"Fairies, huh…" Lord El-Melloi II, sitting on his bed, stroked his chin, deep in thought. The storm outside raged on, but nothing could break his focus. What he'd seen in Wales wasn't especially shocking in itself, but when you considered the current situation, it became… strange.
Fairy eyes, sightings of fae creatures, warnings, mysterious deaths every time Wales returned, an out-of-control workshop, tombs, thunder, resonating Mystic Eyes...
There had to be a connection. These weren't two separate cases, no—it was all tied together. He was just missing one crucial piece of the puzzle.
"If you're this lost, brother, why not pray to the pure white hero for guidance?" came a teasing voice from the bed next to him. Reines smirked, her tone light.
"And why, exactly, am I sharing a room with you?" El-Melloi II's train of thought derailed as he sighed, rubbing his face in mild frustration.
"Think of it as a good chance to make an heir," Reines chuckled, turning her gaze toward the window. "The storm's loud enough, after all."
"Cough, cough! What the hell is wrong with your head?!" El-Melloi II nearly jumped off the bed, his face turning bright red.
"Your magic circuits might be garbage, brother, but your genes? Top-notch." She licked her lips. "Who knows when you'll get another chance?"
"To hell with that chance!"
"I'm not joking, you know~" Reines' voice was sing-song, as if completely unfazed.
"I, Waver Velvet, would rather die than lay a finger on you!" he snapped, remembering the first time they'd met. She'd hung him upside down like a ragdoll, and casually explained that prolonged hanging could kill someone—not because she cared, but because she was curious to see it happen. Yeah, keeping his distance was definitely the best call.
With that, El-Melloi II stood abruptly. "I'm going for a walk. Try to get some sleep."
"I wasn't kidding about the prayer, though," Reines said, pulling the covers over her head. "If you ask him, he'll be your hope. At least, Wales has already started seeing him as a way to clear his name. A little humility wouldn't kill you. Besides, he's willing to help."
"Sure, going to him might wrap this up quickly. With Athena's wisdom backing him, he'd probably figure things out easily," El-Melloi II said, hand hovering on the doorknob. "But no, I refuse! A mortal has their pride!"
He'd only ever pray to one person.
"Well, aren't you the stubborn one," Reines muttered from beneath the blankets. "Oh, and just so you know, I wasn't joking about making an heir either."
"Neither was I," he grumbled, his face falling as he stepped out and shut the door behind him.
Outside, the storm was still raging. "Ah, nothing like a good storm after a bath," Cyd mused, sipping hot tea as he admired the flickering lightning across the sky. "Yep, something's definitely off here."
As a brilliant flash of lightning split the sky, Cyd's shadow stretched unnaturally long. From that shadow, a black-clad figure emerged—Medusa, who silently came to stand by his side.
"There's something unusual here," she said, taking his hand. "And many dead."
"It's fine," Cyd replied with a soft chuckle. "I'll take care of it—or rather, he will. Weak as he is, he's got the eyes of someone Athena might've kept an eye on back in Greece. He'll handle it, I think."
"Someone's coming," Medusa whispered. "I should—"
But Cyd squeezed her hand gently, stopping her.
"C-Cyd?" Gray cautiously poked her head around the corner. "I hope I'm not interrupting…"
"Care to join me?" Cyd gestured to the storm outside, the lightning crackling ominously. "Not exactly the best view, but…"
"No, thank you," Gray said, stepping out into the room but keeping her distance. "I just wanted to ask… do you already know the truth?"
"I don't," Cyd replied with a smirk. "But it might be more brutal than you think. And probably a lot more boring."
"Brutal?" Gray tilted her head, confused.
"Magic can be cruel, you know," Cyd said, ruffling Medusa's hair. "When you're chasing power, people's happiness gets trampled on. Once you're tangled up in magic, the end result is usually… well, depressing."
"I think… I kind of get it," Gray murmured, adjusting her hood. Her own past was the perfect example of that.
"Sorry, didn't mean to bring up bad memories," Cyd offered an apologetic smile.
"It's fine," Gray shook her head. "Not all of it was bad, after all. I mean…"
"You met your teacher, right?" Cyd winked.
"Mm-hmm." Gray blushed, looking down.
"He must be a handful," Cyd chuckled, glancing at the storm. "Always giving people something to worry about."
"Master… he's a good person," Gray said, recalling a rare moment where she'd seen El-Melloi II quietly holding a small, red cloth with a distant look in his eyes.
"Yeah, I can tell," Cyd agreed, as Medusa met his eyes briefly before retreating back into his shadow.
"So…" Gray hesitated. "I will…"
"Step back for a sec," Cyd interrupted, giving her a light pat on the head.
"Huh?" Startled, Gray stumbled backward and fell, landing hard on the ground. "Ow…"
"Ah, sorry about that," Cyd said, pulling her up. "But now's really not the time. Just… take a few steps back."
"O-Okay," Gray, flustered, quickly pulled her hood back up and took several steps away.
"Looks like there's more to this than we thought," Cyd muttered, raising an eyebrow. "But first, let's deal with you."
Suddenly, the window shattered, and a purple light burst into the room. The shape of a hound, formed from lightning, bared its fangs and lunged at Cyd with a vicious growl.
"A dog? Or lightning? Or maybe a wraith?" Cyd cracked his neck. "So, you're responsible for the lightning deaths, huh?"
The purple hound let out a roar and charged.
"C-Cyd!" Gray instinctively raised her right hand, gripping the cage attached to it. "Add! Command No. 1—"
"Mm-hmm, no one's controlling it," Cyd mused, stroking his chin. "Just following some old command. Kill, huh? Guess that's more boring than I thought."
Cyd reached behind him and tossed [Reforged Pandora] into the air. The black box shifted and transformed, becoming a massive scythe that fell neatly into his hand.
"Let's make it a little more interesting," he sighed, slicing the purple hound in two with a swift motion.
"May your next life be happier," he said quietly, resting the scythe on his shoulder.
"Poor, unlucky soul."=