After Daverion's words, the world seemed to come to a halt.
There was no sound.
No movement.
Only a thick, tense silence remained, as if the air itself had become too dense to pass through. Every breath felt deliberate, measured, heavy with intent.
Each of them was trapped in their own concerns.
Theron opened his mouth, then closed it.
He inhaled slowly.
Tried again… and failed to speak.
The words would not come.
His fingers slowly tightened around the edge of the table, gripping it harder than necessary. Genuine worry was etched across his face—deep, unmistakable—an uneasy mix of alertness and restrained urgency. Across from him, Mael stood motionless, his gaze fixed yet unfocused, as if his mind refused to fully accept what had just occurred.
There was fear.
Not a visceral kind of fear, but something far more dangerous: fear of the unknown.
Without saying a word, both of them began to prepare. Their cultivation foundations stirred, circulating imperceptibly—slow, constant, instinctive. They knew they could not win.
Even so, they prepared.
It was better to be ready.
Theron raised his eyes and met Mael's gaze.
In their eyes, the same silent intention was shared:
wait.
Wait for the smallest gesture.
For the slightest change in Daverion's breathing.
For any sign of hostility.
They would respond instantly.
Theron swallowed.
What is he thinking?
What will he do now?
His gaze dropped for a moment to Lyra. She was gently swinging her legs beneath the table, completely oblivious. His chest tightened.
I must protect her.I must protect her.
No matter who he is… I must protect her.
Then, in the midst of that suffocating tension, an innocent voice broke the silence.
"From now on, you're my big brother," the girl said naturally. "You have to come play with me, eat with me, go on walks with me, and do whatever I want."
As she spoke, her smile grew wider and brighter, utterly unaware of the gravity weighing down the room.
Theron and Mael were stunned.
Mael flinched at the girl's boldness.
Theron reacted immediately.
"Lyra, what are you saying?" he exclaimed. "Apologize right now. How can you be so disrespectful?"
The severity in his voice was clear—firm, authoritative. His hand instinctively rested on the girl's shoulder, as if anchoring her to reality.
Then he turned his gaze toward Daverion.
"Please forgive my granddaughter for her impertinence," he said seriously. "She's just a child. She doesn't know what she's saying."
Daverion looked at Lyra with interest.
And then he laughed.
A brief, light, genuine laugh.
In all his existence, no one had ever asked him for something like that.
"What a fun child you have, old man," Daverion remarked casually, utterly indifferent to Theron's tension.
Theron fell silent.
His hand slowly clenched into a fist.
He doesn't seem angry…
He doesn't seem offended…
Then why do I feel like this?
He looked at Daverion again, trying to read something—anything—from him. There was nothing.
Who is he?
If he is a Sovereign… what rank does he hold?
The image of the oracle crossed his mind.
The upcoming conference.
The foretold upheaval among the powerful figures of the Stellar Dominion.
The clear warning: form an alliance with one of the Seven Sovereigns.
That damned Mael…
This wasn't the way.
Theron shot Mael a reproachful glance.
Mael, meanwhile, was immersed in silent, almost obsessive analysis. His eyes kept drifting back to the fragments of the broken artifact.
I've never seen it break.
Not even once.
There's still room.
I can still deduce something.
If he had wanted to kill us…
the artifact would never have had time to break.
"How long do you plan to stay?" Mael finally asked, breaking the silence.
Almost at the same time, Theron spoke as well:
"This place doesn't usually receive… unusual visitors."
Daverion answered without haste.
"I don't know. I'll stay until I get bored."
"It's just another stop."
Mael hesitated.
His fingers clenched and relaxed once before he spoke again.
"The artifact wasn't a hostile instrument."
Daverion glanced at the fragments for a single moment.
There was no emotion.
No real interest.
He understood what it was… and dismissed it.
To him, it was insignificant. That it had broken was natural—almost expected.
"A limited attempt to comprehend the incomprehensible," he said calmly.
He felt only a faint curiosity toward their behavior.
The tension settled once more over the room.
Lyra, who had been quietly sitting until then, lifted her head as Daverion began to rise from his seat. Her eyes followed him closely.
"Are you leaving already?" she asked with sincere curiosity.
Then she looked at her grandfather and added, as if stating an obvious conclusion:
"Grandpa… he doesn't seem bad."
Daverion paused for a moment.
He looked at her.
"Yes."
"But it was interesting meeting you."
Lyra smiled.
"Big brother, in four months I'll be holding an event at the palace. You can come and play for a while."
Lyra said it as if she were inviting him to the backyard of her home.
There was no ceremony.
No calculation.
No hidden intent.
Just a simple invitation, born from the same logic with which a child offers to share a new toy.
She leaned forward slightly over the table, resting her elbows with complete confidence, her legs swinging freely in the air.
"There will be lots of food," she added enthusiastically. "And music. Sometimes it's boring because adults talk too much, but if you come, it won't be."
She paused, tilting her head as she looked at him carefully, as if she were noticing something only she could see.
"Besides…" she continued, "you don't look at people the way they do."
Theron felt a chill run down his spine.
"Lyra…" he murmured softly, trying to stop her.
But the girl paid him no attention.
"They're always tense," she said, vaguely gesturing around her without accusation. "Like something bad is always about to happen. You're not."
She smiled—an open, pure smile.
"With you, it feels calm."
The silence that followed was different from before.
It wasn't tense.
It wasn't dangerous.
It was deep.
Daverion remained still for a few seconds longer than necessary. Not because he hesitated… but because he was listening to something that rarely existed along his path.
No ambition.
No fear.
No reverence.
Just an invitation.
Finally, he replied with the same calm he had shown from the beginning.
"Maybe," he said.
It wasn't a promise.
It wasn't a refusal.
For Lyra, it was enough.
Her eyes lit up, as if she had already won.
"Then I'll wait for you," she said with absolute certainty.
Daverion turned away.
And just like that, without anything more, he left.
The silence returned.