Kalisto sat on the floor, his breathing uneven as the tension in the room finally began to subside.
Reves was safely tucked against his side, trembling but otherwise unharmed.
Around them, the chaos had settled into silence, save for the muffled sound of hurried footsteps approaching from the hall.
The door burst open, revealing a stern woman in an impeccably tailored uniform—Chief Elara, the supervisor of the night shift.
Her sharp eyes swept over the disheveled room, taking in every overturned chair, shattered glass, and fainted Selene. Her jaw tightened, but her tone remained calm.
"What in Surva's name happened here?" she asked, her voice steady but laced with authority.
Before Kalisto could respond, a group of workers rushed in behind her, quickly assessing the scene.
One of them crouched by Selene's unconscious form, checking for injuries. Another moved toward Kalisto, offering a small medkit.
"Focus on treatment first," Elara commanded, her voice cutting through the chatter. "We'll sort out the details later."
The workers moved with practiced efficiency. A medic dabbed at the cut on Kalisto's temple while another carefully carried Selene to a safer spot.
Kalisto remained still, his fingers brushing against the silver coin in his pocket. The cool touch steadied him, though the weight of what had just occurred still hung heavily in the air.
Kalisto's gaze shifted to Reves, the boy's small frame still trembling against his side.
The child's wide, fearful eyes darted between the bustling workers and Chief Elara, who had stepped further into the room, her presence commanding even in silence.
"Make sure she's stabilized," Elara instructed briskly, gesturing to the unconscious Selene. Her voice was calm, but there was no mistaking the edge of urgency in her tone.
The workers moved like clockwork, carefully lifting Selene onto a stretcher and checking her vitals.
One of them, a wiry man with a satchel of medical tools, paused to glance at Elara.
"She's breathing steadily. No major injuries, just unconscious. Likely a result of shock or a direct blow."
"Good," Elara replied, her sharp eyes flicking to Kalisto and Reves. "Take her to the infirmary immediately. I'll deal with this mess."
As Selene was carried out, Elara turned her attention back to Kalisto, her expression unreadable.
Her fingers tapped against the clipboard she had retrieved from a nearby worker, the sound cutting through the tense silence.
"You," she said, her gaze locking onto Kalisto like a predator zeroing in on its prey. "You're injured. Sit still until the medics finish with you."
Kalisto raised a hand, shaking his head lightly.
"I'm fine," he said, though his tone lacked conviction.
The throbbing pain in his side told a different story, but he wasn't about to draw attention to himself when Reves was still shaken.
Elara wasn't interested in his protests. "That wasn't a suggestion."
Her eyes narrowed, and Kalisto sighed, letting the medic by his side continue cleaning the cut on his temple.
As the workers moved about, Elara's gaze shifted to Reves. She crouched to the boy's level, her stern demeanor softening—just barely.
"Reves," she began, her voice gentler now, "can you tell me what happened?"
Reves shook his head, burying his face into Kalisto's sleeve. The boy's small hands clung tightly to the fabric, his trembling growing more pronounced.
"He's too shaken up to talk," Kalisto said, his voice quiet but firm.
Elara stood and crossed her arms, studying him. "Then you'll tell me."
Kalisto hesitated, his mind racing. He needed to be careful with what he revealed.
Too much honesty could put the hooded figure—and himself—in danger. Too little might make Elara suspicious.
Taking a slow breath, he began.
"The bodyguards assigned to Reves tried to take him against his will. I stepped in, but before things could escalate further, someone else intervened."
"Someone else?" Elara's brow arched.
"A hooded figure," Kalisto continued smoothly, keeping his tone steady.
"They seemed to have a grudge against the bodyguards. I don't know who they were, but they stopped the kidnapping and then disappeared."
Elara's eyes narrowed as she processed his words. Her posture remained rigid, her expression unreadable.
"And you're saying this figure had no connection to you?"
Kalisto met her gaze, unwavering.
"None," he lied.
"They showed up out of nowhere. By the time I could even process what was happening, they were gone."
Elara's lips pressed into a thin line. She didn't trust him—not fully—but with Reves visibly shaken and Selene incapacitated, she had little choice but to prioritize containment.
"Fine," she said at last, though her tone made it clear this wasn't the end of her questions.
"But don't think for a second that I'm letting this go. Once Reves is calm and the situation is under control, you and I are going to have a very long conversation."
Kalisto nodded, not daring to argue.
Elara turned to the workers. "Secure the area. I want a full report on everything—damage, injuries, and any witnesses. No one leaves until I have answers."
The workers hurried to follow her orders, the room buzzing with activity once more.
As the room bustled with controlled chaos, Kalisto slumped against the wall, cradling Reves against his side.
His muscles screamed with exhaustion, and every bruise on his body seemed to throb in unison. The adrenaline that had kept him on his feet was fading, leaving behind a wave of raw pain and deep weariness.
Reves shifted slightly, his small hands clutching at Kalisto's sleeve as if letting go would somehow make the world crumble.
Kalisto tightened his hold on the boy, offering what little comfort he could.
His gaze drifted to the doorway where Selene had been carried out moments earlier.
The severity of what had just happened settled over him like a heavy blanket. His thoughts raced, not just with the fight but with the choices he had made.
He exhaled shakily, his voice barely above a whisper. "That was reckless."
Reves glanced up at him, his wide eyes filled with unspoken questions.
Kalisto managed a faint, rueful smile, though it didn't reach his eyes.
"I almost left her," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.
Reves tilted his head slightly, confused.
"My daughter," Kalisto clarified softly, his thumb brushing over the silver coin in his pocket.
"If I'd lost tonight… if I'd been careless just a second longer, she'd be all alone in this world."
The boy's brow furrowed, and his trembling eased just a little as he listened.
Kalisto's voice grew steadier, though it carried a weight of regret.
"I keep telling myself I'm doing this for her—for her future, for her safety. But what kind of father risks his life like that, huh?"
He chuckled dryly, though there was no humor in it.
Reves didn't respond, but his small hand tightened on Kalisto's sleeve, his silent way of saying, 'Don't go.'
Kalisto sighed, leaning his head back against the wall. The cool surface steadied him as he tried to quiet the guilt gnawing at his chest.
"I've got to be better," he said, his words barely audible amidst the noise of the workers.
"For her. For me."
A shadow crossed over him, and Kalisto looked up to see one of the medics holding a fresh bandage.
"You're still bleeding," the man said bluntly, crouching to tend to the cut on Kalisto's arm.
Kalisto nodded without protest, his thoughts still far away.
His grip on the coin in his pocket remained firm, a small token of resolve.
...
After stepping back into the sanctuary of his Fractured Reality, Ivaim let out a long, weary sigh. The familiar weight of solitude settled on his shoulders, and a wry smile tugged at his lips as he spoke aloud, his voice laced with mockery.
"So much trouble in just a few days... Am I truly the Spirit with Good Luck, or just the Spirit destined to self-destruct?"
The words echoed softly in the stillness of his realm, a futile attempt to lighten the knot of worry tightening in his chest.
He ran a hand through his hair, his mind replaying the chaotic events that had forced him to intervene.
"All that effort," he muttered, his tone sharper now, "and I'm still stuck with just one believer."
The thought brought another sigh from his lips, this one heavier than the last. Despite his self-deprecating humor, the reality stung more than he cared to admit.
The odds had always been stacked against him, but it was moments like this that made him question why he bothered at all.
With deliberate movements, he shrugged off the hooded robe he'd worn during his earlier escapade, tossing it aside without ceremony.
The fabric landed in a heap, a silent reminder of his reckless gamble. Turning to a nearby mirror—its surface rippling like water—he retrieved the stolen school uniform he had taken before.
The uniform was neatly folded, almost out of place amidst the otherwise unkempt surroundings of his Fractured Reality.
He unfolded it with care, brushing away imaginary creases before slipping it on. The fabric fit snugly, though the sight of himself in the mirror drew a sardonic chuckle.
"A being of fortune wearing stolen clothes. How poetic," he muttered