Amiya had told Lucian that Kal'tsit was against Rhodes Island making contact with him.
This woman had ties to Kazdel, understood the Sankta Faith, and, just from seeing blood that could suppress Oripathy, deduced that Lucian existed at all. That level of insight wasn't something ordinary people possessed.
And yet, in the end, she still agreed to let Amiya take the risk and meet him.
Lucian doubted Amiya truly had absolute authority on Rhodes Island. Even if every Operator—Skadi included—trusted her, she was still a fourteen-year-old kid. Trust and blind obedience were not the same thing.
So the reason Amiya had been able to meet him was almost certainly because Kal'tsit had yielded.
But that didn't mean she'd lowered her guard.
When Lucian boarded the landship, Red had been quietly watching them from the shadows.
Lucian didn't doubt Kal'tsit had other countermeasures prepared. People like her made sure every variable stayed under control.
Yet once Lucian and Amiya began formally speaking, she had withdrawn her surveillance and left the space to them.
She didn't trust him—put bluntly, she was wary.
But more than the danger he posed, she chose to respect Amiya's judgment, even if it meant taking that risk.
So, in a way… that was a form of communication too.
They had never spoken face-to-face until now, but from all those indirect actions, Lucian had already gleaned something of her character.
Lucian pulled up a chair and sat close to her, like a patient about to receive a checkup.
He glanced at her bare shoulder more than once. "Your Oripathy looks pretty serious. Want some sugar?"
She paused. "…Do you say that to every Infected you meet?"
Kal'tsit looked young—at least on the surface.
She wore a medic's protective coat draped loosely over her shoulders. On her slender, exposed shoulder, several sharp Originium Crystals jutted outward, stark and conspicuous.
Most Infected tried to hide their crystallization. Kal'tsit, however, displayed hers openly, almost deliberately—like a small creature using its colors to warn predators.
So Lucian spoke plainly. "Usually I'm not that rude. But you're clearly emphasizing that you're Infected, so I figured I should ask."
"…"
Her already frosty expression deepened, visibly displeased.
"Instead of speculating about my personal motives, shouldn't you be more concerned about Kazdel?"
She narrowed her eyes. "I'm not even Sarkaz. Why would I know Kazdel's secrets? Why would I know about the Sankta's Holy Son…? Aren't you going to use your 'divine punishment weapon' to force the truth out of me?"
Lucian blinked with genuine curiosity. "Is that what the Sarkaz call it? First I've heard of the term."
By divine punishment weapon, she clearly meant ammunition made from his blood.
During the Sarkaz civil war, a faction of crusading Sankta had intervened. Using Lucian's blood, they secretly developed anti-Infected weapons that slaughtered the Sarkaz in massive numbers.
The Sarkaz were divided into many subspecies, but all of them were born warriors. They possessed Originium Arts far beyond other races, mastered weapons and curses alike, and had high tolerance to Originium's effects. Many were naturally blessed with powerful bodies.
Combined, these traits made the Sarkaz the most feared "demons" on Terra.
Once, their strength alone had been enough to terrify the entire continent.
And Lucian happened to possess the power to destroy them.
Kal'tsit continued, her voice low. "In Kazdel, I saw countless brutal deaths. The ones killed by Sankta are… unmistakable."
"I studied the mechanism by which their crystallization disappeared. After watching Blaze take every last piece of candy and observing the reaction, I became certain you existed."
The irony was that the Sarkaz—terrifyingly strong—were also extremely prone to Oripathy. Nearly every Sarkaz child became Infected at a young age.
Because it was so common, no Sarkaz discriminated against Infected people. Kazdel was the only nation where infection carried no stigma.
They didn't fear Originium products; they researched Originium Weapons and Originium Arts aggressively, which made their military even stronger—and their Oripathy even worse.
A population mostly composed of Infected terrified the rest of Terra, feeding a vicious cycle of fear that never stopped.
Then the Sankta created anti-Infected weapons from Lucian's blood—one-hit kills. Efficient execution tools.
Kal'tsit watched him calmly accept the topic, and confusion flickered in her eyes.
She went on. "To Sankta, Oripathy is divine punishment. Infection means the gods have judged you guilty. A whole race infected from childhood—that is sin incarnate."
"The Sarkaz accepted their condition. They spread Oripathy, hunted Sankta, and collected Guardian Guns as trophies."
"In turn, the Sankta loathe them—and loathe Oripathy even more. They wait for the Holy Son to descend, don the white crown, and lead the chosen to cleanse all impurity and build a pure kingdom on earth."
Kal'tsit's tone remained clinical, a cold recital of reality.
Then she drew a slow breath and looked at Lucian with something more complicated. "Your existence proves their Faith is real. That their prophecy is true. So shouldn't you oppose the Sarkaz? Oppose the Infected…? Isn't that what the Holy Son is meant to do?"
"Mhm. That was an excellent summary."
Lucian nodded, impressed.
Her explanation was clear and straightforward—evidence that she understood both races deeply.
It made him more curious about her.
This woman, who looked so young… how old was she, really?
Lucian rubbed his chin. "Say, big sis Kal'tsit—do you believe in destiny?"
She frowned slightly at being called "big sister," but didn't argue. "…I don't want to believe in it."
Lucian clapped his hands. "Perfect. Me too."
Not believe or disbelieve—but not wanting to believe. That answer hit him right in his strike zone.
No wonder Amiya thought they'd get along.
That little bunny really was good at reading emotions.
Lucian's mood brightened. He continued:
"I hate when people tell me what I'm supposed to do. Who's good, who's bad, who I should hate—how would I know unless I see for myself?"
"I lived in Laterano until I was fifteen. I'd never even seen a Sarkaz in person. And they still expected me to hate them? Isn't that a bit ridiculous?"
Kal'tsit's brows tightened. "Few people think that way. Children grow into their parents' values. That's how societies form."
Lucian gave a crooked grin. "That's the thing—I don't have parents."
He said it like a joke, though his expression was strange.
"The woman who gave birth to me started crying before she even held me. She heard I was the Holy Son and fell apart, apologizing because she couldn't kneel."
"I never saw her again."
Kal'tsit's eyes softened despite herself.
But Lucian wasn't trying to evoke sympathy—he was simply stating facts.
"The name 'Lucian Sinclair' is one I gave myself. No one had the right to name me. Laterano's laws are written in my name. Every Sankta citizen—from birth, to school, to adulthood, to marriage—every right they have is something I supposedly 'grant.' They pray before every meal to thank me for food. I'm above Laterano's laws, and they declared themselves my people without ever asking what I wanted."
Lucian exhaled sharply, clearing the weight from his chest, and said seriously:
"So even if I have a Halo and Wings, I'm not a Sankta. Laterano calls me Holy Son, but I don't even have Citizenship Rights there. I don't have parents. The one person who counts as family avoids me. And my only friend ran away from home with me."
"So tell me—why should I feel loyalty to Laterano? Who has the right to decide whether I must hate the Sarkaz?"
He extended a hand toward her.
Kal'tsit was still caught in the momentum of his confession, her composure cracking for the first time.
Lucian simply took her hand himself—cool and soft.
"I don't know what background you have or what your connection to Kazdel is. But even if Rhodes Island was founded by the Sarkaz Queen herself, that doesn't stop me from working with you."
He admired the faint tension in her expression and even winked.
"Let's get along, Kal'tsit. If Amiya saw us being cold to each other, it'd be terrible for the kid's emotional development, don't you think?"