The library was thick with the scent of ozone and the heavy weight of secrets. Cian did not move the scalpel. He watched Evelina's eyes—the way they darted with the frantic energy of someone who had lived too many lives. On Earth, he would have diagnosed her with acute trauma and psychosis. Here, he knew it was something far worse: the burden of the Ex-rank.
Part I: The Bargain of the Damned
Evelina didn't flinch at the cold steel. Instead, she reached out, her fingers trembling as they brushed the rough, scarred skin of Cian's throat.
"Your voice," she whispered, tears blurring her vision. "The cost of the awakening... it was too high."
Cian pulled back, his form flickering. He took out his slate and wrote with a jagged, aggressive hand: [How do you know my name?]
"I've seen you die twice, Cian," she said, her voice dropping to a ghost of a sound. "In one life, you were an extra who vanished in the fire. In another, you were a scapegoat. This is the first time you've become the storm. I regressed to save your family, but the Weaver... she fixed the threads."
Cian's eyes widened. [The Weaver?]
"The world's will," Evelina explained, her gaze haunted. "She wants the Hero to rise. For the Hero to rise, he needs a tragedy. Your family was the fuel for his fire. But you... you weren't supposed to survive. You've become a toxin in her script."
Cian looked at her, his expression unreadable. He didn't care about scripts or heroes. He only cared about the heartbeat of the men who had laughed while his mother bled. He wrote again: [The Soul-Eater. Explain.]
"The Vault isn't just a room," Evelina said, regaining her composure. "It's a living entity. It doesn't guard against physical intrusion; it guards against intent. If you enter with hatred, it feeds on your soul. An Ex-rank soul like yours? It would be a banquet. You wouldn't even reach the Heart before your mind collapsed."
She stepped closer, her Saintess aura flickering with a violet hue. "I can mask your intent. My [Chronos-Tear] can create a pocket of 'Static Time' around us. To the Soul-Eater, we will be nothing but background noise. But in exchange, you must promise me one thing."
Cian raised an eyebrow, his scalpel held loosely.
"Do not kill the Hero," she begged. "Lucian is innocent. He's being manipulated just like you were. If he dies, the Demon King wins by default, and there won't be a world left for you to have your revenge on."
Cian stared at her for a long time. Then, he wiped the slate and wrote a single, chilling sentence: [I will not kill him... unless he stands between me and the Emperor.]
Part II: The Aunt's Intervention
Suddenly, the shadows in the corner of the restricted section didn't just move; they folded.
Valeria stepped out of the darkness, her presence a sudden, sharp pressure that made the library's protective wards hum in protest. She looked at the Saintess with a mixture of amusement and lethal intent.
"A Saintess and a Ghost," Valeria said, her voice like silk over a blade. "My sister always said the Church was full of surprises, but I didn't expect them to be this... desperate."
Cian stepped between them, his hand glowing with the Void's light.
"Relax, little nephew," Valeria said, leaning against a bookshelf. "I'm not here to kill your girlfriend. I'm here to remind you that the Guild doesn't like shared secrets. The Saintess is a variable we didn't account for."
"I am the only way he gets the Heart alive," Evelina said, standing her ground.
Valeria's eyes narrowed. She looked at the blood on Evelina's neck and the intensity in her gaze. "She's mad," Valeria noted to Cian. "I like her. But remember, Cian—the Heart of the Dragon is a biological engine. It needs to be 'grafted' onto your mana-circulatory system immediately upon extraction, or it will explode."
Valeria pulled out a scroll and unrolled it, showing a detailed anatomical diagram of the human mana-circulatory system, highlighting the precise points where a relic-grade heart must be integrated.
"You were a doctor," Valeria said. "You'll have to perform the surgery on yourself while the Saintess holds back the guards. If you fail the graft, you don't just die; you turn the Academy into a crater."
Cian looked at the diagram. His mind, the mind of the surgeon from Earth, began to hum with clinical precision. He mapped the arteries, the mana-veins, and the points of rejection. He wasn't afraid. He was focused.
He looked at Evelina, then at Valeria. Two women, one driven by a desperate hope to save a broken world, the other by a cold, familial vengeance.
He took his slate and wrote one final message for both of them:
[The Gala is in three days. Prepare the theater. I will provide the surgery.]
As he walked away, phasing through the library wall into the night, Valeria watched him with a smirk. "Elara... your son isn't a doctor anymore. He's the surgeon of death."