The late afternoon sky, tinged with golden hues, seemed deceptively serene as Alastor Creighton stood in the courtyard of the Creighton estate, his eyes locked on the heavens. The air around him hummed with latent mana as he activated his Sage's Eyes. Lines of glowing arcane symbols shimmered faintly in the air around him, analyzing the incoming presence that had thrown their entire household into chaos.
"Father," Rachel called, her voice carrying both concern and urgency as she stepped forward. Priscilla followed closely, her own expression taut.
Alastor didn't turn to acknowledge them immediately. His focus was fixed on the horizon, where the anomaly approached with terrifying speed. "The readings," he said finally, his voice low and grim, "were wrong."
Rachel's heart skipped a beat at the gravity in his tone. "What do you mean?"
"In terms of sheer presence," Alastor continued, his hands curling into fists, "this is no ordinary being. This is a Radiant-ranker."
The words hit like a thunderclap. Both Rachel and Priscilla froze, their gazes snapping to Alastor as if they hadn't heard him correctly. A Radiant-ranker? Here?
"That's impossible," Priscilla breathed, though her instincts told her otherwise. Alastor's Sage's Eyes were never wrong.
But Alastor had no time for disbelief. His hands rose fluidly, mana surging through him like a river unleashed. A nine-circle spell began to form, the intricate geometric patterns swirling in the air as he prepared to strike. "If it comes any closer, this entire estate will be in danger. Priscilla, contact Arden now."
Priscilla snapped into action, pulling out her phone as Alastor completed the incantation. His voice was steady but cold as he called forth one of his most devastating attacks. "Nine-circle spell: Chains of Annihilation."
Three interlocking chains of arcane energy surged upward, glowing with a malevolent light that split the air as they sped toward the intruder. The spell was a masterpiece of destruction, designed to disintegrate its target upon impact.
The chains ascended into the sky—and were shattered.
"What?" Rachel gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. Alastor's eyes widened, his expression one of shock as the fragments of his spell dissolved into harmless sparks of light.
Alastor's hands trembled as he began preparing another nine-circle spell, but his thoughts raced. 'It wasn't blocked or evaded. It was broken. Like glass.'
He didn't get the chance to cast again.
"Uncle," a voice spoke from behind him, calm and familiar, with a faint note of amusement. "I thought we had a good relationship. Was that not the case?"
Alastor spun, mana flaring around him, but his movements froze as a hand lightly touched his shoulder. His Sage's Eyes focused on the figure standing behind him—a figure he hadn't even sensed approaching. His heart skipped a beat.
'This can't be. How did he—?'
Arthur Nightingale stood before him, his azure eyes calm and sharp, a faint smile playing on his lips. The aura around him was suffocating, not because it overwhelmed the senses, but because it seemed to erase the air itself. The raw power emanating from him wasn't wild or uncontrolled—it was precision honed to the point of absurdity.
"You…" Alastor muttered, his voice tinged with disbelief. He hadn't felt like this in decades—not since Magnus Draykar, and even then, it hadn't been this stark. The gap between them felt as though it could swallow entire worlds.
Arthur's smile deepened. "You've gotten softer in my absence, Uncle."
Alastor cracked a grin despite himself. "And you've become a true monster."
Rachel didn't wait for further exchanges. She darted forward, tears brimming in her sapphire eyes, and flung herself into Arthur's arms. His hands caught her with practiced ease, his expression softening as he held her close.
Their lips met, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The kiss lingered, growing in intensity as if they were the only two people in existence. Priscilla and Alastor exchanged a glance.
"Young love," Priscilla said with a faint smile, though her tone held a touch of exasperation. "It's sweet."
"And long," Alastor muttered, clearing his throat loudly. The two showed no sign of stopping.
"Alright, that's enough!" Priscilla said sharply, her voice cutting through the air. "You're going to run out of breath at this rate!"
Arthur pulled back, a roguish grin on his face. "Sorry, we'll talk later," he said, and before anyone could respond, he disappeared with Rachel still in his arms, leaving only a faint ripple of mana in his wake.
Priscilla looked at Alastor, expecting him to be seething. After all, Arthur had whisked away his beloved daughter without so much as a proper greeting. But to her surprise, Alastor wasn't angry.
He was laughing.
His shoulders shook as he threw his head back, a deep, rumbling laugh echoing through the courtyard. "Do you know what the Radiant-rankers have been saying about him?" he said between bouts of mirth. "They've been debating whether he'll place in the top twenty, maybe even the top ten."
Priscilla raised a brow. "And?"
"They're fools," Alastor said, wiping a tear from his eye. "Top ten? Arthur's going to overturn the entire ranking system."
For the first time in years, Alastor felt a strange, overwhelming sense of hope—and a shiver of dread. Arthur wasn't just strong. He was terrifying. And whatever he was becoming, the world wouldn't be ready.
__________________________________________________________________________________
The golden light of afternoon streamed through the grand windows of the Creighton estate, illuminating the ornate corridors with a soft glow. Somewhere within the sprawling mansion, the silence was disrupted by a series of muffled voices and hurried footsteps.
Inside one particular bedroom, however, the world was reduced to whispers, warmth, and the fervent energy of two reunited hearts.
"Rach," Arthur began, his voice low but firm, though the effort of speaking was quickly undone as Rachel pressed her lips against his.
"Rach," he tried again, only for her to tilt her head and let her tongue graze his neck, sending a shiver down his spine that left his words caught in his throat.
"Rach!" he finally managed, his voice tinged with desperation. "Shouldn't we... talk?"
Rachel pulled back slightly, her sapphire eyes gleaming with a mix of mischief and determination. Her golden hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing her in the soft light like a celestial being. "Talk after you put a baby in me," she said, her tone both matter-of-fact and impossibly seductive.
Arthur froze. His mouth opened as though to respond, but no words came out. His gaze flickered to her white sundress, simple yet far more alluring than any royal gown could ever be.
'I would actually be insane not to do this,' Arthur thought, though his inner voice phrased it somewhat less delicately.
Leaning in, he kissed her again, surrendering to the storm of emotions and the pull of her presence. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Arthur allowed himself to forget the weight of the world outside.
Morning came with the gentle chirping of birds and the soft hum of wind through the estate's well-tended gardens. Priscilla Creighton, ever the vigilant overseer of her niece's affairs, stood outside the bedroom door, her arms crossed and a skeptical expression etched across her face.
"Twenty hours," she muttered to herself, glancing at the antique grandfather clock in the hallway. "It's been twenty bloody hours."
Priscilla rapped her knuckles firmly against the door. "Rachel! Arthur! You've been in there since yesterday afternoon. Are you alive, or have you finally merged into one being?"
Inside, Rachel stirred, groaning softly as she sat up in bed. The golden light from the windows caught her tousled hair, making her look as though she'd just stepped out of a painting. Arthur lay beside her, his head buried in a pillow, clearly unwilling to face the demands of reality.
"Go away, Aunt Priscilla," Rachel called out, her voice hoarse but resolute.
Priscilla was not so easily dissuaded. "Rachel, this is absurd! It's been nearly an entire day. Even newlyweds don't take this long."
"I'm not done with him yet," Rachel muttered under her breath, her cheeks reddening as she glanced at Arthur, who offered her a sleepy, lopsided grin.
"What was that?" Priscilla called.
"Nothing!" Rachel snapped, hurriedly pulling the sheets tighter around her. "We're fine. Go... read a book or something!"
The door shook slightly as Priscilla knocked again, her patience clearly fraying. "I'm not going anywhere until you open this door. The staff is beginning to talk, Rachel."
Rachel groaned, slipping off the bed and padding toward the door. She cracked it open just enough to meet Priscilla's sharp gaze. "What do you want?"
Priscilla crossed her arms. "I want to know what on earth you two have been doing for twenty hours straight."
Rachel blushed furiously. "Talking," she said, though her tone lacked conviction.
"Talking," Priscilla repeated, her voice dripping with disbelief.
"Yes," Rachel said defensively. "And... catching up. It's been two years, you know."
Priscilla raised a brow. "Catching up? In twenty hours?"
Rachel hesitated, her blush deepening. "Fine," she mumbled. "I just need my... my Art-o-meter."
"Your what?" Priscilla asked, blinking in confusion.
"My Art-o-meter," Rachel repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. "For measuring... Art time."
Priscilla opened her mouth to respond but was cut off as Rachel quickly shut the door. From inside, a muffled groan escaped Arthur, who had apparently been eavesdropping.
"I'm never living this down," he muttered, pulling a pillow over his face.
"You'll be fine," Rachel said with a grin, her mood instantly brightened. "Now, where were we?"
Outside the room, Priscilla stood in stunned silence for a moment before shaking her head with a rueful smile. "Young love," she muttered, turning on her heel and heading down the hall. "They're worse than cats."