Cryson

the first time they truly understand how terrifying you are, it happens during complete chaos. blot phantoms were everywhere, smoke curling through the air while students scrambled desperately to contain the situation from spiraling further out of control by the second. everyone was already exhausted from everything that was thrown at them, nerves frayed thin. then somehow, in the middle of all that panic, you became the thing that shocked them most. because before anyone could properly stop you, you charged directly toward two blot phantoms alone.

your weapon unfolded with a loud metallic shhk-CLACK, the massive scythe nearly twice your size gleaming under the emergency lights before shifting seamlessly into gun form. the recoil alone should have knocked someone your age flat onto the floor. instead, you used it to propel yourself forward faster. honestly, it was horrifying to watch. not because you were weak, but because you clearly were not.

idia's brain completely short-circuits almost immediately. objectively speaking, you look cool as hell. a tiny kid wielding a transforming scythe-gun hybrid thingy while pulling off impossible acrobatic attacks against giant monsters looks exactly like something out of a high-budget action game. if this were fictional, idia would absolutely be obsessed with your character build. except this's real, and every reckless thing you do makes his stomach lurch violently. at one point you literally use the recoil from your weapon to launch yourself sideways through the air straight toward a phantom's blind spot. "TH—THAT'S NOT HOW PHYSICS WORKS—" idia's voice cracks halfway through the yell while you slam the scythe blade directly through the phantom before spinning hard enough to fire another shot point-blank into the second one. sparks fly everywhere. your sleeve is partially torn open from an injury you clearly have not noticed yet, and somehow you're still moving. that's the part that gets him. you fight like pain is irrelevant, like your body's just another tool to throw at the problem until it stops moving. afterward idia hovers awkwardly nearby while someone patches you up because despite everything he just witnessed, you suddenly look painfully small sitting there exhausted with your giant weapon propped beside you. honestly, seeing you casually shrug off injuries while asking if everyone else is okay makes something twist painfully in his chest.

jamil notices your recklessness almost instantly. while everyone else is still trying to process the fact that a child is fighting blot phantoms head-on with terrifying efficiency, jamil's already adjusting his own movements to compensate for you specifically. every time you overextend yourself to land a stronger hit, he redirects attacks away from your blind spots before the phantoms can capitalize on them. because your combat instincts are incredible, genuinely terrifying for someone your age, but your self-preservation is practically nonexistent. there's one moment where you deliberately throw yourself between another student and an incoming attack without hesitation. jamil's heart genuinely skips because you don't even think about it. you just move. after the battle, when he finally gets close enough to properly look at you, he notices blood dripping steadily down your arm from where one phantom clipped you earlier. "...how long have you been injured?" you blink at him like the question barely matters. "oh. that? i'm fine. 's just a scratch" jamil goes very still after hearing that because he recognizes that tone. the casual dismissal, the instinctive minimization of pain, the complete lack of concern for your own wellbeing. someone taught you that surviving mattered more than staying safe, and honestly, that realization unsettles him badly.

vil is furious in the kind of terrifyingly quiet way that makes everyone nearby nervous automatically. because while everyone else is still caught between shock and awe watching you fight, vil is noticing something much uglier underneath it all. yes, your skill is extraordinary. yes, the weapon itself is impressive. but no child should fight like this. no child should throw themselves into danger so naturally that getting hurt barely even registers anymore. the moment that truly gets to him is when a phantom nearly catches you directly across the chest and your immediate response isn't fear. it's annoyance, like the injury is inconvenient rather than dangerous. vil feels sick because bravery is one thing. this's conditioning. after the fight "ends", vil personally takes over bandaging your injuries despite your repeated attempts to insist you can handle it yourself. "stop moving." "...but i’m okay?" "you're bleeding through the bandages." you glance downward. "...oh." vil has to close his eyes briefly after that because no child should sound so genuinely surprised by their own injuries. later that week, long after everything was over, he keeps replaying the image of you fighting in his head. not because of how strong you looked, but because of how little regard you seemed to have for whether you survived it.

rook's fascinated at first. not by the violence itself, but by your sheer determination. the way you move despite the weapon’s impossible weight, the sharp precision behind every strike, the unwavering focus in your expression even while facing monsters much larger than yourself. there is something almost theatrical about it, like watching a tiny warrior charging fearlessly into impossible odds. and then rook notices the recklessness. he notices the way you willingly leave openings if it means protecting someone else faster, the way you continue fighting through injuries without hesitation, the complete absence of fear whenever you throw yourself directly into danger. suddenly the scene becomes far less admirable and far more heartbreaking because he realizes this isn't confidence. this is a child who learned far too early that their own safety mattered less than the objective. after the battle, he kneels beside you while you sit exhausted against the wall, oversized weapon resting beside you almost protectively. there's soot on your face, exhaustion pulling at your eyes, and yet the first thing you ask is whether everyone else made it out safely. rook's expression softens immediately. "...little hunter," he says quietly, "you must learn that your life holds value as well." you stare at him blankly like the idea genuinely never occurred to you before, and honestly, that hurts him more than the injuries do.

────★ ˙🌹 When Riddle first held you, you were impossibly small warm, solid, alive in a way that terrified him more than any blot ever could. He remembers the weight of you against his chest, the way your tiny fingers curled into the fabric of his glove, and how your crying stopped the moment he steadied his breathing. Even then, you listened. Not with your eyes never with those but with something deeper something grounded

────★ ˙🌹 The stone courtyard is cool beneath your bare feet. You like it that way no shoes, no barriers. Every vibration travels cleanly through you, whispering secrets about the world: the uneven mortar lines, the faint crack near the rose trellis, the steady rhythm of your father’s heartbeat a few paces behind you

────★ ˙🌹 He thinks you don’t notice when he’s nervous. “You may begin when ready,” Riddle says, posture straight, hands folded behind his back while a snort came from you “You always say that like there’s a wrong time.” There’s a pause coming from riddle and the faintest shift of fabric “…Point taken.”

────★ ˙🌹 You grin and set your stance, feet planted wide, toes curling slightly against the stone. The courtyard comes alive beneath you every tremor, every echo of magic lingering in the ground. You see it all, mapped out in sensation instead of light

────★ ˙🌹 You stomp once and the ground answers beneath you. Stone loosens, not shattering but listening, the solid surface giving way into fine, obedient sand that spills outward in a perfect circle around you

────★ ˙🌹 You don’t rush it. You let the vibrations settle, let the sand tell you where it wants to go. Your hands sweep through the air and the grains follow, lifting, spiraling, shaping themselves into low walls and ridges. Behind you, Riddle inhales sharply smiling softly watching you even if you can't see it he felt proud and well you felt it

────★ ˙🌹 “You converted compact stone into sand without destabilizing the foundation,” he says carefully. “That degree of control is… exceptional.” You turn your head toward him, smirking. “That’s a long way of saying ‘wow.’” “…I do not say ‘wow.’” “But you’re thinking it.” Riddle huffed “…Yes.” You laugh, and the sound makes his shoulders relax just a little

────★ ˙🌹 As the sand settles, you wobble just barely. The effort always leaves a faint aftershock in your legs before you can even register it, Riddle is there one steady hand at your elbow, grounding, warm “I’ve got you,” he says, low and immediate you steady yourself with a breath. “I didn’t fall.” “I know,” he replies at once. “I simply… anticipated the possibility.”

────★ ˙🌹 You tilted your head. “Papa.” “…Yes?” “You’re hovering again.” you snicker feeling him let out a small erk sound

────★ ˙🌹 His fingers twitch, then deliberately loosen. He steps back but only half a pace, close enough that you can still feel his presence like a constant landmark in the earth “Apologies,” he murmurs. “I’m working on it.”

────★ ˙🌹 You reach out, pat his sleeve, leaving a dusting of sand behind. “You’re doing fine.” That earns you a huff of disbelief. “I doubt that.” Training ends not with a command, but with Riddle kneeling beside you, producing a neatly folded cloth from his coat pocket

────★ ˙🌹 You recognize the feeling instantly as you lift a brow. “You carry that just for me, don’t you?” “It’s practical,” he says stiffly. “Sand causes skin irritation if left unattended.”

────★ ˙🌹 He gently wipes your hands, then your feet careful, precise, always asking before he touches sensitive areas. He never assumes. Never rushes. When he’s finished, he presses a small object into your palm your hands moved to feel it as you hear small chimes. A bell

────★ ˙🌹 “So you can hear me when I move too quietly,” you say pouting “Yes,” Riddle confirms. “And so others will hear you as well. It’s… regrettable how often people forget to announce themselves.” You curl your fingers around it “…You think of everything.” He hesitates. Then reaches out and adjusts the ribbon in your hair just slightly crooked, just the way you like it

────★ ˙🌹 “I do not intend to be my mother,” he says softly. “But I do intend to be present. If the world insists on underestimating you, then it will answer to me.” You lean into him without warning, pressing your forehead against his chest. His heartbeat is steady now. Strong. He stiffens then carefully rests his chin atop your head

────★ ˙🌹 “You are not fragile,” Riddle continues, voice firm but warm. “You are capable. Brilliant. And frighteningly powerful.” A small pause “…However,” he adds, “you are also my child. And it is my privilege to walk beside you not ahead of you.” You smile, grounding yourself in the sound of his voice, the solid reassurance of him there

────★ ˙🌹 “Good,” you say. “Because I hate being led." He exhales, something like a laugh. “…So I’ve noticed.”

────★ ˙🦁 When Leona first held you, he did it like you might explode. Not because you were fragile he could tell immediately you weren’t but because he didn’t trust his own strength. One arm braced under you, the other stiff at your back, ears flattened in concentration. You were warm. Solid. Heavy in a way that grounded him instead of frightening him

────★ ˙🦁 You stopped crying the moment he sat down and pressed his bare foot to the floor “…Huh,” he muttered. “You listen better than most adults.” a giggle came from your tiny body as your chubby finger was held by Leona whos eyes softened for a moment

────★ ˙🦁 The savanna stretches endless beneath your feet. Warm earth, sparse stone, grasses brushing your ankles. You love the feeling the ground vibrating, alive, like it’s telling you stories. Each step carries a pulse, every stomp a language of sand and rock, and Leona is there, quiet, letting you feel it all before he moves you toward more formal lessons

────★ ˙🦁 “You done standing there or what?” he drawls. “The ground’s not gonna introduce itself.” You snort. “Maybe it would if you stopped glaring at it.” “I’m not glaring.” “Yes you are. The sand’s nervous.” "How?" Leona said deadpanned "cause I can see it" "what do you mean you can-" Leona paused seeing you putting your hand in front of your eyes waving it while grinning, there’s a pause. A low click of his tongue. “…Smart mouth.”

────★ ˙🦁 Leona exhales through his nose, tail flicking once. “You’re lucky the sand can’t talk back.” You plant your feet, grin widening. “It is talking back. You just don’t listen.” “Tch. I listen fine. Kings Roar” Leoka raised his hand placing it on a large stone letting it crumble to the ground into sand as it hums beneath you, low and steady, like it’s amused at him “…Great,” Leona mutters. “Now the sand got jokes.”

────★ ˙🦁 He jerks his chin toward the open stretch of savanna. “Show me.” You step forward, barefoot, toes sinking into warm grit. The earth greets you like an old friend, vibrations crawling up your legs, mapping every stone, every root beneath the surface. Leona watches closely, golden eyes narrowed not in judgment, but in focus. Predator stillness “Don’t overdo it,” he adds lazily. “Last thing I need is the ground swallowing my favorite nap spot.”

────★ ˙🦁You roll your shoulders. “You nap everywhere Dad.” “And now I’m gonna nap here,” he says, plopping down onto a rock. “So make it impressive.”

────★ ˙🦁 You stomp once. The savanna answers like a ripple. The sand shivers, then slowly lifts, curling into low ridges around your feet. Stones nudge themselves into neat lines, like the earth is tidying up for you. Leona’s ears twitch. His tail goes still “…Huh,” he murmurs. “Didn’t even crack the surface. Clean work.”

────★ ˙🦁 “Again,” he says, sitting up straighter. “This time, move something heavy. Over there.” He points at a half-buried slab of stone, old and sun-warmed, stubbornly lodged in the earth. You reach out with your senses first. Feel its weight. Its history. The way it’s settled in like it belongs there You frown. “It doesn’t wanna move.” Leona snorts. “Yeah, neither do I. You still drag me up in the mornings.”

────★ ˙🦁 You plant your stance wider, breathe out slow. The earth pushes back at first. Then it listens. The slab shudders. Sand loosens around its edges. With a low groan, the stone lifts just enough to tilt, then settles again, half-freed. Your legs tremble. The effort burns deep, like your bones are buzzing before you can wobble, Leona’s there. Not hovering not grabbing just close enough that his presence anchors you. “Easy,” he says quietly. “You don’t gotta force it. The ground’s stubborn, not stupid.” You steady yourself with a breath. “It felt heavy.” “Yeah,” he replies. “Power usually does.”

────★ ˙🦁He crouches beside you, presses his palm flat to the dirt. You feel it through your feet the faint thrum of his magic, the way he listens to the terrain without bending it to his will “Try asking instead of ordering,” he mutters. “The Savanna doesn’t like being told what to do. Neither do I.”

────★ ˙🦁You try again. Softer this time. Your foot taps once not a stomp, just a greeting. The earth responds with a gentle shift, loosening its grip. The slab slides free, scraping forward a few inches before settling neatly at your feet. No shaking. No backlash. Just cooperation as you grin throwing the stone slab back and using the sand making it shift from walls to pillars before having them drop back to the floor

────★ ˙🦁 The training ends with you flopping down beside him, warm sand sticking to your calves and feet. The savanna hums quietly under you both, content. Leona leans back on his elbows, eyes half-lidded “You did good today,” he says, like it’s nothing. Then, after a beat, softer “…You’re gonna be a problem someday.” "Thanks Dad" you said as you reached out to where he would be "Wrong way kid" "YOU MOVED!" a chuckle came from leona

────★ ˙🐙 When Azul first held you, he did it like you might slip through his fingers. Not because you were fragile he could tell immediately you weren’t but because you were slick with seawater and newborn warmth, small and surprisingly heavy for something so tiny

────★ ˙🐙His grip was careful, practiced from handling contracts and ledgers, not infants. One hand supported your back, the other curled around your side, knuckles stiff with nerves. You were warm. Solid. Real. It grounded him in a way numbers never could

────★ ˙🐙 “You may… begin when ready,” Azul says, cane tapping once against the stone for emphasis. You snort. “You say that like I’m gonna wait for permission.” There’s a pause. “…A fair assessment,” he admits, adjusting his glasses

────★ ˙🐙You set your stance, feet bare against the cold stone. The training hall opens up in your senses, every vibration mapping the space in your mind. Pillars. Walls. Azul’s steady presence just off to your right. Further back, two familiar, lazy signatures leaning against the doorway

────★ ˙🐙 “Ooo, front row seats,” Floyd’s voice lilts. Jade hums thoughtfully. Azul doesn’t turn. “This is a controlled exercise,” he says. “Try not to… encourage structural damage.” “Can’t promise anything,” you grin before stomping the ground causing the stone to ripple outward in a low wave, not shattering, but bending to your will. The surface buckles and rises into a broad ridge in front of you, smooth where you intend it to be, jagged only at the edges. You roll your shoulders, feeling the magic settle into your bones

────★ ˙🐙 “Excellent conversion speed,” he says, pride slipping through his composed tone. “You maintained structural integrity while shifting density. That’s… not easy.” "Hah! watch this" You grinned

────★ ˙🐙You pivot too sharply, riding the wave of magic a little too hard. The floor bucks in response, and the aftershock rattles up your legs. Before you can fully stumble, Azul’s hand finds your wrist, grounding you with a steady flow of mana

────★ ˙🐙 “Don’t overpower it,” he murmurs. “Redirect. The ground isn’t your enemy.” You steady yourself with a huff. “I wasn’t gonna fall. “I know,” he says immediately. “I intercepted the momentum. There’s a difference.”

────★ ˙🐙The stone settles as your magic winds down, the arena growing quiet beneath your feet. The vibrations soften, the floor finally at rest. Azul lingers close not crowding, not pulling away either his presence a steady landmark in your senses

────★ ˙🐙 “You push yourself too hard when you get excited,” he says, not scolding observing. “Your control is improving. Your recovery is what needs work.” You roll your shoulders. “I’m fine.” “I know,” he answers. “You always are. That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve a moment to breathe.”

────★ ˙🐙 He doesn’t touch you this time. Instead, he adjusts his stance so you can feel him clearly through the floor solid, grounded, unshaken. A quiet reminder that you’re not holding the ground alone

────★ ˙🐙 You huff, but the tension eases out of your posture anyway “…You’re annoying when you’re right.” Azul exhales softly, the sound almost a laugh. “I consider that one of my more reliable qualities.”

────★ ˙🐙 “You worry too much.” He exhales softly. “Yes. And you worry far too little. Between us, we achieve something resembling balance.” Jade and Floyd drift past, footsteps light against the stone. Jade offers a small nod. “You’re improving quickly.” Floyd leans down just enough for you to feel the vibration of his grin. “Next time, crack the ceiling.”

────★ ˙🐙 “Absolutely not,” Azul says at once. Then, softer, to you, “You are powerful. Frighteningly so. But power without intent is just noise. Learn to choose how you shape the world.” You take a slow breath, grounding yourself in the steady rhythm of the floor, in the familiar weight of his presence nearby. “Got it.” He hesitates, then places a brief, careful hand atop your head “…I’m proud of you,” he says quietly

────★ ˙🐍 When Jamil first held you, he was tense, staring at you. Not because you seemed fragile, you didn’t. Your cries were sharp, your fists stubbornly clenched, but because he had never held something that wasn’t meant to be managed

────★ ˙🐍 One hand steadied your head, the other firm at your back, posture perfect as if control alone could guarantee safety. Your unfocused eyes didn’t follow the light, and the room had gone quiet at the healer’s words. Jamil hadn’t. He only adjusted his grip, expression calm. “She will adapt,” he said evenly while you squirmed with surprising strength, and something quiet and resolute settled in his chest

────★ ˙🐍 He learned very early that underestimating someone is how you lose control of a situation. And he refuses to ever make that mistake especially with you

────★ ˙🐍 The training courtyard is sun-warmed stone and packed earth, measured and orderly just how Jamil prefers it. You stand barefoot at its center, toes curled slightly into the grit.

────★ ˙🐍 Jamil stands across from you, posture straight, hands clasped behind his back. Kalim lounges beneath the shaded archway with his partner, bright eyes fixed on the scene. He’s smiling soft, fond, entirely unbothered “Isn’t she amazing?” he whispers, nudging Jamil’s shoulder lightly

────★ ˙🐍 Jamil does not look away from you “She has potential,” he replies evenly Kalim beams. “You’re proud.” "...She is my daughter” Jamil corrects

────★ ˙🐍 You rolled your shoulders once, feeling the courtyard map itself beneath your feet. Jamil shifted his weight, testing you. You slapped your hands together in front of you as the ground below answered instantly

────★ ˙🐍 A controlled ripple spread outward in a perfect ring, sand shivering, stone humming as the vibration travelled straight toward him and stopped precisely at the tip of his shoes not a grain displaced beyond that point

────★ ˙🐍 Kalim clapped once, delighted. “That was amazing!” Jamil inclined his head slightly. “Improved radius control.” You grinned. “You didn’t even move.” “I wasn’t required to.” Your grin widened at your father's voice as you pivoted sharply, heel grinding into the stone. A jagged pillar of rock shot upward at his left side a blind angle for anyone who relied on sight

────★ ˙🐍 Jamil moved half a step, that was all. The pillar froze inches from his shoulder “Predictable,” he said calmly “You shifted your weight,” you shot back at your Dad pouting “Yes.” “That’s cheating.” “It’s adaptation.” Kalim laughed softly from the archway. “She really does sound like you.” Jamil exhaled once through his nose but didn’t dignify that with a response

────★ ˙🐍 He stepped forward without warning the pressure changed light, sudden displacement through the air as he leapt. You felt it before he landed your palm slammed down. Stone snapped upward in a curved wall behind you, intercepting the exact point of impact. His foot tapped against it testing as it held

────★ ˙🐍 Dust drifted down in a quiet curtain “Acceptable,” Jamil said You beamed, chest lifting with pride. “You escalate when you’re confident,” he continued evenly. “You use force where precision would suffice.” “The ground listens better when I stomp Dad! come on!" You huffed “It listens more clearly when you do not rush it.” Jamil replied back

────★ ˙🐍 “Try again,” he said. This time, you didn’t stomp. You pressed your heel slowly into the earth The vibration traveled differently. Smoother. Deeper. The stone beneath you rose in a broad, steady platform, lifting you just above the courtyard floor. No cracking. No jagged edges

────★ ˙🐍 Just clean elevation Kalim gasped in quiet delight. “Oh! That’s new!” Jamil looked up at you, eyes sharp, evaluating every tremor. The platform wobbled slightly as your legs trembled from effort

────★ ˙🐍 Jamil merely stepped closer close enough that you could feel him clearly through the ground. Solid. Unshaken. A steady landmark beneath the vibrations “You are not fighting the earth,” he said. “You are negotiating with it.” You steadied your breathing “…It’s stubborn.” “So are you.” You made a up motion with a small sand pillar, hitting your dad's sides. “That’s your fault.” “…Likely.”

────★ ˙🐍 From the archway, Kalim smiled warmly at his advisor. There was pride there not just for you, but for him. “You’re a good teacher,” Kalim said softly. Jamil didn’t answer immediately. You lowered the platform carefully, letting it settle back into place with a muted thud. No cracks. No backlash. Just obedience as the dust settled

────★ ˙🐍 The courtyard returned to stillness “…She is a capable student,” Jamil replied. You turned your face toward him. “Did I do well baba?” “Yes,” he said, voice steady and certain. “You did.”

────★ ˙🐍 Behind him, Kalim’s smile only widened as he watched the two of you as you beamed at your Dad hugging his waist as he hugged you back smiling subtly

────★ ˙🍎👑 Vil never once described you as “unfortunate.” From the moment you were placed in his arms, tiny fingers gripping his sleeve with startling strength, he did not sigh. He did not pity. He did not mourn what you “lacked. Doctors spoke in softened tones. Advisors suggested special accommodations. Tutors recommended gentler instruction. Vil dismissed them all. “My daughter,” he said evenly, adjusting the fall of his hair over his shoulder, “will not be treated as porcelain.”

────★ ˙🍎👑 You were blind since birth and from the moment your feet could press against the floor, you were listening. The estate staff learned quickly not to whisper near marble corridors. You always knew who was approaching. You always knew when someone hesitated before speaking to you

────★ ˙🍎👑 The first time he realizes you can “see” through vibrations? It happens during a public event. Someone tries to sneak up behind him backstage and you tilt your head slightly “Three steps behind you.." Vil doesn’t even turn around. He smiles patting your head “Thank you, my dear.” The man freezes.

────★ ˙🍎👑 Vil connects the dots quickly. Your sensitivity to flooring changes. The way you avoid obstacles without hesitation. The way your bare feet prefer stone, earth, or wood. He commissions training halls with different textures.

────★ ˙🍎👑 The first time you cracked the training floor with a single stomp, the instructors panicked. Vil only said, “Again. But with control.” before you could say anything you could hear his heel click to the floor as a sign to start

────★ ˙🍎👑 You steadied your breathing. Felt the ground. Listened to the tiny shifts in weight around you. When you bent the earth this time, it rose smooth and clean instead of wild “Better,” he said calmly "Ha! Whatcha know I'm-" "Remember to speak properly and clearly" Vil reminded instantly knowing you could sense his side eye

────★ ˙🍎👑 Vil taught you that beauty wasn’t about being seenv“Beauty is precision,” he would remind you. “Power without control is just chaos.” When you sparred, you didn’t rush. You waited. You felt the vibration of your opponent’s stance before they moved. You turned their strength against them with small, exact motions

────★ ˙🍎👑 Every step had purpose. Every strike had intention. He corrected your posture, your breathing, your timing. Not to make you softer, sharper. Even in battle, Vil cared about presentation despite the fact you always fussed and would whine about it (Reminding him too much of Epel)

────★ ˙🍎👑 Your clothes were chosen for movement. Your hair was styled so it wouldn’t distract you. If you preferred fighting barefoot, he allowed it as long as the floor was safe “Chin up,” he would say gently. “Shoulders back. Even if you cannot see them, they will see you.”

────★ ˙🍎👑 It had only been a small thing Vil adjusting your collar, gently reminding you that posture and presentation mattered. However, after a long day of training, dust still clinging to your clothes and the stone cool beneath your bare feet, the words felt heavier than usual

────★ ˙🍎👑 When he began suggesting a neater hairstyle and straighter stance, something in you snapped at Vil “One of the good things about being blind is that I don’t have to worry about my appearance. I don’t need anyone’s approval. I know who I am.”

────★ ˙🍎👑 instead of reprimand, a slow, unmistakable smile touched his lips. There was pride there, quiet but deep. He stepped closer, smoothing your sleeve not to correct you, but simply because he could. “Confidence,” he said evenly, voice softer than before, “is a beauty few ever truly master.” And in that moment, he could not have been more proud that his daughter had learned to stand her ground even against him

────★ ˙🍎👑 After that day, something shifted. Vil did not abandon his love for refinement but he stopped trying to polish you mid-battle

────★ ˙🍎👑 If you wanted to fight with dirt on your hands and your hair loose, so be it. Beauty, he realized, did not have to look pristine

────★ ˙🍎👑 Sometimes it looked like cracked stone and dust clouds. Sometimes it looked like you grinning with scraped knuckles and earth rising wildly at your command, and if fighting “dirty” meant winning intelligently, then he would not restrain you

────★ ˙💀 When Idia held you, the monitors in the S.T.Y.X. medical wing were still softly chiming, sterile lights reflecting faintly off the metallic trim of his coat

────★ ˙💀 He looked wildly out of place there long blue flame-like hair cascading nearly to the floor, yellow eyes too bright, expression caught somewhere between disbelief and fragile wonder. Yet when the nurse placed you into his arms, he didn’t recoil

────★ ˙💀 He laughed. It was breathless. Shaky. Disbelieving. “W-Whoa… she’s so tiny,” he murmured, voice cracking in a way no board meeting had ever forced from him. His hands, more accustomed to holographic keyboards and containment interfaces, adjusted carefully beneath your back and head. Despite the tremor in his fingers, his grip was secure. Protective. Instinctive

────★ ˙💀 Your cry was sharp and stubborn, fists clenched as if already ready to argue with the universe. He grinned, eyes shining. “Okay. Yeah. High stat roll in Strength.” The room quieted when Ortho floated closer, optics scanning gently. His voice, warm but clinical, broke the hush

────★ ˙💀 “Nii-san… ocular response remains unreactive. She is not responding to light stimuli.” For a moment, the silence thickened. The medical staff exchanged careful glances

────★ ˙💀 Idia merely adjusted you closer to his chest, flame hair flickering brighter rather than dimming. His chin lowered until it brushed the crown of your head “…So what?” he said softly, almost offended on your behalf. “Sight is just one input system. We’ll optimize the rest.” Ortho tilted his head. “You are not distressed?”

────★ ˙💀 Idia’s lips curved faintly, stubborn and certain. “I grew up under a hereditary curse and survived an underworld containment breach. I think I can handle parenting on hard mode.” His thumb brushed across your tiny knuckles, which tightened around him reflexively

────★ ˙💀 The S.T.Y.X. headquarters was not designed for toddlers. It was designed for containment. For precision. For catastrophic failures of Overblots, and Phantoms measured and prevented in milliseconds

────★ ˙💀 Yet somehow, within months, it became your territory. By the time you began to crawl, you preferred the reinforced metal corridors over padded nursery flooring. You would pause frequently, palms pressing flat against the cool surface, head tilting slightly as if listening to something deeper than sound

────★ ˙💀 One afternoon, Idia had been pacing a habit he never quite lost during high-stress diagnostics. His boots made almost no audible noise on the treated flooring, and he had not spoken. Yet you changed direction mid-crawl you moved straight toward him without hesitation

────★ ˙💀 You bumped gently into his shin, grabbed the edge of his coat, and looked up at nothing in particular “Papa,” you said confidently, as though correcting him. “You’re walking in circles.” He froze “…Ortho.” “Yes, Nii-san.” “She’s not guessing, right?” “Negative. She is detecting vibrational patterns through conductive flooring. Early seismic mapping adaptation confirmed.” His laugh this time was quieter. Almost reverent. “…She’s cracked the engine.” From that day forward, you refused shoes

────★ ˙💀 As you grew, so did your awareness. You learned the rhythm of the servers humming beneath the earth, the difference between technicians’ steps and guards’ patrol routes, the subtle change in your father’s gait when anxiety crept in

────★ ˙💀 He could not hide from you not truly. You would sit cross-legged on the laboratory floor while he worked, flame-lit screens reflecting in his golden eyes, and without looking at him you would say, “You’re thinking too loud.” “…That’s not how thinking works,” he would mutter automatically. “You’re pacing again.” He would glance down and he was

────★ ˙💀 A slow exhale would leave him, and he would consciously steady his steps. For you. He never mentioned how much that meant

────★ ˙💀 What he had not anticipated was your personality. You spoke to everyone. Technicians, engineers, visiting officials your confidence startled them. You did not wait for assistance. You did not tolerate pity

────★ ˙💀 Once, a junior researcher offered to guide you by the elbow. The ground trembled sharply beneath him just enough to destabilise his balance “I know where I’m standing,” you said flatly

────★ ˙💀 Idia, watching from a distance, exhaled slowly through his nose “…That’s my kid.” and yet, your extroversion remained a constant bewilderment to him

────★ ˙💀 He found you one day enthusiastically explaining vibrational feedback loops to three interns, hands animated, barefoot on polished tile as though it were your personal domain

────★ ˙💀Ortho drifted beside him. “She has initiated social interaction with seventeen new individuals this week.” Idia dragged a hand down his face. “Why is she charismatic. That’s not genetically consistent.” You ran to him moments later and wrapped your arms around his waist without hesitation “Papa! I made friends!”

────★ ˙💀 When you were old enough to demand training not ask, demand Idia did not refuse especially due to the fact you threatened your own father that you would find any sort of piece of earth to use against him

────★ ˙💀 Idia modified an outer courtyard within S.T.Y.X.’s compound, layering compacted stone over reinforced metal plating for maximum vibrational clarity. Ortho created impact sensors. Safety fields remained on standby, invisible but ever-present

────★ ˙💀 The afternoon sun warmed the stone as you stood barefoot at its center, toes curling slightly into grit. Your posture was confident, chin lifted, shoulders rolled once in preparation

────★ ˙💀 Idia stood across from you, hands buried in his coat pockets as though he were merely tolerating this “Reminder,” Ortho chimed pleasantly from the sidelines. “Today’s objective is aerial displacement tracking.” You grinned. “Uncle Ortho talks too much.” “Feedback acknowledged.” Idia sighed. “…I was supposed to have a quiet gamer kid.”

────★ ˙💀 You slammed your heel down. The ground answered. A controlled ripple spread outward in a perfect circle, stone humming beneath the surface as it travelled directly toward him and stopped precisely at the tips of his boots. Not a grain shifted beyond that boundary

────★ ˙💀 Ortho’s optics brightened. “Radius precision improved.” Idia’s eyes narrowed slightly in evaluation. “Not bad.” You beamed. The vibration beneath you vanished for half a second. Your brow furrowed at the sense of displacement

────★ ˙💀 Your hand struck the stone hard. A jagged wall erupted behind you exactly where he would have landed, intercepting his descent in a burst of dust and fractured light. Silence settled. Idia’s boot tapped experimentally against the newly formed barrier

────★ ˙💀 You crossed your arms immediately, chin lifting in offense. “You left the ground. That’s unfair.” Idia stared at you for a long second, golden eyes half-lidded. His flame hair sputtered once, then flared brighter at the tips

────★ ˙💀 “…Unfair?” he echoed flatly. “That’s not ‘unfair,’ that’s basic combat patch notes. Airborne opponents are literally a known boss mechanic.” You scowled. “You disappeared.” “I jumped,” he corrected dryly. “There was a very obvious displacement of mass and airflow. Ten out of ten telegraphed move. You just hesitated.”

────★ ˙💀 You stomped lightly in frustration. “I can’t feel you when you’re off the ground!” “Yes,” he said, as if this were painfully obvious. “Which is why you don’t wait for confirmation. You predict the trajectory. Think three frames ahead.” You huffed. “That’s annoying.”

────★ ˙💀 Idia folded his arms now, long sleeves shifting as embers of blue light trailed lazily down. “Welcome to combat. Enemies do not politely remain within your sensory render distance. They will absolutely exploit your blind spot. That’s not cruelty. That’s strategy.”

────★ ˙💀 A huff came from you as Idia sighed, "I'm going to literally die. This is too much exercise I didn't put that much effort in when it came to P.E" Idia grumbled "I can tell Papa" Ortho snickered at your comment before sighing as you two moved

────★ ˙💀 Your palm pressed flat to the stone, but the response was wrong. It wasn’t the familiar pulse of earth, steady, layered, patient. It was sharper and tighter. Alive in a different way

────★ ˙💀 Beneath the courtyard’s stone tiles, something trembled. Not from the impact of you. Ortho’s voice cut through the air mid-calculation. “Anomalous frequency detected-” The ground shuddered

────★ ˙💀 A thin seam split through the rock, and with a clean metallic shriek, a ribbon of alloy tore upward, gleaming silver in the afternoon light. It curved instinctively precise, controlled intercepting Idia mid-descent

────★ ˙💀 He landed on it eyes wide. Dust drifted through the stunned silence. The metal held him suspended between you, smooth and obedient, not warped or jagged shaped

────★ ˙💀 Ortho’s optics flared brighter. “Direct manipulation of refined alloy confirmed. She is isolating mineral impurities within the structure.” You stood still, fingers barely flexing against the stone

────★ ˙💀 “…It felt different,” you murmured. “But it’s still there. Inside it.” Idia didn’t answer right away. He stepped down slowly as the metal shifted again, curling faintly around your wrist before settling back into the courtyard as if nothing had happened

────★ ˙💀 His golden eyes were wide. His flame hair burned brighter, embers scattering faintly into the air “…You didn’t brute-force that,” he said quietly. “That’s S.T.Y.X.-grade alloy. It resists magic.” You blinked. “So?” Ortho hovered closer. “Statistical probability of this level of control at her current development stage was below one percent.”

────★ ˙💀 A slow grin spread across Idia’s face sharp, stunned, proud “…My daughter,” he muttered, running a hand through his glowing hair, “is a full SSR character.” You frowned slightly. “Is that good?” He crouched in front of you, eyes gleaming

────★ ˙💀 “It’s busted,” he corrected. “You just unlocked a hidden mechanic.” The metal beneath your feet hummed softly, responsive. You tilted your head. “…So I adapted?” Idia let out a quiet, almost breathless laugh “No,” he said, pride slipping unfiltered into his voice. “You escalated.”

────★ ˙🐉 The night you were born, the storms hat once hovered above departed from the sky. Cheers were heard from the people of Briar Valley

────★ ˙🐉 High above the thorn-laced towers of Briar Valley, the clouds coiled in heavy spirals, lightning flickering faintly between them as if even the sky understood that something important had entered the world. Inside the royal chamber, candlelight reflected off black crystal walls and silver embroidery, casting soft gold against dark stone

────★ ˙🐉 Malleus stood at the centre of it all. Tall. Still. Crown set aside and in his arms were you. You were small, wrapped in velvet the colour of deep forest moss, your tiny fingers flexing against the air as if testing it. Your eyes were open, but unfocused, unmoving despite the flicker of light

────★ ˙🐉 The physician’s voice trembled “Your Majesty… the princess was born without sight.” Silence swallowed the room whole. Sebek stiffened so sharply it was a wonder he did not crack. “W-What do you mean without sight?!”

────★ ˙🐉 Silver blinked slowly, expression soft but concerned. Lilia’s crimson eyes sharpened, watching Malleus carefully. Malleus gaze lowered to you. You were not crying. You were not distressed. In fact, your brow was furrowed slightly as though listening before making a loud 'Bah' sound moving your first slightly

────★ ˙🐉 Malleus eyes softened "Without sight,” he repeated quietly “Yes, Your Majesty.” A soft smile reached his lips. It was faint, but unmistakable “She is breathing. Her magic is strong. Her heart is steady.” His voice remained calm, regal, unwavering. “Why should I mourn what she has never possessed?” The physician faltered. “But, Your Majesty-” “She is my heir,” Malleus said simply

────★ ˙🐉 It was clear no one in that room would dare pity you. You tightened your grip around one of his fingers, surprisingly strong for someone so small. Malleus felt it the firmness, the quiet defiance in that tiny hold “You listen,” Lilia murmured with an amused hum. “Sharp little hatchling.”

────★ ˙🐉 Sebek dropped to one knee immediately. “Even without sight, she will be formidable! I swear it upon my life! Briar Valley shall never question her strength!” Silver smiled warmly, swaying slightly as sleep tugged at him. His head dipped for a second before jerking back upright. “…I’ll protect her too.”

────★ ˙🐉 Malleus adjusted you carefully against his chest “My child,” he murmured, brushing his thumb against your cheek, “you will not be hidden.”

────★ ˙🐉 Your childhood was not gentle. Not because Malleus was cruel but because he refused to cage you. Servants tried at first. Soft slippers. Guided hallways. Cushioned corners but you rejected every single one

────★ ˙🐉 The first time the palace floor cracked beneath your bare feet, you were barely five. The courtyard had been warm from the afternoon sun. You had wandered away from your tutors again ignoring their frantic calls. The moment your feet touched stone without obstruction, you stilled

────★ ˙🐉 A vibration, Subtle, and Alive. You stomped experimentally. The grass beneath you rippled, stone shifted into a small, uneven ring around you, responding not to spellwork but to instinct

────★ ˙🐉 Malleus had felt it from three floors above. When he appeared at the balcony overlooking the courtyard, his horns silhouetted against the sky, he saw you standing in the center of disturbed earth barefoot, grinning

────★ ˙🐉 “I can feel it!” you declared proudly. Lilia, leaning lazily against a pillar nearby, laughed. “Feel what, little dragon?” “Everything.” You stomped again. The vibration spread further while Malleus glanced to Lilia "It seems she has discovered her unique magic"

────★ ˙🐉 The earth itself was answering you as you laughed. Malleus descended in a blink of green light. The ground quieted immediately under his presence, but you turned your head toward him without hesitation “You’re three steps to the left,” you said smugly while Malleus laughed softly

────★ ˙🐉Tutors were assigned regardless. Geomancers. Rune scholars. Professors who specialise in blot control. You despised every single lesson held indoors. “They’re boring,” you muttered one afternoon, arms crossed as another lecture droned on about structured spellcasting. “The ground teaches better.”

────★ ˙🐉 By lunch, you had escaped. A distant crash echoed from the training fields. Sebek flinched. “…She has skipped her studies.” Silver glanced toward the noise with a knowing smile. “…She’s practicing.”

────★ ˙🐉 Sure enough, when they arrived, you were in the middle of the field dirt coating your ankles, hair windswept, laughing as pillars of stone rose and fell around you like obedient soldiers

────★ ˙🐉 You moved differently than any mage in Briar Valley Rolling. Pushing off the ground with one hand. Flipping to regain balance when vibrations shifted too quickly. You were light on your feet for someone who relied on them so heavily

────★ ˙🐉 When Silver sparred with you gently, you sensed the moment his foot pressed too hard before a swing. You ducked. The earth bucked upward and knocked him clean off balance

────★ ˙🐉 He landed on his back with a soft thud. You hurried over instantly. “You okay?” Silver blinked up at you, smiling warmly. “Yeah… I’m okay.” Sebek insisted on formal drills. You mocked his heavy stomping every time “You breathe louder when you’re nervous,” you informed him once during sparring. He nearly combusted.

────★ ˙🐉 Lilia tested you with disappearing tricks, sudden feints, erratic movements. Each time you adapted faster, but it was Malleus who challenged you most

────★ ˙🐉 The first time he disrupted your connection intentionally, you nearly fell. Night covered the valley in violet and blue. The training field was quiet except for the hum of distant insects “Again,” Malleus instructed as you stomped stone surged forward

────★ ˙🐉 He countered not to overpower but to distort the vibrations beneath you. A subtle magical interference. Suddenly the ground felt wrong blurry as you winced

────★ ˙🐉 You wobbled, frustration flashing across your face. Malleus’ voice remained steady. “The earth is not your only sense.” You steadied your breathing. Wind brushed against your cheek "Dad" You muttered wincing "Just breathe" A soft breath escaped you

────★ ˙🐉 The next wave of stone curved perfectly to intercept where he moved "Again. But be faster I was quicker at your age" "DAD!" Malleus snickered knowing the earful he was going to get from his wife for teasing their daughter

────★ ˙🐉 Malleus sighed often when tutors complained about your absences. He pretended mild disappointment when you tracked dirt into council chambers

────★ ˙🐉 He maintained composure when you loudly belched at a diplomatic banquet just to hear Sebek nearly faint but every time he watched you train barefoot, stubborn, laughing as the earth bent willingly around you his chest swelled with pride

────★ ˙🐉 Because you were not fragile. You were adapting, and able to feel free

────★ ˙🐉 One evening, as the sun dipped behind Briar Valley’s thorned skyline, you sat beside him on the palace balcony “Father?” “Yes.” “You’re not disappointed?” The question lingered between you

────★ ˙🐉 “That I’m blind,” you clarified quietly. Malleus turned fully toward you. The fading light reflected faintly in your unfocused eyes but you tilted your head toward him perfectly

────★ ˙🐉 He knelt before you, placing one clawed hand gently atop your head “My child,” he said softly, “you were born extraordinary.” You shifted slightly, listening. “You do not lack sight,” he continued. “You perceive the world in ways others cannot even imagine.” Below, the earth hummed faintly under your feet

────★ ˙🐉 “And Briar Valley,” Malleus said with quiet certainty, “will one day understand that its future ruler does not need eyes to see.” You grinned leaning your head onto his side as he looked ahead to the sky