Olivia walked down the windy path of Erania's slums.
The smell of rot and poverty filled the air, yet the people who crossed her path looked at her with a mix of fear and hope.
Some bowed before her, moving aside as if afraid their touch might taint her saintly glow.
Olivia smiled brightly at the scrawny children and the ragged elders, handing out bread and vegetables before entering the old Church.
Under her breath, she grumbled. "Why does it have to be me every time? That bald idiot Lupas keeps sending me to deliver messages here. What if I catch a plague from these filthy alleys?"
She reached the west wall of the sanctum and pressed a loose brick. The wall shifted with a quiet click, revealing a narrow passage that led to a small, dark chamber.
"Spooky, cold, and smells like regret," she muttered. "Let's send the message and get out."
She uncorked a small vial and dropped green liquid onto the dusty mirror that hung in the center. The glass shimmered, rippling like disturbed water.
A moment later, a hooded figure appeared inside the reflection. The voice that came from it was neither male nor female, raspy and hollow. "Fellow night sister, have you brought the message?"
Olivia straightened her back. "Yes," she said, forcing calm into her voice. "Message from the Vale contact."
She repeated the obscure coded words she had memorized. Halfway through, she rolled her eyes. "Why can't these nerds use normal sentences?" she thought.
Even after months of working with them, she still had no idea who they truly were or how big their network stretched.
But something felt wrong this time.
The hooded figure didn't disappear after she finished speaking. It stayed still for nearly five minutes. The silence stretched until Olivia almost slapped the mirror to see if the signal froze.
"You're certain this is the correct message?" the voice asked suddenly. "No mistakes?"
Her heart jumped. "Oh crap," she thought. "Did my cover get blown?"
She was suddenly grateful for the room's dim light hiding her panic.
"No," she said, steady and certain. "That's the exact message from the Vale household contact."
The figure was silent for a moment. Then a soft, eerie chuckle echoed from the mirror, building into a manic laugh before cutting off abruptly.
"Excellent," the voice said. "It seems the trees have grown too wild. Time for some pruning. You've done well. Your reward will arrive as usual. Keep up the work, and you may soon join our inner circle."
The mirror went dark.
Olivia exhaled sharply. "Yeah, sure. Keep your creepy gardening metaphors to yourself. Just send the payment."
She stepped back into the main hall, smiling again for the crowd outside. Her cheeks hurt from holding it.
Once inside her carriage, she slammed the door shut and leaned back. "Ugh. I need a shower. And maybe a lifetime away from all this."
The carriage rolled toward District B.
At the crossroads, she paid the driver five coppers with a charming smile, but he shook his head. "It would offend the gods to take money from a servant of the Church," he said, bowing deeply.
"Nice having privileges," Olivia muttered. "Let's report to that baldy before my face freezes in a permanent smiling pose."
Morning sunlight poured into Lyra Dareth Vale's chambers, brushing her face with gold.
She woke slowly, head still heavy from the night's chaos.
Ethan was asleep beside her, breathing evenly.
Her body ached faintly, but the healing had done its work. Her ribs no longer screamed. Even her hair, burned unevenly by the explosion had already started to regrow.
To hide the awkward look, she wore one of Arione's wide hats and stepped out of the room quietly.
Outside, the head maid Safrene bowed. "Prepare a hot bath and breakfast for me and Ethan," Lyra ordered.
After a long soak and fresh clothes, she went to the courtyard where Butler Hans was already waiting.
"Any leads on the attackers?" she asked.
Hans shook his head. "None, Madam. But we did catch some men asking questions about the Duke's whereabouts. Lowlife informants, all of them. No direct link."
"Keep digging," Lyra said. "Lift the lockdown, but stay alert. I want Physician Remi here by noon."
When Han bowed and left, she turned her gaze toward the sleeping quarters again.
Looking at Ethan's peaceful face, she smiled faintly. "He's fine. Thank the stars."
But her chest felt tight, filled with questions she couldn't answer.
She grabbed her sword and walked to the back garden. Beating some wooden dummies should cool off her head.
The Vale garden shimmered under morning light.
Lyra drew her sword. A beautiful white blade forged by the finest blacksmith of Solaris, gifted by her mother on her eighteenth birthday.
She steadied her breath, took her stance, and swung.
The blade sliced cleanly through the training dummy.
But the wood didn't just split. It burned.
Flames erupted, devouring the dummy in seconds. Ash floated where the body once stood.
Lyra froze. "What… was that?"
She summoned another dummy, then another.
Twenty dummies later, the garden was a field of smoking parts of wood splinters.
Her mind spun. Her sword had always been aligned with water. She could heal, summon minor shields, and manipulate currents, but this was fire.
Real, hungry fire.
"It must be the explosion," she whispered. "The mana surge… it changed something."
She laughed breathlessly, the sound tinged with awe. "A second element. How is this even possible?"
The magical affinity of people is fixed at birth. It is like a blood group. Yes there are exceptions, or people with exotic elements, but gaining another elemental attribute is unheard of.
Her thoughts flashed to Ethan. "It can't be coincidence. My son must have done this."
Is he some reincarnated sage?
Heart pounding with excitement, Lyra ran toward Ethan's room. Servants stepped aside, startled by the sight of their usually composed mistress sprinting through the hall, hat flapping wildly.
Ethan woke to the sound of footsteps.
"Finally out of that white room," he muttered. "I'm starving."
He considered crying for food, but the door burst open. Lyra stormed in, hat tilted sideways, face glowing with excitement.
"Damn," Ethan thought. "And I thought she was the normal one. Since when did she start cosplaying as a fashion disaster?"
"Host," Aimi's voice hummed softly in his mind, "your mother's mana levels are fluctuating. Should I show her data?"
"Yeah," Ethan whispered in thought. "Pull it up."
A transparent panel appeared before him, visible only in his mind.
[Status Panel – Lyra Dareth Vale]
Title: Madam Vale
Affiliation: House Vale
Strength: 900
Agility: 540
Constitution: 600
Perception: 578
Intelligence: 243
Mana: Unable to measure
Elements: Water (confirmed), Fire (observed)
Luck: Unknown
[System Suggestion]
Loving and protective mother. Highly dangerous when angry. Avoid confrontation unless immune to airborne footwear.
Ethan squinted at the last line. "Noted. Delete the flying footwear part."
He frowned. "Hey Aimi, why don't I have any mana stats?"
"Because I can't read foreign energy yet," Aimi replied softly. "I can only record patterns I've already identified. Your mother's magic provides a baseline, but you have not used any energy I can detect."
"Great. So I'm the only normal one in a family of walking nukes."
"Normal is a relative concept, Host."
Ethan ignored her and turned his attention back to Lyra, who was hovering over him with nervous energy.
She inspected him from head to toe, touching nothing, afraid even a breath might hurt him.
"Look at him," she thought proudly. "So calm. So thoughtful. Not like other babies. Only cries three times a day. Clearly a genius."
Ethan, staring blankly at the ceiling, thought, I'm literally trying not to drool on myself.
Lyra sighed happily and hurried downstairs to fetch food.
Han and Safrene exchanged glances as their lady skipped past them like a teenager.
"Is that the new hairstyle popular among noble ladies?," Safrene whispered.
Hans adjusted his collar. "I value my life, Safrene. Keep your eyes on the floor."
Everyone in the manor knew one thing: the Duke might look like a bear, but the real predator was Lyra Vale.
Ethan leaned back against his pillow. "So, no mana yet, huh?"
"Not yet, Host."
He nodded. "Fine. As soon as I learn to walk, I'm training like Saitama. How hard can it be to throw some fireballs right?"
"Noted. Please avoid self-destruction."
The door opened. Lyra returned, carrying a bowl of bland porridge that Ethan secretly hated.
He glanced at it, then sighed. "Time to act cute."
He reached out with a tiny hand and smiled like an angel.
"Strategic deception initiated," Aimi observed.
"Shh," Ethan thought, "don't ruin the act."
As Lyra fed him spoonfuls of tasteless mush, Ethan's mind raced.
He needed a plan.
He needed to learn about this world's magic system.
And he needed to do it without sounding like a one-year-old philosopher.
He swallowed another spoonful and sighed internally.
"Damn," he thought. "I'm starting to like this mush. Oh no."