The whisper drew Rush toward the artifacts room of the castle.
Moving silently through the sleeping halls, he followed it down corridors he was never meant to enter. The air grew colder with every step. The torches along the walls dimmed, their flames shrinking as though afraid.
At the deepest level of Castle Hart lay the artifacts chamber—sealed, warded, and long forgotten.
The door should not have opened.
Yet it did.
Inside, rows of relics rested in silence: broken blades, ancient crests, remnants of wars long past. Dust clung to them like the weight of history.
In the far corner of the chamber, violet light glimmered.
A strange device hovered slightly above its pedestal, runes flickering across its surface like a slow, measured heartbeat. The mana around it twisted unnaturally, bending inward, as if the artifact itself were drinking the world.
Rush's breath caught.
The whisper was inside his mind now—clearer than ever—but it felt as though the artifact itself was calling him.
He stepped forward.
The moment his fingers brushed the surface, violet light surged through his body.
The device shattered into motes of light and vanished, as if it had never existed.
"Synchronization complete."
The whisper spoke clearly now.
Rush staggered back, heart pounding.
The voice did not echo in the chamber. It did not exist in the air. It existed inside him.
"Host integrity confirmed."
"Mana source: stable origin core."
"Compatibility: absolute."
Rush forced himself to breathe. The world felt wrong—too sharp, too quiet, as though reality itself had shifted slightly out of place.
"What are you?" he asked.
The presence did not answer immediately.
"I am not a being in the way you define it."
That wasn't helpful—and Rush knew it.
"So you're a thing?" he pressed.
"Closer."
Rush frowned. "You talk like something with limits."
A pause. Not hesitation—calculation.
"I am a construct designed to persist beyond collapse. I store, process, and preserve information when worlds fail."
Rush's expression darkened. "Information about what?"
"Everything that mattered."
A chill crept down his spine. "You're avoiding something."
"Yes."
No denial. Just confirmation.
"…Why?"
"Certain classifications exceed your current survivability threshold."
Rush absorbed that slowly. "…And what do I call you?"
Another pause.
"A designation exists. You may use it if interaction efficiency improves."
The name echoed directly into his mind.
Beelzebub.
Rush said nothing for a long moment. "…That doesn't sound reassuring."
"Reassurance is not my function."
Darkness took Rush before fear could.
The synchronization had drawn deeply—too deeply. Even with a core that never truly emptied, his body was still that of a child. Mana flooded him, surged through veins not yet meant to hold it, and his consciousness slipped away like a candle blown out by the wind.
Morning came to Castle Hart in chaos.
Rush Ryanheart was missing.
Servants searched the halls, guards swept the courtyards, and panic spread like wildfire through the estate. His bed was cold. His room untouched.
The Lady's voice trembled as she gave orders. The Lord's composure cracked as minutes stretched into an hour.
Then Albert remembered.
The old knight moved without a word, his steps slow but certain, descending deeper into the castle—past sealed corridors and forgotten doors.
The artifacts chamber stood open.
That alone was wrong.
Inside, among relics older than the Ryanheart name itself, a child lay collapsed on the cold stone floor.
Rush.
Albert's breath caught.
One pedestal stood empty. The artifact that had rested there—one whose purpose no record could explain—was gone.
Albert did not linger. He lifted Rush gently, noting the unnatural heat of his skin, and carried him back through the waking halls.
Rush burned with fever.
For an entire day, he did not wake. Maidens changed cloths. Healers whispered uncertain prayers. The Lord stood watch in silence before being forced to leave to maintain order. The Lady never moved.
Elizabeth—little Liz—curled beside the bed, clutching her brother's sleeve until sleep finally claimed her.
When Rush opened his eyes, the world felt heavy.
The scent of herbs filled the room. Sunlight filtered softly through the curtains. His head ached—not sharply, but deep, as though he had dreamed too much.
He turned. His mother was there.
Her eyes were red. The moment she saw him stir, she pulled him into her arms, holding him as if afraid he might vanish again.
"Rush… are you alright?" she whispered.
Liz stirred at the sound, rubbing her eyes before sitting up. "Brother?" she asked softly. "Does it hurt?"
Rush swallowed, his throat dry. "…I'm fine," he said. It wasn't entirely a lie.
The Lady exhaled shakily and turned to a maid. "Call my husband. Now."
Footsteps hurried away.
Moments later, the Lord entered, his presence filling the room like a storm barely held back. Relief crossed his face—but only briefly.
"You're awake," he said. Then, more softly, "Are you well?"
Rush nodded.
The Lord's gaze sharpened. "Rush," he continued, voice calm but firm, "what were you doing in the artifacts chamber?"
The room fell silent.
Rush felt something stir faintly within him—quiet, observant.
Waiting.
Rush felt the weight of his father's gaze—not accusing, not gentle. Measuring.
He shifted slightly against the pillows. His body still felt heavy, as though sleep clung to his bones.
"I… heard something," Rush said at last.
His mother's hand tightened around his.
"A voice?" the Lord asked.
Rush hesitated. Not because he was afraid—but because he was thinking.
"It wasn't loud," he continued. "More like… a pull. Like when you feel you've forgotten something important and can't stop thinking about it."
The Lord studied him carefully. "And it led you to the artifacts chamber?"
Rush nodded. "I don't remember opening the door. I don't remember walking all the way there. I just… woke up on the floor."
That part was true.
Albert, standing near the doorway, shifted his stance slightly.
The Lord's voice remained calm. "Did you touch anything?"
Rush thought of violet light. Of a presence that had settled deep within him.
"I think so," he said honestly. "I don't remember what."
Another silence.
The Lady brushed a hand through Rush's hair. "You had a terrible fever," she said softly. "You scared us."
"I'm sorry," Rush whispered.
The Lord exhaled slowly.
"The artifacts chamber is sealed for a reason," he said. "There are things in this world that should not be responded to curiosity—no matter how innocent."
Rush met his father's eyes. "I didn't mean to," he said.
The Lord held his gaze for a long moment… then nodded.
"Rest," he said finally. "We'll speak of this again when you're stronger."
Relief softened the Lady's expression. Liz crawled closer, hugging Rush's arm as if to anchor him.
As the adults turned to leave, Rush closed his eyes.
Inside him, something remained awake.
Observing.
Recording.
Waiting.
And deep within his chest, unseen and unacknowledged, a core pulsed—quiet, eternal, and very much alive.