Night settled differently after Andrew's choice.
Not darker—denser.
The house slept, but the air did not. Heaven remained awake, coiled near the hall entrance, eyes half-lidded yet tracking something that refused to cross the threshold. The female demi-dragon mirrored the posture from the opposite side, forming an invisible arc of denial.
Sylence noticed it.
"They're guarding," he said quietly.
Andy stood near the window, fingers twitching unconsciously—old habits from when knowledge came faster than comfort.
"Yes," Andy replied. "From something that remembers him."
Sylence turned. "Claude?"
Andy didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he reached into his coat and removed something wrapped in black cloth—old, frayed, stitched with symbols that hurt to look at too closely.
"I never told you this," Andy said. "Because he asked me not to."
Andrew stiffened.
"That's never a good sentence," he muttered.
Andy unfolded the cloth.
Inside was a fragment of bone—small, curved, etched with sigils that were wrong. Not demonic. Not divine.
Older.
"This," Andy said, "is why the entity followed you."
Sylence felt cold settle behind his ribs. "Claude practiced black magic."
Andy shook his head immediately.
"No," he said. "Claude contained it."
The room seemed to lean in.
"Black magic isn't spells or rituals," Andy continued. "It's proximity. Agreement. Letting something unfinished borrow your structure."
Andrew frowned. "So he made a deal."
"No," Andy said quietly. "He made a cage."
He looked at Sylence now.
"The entity you sensed—the one that tried to consume rather than kill—it wasn't hunting randomly. It was returning."
Sylence's voice dropped. "Returning to its anchor."
Andy nodded.
"Claude discovered something that wasn't supposed to be cataloged. A hunger-entity. It doesn't want souls. It wants continuity. It feeds on people who matter too much."
Andrew exhaled sharply. "Figures."
"Claude realized something worse," Andy went on. "If it was destroyed, it would fracture into echoes. If it was ignored, it would grow."
"So he bound it," Sylence said.
"Yes," Andy replied. "To himself."
Silence thickened.
"He used black magic the way surgeons use poison," Andy said. "Measured. Controlled. Lethal only if mishandled."
Andrew's jaw clenched. "And eventually it broke him."
Andy shook his head again.
"No," he said. "Something else did."
Sylence felt the shift immediately. "Someone forced the release."
Andy nodded once.
"The entity didn't kill Claude," Andy said. "It was freed through him."
Andrew looked toward the hall. "That's why it couldn't enter."
"Yes," Andy said. "The dragons don't repel darkness. They repel claim."
Sylence closed his eyes.
Claude hadn't been corrupted.
He had been a seal.
"That letter," Sylence said slowly. "The missing letters in his name."
Andy swallowed.
"When the binding began to fail," he said, "the entity started erasing identifiers. Names. Definitions. Claude wrote until it reached him."
Andrew ran a hand through his hair. "So now it wants closure."
Andy met Sylence's gaze.
"No," he said. "It wants its warden back."
The house creaked softly—not structurally, but in recognition.
Somewhere beyond the boundary the dragons enforced, the entity shifted—frustrated, aware.
Sylence straightened.
"Then Claude didn't fail," he said. "He passed it on."
Andy nodded. "To someone who wouldn't bind it alone."
Andrew looked between them.
"And that's where my choice comes in," he said quietly.
"Yes," Andy replied. "That's why it noticed."
Heaven lifted its head again, eyes burning softly—not aggressive, not afraid.
Protective.
Sylence clenched his fist.
"They don't get him back," he said. "Not Claude. Not the control he built."
Andy's voice was low, heavy.
"Then you'll have to finish what he started," he said.
"Without becoming the cage."
Outside, the entity waited.
Not attacking.
Not retreating.
Learning.
And for the first time since Claude's death, the truth settled fully into place:
He hadn't been murdered for what he knew.
He had been removed because he was holding something no one else could afford to carry alone.
And now—
It was looking for a new answer.
The Voice That Borrowed Him
It didn't cross the threshold.
It didn't need to.
The air behind Sylence shifted—not movement, not sound, but a rearrangement of attention, like a thought deciding to think itself.
Then—
"—You're standing where he used to stand."
Sylence froze.
The voice wasn't echoing. It wasn't external.
It arrived already knowing the room.
Andy's breath caught. Andrew stiffened instantly.
That voice…
Sylence swallowed. "Claude?"
The answer came gently. Too gently.
"No," it said.
"But I learned him well."
Heaven rose to its full height, scales faintly glowing, a low resonance building in its chest. The female demi-dragon answered from the opposite end of the hall, her wings flaring just enough to bend the light.
The entity recoiled.
Not in fear.
In irritation.
"You replaced the guardians," it said, almost amused.
"Clever. Claude never had that luxury."
Sylence stepped forward despite himself. "Why are you here?"
A pause.
Then—
"Because my structure collapsed," the voice said.
"And I need an ending."
The temperature dropped—not cold, but empty.
Images flooded Sylence's mind, uninvited.
Claude alone. Writing symbols into bone with shaking hands. Whispering rules into something that didn't understand mercy but respected clarity.
"I was never meant to be free," the entity continued.
"I was meant to be contained by someone who mattered."
Andrew clenched his jaw. "You fed on him."
"No," it replied.
"I survived because of him."
The words landed like a knife turned sideways.
"He didn't suffer," the entity added.
"Until someone interrupted the balance."
Andy's eyes darkened. "Who."
Silence.
Not refusal.
Recognition.
"—They call themselves correctors."
Every system in the room reacted.
Cypher's voice cut in sharply from the Gift's cradle.
"That classification aligns with Mirror-adjacent enforcement entities."
Joseph followed, quieter. "That's bad."
Olethea said nothing.
The entity shifted again—and then Heaven moved.
The Dragons' Rejection
The moment the entity tried to lean forward—
Reality snapped back.
Heaven roared.
Not loud.
Fundamental.
The sound wasn't air—it was denial.
The female demi-dragon slammed her tail into the floor, sigils flaring beneath her scales, ancient markings responding to threat not with aggression but repulsion.
The entity screamed.
Not in pain.
In displacement.
"You dare—"
The dragons didn't let it finish.
The space between entity and owners collapsed into a boundary so absolute it forced the presence backward, peeling it away from the walls like smoke hitting glass.
Andy staggered. "They're not attacking it."
Sylence understood.
"They're rejecting its claim."
The entity thrashed against the invisible barrier.
"I was bound to him," it hissed.
"By right. By sacrifice."
Heaven stepped forward, eyes locked.
The message was immediate and brutal:
Ownership denied.
For the first time, the entity sounded uncertain.
Andrew felt it then—the pull.
Not fear.
Responsibility.
The thing wasn't trying to kill them.
It was trying to choose.
Andrew's Choice
Andrew exhaled slowly.
"This thing," he said, voice steady despite the pressure, "isn't evil."
Andy looked at him sharply. "Careful."
"It's not good either," Andrew continued. "It's unfinished."
The entity turned its attention toward him.
"You see," it whispered.
Andrew met the absence directly.
"And Claude," Andrew said, "was the only one willing to hold that weight alone."
Silence thickened.
Andrew looked at Sylence.
"If we destroy it," he said, "it fractures."
Andy nodded grimly. "Echoes. Worse outcomes."
"If we ignore it," Andrew continued, "it hunts for another Claude."
Sylence already knew where this was going.
Andrew swallowed. "But if we anchor it—properly—"
The entity leaned forward again instinctively.
Heaven snarled once.
Andrew raised a hand. "Not to a person."
The room froze.
"—to a system," Andrew finished.
Cypher's voice sharpened. "Elaborate."
Andrew looked at the Gift.
"At something that exists across timelines," he said.
"Something that can contain paradox without suffering."
Joseph let out a slow breath. "Oh. That's clever."
Olethea finally spoke.
"And dangerous."
Andrew nodded. "Everything worth doing is."
The entity trembled.
"You would imprison me."
Andrew corrected calmly, "We'd finish Claude's work."
The name landed hard.
The entity stilled.
For the first time—
It didn't resist.
"You would deny me a voice," it said.
Andrew met its gaze.
"No," he said quietly.
"We'd deny you hunger."
Silence broke.
Not violently.
Decisively.
The dragons relaxed—just slightly.
Enough to signal approval.
Andy looked at Andrew with something unreadable.
"You always make the hard choice," he said.
Andrew didn't smile.
"Claude taught me that," he replied.
Outside, the night breathed again.
The entity withdrew—not defeated, not gone—
Contained.
Waiting.
And Sylence understood, with aching clarity:
Claude hadn't been the beginning.
He had been the bridge.
And now, at last—
He wasn't alone anymore.