Lady Sif.

~6117 words

Like a liquid simmering at the bottom of a cauldron, tension lingered in the air even as the Annual Meeting had concluded. 

The revelations that had cast a dark aura over Fjellborg Castle had dissipated to a slight extent, yet a subtle residue remained, swirling between the whispered conversations and uneasy glances exchanged between the new groups that had formed. 

Lawrence was standing beside Blake, talking with a crinkled nose and a huge, visible frown on his face. Meanwhile, Hiroshi and Rafeal were already heading toward their helicopter. 

Arthur stood outside, alone, his hands inside his pockets as he looked at everyone. 

'They really did come together after all.' Arthur thought, his pale grey eyes tracing along the beeline of the cliff against which the waves clobbered with a subdued ardour and then at the helipads where Yuki and Maria waited for their fathers to board their ride. 

Maria suddenly looked back, sensing a penetrating stare which caused her to glance back with a quick jerk of her head. 

However, upon catching sight of Arthur, her demeanour shifted subtly. 

Only a moment… a fleeting moment of softness crossed her face, reflected in the gentle wave of her hand. 

The sight of her slightly illuminated skin under the murky dark sky of Oslo carried a hint of rosy red tint before she boarded the helicopter. 

Lawrence had already left with Blake and Kwame Olaniyan—Dotun Olaniyan's father—moments ago. 

Arthur's chest flared upwards as he heaved in a deep breath before reciprocating, waving back at Maria in a subtle, weak fashion. 

Maria's lips flowered into a soft, warm smile, her fingers delicately grabbing the railing affixed to the door for a moment's stability against the winds that made her clothes flutter like a battle flag. 

With an unconscious grace, she found herself rising onto her tiptoes, a subtle indication of something fluttering inside her ribcage. Her gaze lingered on him, his face, eyes, his sharp nose and thin lips and back into his eyes, a silent and desperate attempt– or rather a hope for one last conversation before she departed. 

She stayed for a while, probing to get anything other than that small wave from him, however, amidst the whirl of rotor blades and distant dark horizons, his blank stare was the only static thing. 

Like a heavy rock at the bottom of a shallow river. Unchanging. Unmoving. 

The smile all but disappeared as she faced back the man extending his hand to help her mount her carry. 

As Arthur saw her leave, he interlocked his fingers and stretched his arms to the back. The joints let out a creaking pop as he moaned, blinking his eyes a few times. The meeting had concluded with the decision that delegations would be made with the United Nations at first to retrieve Adam's Battle Armour. 

However, if the delegations do not go as planned —since the families are not willing to explain the exact origins of it or the reason why they don't want it to go into public knowledge—it was decided that the heirs will be dispatched. 

Normally the other siblings are dispatched if a situation like this arises, however the paramount importance of the current situation made them decide to do it. 

Amongst the Seven Syndicates, it was customary for the heirs to not engage in such matters. The heirs were USUALLY socially disconnected people until the age of 15. 

Homeschooled from the very start, the knowledge of the normal world is given to them using the best hired teachers and they are trained in magic either by the family acquaintances who have a long lineage of Arcane Arts as well.

Just not at the same level as the Seven Syndicates. 

Once a person manifests the family inherent 「Arcane Arts」they are then trained by the parents. Arthur, however, always wasn't the heir. Someone, long before him, held that spot. And it was not because he was overwhelmingly stronger than the previous heir that he now held the spot, it was because the person was excommunicated. 

However, the knowledge of that person has stayed a mystery. To an extent that the Seven Syndicates do not even know about the existence of that person. 

"Arthur." 

Lost in thought, Arthur looked to the side as he saw his father—Aksel Olvasen—walk towards him. His father was an inch shorter than Arthur, standing at around 178 cm. Trailing a few steps away from him was Astrid, her head hung low. 

Her eyes trailed along the long grass, her left hand holding her right wrist with a slight, supple force. Arthur's eyes flicked from Aksel to Astrid, before looking over her shoulder to spot Albert who was smiling gently at him from a long distance away. 

"You are not going back to Hammerfest." Aksel spoke without stopping as he almost ran towards his car. Without looking back, he continued. "Your mother—Sif—has called for you."

The words felt like a blow to the back of Arthur's head. He could almost feel his features crack under an incomprehensible emotion. As Aksel opened the door, he looked back. 

'He called her by her name. So it means she wants to talk about whatever happened today. But why me?'

"Are you listening? Get the girl, and get inside." He urged, sounding extremely impatient. 

'Why now? After all these years…'

The question lingered into the back of his mind, like an itch he couldn't quite scratch. 

"Arthur…" Astrid's mellow voice brought him back into the real world. Looking back, he saw her smiling at him. "... we should hurry along." She prompted. 

"Something's wrong."

"Eh…? What?"

"Something's wrong. With you." Arthur repeated, holding her eyes. If she could, she wanted to look away. To not pile up the already huge mountain of thoughts and things that weighed down on Arthur's shoulders like a wet blanket. However…

…it seemed futile. Ever since the day she was saved—by him—she just could not muster up the strength to lie or hide from Arthur. Not when he was fixated on it. 

"It's… nothing, really. Nothing to worry about."

Not taking his eyes away from her, Arthur's fingers trailed along the sleeve of her long puffer jacket. Despite not being against her bare skin, she felt a jolt creep up her spine. Trailing down, he placed his hand over the sleeve, removing it from her right wrist, avoiding any direct skin contact. 

She almost let out a relieved sigh as the weight of his gaze finally lessened. Looking down, Arthur saw a small, deep crack like a fissure running across the lower end of the wrist. Turning it in his hands, he saw a small spherical insertion. Like a fang had dug deep into it and then roughly taken out from the other part. 

"Albert?"

"No—I mean, yes, but you know—" she paused, collecting her thoughts. "You don't have to think much about it… they had to disrupt the flow of my Arcanum somehow, so it was this big device." Astrid spoke, a childlike glint in her eyes as she explained the size of the device used to render her incapable of using Arcanum. "And then Alebert closed the maw like thingy on my wrist and it made a huge hole!" She explained, widening her eyes. 

She's suppressing her pain. 

Hesitatingly, Arthur's thumb drew circles over the mark. "So a magical insulant was inserted into one of the paths leading to your magic circuits. Quite old school. I was expecting they'd make something more…" he paused, smacking his lips, trying to make her believe he was buying her act of not hurting her, "...innovative." He spoke as an intangible tremor permeated from Arthur's thumb into her arm. A small intangible pulse. "It has a foreign isotope as well. You might need some treatment once we are back."

Astrid shook her head, making the loose hair at the end of her bun flail here and there. "No, no. They—Albert gave me this!" She exclaimed, taking a small glass bottle out. "He said any kind of abnormality will be mitigated if I drink this."

Taking the bottle from her hands, he looked down at it. The same intangible pulse that had permeated from Arthur a while ago flared to life once again and the metal cap on top of the bottle twisted at a blinding speed before shattering the bottle into shining, unseeable portions. 

"No need to rely on that bloodsucker's medicine." Arthur spoke as Astrid looked down at the broken shards that were too difficult to see by the naked eye. 

Raising her hand, she slapped his shoulder. "You should be appreciative of others. Also, why won't you trust him just because he isn't human!?"

"Arthur Olvasen! Take another damned second and I swear on Goddess Hestia's name I will tell your mother you are unwilling to cooperate." Aksel bellowed, taking his head out of the car window. "Skynd Deg!"

"It's not because he's not human," Arthur murmured, his grip on Astrid's arm tightening almost imperceptibly as he pulled her closer, totally disregarding his father's words. "Humans, hmm, they're the vilest breed, more than anything that has ever existed." His voice took on an eerie edge, yet his eyes remained fixed on her with an intensity that bordered on unsettling. "But there's one exception," he added, his tone softening just a fraction.

As he pulled her beside him, a content sigh escaped Astrid's lips. The violent winds tousled her platinum locks in his direction, mingling with light brown hair of his own as they were blown back by the raging tempest, mingling together and obscuring their vision of the world around them.. 

"Are you trying to act cool or something?" She snickered in a low tone, disregarding the subtle rise in her pulse. 

"Probably."

Arthur Olvasen POV

Injustice, Justice—Justice, Injustice. 

Quaint little notions. 

A common social construct, a mere figment of the human imagination, spun into existence to appease the feeble minds of simpletons seeking succour in a world that is seemingly in a specific "order." 

However, it's a myth. 

A fairy tale for people of all ages. Whispered into the ears of the gullible masses from the day they are born to keep them in line, to maintain the illusion of control.

 To the common folk, they represent gallant pillars of righteousness, guiding principles upon which society stands. 

But to me, they are nothing but hollow concepts, devoid of any coherent or cohesive substance. As it should to anyone with a little bit of critical thinking.

Even the world that these Foulborns, and us—Arcane Arts users—live in, it's a stage built on piles upon piles of lies and treachery. 

Those who wield power, who claim to be the arbiters of righteousness—The Seven Syndicates—us—they're nothing but frightened little creatures hiding behind a facade of superiority. 

Prancing around, adorned in their self-righteousness, but deep down, they're trembling with fear. Fear of losing the very power they so desperately cling to.

「Arcanum.」 

Funny how they cling to it like a drowning man clutching at straws. 

They parade their abilities like prized possessions, boasting of their superiority over the common folk, calling them Foulborns. 

But it's all a sham. A charade to mask the insecurities that gnaw at their insides like a demon crawling its way up from the pits of hell, slowly nibbling away at the false ego they have built. 

They fear what would happen if the truth were to be unveiled, if the masses were to realise that they too possess the potential to wield such power.

And so, they hoard their abilities, locking them away behind a fortress of lies and deceit. 

For centuries. Multiple millennia even. 

All the talks about the "betterment" of mankind, of progress and enlightenment, but it's all just empty rhetoric. They—we… I care only for myself. For our own selfish desires and ambitions.

The foulborns are but pawns in our twisted game, expendable commodities to be used and discarded at a whim.

Injustice is not some abstract concept floating in the ether—our world. 

And justice... Well, it's just a fairy tale told to children, a comforting lie to shield them from the harsh realities of the world.

To me, justice is a fleeting illusion, a mirage in the desert of human folly. It is a tool wielded by the powerful to maintain their dominance over the weak, a facade behind which they hide their true intentions.

Injustice, on the other hand, is simply the consequence of imbalance, the inevitable result of a world driven by greed, ambition, and self-interest. 

Those who suffer at the hands of injustice are merely casualties of a game they never had the privilege to play.

Despite acknowledging this line of thinking… 

…I loathe it. I loathe myself. 

I absolutely, from the bottom of my barely alive heart, abhor the mechanics of my own mind, the distorted prism through which I perceive people around me. 

An unending vortex of animosity—hatred and disgust—simmers inside me, ceaseless and unrestrained, like the western winds. 

There is no comforting interlude from its clutches, no sanctuary from the all encompassing darkness of my own mind. 

Like a bottomless chasm, hatred is never enough. 

The only emotion I feel is of sheer hatred for everything associated with myself and a boundless intrigue towards new things. 

The sole emotion coursing through my veins is an intense loathing directed towards everything tethered to my existence, coupled with an insatiable curiosity towards the unknown.

Love? Empathy? 

Such sentiments are foreign to me, alien concepts drifting through the vast expanse of my consciousness. 

If they ever resided within the organ that has tirelessly throbbed within my chest since my birth, they have long been interred beneath layers of indifference and detachment.

Indifference and detachment, a result of the harsh truths and repercussions of forsaking one child and thrusting me into their stead.

A mere surrogate. A replacement. 

Moulded in the silhouette of another deemed superior. 

I was merely another cog in the machine.

It was- is unacceptable.

The notion of someone exploiting my existence for their gain ignited an insatiable bloodlust within me, awakening a primal, feral aspect of my being that I had long suppressed. 

I loathed this part of myself, yet begrudgingly acknowledged its necessity. It was what helped me survive the time when I had to fill the void left by her.

It's like walking on a tightrope laden with shards of glass. Regardless of which direction I chose, I was bound to endure the wounds.

"—thur. Arthur? Arthur, are you okay?" A velvety touch pulled my face towards itself. Blinking away the grogginess from the plethora of thoughts and long travel from Oslo to Bergen, I opened my eyes. 

As the thin foggy veil was pulled away from my eyes, the first thing to come into focus was Astrid's face, uncomfortably close to my own. I could see the few freckles underneath her eyes and the two, symmetrically placed moles on the right side of her lips.

"I am." I replied, my voice creaking like a centuries old door. Perhaps it was a funny thing since Astrid giggled once she heard me talk. 

"We are here. Your father went inside. They are expecting you." She explained. 

"Your dress. It's different." I noticed. The formal dress was all but gone, replaced by a much more informal attire, consisting of a cream coloured high-neck sweater and a white open jacket on top. The hair that was previously held up in a bun cascaded like a moonlit river down her shoulders. 

She casted one look down at herself, making the loose hair drape her face before looking up. "Yep! Your father stopped to refuel an hour ago. I tried to wake you up but you were too fast asleep. Since you didn't wake up, I changed regardless. Inside the nearby mall." She replied, her eyes softening. Her hand extended slowly towards me. 

I could feel my body twitch. Recoiling back on a pure instinct. Astrid seemed to notice it and the hand stopped midway, before returning to her lap as she awkwardly fiddled with her fingers. "Are you really okay? You look pale…" She spoke, examining me up and down with a worried face.

She was a sweet girl. She was. Is. Perhaps always will be. 

"Don't worry about it too much." I replied, tilting a bit forward. Grabbing the hood attached to her jacket, I pulled it up until it was covering half of her face. 

"Argh—! You— Let go!" She squealed, throwing her hands around haphazardly. Removing the hood just enough so I could see her pale blue eyes, I spoke again. 

"Don't worry, alright? At least not about me." I spoke before letting her go and closing the door after me. The chilly wind welcomed me, sending a shiver down my spine. Grabbing the collars of my long coat, I brought them together, shielding my chest against the frigid winds. 

The whirr of window rolling reached my ears as I started to walk. 

"Hey! Arthur! What did you mean by that!?" Astrid's voice echoed behind me. 

Looking over my shoulder, I spoke, without stopping. "Get my bags out of the car." 

"BAGS? WHY?" 

She was practically screaming at this point. 

Stopping for a moment, I turned around. "I have a feeling we are about to be here for a while."

—------------------------

—15 November 2023—

Arthur Olvasen POV:

Strolling along the pathway formed by crude, uneven textured stones, I walked just behind my father. His wide back shielded most of the view ahead as he sauntered about with his shoulders uptight and his back straight. There was an inkling of discomfort—both in his gait and myself—as we walked closer and closer to our destination. 

"A word of advice." After many fleeting moments of the bustling wind roaring that made it impossible to hear anything other than the eerie murmurs of the western wind, my father—Aksel Olvasen—spoke. "Behave well in front of your mother."

"Lady Sif you mean." I retorted, walking behind him, maintaining a respectable distance. 

"She is your mother, Arthur." His tone seemed to be harsh. It was harsh. No doubt. But deep down, my father was a soft man. Someone who was unfit for being the family head. His timber mellowed out as he looked over his shoulder. 

My own feet came to a peaceful halt. "You are our child."

"Those are merely titles." I replied, feeling the nip on my skin as the winds got frigid. "Just like any other ones. Sentimentality impedes progress and evolution." Every word that came out of my mouth felt like I was reading from an instruction manual. I could feel his face twist in a melancholic look, the public persona of a tough person melting away like a small ice cube in the palm of a hand. "Besides, she called for official purposes. I would recommend using the standard procedure."

His lips moved, fluttering… almost gasping, as if out of breath. And then he let out a deep breath, his chest heaving up and down before stabilising. "I— Well, you see, I am— hmm. Should we talk about it? You know, before you meet your moth— Sif, I mean."

"Talk about what?" I asked. 

"You know…" His voice trailed off and the reminiscing look in his eyes, filled with an ocean-deep regret made me realise what he was getting at. 

I shrugged nonchalantly. It was not that I did not care. However, any answer to that haunting memory itself, of her, that woman… It was not pleasing. Not in a bad way. But I would prefer for it to stay undiscussed. Was it even a memory or just a conjuration of my own mind? A memory installed by my own mother? 

"Hmm, yeah— fine, sure. Right." He awkwardly fidgeted. Communication was never a strong point of ours. As a matter of fact, it was a trait shared by us with most people around us. It's just that the ego from being an ancient lineage alleviated it to an extent that communication for even the necessary things became non-existent. "Sif would be waiting for us."

"After you."

I spoke as he nodded his head, and started walking again. 

Towering pine trees lined either side of the stone pathway, their bare branches reaching upwards towards the sky like some kind of gnarly claws. 

The remnants of a recent downpour clung to the needles of the tree, creating a gentle pitter-patter as droplets fell onto the stone pavement beneath my feet. 

The scent of damp earth filled the air, mingling with the fresh aroma of pine.

A wave of nostalgia washed over me as I turned my head towards the right. 

The main house stood tall and sturdy. The architecture was nothing short of amazing, housing generations of Olvasens for centuries. 

The wooden façade was painted a rich, deep brown, blending seamlessly with the surroundings. 

However, instead of making our way towards the house, my father turned towards the left. 

As I turned after him, I stopped suddenly, feeling something run up to me. 

*Woof!* 

As I turned the corner, a flash of white caught my eye. 

My pace slowed as the Siberian Husky bounded towards me, its tail wagging furiously. 

A pang of… something, perhaps annoyance, tugged at me, yet I tolerated its exuberance. 

Extending my hand to pat its head mechanically, I felt the soft fur beneath my fingers. 

The dog's excitement was palpable, its eyes shining with adoration. 

Although the overly loving behaviour was an eyesore, I recognized its loyalty. 

It jumped up and down, its tail wagging so hard it seemed like it might take off, before settling at my feet, sitting between my legs as if seeking reassurance of my presence.

"She seems to remember you just well." My father turned around and raised his brows. 

Letting out a sigh, I crouched down. Gently massaging the area around its face, I held the dog—Luna's—face close to mine. "How have you been?" I asked, not expecting an answer. Of course it would be foolish to expect one. Even as the dog—Luna—let out a grumbling bark, I just blankly felt its fur. "Wait for me here, ok?" 

Dogs were such interesting things. Even after leaving it alone for three years, it would seem like it's still loyal to me. An extent which was nauseating. Humans were like this as well. They could be easily categorised into either dogs that needed to be put down or dogs that you needed to keep beside you. There was no middle line. 

"Stay." As I pointed my finger, the white-brown ball of fur settled down, placing its cherubic face on its paws. I sometimes wonder if she is even a Husky. The other one— hmm, better not talk about it. It's bound to ruin my mood. 

Passing by Luna, I made my way to the back of the house that opened up to reveal a sprawling lake, its crystal-clear waters shimmering in the artificial flood lights. 

Nestled along the edge of the lake was a small enclosure, constructed of translucent glass and wooden planks. This was the sauna.

"You are on your own from here."

"Surely you don't expect me to find her here, right? A whole colony could be built in this place." 

"Use your eyes, dear son." He replied with a smirk. "I am sure you read it all."

The urge to rip out his tongue bubbled like lava inside me. Biting back a dry grumble, I nodded. 

As he went away, I made my way towards the sauna, the sound of my footsteps echoing softly against the stone pathway. 

I placed my hand on the sauna's exterior. It was still warm and the fog stuck to it on the inside. Recently used.

Immediately, beside the sauna, my gaze fell on a beeline of colourful flowers. 

Each bloom was a vibrant burst of colour against the lush green backdrop. 

A woman stood amidst the flowers, a watering can in hand. 

Looking at the woman from the back, she looked just as fragile as the Viola Pedata—a delicate flower—that she was watering. An extremely petite appearance from behind with thin shoulders and a small frame. The golden locks that spilled down her back felt as if pure gold had been melted down. Ethereal. 

There was someone who was said to have the same hair. Goddess Sif. A goddess whose origins were the same as this country. Northern Europe. A Scandinavian goddess. The thought never bothered me. But she could be related to us. After all, the "Gods"—Zeus and more—that existed after "Adam and Eve" were merely the ancestors of Seven Syndicates, flaunting their powers to the Foulborns. 

As I took a step forward, a voice cut through the air. As sharp as a blade. 

"Dear son of mine." The woman started. "Your footsteps feel heavy." The watering can in her hand slipped and dropped down on the pebbly ground below. She turned around, the long frock twirling. A familiar pair of pale grey eyes met my own. Her eyes narrowed at me, before widening like a full moon and then returned to normal. "You have grown so much, my little baby boy. In just three years!" She exclaimed.

There was a glimmer, an unsettling glimmer in her eyes. Her soft hands cupped my face into her palms and raised them up. Her touch was warm. Yet it made a frigid tremble run down my spine. Standing at about 163 cm, she smiled. A smile that didn't quite reach the hollow voids that were her eyes. 

"I did hit a growth spurt." I replied, casually. I could feel a tether. A tether of something intangible inside my mind. Like a soft thread stuck inside the squishy white matter of my brain. 

I pushed it back. 

Pushed back any thought of defiance or wariness and buried it. Buried it into the deepest pits of my subconsciousness, as if they had never existed. "You look just as beautiful as ever, Lady Sif." Her long nails dug subtly into my cheeks. "Mother."

The words that came out of my own mouth felt like toxic thorns being forcefully rubbed against my tongue, dripping with an unhidden venom and mockery. And despite the obviousness, I could only see her smile more brightly at me. As if she expected love to be as convoluted and venomous as this. 

Once again, the endless voids flicked from my eyes to my nose, my lips and then down at me, before meeting my gaze, petrifying me. An intangible, smooth slither—akin to the touch of a slim finger seemed to poke inside my brain itself. 

As soon as she removed her hands from my face, the meek interference of something probing my brain vanished in an instant, leaving behind nothing but a faint sense of bile pushing against the back of my throat. Biting back any discomfort, I straightened my back. 

"You have developed a silver tongue, my dear son." She spoke with glee. "I suppose this is what being with a girl does to you." Her voice dropped to a barely detectable murmur. "Even you." As she looked down, the wind blew her locks over her face. With a quick motion of her hand, she raised them up and used the small purple band on her wrist to tie them up. "So?"

"So?"

I reiterated after her, not entirely sure where she wants me to begin. I had left the house three years ago to live alone. 

It was after I was able to perform a 「Phase 2」 application of the Olvasens' inherited 「Arcane Arts. 」 The only reason she allowed me—the heir—to leave the main house was because she wanted to know about the outside world via me. Since she herself, for her own good, is not allowed outside the premises of this house. Mostly, since nothing can stop her from sneaking outside every now and then.

The reason behind letting me out on my own was still shrouded behind a thick veil of precarious unknowns. It could be anything. Knowing her, it was entirely possible that even now I was inside the palm of her hand. However…

"Let's talk about your school first." Contrary to my tumultuous thoughts, she talked about something entirely different. "How is it?"

"Heirs are homeschooled."

"You are different." She replied, taking a big step towards the huge bed of flowers. She curled her index finger in and out a few times, motioning for me to follow her. "Besides, I gave you free will. As a direct order. I am sure you took quite some advantage of it." 

I stayed silent for a while. Taking in a whiff, I could smell the plethora of aromas—prickly strong and mellowingly faint—invade my senses. The ambient Arcanum in place, this house— no, this garden in particular was so, so rich. Almost intoxicating. I felt my senses spin in a round circle before consolidating onto a coherent path.

"It's good." I replied. 

"Semantics." She let out a laugh as her arm was extended to the side, feeling the petals of the flowers without looking back. "Oh Art, you know what I mean, don't you?" She then suddenly looked back. "Or is it your father's influence? But no, influence would be the wrong word." She pondered over something for a second. "Are you developing your father's oversight of words?"

"Am I?" Rhetorically, I touched after the same flowers as she did. "That would be unfortunate."

"Haha~ It sure would be." She nodded her head. "So?"

"I find it useless." I admitted, and for the first time I could see her eyes gain a subtle shine. "Most probably it is because of the knowledge I was able to gain at a young age. I wonder if it would stay the same if I was born as a norma—"

Her head snapped towards me. "Do not entertain yourself with such vile thoughts." Once again, I felt the meek tether into my mind. But this time, instead of probing for something, it felt as if someone was trying to pluck a part of me out. I pushed against it, however, the Arcanum seemed to refuse to obey me. A rare occurrence. Then, as if nothing had happened, the sensation subsided. "That was immature of me."

"Not at all." I replied, clinging on to my suppressed thoughts like a drowning man catching at straws. Once I had them under my control. "I won't be responsible for what happens if you were to slip up again."

"Well." She let out a disappointed sigh. "It would seem like your viewpoint on things has changed quite a bit. Not for the best, might I add." She spoke, the words devoid of any real emotion that she tried to convey. "But well, you reap what you sow." She added. In her eyes, everything was a mere consequence of action. She was not the one to brood over consequences. 

"I suppose so." 

"Well, to the main topic." She tip-toed and twirled around before facing me. "As you would know your father is the head, but everything is controlled by me. The fact that the family head is not allowed to look over matters of this importance should be self-explanatory to you by now why I have called you."

I raised my shoulder in a subtle shrug, not meaning to be disrespectful. "You hold me in a high regard, Lady Sif." I paused for a while, measuring every word. "Often superseding."

"You have the right to flatter yourself, Arthur." She crouched down and her hands dug into the soft soil beneath. The tempestuous winds had almost uprooted a plant, making it bend and almost touch the ground. Carefully, avoiding the thorns, she supported it back up and pressed it down. The soil around it gave in, digging deep back into the soil. "You inherited the full extent of what this bloodline has to offer." She spoke, seemingly… patting? the plant. 

"Full extent." I reiterated after her. Biting back an uncondescending scoff, I parted my lips to speak. "That is a crude metric to weigh an heir. She was far sup—" The words seemed to hang still in the air, as if caught in a time halting phenomenon. The same instant I felt the metallic clang of something ripping apart before slashing at my cheek, just underneath my eyes. 

"You are not in Hammerfest, Arthur dear." She spoke, her voice a low rumble.

The sensation of the blood trailing down my cheek before lining against my jawline and dripping down my chin was warm, the metallic tang of it infiltrating my nose. I stood there, silent, without a word. However, my own Arcanum was flaring and hovering near her, like a sword in an executioner's hand, ready to be swung at a moment's notice.

Despite the force field around me becoming alive with a crackling intensity, popping like small crackers, I stood still, devoid of any thought of defiance, despite the Arcanum that swelled like an over-inflated balloon underneath the layer of composure. 

"Hahhh— don't make your mom work up so much." She sighed and the high level Arcanum in the air dissipated. She flicked her head back. "You never had another sibling other than your older brother. That is a memory you have instilled in your mind. It would be better if you could delete it by yourself." The hollow, grey voids never left my own. "For your own sake."

"You initiated it." I spoke, walking closer. "Ask away. About whatever you called me here for. I have an exam in 2 days. Every second spent here is a loss."

She frowned, her lips curving down. "Hearing you talk like this breaks my heart." She placed her hand on her chest. "Not really." She then scoffed, giggling to herself. "Anyways, all I have to ask is one thing."

I steadied myself.

"The Seven Syndicates. Do you think the other six are necessary?" She asked, the eyes that were devoid of any emotion suddenly flaring like a forest fire, a devilish, evil glint in them. 

I took a steady breath. "Ideally, no." I replied. 

She tilted her head. "Ideally, you say?"

"Hmm. Ideally, in a way—sense, that if the seal separating Earth and Eden was never weakening, removing the others would've been the correct course of action." I paused, letting the words sink in. "However, realistically, with Eden moving closer to the 「Merger」 we need all forces to maintain law and order. To avoid chaos. We need them."

The same tether as before poked my mind. Searching for lies, any wrong intent. "You should embrace the chaos, my son. There is nothing wrong with it."

"Because chaos is more organised than order itself?"

"You have been learning, I see."

A brief moment of silence—eerily comforting—ensued. 

"Let's go with the idealistic approach." A small smile tugged at her thin lips. "What if I order you to kill the heirs of the Seven Syndicates?"

"I'd refuse, of course." I replied, almost mechanically. "It's against the first commandment established by Goddess Hestia."

"Commandments this, commandments that." She spat, her demeanour taking a sudden shift. The words seemed to be laced with venom. "Let me ask you again, Arthur." She hissed my name through clenched teeth this time. "Do you have the ability to kill the heirs?"

"Except for Michael and Maria, I am quite confident."

She regarded me for a moment, and then smiled again. Her show of expressions had left a jarring impression. Even before I had left home, she was always like this. The only person I can't read. She did not have any personality. Like an object being forcefully moulded into each shape, she took the role of everything perfectly, yet with so many flaws. 

Nothing ever felt natural about her. As if she and her words were fleeting illusions. 

"Hehe! I was just kidding!" She tapped my shoulder. Her grip was ironclad. I could feel it sink into my skin and put a considerable pressure on my bones. "Although, you are not going anywhere."

I felt my eyes burn, glowing in a brightened hue. 

"You and your little toy- Astrid, was her name? Well, whatever, you are staying here for the foreseeable future. Your long time of being away from home ends today." As she spoke, the smile never left her face. "Your room has been redecorated already. Tell your little… attendant to help you settle in."

This can't be good. It would seem like I am in quite a lot of trouble. Quashing a hasty impulse, I nodded my head. As soon as I did, a light pierced my eyes, like being reflected off a mirror, blinding my vision. And then she was gone. 

Spectrum Illusion…