Jin walked the corridor with the looseness of someone newly returned to the world. The obsidian swallowed and softened his footsteps; the runes in the pillars threw back faint, scattered lights that chased one
another along the floor like chasing thoughts. Behind him, Sion, Elizabeth, and Tishara kept
step—each a different rhythm, each a different weight of feeling. The palace corridor was a long throat of shadow and silver; it seemed to listen as they passed.
Jin glanced at Tishara and Elizabeth, a crooked, sardonic smile forming like a small blade of amusement. His crimson eyes glittered in the cool lamp light.
"So, my grandmother and my aunt," he said with an artful tilt of mockery, "where have the two of you been all this time?"
Elizabeth walked beside him, her platinum hair catching light, her grey eyes soft and steady. Her smile folded into words that smelled of tea and long patience.
"My dear Jin," she answered, voice warm as a hearth, "it's complicated. Tishara and I traveled to places uncharted—places beyond ordinary maps. We collected monster gems, rare ores, faced gods and enemies. Every world flows to its own time. Time for us… it is not the same as for you. Seventeen and a half years are nothing in the measure of gods."
Jin's smirk sharpened into amusement. "So then—how old precisely are you?"
Elizabeth laughed softly, the breeze of a woman who kept mysteries in soft pockets. "Oh, Jin, never ask a lady her age. It is rude."
He snorted, grin still playing. "Lady? You are not merely a lady—you are a goddess. That seems odd etiquette."
Elizabeth only smiled, amused and gentle. "True, I am a god, but I was born female, and even gods have small vanities." She made a delicate show of conjuring flame—a tiny, bright, almost humming ember that flared a luminous gold. She shook her fist and the flame scattered into glittering dust that danced for an instant before vanishing. Jin watched it with a faint indifference that held the easy familiarity of someone who had seen his mother perform far stranger things.
Something about the exchange made plain what Tishara had said earlier: Naoko's power was different. Jin felt it now, a resonance that had been faint before but sharpened with recent changes. He found himself curious, a question rising with the blunt curiosity of youth and the sharper edge of a mind made of iron and flame.
"Why are yours and My maternal aunt Tishara's levels lower than Mother's?" he asked, fingers unconsciously flexing as he felt the new weight of his power beneath his skin. "Before I didn't sense it. Now I can. Why?"
Tishara stepped close, her golden hair catching and scattering light in a way that made the halls brighten and hurt all at once. Her green eyes were emerald knives; she kept a grin that was half challenge, half conspiracy.
"Naoko is stronger than both my mother and I because she is a warrior in her marrow," she explained plainly. "She hunted gods when she was young—Eburneo, the Destruction God, stands among those she fought. I do not know if she bested him; perhaps she did, perhaps she did not. But she carries that element now: destruction in her bones. My mother—Elizabeth—did not pursue war. She took peace as a mantle after motherhood. I, too, never loved battle the way Naoko did. I trained, yes, but not to the blood and bone level of Naoko. We rose in the ways we could, but she was made for it."
In short, this means that Naoko has been fighting for thousands of years
Jin laughed, half incredulous. "I once thought my mother was only thirty-six. That's laughable now."
Sion, walking just behind him, raised an eyebrow and found a barbed humor in the notion. He turned his question on her with a teasing edge.
"And you, Sion—why did you never tell me you were a god? You always talked of mana and oceans and mermaids. Why conceal that you were more?"
Sion's reply came like a tide—warm, rough, and quick. Her hair swung, her chest rose and fell with the rhythm of someone who loved contact and noise. Her outfit, defiant and familiar, shouted in contrast against the palatial hush; she was an image that refused to be smoothed away. She grinned wickedly, the grin of a mother pleased with mischief.
"Darling, do you think you'd stand a chance if I decided to show you a goddess's power?" she asked, voice playful and dangerous. "You never asked. And anyway—yes, I am a sea-nymph once, blessed by Poseidon. I was queen of the tidal courts long before I stepped away. About fifteen thousand years before I met my lady Naoko."
Jin laughed outright, incredulous. "Fifteen thousand years? But then why does Mother live and raise her son in this world—why hide?"
Elizabeth answered softly, patient and sure. "Naoko preferred isolation. This world is quiet and safe compared to others—few gods, few monsters. She chose it to build her life and her home in peace. You take after Naoko in face and form—in many ways—save for your eyes and hair."
Sion piped in, amusement thin and bright. "He used to be silver-haired, silver-eyed—Like Lady Naoko . It was the hard training with the moons that turned him—hair black, eyes crimson. The moons make many changes."
The three of them walked and spoke in the calm pace of those freshly reunited. Jin absorbed each detail as if assembling a map of himself and his world. He folded one hand into the other and then froze, feeling a subtle pressure on his left hand. He looked down and realized the small, cool weight that nudged his palm: Rena's wedding ring—red, a thin band of glass and promise he'd not meant to forget.
He stopped in place; the others followed, the air around them contracting. The ring was an anchor that tugged at him instantly—an answer and a question in one.
"Sion," Jin said, voice steady though the ring blinked like a warning at his finger. "Where is Rena?"
Sion's eyes glinted with something like both sorrow and relief; she had known that the ring would draw him if Rina were in danger. She smiled crookedly, the smile of one who had learned to be both messenger and shield.
"Rena is on Atlas Island," she said, voice low. "She's there for an academy trial. Right now Atlas is under attack—demons came ashore. But do not fret; Shizana is with her, and the Queen of Demons watches the island's fate closely. She will not let harm befall Rena. The demons are looking for something—maybe a mana child or some artifact. Zakaros is stirring trouble there. Shizana reached me—through mindlink—and told me all."
The corridor, which held only their footsteps and low exchanges a heartbeat before, seemed suddenly full of distant thunder. Jin's crimson eyes narrowed as he digested the news. Atlas—an island trial—and demons, and Zakaros, a name that carried the weight of mischief and menace. The world tightened again into focus, and the easy amusement at the beginning of the walk folded inward like a shadowed glove.
"Atlas," Jin repeated, tasting the word as if it were a flavor. "Shizana is there, Rena is there… and demons." He let the thought sit like a stone in his mouth. "Are they safe? Can I go?"
Sion's expression softened and then sharpened with the force of a protector assessing risk. "Shizana is capable. She will guard Rena with what she can. The Demon Queen watches, which is a strange kind of blessing—demons protect for reasons of their own. But things are messy, Jin. Zakaros causes chaos where he walks." She tapped his chest lightly with a finger. "You might feel the tug. Your ring knows—your bond to Rina is a thread that will pull."
Tishara's eyes brightened dangerously, a small flame humming in amusement and hunger for action. "This sounds like adventure," she said, voice honeyed. "And perhaps the perfect time for you to test what you have become."
Jin turned that suggestion over with a smile that was no longer purely mischief. His gaze wandered to the distant end of the corridor, where shadow pooled like ink. The idea of going to Atlas tugged at the new-born gravity inside him—at the machine-energy that now made his core hum with possibilities.
For a heartbeat the four of them stood in the long black throat of Rotchy's hall—family newly named, powers rebalanced, and a ring on a boy's hand that kept time the way only promises do. The obsidian listened. The lamps leaned closer, and the runes thrummed very faintly as if, somewhere deep within the palace, plans were already folding themselves toward the sea.
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Heat: Thank you for reading, guys. please, energy stones. I started trying to run again. I just want your support, comments, and advice in the comments. Okay.