Orion held Lyciah’s gaze for a moment longer. Then, as if recalling something belatedly, he widened the gesture slightly and addressed the rest of the group.

  “And of course,” he added with effortless composure, “it is equally a pleasure to receive the rest of you.”

  It sounded less like a correction and more like a courtesy measured to perfection. Seliane planted both hands on her hips and lifted her chin, amused.

  “What a relief. I was starting to think we were just decorative escorts.”

  “Not at all,” Orion replied with the same serene politeness. “Every presence leaves its mark.”

  Caelan inclined his head slightly, assessing him.

  Momoru didn’t take his eyes off him. Neither did Lyciah. Both of them knew that man was not truly named Orion. That he was no ordinary founder. That the name he wore was nothing more than a carefully chosen mask.

  The young woman standing beside him stepped forward then.

  “Astra,” she introduced herself with an elegant dip of her head. “I am Orion’s sister. It is an honor to welcome you to Second Light.”

  Sister?

  Lyciah stopped listening the moment she heard the word. The voices around her hollowed out, as though everyone were speaking from the end of a long tunnel. Momoru’s gaze snapped toward Astra. He looked her over from head to toe, disbelief tightly contained.

  If Orion was who they knew him to be… then that woman wasn’t just anyone.

  She was the seraphi princess.

  However, Sorian had mentioned only Prince Sariel.

  Lyciah forced her expression into neutrality. Don’t stare. Don’t react.

  Elric was the first to answer.

  “A pleasure. We weren’t aware Mr. Orion had family involved in the company.”

  “Second Light was born of a shared promise,” Astra replied with a gentle smile. “My brother and I have worked side by side from the very beginning.”

  Lyciah moved closer to Momoru and lightly grasped his wrist.

  Seliane and Elric were still taking in the building with open curiosity. Caelan, however, was watching Orion. There was no hostility in his expression—only an attention sharpened to an almost surgical precision.

  Orion noticed, and offered an impeccably polite smile.

  “You must be fatigued after your journey,” he said. “Allow me to escort you to your rooms first.”

  That finally captured Seliane’s and Elric’s full attention. They turned toward him at once.

  “You have rooms?” they asked in unison.

  “Some of our clients travel considerable distances for a session,” Orion explained. “We consider it unwise for them to return the same day, particularly after a process of such emotional intensity.”

  His tone held no pretension—only responsibility.

  “Each room is individual,” he added. “Privacy is an essential part of the service we provide.”

  Astra inclined her chin and placed a hand over her chest in a respectful gesture.

  “Some goodbyes require silence,” she said softly. “After a reunion like that, the heart needs time to settle.”

  Lyciah found herself looking at her despite herself. The serenity in Astra’s expression did not appear feigned. Her movements were graceful, understated.

  Orion gestured elegantly for them to follow. They took the elevator up.

  The first-floor corridor was lit by discreet recessed ceiling lights. Dark wooden doors stood perfectly aligned along the walls. Orion stopped in front of one.

  “Miss Seliane.”

  He opened it. The room was spacious without being excessive. Cream-toned walls, a large window veiled in sheer curtains, a polished wooden desk, and a perfectly made bed dressed in pale linens. On the bedside table sat a small bouquet of fresh flowers and a handwritten note offering a brief welcome. Seliane scanned the space with the critical eye of someone who appreciates quality.

  The other rooms followed the same pattern: restrained elegance, impeccable order, different flowers in each. Nothing repeated carelessly.

  Once each of them held a key, Orion added, “I invite you to settle in. In half an hour, should you wish, I will be at your disposal to provide a brief tour of the facilities.”

  Caelan kept his eyes on him, as if attempting to decipher something beneath the surface.

  “We appreciate the hospitality,” he said simply.

  Lyciah looked up at him out of reflex. She liked looking at him. There was usually a steady calm in his gaze that soothed her. This time, it wasn’t there. In its place lingered a cold focus directed entirely at Orion.

  Orion held his stare without the faintest trace of tension.

  “It is our honor to offer it.”

  Without further exchange, they withdrew to their assigned rooms. Doors closed one by one. Astra exchanged a brief look with her brother before the two of them disappeared down the corridor.

  The bell above the bakery door fell silent as the last customer stepped out. The air smelled of butter, toasted sugar, and freshly brewed coffee.

  Ekchron sat at a table near the back, straddling his chair backward, forearms draped over the backrest, chin resting on them. From there, he watched Lorena openly, as though the rest of the shop were a secondary stage and she the only spotlit figure.

  She pretended not to notice while wiping down the counter with a damp cloth.

  “Your friend could’ve come in,” she said at last, lightly. “Nik.”

  “Nik, in a bakery this bright and respectable? It would destroy his carefully cultivated reputation as a mysterious creature.”

  Lorena shook her head softly and folded the cloth beside the register. She picked up the remote for the small television perched on the high shelf and turned it on, as she often did when the shop got quiet.

  The presenter’s murmur filled the shop. Lorena did not expect to hear a name like that the moment she raised the volume:

  “…a reminder that the First Ancestral, Ashgar, is considered the most devastating of the Seven in terms of large-scale destruction. Throughout modern history, his appearances have been linked to the complete disappearance of urban centers…”

  Lorena froze, remote still in hand.

  The images shifted to archival footage: aerial views of cities reduced to blackened skeletons, smoke rising in dense columns that blotted out the sky. No bodies.

  “…his pattern is direct: large-scale fire, rapid expansion, and the immediate eradication of any human presence within the affected area…”

  Lorena set the remote down on the counter without looking away from the screen. The muscles in her back tightened beneath the fabric of her blouse.

  At the back table, Ekchron wasn’t watching the television. He had tilted his head slightly toward the empty chair across from him.

  “Quiet, or she’ll hear you,” he murmured, amused.

  His fingers tapped lightly against the backrest as if awaiting a reply. His eyes were unfocused, fixed on nothing that existed inside the bakery.

  Lorena blinked and turned her head toward him. She said nothing. Then she looked back at the screen.

  A map of Spain appeared, a region highlighted in red.

  “…less than an hour ago, a possible sighting was reported in a city in the east. Authorities are currently evaluating the authenticity of the footage received. The public is advised…”

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  “That’s close…” Lorena murmured, more to herself than anyone.

  Ekchron let out a faint nasal chuckle.

  “Don’t be dramatic,” he said, still staring ahead.

  Lorena frowned and this time truly looked at him.

  “Are you even listening to me?”

  Her tone rose—clearer, sharper. Ekchron blinked and focused on her, as if returning from somewhere distant.

  “Of course I am.”

  She held his gaze for a second. Then her eyes drifted to the empty chair in front of him. It wasn’t the first time. There were moments when Azul seemed absent, as though responding to a whisper only he could hear. Sometimes he smiled at nothing. Sometimes his expression shifted mid-sentence, as if someone had answered from a place she could not reach.

  This time she didn’t let the feeling slide.

  “Who are you talking to?” she asked quietly.

  Ekchron looked at her, and for a brief second genuine confusion flickered across his face.

  “Huh?”

  Lorena opened her mouth to press him, but at that exact moment the presenter’s tone lifted slightly as the name appeared again on screen.

  “Ashgar.”

  That finally drew Ekchron’s full attention. His brown eyes locked onto the television with an absolute, cold focus utterly at odds with the carefree boy from seconds before.

  “Ashgar…” he murmured calmly.

  Lorena stared at him. A moment ago he had been laughing. Now he seemed like someone else entirely.

  On the map, the red-marked zone continued to glow.

  “That city is close to here…” she insisted under her breath.

  Ekchron didn’t answer immediately. An unsettling seriousness settled over his features.

  What the hell are you doing here, in the Second’s territory, you third-rate pyromaniac? He thought.

  No one trespasses on another Ancestral’s domain. It’s the most basic rule. You can torture, annihilate, play capricious god all you like… but borders are respected. It’s a matter of etiquette. Of class.

  Well. Relative class. I cross lines whenever I feel like it, of course. I’m a statistical anomaly. A beautiful, functional error.

  Ashgar isn’t. Ashgar is destruction without a brain. He slaughters thousands at once and calls it dominance; I prefer the precision of a single life unraveling under my hands. I’m an artist.

  However... he has never crossed into foreign territory. Not the Eternal Martyr’s. Is he provoking him?

  “Azul…”

  Lorena’s fractured voice reached him. The tremor was brief, but it did not go unnoticed. It pulled him from the darker thread of his thoughts. He blinked and refocused on her, differently this time.

  “Are you scared?”

  She hesitated half a second before nodding, fingers tightening against the counter.

  “Of course I’m scared. Aren’t you? He’s the First. And he’s close.”

  Ekchron pressed his lips together, suppressing the impulse to reassure her. For reasons he did not care to examine, he didn’t like seeing her shake. Lorena bit her lip softly, uncertain what to say in the face of his silence. He restrained himself, shifting his gaze back to the television.

  Don’t you dare set foot here while the Eternal Martyr isn’t around to guard it.

  I don’t care about this city. Or its inhabitants. Interchangeable slabs of flesh.

  ...But the baker is here.

  Don’t make me rip your heart out, Ashgar. What a logistical inconvenience. Vaela’s death was chaos enough. Centuries later and the title is still “The Seven.” No one bothered updating the branding. Appalling marketing. If Ashgar decides to become permanent ash, we’ll have to start calling ourselves “The Five.” Sounds pathetic. Hardly imposing.

  The television kept talking, but Lorena wasn’t listening anymore. She was watching him.

  He never ate and yet spent hours in a bakery. He didn’t understand slang from guys his age. He never mentioned friends, exams, plans for the future. Sometimes he spoke to himself. Sometimes he smiled at nothing… She didn’t even know his real name.

  And now, with an Ancestral destroying cities at an uncomfortable distance, there wasn’t a trace of fear in him.

  The question was no longer whether danger was near… but who the guy looking at her really was.

  Half an hour later, when the group reconvened, Orion began the tour with academic precision.

  As they moved down the corridor, Lyciah noticed Momoru walking slightly behind the others—just enough to keep Astra within his line of sight. She conversed naturally with Seliane, seemingly unaware of the constant vigilance.

  At the end of the hallway, Orion stopped before a door unlike the rest. He unlocked it with a key hanging from a slender chain.

  “This is our final active session room.”

  The interior was spacious yet nearly bare. The walls were smooth and pale, devoid of paintings or decoration. There were no windows, only soft lighting diffused from the ceiling without casting harsh shadows.

  At the center stood a circular machine of pale metal, roughly the size of a large table. A curved-backed seat faced inward toward the ring. From the upper rim descended a slender rod that held a single white feather suspended at the height of the seated person’s face.

  Momoru’s eyes fixed on the feather. A faint pressure settled in his chest—something difficult to name. Lyciah was looking at it too. She tried to convince herself it was merely aesthetic. Symbolic. Yet something in the way Orion positioned himself near the machine made the feather seem less like decoration and more like something guarded.

  “The procedure is simple,” Orion explained. “The client must provide an object that belonged to the deceased. The more meaningful, the better.”

  Elric half-raised his hand, as though in a classroom.

  “Anything? I mean… a letter? A piece of clothing? An… earring?”

  The last word lacked the earlier lightness. It did not sound improvised. Caelan noticed, but he said nothing.

  “Yes, provided it was truly theirs,” Orion replied. “The nature of the object is irrelevant.”

  He indicated a small circular platform integrated into the machine’s base.

  “The item is placed here. Once the system is activated, it uses that bond to reconstruct the presence according to the client’s memory.”

  Lyciah’s hands were clasped too tightly in front of her. She forced herself to loosen them.

  “The manifestation is tangible,” he continued. “It may be seen, heard, and touched. However, it is not the real person—only the materialization of the memory of the one who summons them.”

  Caelan glanced at Lyciah then. His focus was clearly on her, studying her expression.

  “And how long does it last?” Seliane asked, crossing her arms.

  “The duration is limited,” Orion answered. “The process demands a considerable amount of energy. It cannot be sustained indefinitely.”

  Elric let out a quiet “oh,” as if he had expected otherwise.

  Lyciah became aware that Caelan had moved closer, positioning himself beside her without making a show of it. He didn’t touch her. He didn’t ask if she was all right. But he was there.

  Astra stepped forward and laid her hand gently against the machine’s polished surface.

  “Most who come here only want to say goodbye,” she added softly. “Sometimes an unfinished conversation weighs more heavily than death itself.”

  Lyciah lowered her gaze.

  Caelan noticed the way Orion was watching her—too closely. Not possessive nor invasive. Simply… interested. He didn’t like it.

  “If you wish, I can activate the system when you are ready,” Orion said, his cadence polished and exact. “There is no urgency. This decision deserves whatever time you choose to grant it.”

  Before the silence could thicken, Astra stepped forward and positioned herself beside Lyciah with quiet ease. She took her hand between her own. Her touch was warm and steady.

  “It isn’t an exam,” she added with a soft smile. “No one expects you to do it perfectly. Only to do it when you’re ready.”

  Caelan watched Astra’s fingers lace gently with Lyciah’s—no pressure, just support. As if the gesture itself said: I’m here.

  Orion inclined his head slightly.

  “You may change your mind at any moment. Even after the process has begun. What matters is that the choice remains yours.”

  Lyciah drew a deep breath before answering, gently squeezing Astra’s hand.

  “I’ve already decided.”

  Her voice did not tremble, but neither was it impulsive. It was the voice of someone who had rehearsed the words in silence for hours.

  “I thought about it the entire journey,” she said, looking at the machine. Then at Astra. Then at Orion. “I want to see her. I want to say goodbye to my mother.”

  Astra smiled, and this time something beyond tenderness shone in her expression—pride.

  “Then we’ll do it properly,” she murmured, still holding her hand. “Without haste. As she deserves.”

  Orion nodded with a precise inclination, his golden eyes fixed on Lyciah.

  “In that case, we shall proceed with preparing the room. The conditioning process requires several minutes. The staff will attend to everything.”

  He turned to the others with the same immaculate calm.

  “In the meantime, you are welcome to make use of the company’s facilities. We offer rest lounges, a library, sensory stimulation areas, and an interior greenhouse. Should you prefer greater privacy, we also have secluded spaces available.”

  Elric tilted his head, crossing his arms and closing his eyes as if picturing the rest of the building. Seliane emitted a low, approving sound, her half-smile intact.

  “You certainly know how to sell the experience.”

  Astra let out a soft laugh at Seliane’s remark. Then she slowly released Lyciah’s hand and returned to her brother’s side. He stepped closer.

  “Lyciah,” he said gently, “before initiating the procedure, there are certain technical aspects of the service that I believe it appropriate to explain to you personally, in private.”

  Lyciah knew instantly that was a lie. It had nothing to do with the service. In the letter he sent her, he had promised to tell her the truth about the seraphi massacre. That was the conversation she had come for. She kept her expression neutral and nodded calmly.

  Caelan moved before he realized he was doing so, positioning himself closer to Orion.

  “What technical aspects?”

  Orion did not flinch. He met his gaze without losing composure.

  “Information that concerns exclusively the individual who will be using the system. It is best addressed with discretion.”

  Caelan fell silent, weighing every word, every pause. His eyes shifted from Orion to Astra, then to Lyciah. He searched for signs. Doubt. Discomfort. Anything that might justify intervening.

  Momoru spoke with serene calm.

  “It makes sense to explain it privately.”

  But he did not look convinced. There was something about Orion that did not quite align. Caelan had spent five thousand years watching kings lie with flawless smiles, priests conceal wars beneath sacred speeches, and allies pledge loyalty while calculating betrayal. His instincts did not require proof to awaken. But instinct was not evidence. And he could not accuse a man based on a feeling he could not articulate without sounding irrational.

  Lyciah turned toward him and lifted her chin to meet his eyes.

  “I’ll be fine. I won’t be long.”

  There was no tension in her voice. No doubt. No plea for help. That was what finally held him back.

  Astra stepped forward, her presence softening the air.

  “We’ll be right here,” she said warmly. “And we’ll return shortly.”

  Orion moved toward the door. With a calm motion, he turned the handle and opened it. Astra stepped out first. Lyciah and the others followed. Orion crossed the threshold last and, before closing it, looked at the group.

  “A member of staff will guide you.”

  An employee waited a few meters away, hands clasped before him. He inclined his head upon seeing them.

  “This way, please.”

  Seliane advanced first. Elric followed, murmuring something under his breath that drew a smile from her. Momoru walked behind them at an unhurried pace.

  Caelan did not move yet. His gaze remained fixed on Orion.

  Orion met it once more. It was not a challenge—only a precise second of recognition between two men accustomed to measuring others. Then he turned to Lyciah and, with a restrained gesture of his hand, indicated the opposite end of the corridor.

  “This way.”

  Lyciah positioned herself between him and Astra, but before moving she glanced back, searching for Caelan’s eyes. She offered him a small smile, accompanied by the faintest wave. Only for him.

  Caelan did not return the smile, but he stopped looking at Orion. His gaze returned to her, and something in his expression softened.

  Then Lyciah walked forward beside Orion and Astra. The employee led the others in the opposite direction. Caelan was the last to move. And when he finally followed Elric and the rest, he did not look back.