked on, her steps a little quicker now.
Outside, the city greeted her with sunlight and space.
The streets were not crowded, but they were not empty either. Merchants adjusted stalls. Children were being coaxed along by parents, small hands tugged toward schools that had reopened only days ago.
Airi slowed.
Children.
She hesitated, then approached a small group near the fountain. Three kids. Two spirits, one elven. They were playing with carved wooden figures, arguing loudly about rules that clearly did not exist.
She smiled.
That part of her still came easily.
"Can I watch…?" she asked, crouching slightly so she was closer to their height.
The arguing stopped instantly.
The children turned toward her.
Wide eyes.
Still bodies.
One of the spirit boys stood so abruptly he knocked over the pieces.
"P-Princess," he stammered.
The elven girl grabbed his sleeve in panic, whispering something urgent. The smallest child simply stared at Airi as if she were a story come alive.
Airi's smile faltered.
"I-I just wanted to see," she said quickly. "You don't have to stop."
None of them moved.
Airi felt something twist in her chest.
"It's okay," she said, softer now. "I'm not going to…"
She trailed off.
Not going to what?
Hurt you.
Break something.
Change the sky.
She straightened slowly.
"I'll go," she said. "Sorry for interrupting."
She turned away before they could respond.
She did not look back.
The fountain sounded too loud behind her.
As she walked, she became aware of it more and more.
People noticing her.
Not staring.
Not pointing.
Just adjusting.
Conversations lowered in volume as she passed. Footsteps shifted to give her space. A shopkeeper stepped back instinctively when she came near the counter, hands raised slightly before he caught himself.
She had not done anything.
She had not used magic.
She had not even spoken.
And yet the world bent around her like it expected something to happen.
By the time she reached the gardens near the inner wall, her chest felt tight enough to ache.
She sat on a stone bench beneath a flowering tree, shoulders slumping.
"I didn't change…" she whispered to no one.
The words felt thin as soon as they left her mouth.
She stared at her hands.
Small. Pale. Unscarred.
Hands that had torn apart illusions older than nations.
Hands that had held onto Haruto when reality collapsed.
Hands that now rested uselessly in her lap.
"I'm still me," she said, as if repeating it might make it more real.
The wind stirred the leaves above her.
No answer came.
Footsteps approached, slow and familiar.
Haruto stopped a short distance away, leaning against the trunk of a nearby tree. He had not announced himself. He never needed to.
"You ran off early," he said.
Airi did not look up.
"I just wanted to walk."
He nodded once, accepting that without comment.
Silence settled between them.
Not awkward.
But heavy.
"…They're scared of me," Airi said suddenly.
Haruto's gaze sharpened.
"They're cautious," he corrected.
She shook her head.
"No," she said quietly. "They were cautious before. This is different."
She finally looked up at him, eyes shining with something that hurt to see.
"They don't know how to talk to me anymore."
Haruto did not answer right away.
He stepped closer and sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders touched.
"You noticed," he said.
Her lips trembled.
"I tried to play with some kids," she whispered. "They froze."
Haruto closed his eyes briefly.
"That wasn't your fault."
"I know," she said. "That's the problem."
She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.
"I didn't lose anything," she continued. "I didn't get hurt. I didn't forget who I am. But it feels like… everyone else changed."
Haruto watched the city beyond the wall.
"They did," he said. "Because the world asked them a question it never had to ask before."
She frowned slightly.
"What question?"
He looked at her.
"What do you do… when someone like you exists?"
Airi's breath caught.
She looked down again.
"I don't want to be someone like that," she murmured.
Haruto placed a hand gently on her head, fingers threading lightly through her hair.
"You don't have to want it," he said. "It already happened."
She swallowed.
"…Can it go back?"
The question was small.
Fragile.
Haruto did not lie.
"No," he said.
Her shoulders sagged.
"But," he added, "that doesn't mean it can't become something else."
She glanced up at him.
"Like what?"
He thought for a moment.
"Like normal," he said. "Just… heavier."
Airi huffed a weak laugh.
"That's not comforting."
"I know."
She leaned sideways, resting her head against his arm.
They sat there together as the morning stretched on.
They stayed like that longer than either of them realized.
The sun climbed higher, warming the stone beneath them. The wind shifted, carrying the distant sounds of the city. Bells rang faintly somewhere far away, not announcing anything important, just marking the passage of time as it always had.
Normal time.
Airi's head rested against Haruto's arm, her breathing slow and even now, but her eyes were still open. She watched the leaves above them sway gently, each movement small, predictable.
Safe.
And yet the tightness in her chest did not fully fade.
"Onii Chan," she said quietly.
"Yes."
"…What do people expect us to do now?"
Haruto exhaled slowly.
"That's the problem," he said. "Everyone has a different answer."
She shifted slightly, sitting up straighter. "The allied empires?"
"They expect stability," he replied. "Proof that nothing like the dome will happen again."
"And the city?" she asked.
"They expect reassurance," Haruto said. "That we're still here. That we won't disappear again."
Airi lowered her gaze.
"And the gods…?" she asked, barely above a whisper.
Haruto's jaw tightened.
"They haven't asked yet," he said. "That's worse."
Silence returned, heavier this time.
Airi hugged her knees again.
"I don't want to be a symbol," she said. "I don't want to be proof of anything."
Haruto studied her carefully.
"You don't have to decide that today," he said.
She looked at him. "But they already decided, didn't they?"
He did not deny it.
Before either of them could say more, hurried footsteps echoed along the garden path.
Aetherian guards appeared first, then parted quickly as Lyria approached. The Fairy Queen moved with unusual urgency, her wings shimmering faintly in the sunlight.
"Haruto," she said. "Airi."
Airi straightened immediately. "Did something happen?"
Lyria hesitated.
"Not an attack," she said. "Not a threat."
Haruto frowned. "Then what?"
"Visitors," Lyria replied. "Unscheduled."
Haruto rose to his feet at once.
"Who?"
Lyria met his eyes.
"Scholars," she said. "Observers. Representatives."
Airi's shoulders tensed.
"From the allied empires?" she asked.
"…And others," Lyria added.
Haruto's expression darkened.
"Others who were not invited?"
"They did not cross the borders," Lyria said quickly. "They are waiting outside the outer district. They claim neutrality."
Airi stood up slowly.
"They're here to look at us," she said.
Lyria did not correct her.
Haruto clenched his fist once, then relaxed it.
"Prepare the council hall," he said. "No audience. No public statements."
Lyria nodded. "Already done."
She paused, then softened her voice.
"Airi," she said gently. "You do not have to attend."
Airi opened her mouth.
Haruto spoke first. "She's coming."
Airi looked at him, surprised.
He met her gaze steadily.
"They're already watching," he said. "Hiding won't make it easier."
She swallowed.
"…Okay," she said.
The walk back through the city felt different from earlier.
Word had spread quickly.
People lined the streets again, though now there was movement, murmuring, tension. Eyes followed them openly this time. Whispers passed like ripples through water.
"They're really here…"
"They came back…"
"Did you feel it last night…?"
Airi kept her eyes forward, fingers curled into Haruto's sleeve again without realizing it.
This time, he did not tell her to let go.
Inside the council hall, the atmosphere was tight.
Four delegations stood arranged near the center. Familiar banners marked the allied empires. Their representatives looked tired, wary, and deeply relieved.
But behind them, further back, stood others.
No banners.
No insignia.
Just presence.
Men and women dressed in neutral colors. Some carried scrolls. Others held strange crystalline devices that hummed softly with contained magic.
Observers.
Haruto felt their attention immediately.
Not hostile.
Calculating.
Airi felt it too.
Her steps faltered for just a moment.
Haruto squeezed her hand once.
She steadied herself.
The discussions began carefully.
No accusations.
No demands.
Just questions.
"How did the dome form?"
"What caused the time distortion?"
"Can it happen again?"
Haruto answered what he could.
Aetheria did not create the dome.
The distortion was a consequence, not a weapon.
There was no known method to replicate it.
That last answer made the observers uneasy.
Airi stayed quiet for most of it, listening, watching.
Until one voice spoke from the back.
"And the girl?" the observer asked calmly. "Is she the source?"
The room went still.
Airi felt Haruto's grip tighten.
She lifted her head slowly.
"I'm right here," she said.
All eyes turned to her.
She stepped forward.
"I didn't mean for any of it to happen," Airi said, voice steady despite the pounding in her chest. "I didn't plan it. I didn't want it."
The observer tilted his head slightly.
"And yet it did," he said.
"Yes," Airi replied. "Because I refused to let him go."
The hall fell silent.
Some of the allied representatives shifted uncomfortably.
Haruto turned sharply. "That's enough."
Airi shook her head.
"No," she said. "Let me."
She took another step forward.
"You want rules," she continued. "Limits. Predictions. But I can't give you that."
She clenched her fists.
"All I can tell you is this. I won't hurt anyone who doesn't try to hurt us. And I won't let anyone take him away."
Her voice trembled at the last word.
The observer studied her carefully.
"…You speak like a mortal," he said.
Airi met his gaze.
"I am one."
The meeting ended soon after.
No resolutions.
No agreements.
Just an understanding.
They could not control Aetheria.
They could not define the siblings.
And that frightened them more than any declaration of war ever could.
By the time Haruto and Airi returned to the inner quarters, the sun was already beginning to dip.
Airi felt exhausted in a way she had never experienced before.
Not from fighting.
From being seen.
She sank onto the bed, curling up without removing her shoes.
"I didn't do anything wrong," she whispered.
Haruto sat beside her.
"No," he said. "You didn't."
"…Then why does it feel like I did?" she asked.
He had no answer.
Outside the palace, unseen by any mortal eyes, threads shifted.
In distant realms, attention sharpened.
The world had witnessed mortals stand in a space once reserved for divinity.
And normal, fragile, human normal, was beginning to crack under the weight of it…
Night settled over Aetheria slowly.
Not with menace. Not with omen. Just the quiet, ordinary descent of darkness as lanterns were lit one by one and windows glowed softly across the city.
Normal night.
That word followed Airi as she lay curled on the bed, staring at the ceiling she had memorized long ago.
Normal should have felt like relief.
Instead, it felt like pressure.
Haruto sat nearby, back against the wall, sword resting within reach more out of habit than need. He had not moved much since they returned. He was giving her space without leaving. He always did that. A presence without weight.
Airi shifted slightly.
"Onii Chan," she said again.
"Yes."
"…Are we doing something wrong?"
The question was different from before.
Earlier, it had been about people.
Now, it was about existence.
Haruto was quiet for a long moment. Outside, the faint sound of footsteps echoed along the corridor as guards changed shifts. The palace breathed around them, alive and alert.
"No," he said finally. "But we're also not doing what the world expects."
Airi turned her head toward him. "What does it expect?"
He looked at the ceiling now too.
"Distance," he said. "Limits. Predictability."
She frowned. "We didn't change how we live."
"No," Haruto agreed. "But the scale changed. And scale scares people."
Airi hugged her knees tighter.
"I just wanted things to be normal again," she whispered.
Haruto's voice softened. "So did they."
She closed her eyes.
That was the problem, wasn't it?
Everyone wanted normal.
But normal was no longer the same for everyone.
A gentle knock came at the door.
Haruto stood immediately.
Lyria stepped inside, wings dimmed to a faint glow. She looked tired in a way Airi had never seen before. Not physically. Politically.
"They've left the city," Lyria said. "The observers."
Airi sat up slightly. "All of them?"
"Yes," Lyria replied. "But they will not stop watching."
Haruto nodded once. "We expected that."
Lyria hesitated, then looked at Airi directly.
"You spoke well today," she said. "You reminded them of something they forgot."
Airi blinked. "What?"
"That power does not erase fear," Lyria said. "It sharpens it."
Airi lowered her gaze. "I didn't want to scare them."
"I know," Lyria replied gently. "That is why they are scared."
She turned to leave, then paused at the doorway.
"Rest," she said. "Both of you. Tomorrow will be louder."
The door closed softly behind her.
Airi lay back again, staring at the ceiling.
"…Tomorrow," she murmured.
Haruto returned to his place beside the wall.
Tomorrow meant expectations.
Tomorrow meant watching eyes.
Tomorrow meant decisions they were not ready to make.
Sleep came late.
When it did, it was not peaceful.
Airi dreamed of walking through Aetheria alone.
The streets were full, but everyone stepped aside as she passed. No fear. No respect. Just distance. Like the space left around a wound that had not healed yet.
She reached the center of the city and found nothing there.
No throne.
No symbol.
Just empty stone.
When she turned around, Haruto was standing far away, separated by an invisible line she could not cross.
She woke with a sharp inhale.
Her room was dark. Quiet. Real.
Haruto was already awake.
"I know," he said softly.
She did not ask how.
She sat up, rubbing her eyes.
"I don't want this arc to be about fighting," she said suddenly.
He raised an eyebrow slightly. "Arc?"
She hesitated, then shook her head. "I mean… what comes next."
He considered her words.
"It won't be," he said. "Not yet."
Airi looked relieved.
"But," he continued, "it will be about pressure."
She nodded slowly. "I felt that."
Haruto stood and walked to the window, pulling the curtain aside just enough to look out.
"Exceptions always do," he said. "The world bends around them until it cracks."
Airi climbed out of bed and stood beside him.
The city looked calm.
Too calm.
"Are we exceptions?" she asked quietly.
Haruto met her gaze.
"Yes."
She swallowed. "Then why do I still feel… small?"
He placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Because you're still human," he said. "And that matters."
Far above.
Far beyond the sky Airi could see.
Beyond the reach of wings, magic, and prayer.
The gods had begun to argue.
In the Hall of Constellations, light shifted uneasily as divine forms gathered. No thrones were occupied. None wished to sit.
A mortal child had torn through a structure older than stars.
A mortal will had bent time.
A mortal bond had overwritten law.
This was not supposed to happen.
"The script is destabilizing," one god said, voice sharp with irritation.
"It already has," another replied. "You felt it. Do not pretend otherwise."
A third presence stirred, colder than the rest.
"They are not ascending," it said. "They are intruding."
Silence followed.
Then, quietly.
"…Or being invited."
That suggestion caused the light itself to ripple.
"Impossible," a god snapped. "Godhood is not shared."
"Isn't it?" came the reply. "Or have we simply never allowed mortals to get this close before?"
Images appeared in the air.
Airi, standing firm.
Haruto, unyielding.
Aetheria, stable.
No prayers offered.
No worship demanded.
And yet.
Influence spread.
"Exceptions," a god muttered. "That is what they are."
"No," another corrected. "They are precedents."
The room grew colder.
"If mortals learn that godhood can be approached without permission—"
"Then our authority erodes," someone finished.
A pause.
"…What is to be done?"
Silence stretched.
Then a decision.
"Observe," the eldest voice declared. "Interfere only if the line is crossed."
"And if they cross it unknowingly?" another asked.
The eldest light dimmed slightly.
"…Then we will learn whether godhood still means what we believe it does."
Back in Aetheria, the sun rose again.
Morning returned without ceremony.
And somewhere between gods who feared relevance and mortals who feared isolation, the Age of Exceptions continued to unfold.
Not with war.
Not yet.
But with the unbearable weight of trying to live normally in a world that had already noticed you were no longer bound by it.