Styx was the first to break the silence.
"That was scary," she said, finally loosening her death grip on Piers' arm. Her golden blonde hair was even more disheveled than usual, sticking up at odd angles. "Did you see them, Piers? The monsters? They were so big! And ugly! And Papa made the barrier go BOOM!"
She threw her arms wide for emphasis, nearly smacking him in the face.
Piers blinked once.
"Piers?" Styx waved her hand in front of his eyes. "Hello? Brother? Are you scared? Mama says it's okay to be scared. I was scared! My tummy felt all weird and jumpy!"
Nothing.
Styx frowned. She looked at her brother—really looked at him. His face was calm. Too calm. Like he'd been watching clouds instead of monsters trying to break into their home and eat them.
"Weren't you scared?"
"No,"
just that. One word. Flat as stone.
Styx's frown deepened. She'd noticed this before—how her brother never cried, never laughed, never really seemed to feel anything. Mama said he was just "thoughtful" and "quiet," but Styx was six years old, not stupid.
She knew what quiet looked like.
This wasn't quiet—it was all empty. And Styx didn't like it.
"Okay!" She jumped to her feet with sudden determination. "I'm gonna make you smile!"
Piers looked at her with those dull gray eyes.
"Why?"
"Because! Brothers are supposed to smile! And laugh! And play! That's what brothers do!"
"I don't want to play."
"Well, you're gonna anyway!" She grabbed his hand and tried to pull him up.
He didn't budge.
"Come ON, Piers!"
"Styx," Xylia's voice cut through the room. Gentle but firm.
"Let your brother rest."
"But Mama—"
"Styx."
The little girl deflated but didn't give up. She sat back down, studying Piers like a puzzle.
Piers returned to the window.
The afternoon sun hung high in the sky, bright and warm. Beautiful, objectively. Meaningless.
[NULL CORRUPTION LEVEL: 48%]
[EMOTIONAL CAPACITY: CRITICALLY LOW]
He dismissed it. The afternoon had been quiet.
Xylia carried Piers upstairs to the bedroom, settling him into his crib for his afternoon nap.
As soon as she went back downstairs to the kitchen, he sat up and started his experimenting.
The mana he'd been absorbing for years—it wasn't just sitting dormant anymore. It wanted to move. To do something.
Carefully, he climbed out of the crib and made his way toward the window, each movement slow and calculated. From the sill, he peered out at the shimmering barrier surrounding their home. It pulsed faintly with ethereal light—like living inside a giant, sparkling snow globe.
He steadied his breath and extended his mana senses beyond the barrier.
And the world opened before him.
[NULL SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
[MANA SENSE: ACTIVE]
[DETECTION RANGE: EXPANDING]
Forests sprawling to the horizon. Villages tucked between fields. Rolling landscapes stitched together like an endless tapestry.
For a moment, he forgot he was small that he was only three years old.
Then he felt it.
Father.
Beyond the tree line, his presence burned in sense like a beacon.
And rigas wasn't alone.
Monsters. Hulking, snarling things, all teeth and claws.
They surrounded him.
And his father tore through them like wet paper.
His blade carved arcs of silver light, movements fluid and flawless. Each strike was instinct honed to perfection.
It wasn't a battle. Just extermination. Clean. Quick.
Villagers gathered, drawn by the noise. Fear shifted to awe. They offered him bread, baskets, bundles wrapped in cloth.
Rigas scratched the back of his head, sheepish, as though he hadn't just dismantled a monster horde with casual ease.
Piers observed silently.
Yeah. That fits him.
Then his mana sense snagged on something else.
Styx.
Wait—what is she doing?
Off to the side, the little chaos-goblin crouched near a carcass, laughing as she tugged bones and claws free, piecing them together into some grotesque little fort.
If Mom sees this... the fort won't be the only thing destroyed.
As the warm, milk-scented haze of the afternoon faded and the sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the living room, Piers had a bad feeling.
The familiar space turned strangely unfamiliar in the golden-orange glow.
And Xylia... she had changed.
The soft, elegant woman who'd cradled Piers just hours ago was still there, but now there was something else beneath the surface.
Something sharper.
Her violet-obsidian eyes glinted with quiet intensity, and when she spoke, her voice had a low, resonant edge.
This was it.
The "devilish side."
And all of it—every ounce of that suppressed wrath—was aimed at Rigas.
Rigas, the walking slab of muscle who cleaved through monsters like weeds, was now kneeling.
Kneeling.
His hands rested neatly on his thighs, posture perfectly submissive, like a warrior awaiting judgment.
Piers was propped on the living room sofa, snug in a nest of blankets. Beside him, Styx sat cross-legged, golden curls bouncing as she leaned in close.
"Shh, it's starting," she whispered with gleeful anticipation.
Xylia stood across the room, arms folded, eyes sharp and glowing faintly.
Her tone was calm—too calm.
"Rigas," she said, her voice a low purr, "do you have any idea what our daughter was doing this afternoon?"
Rigas offered a small, uneasy smile. "Uh... playing nicely?"
"Nicely?" Xylia's expression didn't change. "She was playing with bloody monster bits. The kind that still have teeth."
Rigas blinked. "Ah... that."
"I made a crown! Wanna see?" Styx whispered into Piers' ear. "It had fangs."
Rigas chuckled awkwardly. "She seemed to be having so much fun! And she made such a cute little crown out of the... the less pointy bits."
"Cute?" Xylia repeated, her voice rising slightly.
She took a step forward.
"She's six."
Another step.
"She could've been hurt."
Another.
"She could've eaten something."
"I did eat a bug once!" Styx piped up, eyes wide with innocent curiosity, kicking her legs. "Remember, Papa? It tickled!"
Xylia's eyes widened. Her face turned a dangerous shade of purple.
Her voice dropped to a chilling growl.
"You ATE a BUG?!"
Rigas raised both hands defensively. "She's fine! Look at her—healthy, energetic, great immune system!"
Xylia closed her eyes, breathed in deep, and exhaled slowly through her nose.
"I swear, sometimes I feel like I'm raising three children."
Rigas gave a sheepish grin and scratched the back of his neck.
Styx leaned into Piers again, giggling. "Mama's mad. Papa's in trouble."
Piers just watched the scene unfold like a live drama.
[NULL SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
[EMOTIONAL RESPONSE DETECTED: AMUSEMENT (MINOR)]
[OBSERVING FAMILY DYNAMICS]
[VOID CORRUPTION: STABLE AT 47%]
Compared to curses and reincarnation confusion, this was...
Actually kind of interesting..
Dinner was quiet.
Xylia's stew filled the house with warm smells. Rigas praised it, though his hands still shook. Styx ate chaotically, getting more food on her face than in her mouth.
Piers ate mechanically.
Spoon up. Swallow. Spoon down. Repeat.
"Good?" Xylia asked.
"Yes," Piers said.
It wasn't good or bad. It was fuel. Taste had faded somewhere around 40% corruption.
Xylia's smile didn't reach her eyes.
After dinner, Styx disappeared.
She returned with arms full of treasures.
"Look, look!" She dumped everything on the floor with a proud grin. "I'm gonna show you all my best stuff!"
Piers looked down.
A river stone. A crushed feather. Blue glass. A dried flower. A beetle shell.
"This one," Styx held up the stone, "I found by the creek! Papa says it's special because it's perfectly round! See?"
She shoved it close to his face.
He saw. Approximately 3 centimeters in diameter. Granite, probably.
"Cool," he said.
The expected response.
Styx beamed. "Right?! And this—" she grabbed the feather "—is from a bird! A big one! It flew over and dropped it! I think it was a present!"
Piers said nothing.
"And THIS," Styx picked up the blue glass reverently, "is magic glass! It makes everything blue! See?"
She held it to one eye, squinting at him.
"You look blue now. Blue brother!"
Silence.
Styx lowered the glass slowly. "Do... do you like any of them?"
"They're objects," Piers said simply.
"But they're SPECIAL objects!"
"Why are they special?"
Styx opened her mouth. Closed it.
She looked down at her treasures. Things she'd spent months collecting.
"Because... because they make me happy when I look at them," she said finally. Small voice.
Piers tilted his head. "Why?"
"I don't know! They just do!"
He studied her face. Genuine confusion mixed with hurt.
Emotions were inefficient. They assigned worth to worthless things.
"Thank you for showing me," he said.
The phrase that usually satisfied people.
It didn't work on Styx.
Her face crumpled. She gathered her treasures. "You don't care at all, do you?"
Piers considered lying.
Decided truth was simpler.
"No."
Styx stared at him.
Then her expression shifted. Stubborn. Determined.
"I'm gonna MAKE you care," she declared. "Just watch!"
She marched to her room, treasures clutched tight.
[NULL SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
[SOCIAL INTERACTION LOGGED]
[EMOTIONAL RESPONSE: NONE DETECTED]
[SUBJECT "STYX" PERSISTENCE LEVEL: HIGH]
He dismissed the notification.
Later, after Styx's bedtime (three escape attempts, one involving sock-rope), Xylia sat next to Piers.
The house was quiet. Rigas was checking the barrier. Just mother and son in dimming lamplight.
"Piers," Xylia said softly. "Can we talk?"
He looked at her. Waited.
Her hands twisted in her lap. Calluses there—evidence of training, not just housework.
Interesting.
"Do you..." She stopped. Breathed. "Do you remember being born?"
Odd question.
"No," Piers lied.