After a quick breakfast that tasted more like routine than nourishment, Subaru stepped into the training grounds, the crunch of gravel beneath his feet a familiar rhythm.
His eyes still carried traces of sleep, shadows clinging to his lashes, but his mind was alert—sharp, focused, prepared not for swords or fists, but for something far more elusive. This morning wasn't about muscle—it was about will. About control.
The sky above was streaked with muted silver, the sun barely peeking through veils of cloud. The morning mist lingered at the edges of the field, cold and thin, clinging like hesitation. Subaru inhaled slowly. The scent of dew, iron, and old stone grounded him. Every breath was a silent reminder: he was alive. Still here. Still fighting.
With a practiced motion, he summoned Etherfang from his inventory. There was no dramatic flash, no burst of wind—just a soft ripple in the air and a weight settling into his hand, cool and deliberate.
The cold metal trembled slightly in his grip, not from weakness, but from something else—recognition, perhaps. Like a hibernating beast stretching in the presence of its master. The twin daggers gave a faint pulse, like a heartbeat. Like a greeting.
A translucent screen flickered into existence before him:
[Name: Etherfang]
Effects:
-Forged from condensed mana-steel
-Exceptional mana conductivity and storage
-Synergizes with Yin magic
Subaru stared, eyebrows raising. He hadn't expected much, but this—this was different.
"This...isn't an ordinary weapon," he thought. Nothing he'd held before had felt so alive. It wasn't just a weapon. It was a whisper in steel, humming with something deeper than craftsmanship. It was a presence. A partner. Something waiting to be understood.
He swallowed and focused, placing the tip of his intent into the center of his chest. He attempted to channel mana into the blades. Without conscious thought, he sent a current through them. The daggers accepted it without resistance. No clash, no friction—just flow. Their edges glowed blue, lines of mana running like veins through the metal.
The shimmering light cut through the air with a grace that startled him. It wasn't just wielding a weapon—it was dancing with it. Instinctive. A perfect synchronization. Like breathing. Like blinking. Like they had done this before in another life.
Encouraged, he recalled Flugel's cryptic advice, those half-mocking words disguised as instruction: "Yin walks softly, but leaves deep footprints."
Following that lead, Subaru tried adding Yin magic to the mix.
But... When his Yin energy touched the stored mana within Etherfang, the reaction was immediate and catastrophic.
The blades flared. The air screamed.
Suddenly the entire area— was swallowed by thick mist, like some fog-breathing beast had exhaled its lungs upon the world. A Shamak-like haze, dense and cold, engulfed the training grounds. Shadows bent. Shapes twisted. Vision blurred.
And it didn't stop there.
The mist bled out, tendrils of darkness sliding across the lawn and up the mansion walls, wrapping the very heart of Roswaal's estate in an ethereal cocoon.
Subaru staggered back, coughing. His hands trembled.
"Ah... how do I fix this?" he groaned, arms dropping to his sides as he looked around in growing horror. "Damn it... new day, new disaster."
The words tasted bitter. How many times had he said them? How many mornings had begun with promise only to tumble into chaos? A flicker of guilt crossed his features. Another mess. Another misstep. He clenched his fists, Etherfang still warm in his palms.
Then, abruptly— the magical mist began to retreat. No wind. No incantation. Just a strange pull, an unseen hand dragging the fog back into itself. Within moments, the training grounds reemerged, whole. The mansion, unharmed. The chaos, erased.
Silence fell like a curtain.
But Subaru felt it— a presence. A sharp gaze watching him. Judging. Curious. Perpetually unimpressed.
From the upper floor of the mansion. "Perhaps you should stop turning Betty's library into a smokehouse, I suppose!"
That voice—nasal, unmistakably annoyed.
Beatrice.
There, framed in the window like a grumpy portrait, stood the gothic-clad spirit, her golden hair curled like baroque sculpture, her expression as sour as week-old tea.
Subaru sighed. Of course. He knew that voice better than most. The world's smallest (and most perpetually tired) librarian. Her patience for disturbances? Nonexistent.
"Ah, sorry! Things got out of hand while testing magic infusion," he said, offering a sheepish smile. (A sheepish child still holding very real daggers.)
With a soft flick of mana, Beatrice floated down gracefully, her frilled dress billowing slightly as her feet hovered inches above the grass. Regal in her disapproval.
"And who exactly do you think you are, I suppose?" she asked, arms crossed. "What are you doing here? Creating fog machines for fun?"
Subaru could clearly see Beatrice was in her usual prickly mood. But there was something oddly comforting about it—like the sun rising in the east or Roswaal being weird. Predictable.
A mischievous impulse bubbled up inside him—he had to physically resist the urge to pinch her round cheeks.
"I am Natsuki Subaru - Lady Emilia's Bodyguard," he said with a practiced bow, equal parts respect, playful flirtation, and tactical patience.
Beatrice raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "Hmph. At least you know how to greet someone properly, I suppose," she muttered.
"I am Beatrice. The Librarian of the Forbidden Archives."
Subaru's eyes lit up like someone who just discovered a secret passage in a dungeon crawler. A window had cracked open. Now he just needed to crawl through.
"Pleasure to meet you, Beatrice. Mind if I call you Beako?"
The spirit blinked. For just a moment, her carefully constructed walls faltered. Her cheeks flushed the faintest shade of pink.
"I don't care…" she mumbled, turning away. But curiosity betrayed her tone.
"How exactly are you channeling mana into those daggers?"
Her question hung in the air like an invitation—fragile, deliberate. A thread, thin but strong, leading into deeper magic. Deeper understanding. And Subaru, ever the fool, ever the hopeful, took the first step forward.
Subaru had known this would pique her interest. He could see it already in her eyes, the way her brows arched just slightly, her small frame leaning forward with the sharp curiosity of a seasoned scholar.
"Like this," he said, voice steady but heart thrumming, as he reactivated [Mana Blade].
The twin daggers in his hands flared to life. They drank in his energy greedily, not like tools, but like living entities hungry for purpose. Cerulean light poured from their edges, throwing rippling shadows across the room. Ancient arcane runes shimmered faintly along the blades' surfaces, glowing like stars glimpsed beneath water. It was a haunting, otherworldly light—the kind that whispered secrets only those willing to listen could understand. He offered one, hilt-first, to Beatrice.
The tiny librarian accepted it with both hands. For a moment, she only studied it, brow furrowed, mouth slightly parted. The air between them thickened with unspoken tension. Then she narrowed her eyes, squinting deeper into the weapon's structure as if she could peer into the heart of its magic. When she finally attempted to inject her own mana—
The entire reservoir flooded into her at once.
Her eyes went wide, irises gleaming with startled light. A sharp inhale escaped her lips. The dagger shook in her grasp as if reacting to her astonishment. Her small frame trembled slightly.
"Beako? Hey, Beako! You okay?" Subaru's voice cracked under the strain of sudden fear. Panic surged through him like ice water. It gripped him in a way he wasn't used to—not from her. Beatrice was supposed to be unshakeable. Certain.
This wasn't the reaction he'd expected. Beatrice dropped the dagger as if it had seared her skin. She stumbled a step back, staring at her hands. They were the same as they'd always been, but her expression suggested she no longer trusted them.
"My... entire mana capacity just refilled instantaneously..."
Her voice trembled with wonder and unease. It wasn't just a phenomenon—it was an impossibility. A defiance of magical laws she'd spent lifetimes studying.
Then her gaze locked on Subaru. Suspicion danced alongside awe in her eyes. But there was something else there too. Something older. A flicker of fear.
"What are you? And why does this dagger contain enough mana to drown a spirit?!"
Subaru stiffened. That question shouldn't have hurt—but it did. Because he didn't know the answer.
He remembered Flugel. The man's impossible aura. The way he had poured an ocean of power into these daggers with a flick of his hand, as though it were nothing. Subaru had watched, astounded, believing for a moment that he was catching up. That maybe he could stand on equal footing.
But no. All this power… wasn't his. It was a borrowed legacy. Someone else's greatness, cradled in his palms.
He sighed, shoulders sinking. The dagger he had thought a symbol of progress now felt like a monument to his dependence.
"From what I understand, it's made of mana-steel alloy," he said quietly. His voice was calm, measured—but barely concealing the churn beneath.
Beatrice's fingers ghosted along the blade's edge. She didn't flinch now. Her scholar's instinct had returned.
"A single one of these would be worth hundreds of gold coins, I suppose. Not surprising given its storage capacity," she murmured, more to herself than to him.
But Subaru could hear it. The yearning beneath the analysis. The sharp, inquisitive hunger. She wanted to understand it—wanted to take it apart and see what made it impossible.
He raised an eyebrow. "Flugel, do you even have a spending limit?!"
In his old world, this would be sealed away in a museum, reverently displayed behind bulletproof glass, admired but never touched. Here, it was his weapon. His burden.
Beatrice thrust the dagger back at him with more force than necessary. Her eyes narrowed.
"And that shadow mist earlier?" Her voice was sharp. Accusing. But curiosity glittered beneath the surface like sunlight under ice.
"I tried synergizing the blade's mana with Yin magic," Subaru admitted. His voice pitched somewhere between guilt and pride. He half-expected her to scold him.
Beatrice stared at him long and hard. Her expression unreadable. Then, with sudden decision, she extended her tiny hand. "Give me your hand."
Subaru blinked—but obeyed. No hesitation. Their hands met.
Time stalled. The air grew impossibly still, like the world itself was waiting. Even the flickering candles seemed to freeze.
Beatrice's eyes closed.
A jolt raced through Subaru's chest. It wasn't pain—no, it was something deeper. A burning pull, as if threads of his very soul were unraveling and being drawn out, channeled through his veins and into her grasp.
Then it stopped. Beatrice let go.
"You can wield Yin magic, I suppose," she said, voice returned to its usual lecture cadence—but Subaru noticed the change. It was subtle. A softer edge.
Recognition. Maybe even respect.
"Inject minimal mana into the daggers, then allow the Yin to propagate through dispersion," she continued. "Not brute force. Yin is elegant. Subtle. Let it breathe."
Subaru tilted his head. "How do you know all this?"
The tiny spirit puffed her cheeks, a bit of pink blooming on them. "The Great Spirit of Yin need not answer such questions, I suppose!"
But he smiled faintly. Her pride was familiar. And behind it, centuries of wisdom peeked through. Steadying his breath, Subaru took a stance. He focused. He could feel the daggers pulsing in his grip now—not just in response to his mana, but to something deeper.
"Touch the daggers' tips together," Beatrice said, the corners of her lips twitching upward.
"Yin magic cannot remain confined to a single point. It craves diffusion."
Subaru complied. The blades met with a resonant chime. Not loud—but clear. Like a song sung in the language of the stars.
Mana flowed between them now—not as a flood, but as a rhythm. A current he could sense. Direct. Mold.
He closed his eyes. Visualized it. The dark energy, coiled at his center, rising like smoke. It snaked through his veins, curled around his fingers, and slipped into the steel.
For a moment, there was nothing.
Then— Connection.
Something old stirred in response. It did not speak. But it acknowledged him. And that was enough—for now.
His eyes snapped open to see the daggers pulsing with violet-black light, the kind of glow that didn't simply radiate—it beckoned.
The glow mirrored the shadows in his own gaze—not a threat, but an acknowledgment. A resonance. As if the weapons were not just reacting, but responding. A whisper passed between steel and soul.
Yet as he marveled, inky tendrils began creeping up his arms.
These weren't mere markings—they were circuitry. Patterns that danced with eerie grace, spreading like ivy across his skin, intricate as an artisan's etching.
His heart pumped Yin energy through his veins like a living conduit, and the daggers served as release valves. His blood vessels shimmered with mana, the entire system now visible—an exposed network of energy, fragile and magnificent. Until he twitched.
The flow broke. The veins dimmed. The light vanished as though reality reasserted itself.
"So my cursed body uses blood vessels as mana channels," Subaru murmured, the words half-thought and half-confession. The realization settled heavily in his chest, not just a fact, but a verdict. Yet... he accepted it. There was something morbidly poetic in it. His very being had become a spell circle.
"Thanks, Beako! Couldn't have done it without you." His grin held genuine gratitude—perhaps his first unguarded smile in this world. His voice carried a spark of boyish warmth, cracking through his usual guarded shell. For a moment, he was just a boy with a breakthrough, not a survivor with scars.
"Hmph. A trivial matter for Betty, I suppose." She turned to leave, but her parting words carried playful menace: "Turn my library into a shadowy haze again, and Betty will not forgive you, I suppose."
Subaru chuckled. "Such a tsundere."
For once, his eyes sparkled without weight. For once, the burden slipped from his shoulders and left behind something close to peace.
As he resumed training, the system chimed:
[Ding!!]
Mana Blade: 90%
Advanced Dagger Techniques: 90%
Phantom Drift: 50%
Evening had fallen.
Shadows stretched across the ground, long and spindly. The golden hues of sunset bled into dusk, tinting the world with melancholic color. The cool wind brushed his sweat-soaked shirt as night began creeping in.
After a day of relentless training, Subaru could now channel mana through his daggers with surgical precision. Each stroke of the blade left afterimages of mana in the air. He could feel the weapons breathe with him, pulse with him. Each motion felt like memory. Like he was recalling an instinct forgotten across lifetimes.
"Magic infusion can wait," he thought, admiring the blades that had become extensions of his very being—bridges between his shadowed past and uncertain future. Between weakness and growth. Between fear and defiance.
This was only the beginning.
He stepped into the mansion, only to be met with... Silence.
Not peaceful quiet, but absence. The grand halls stood hollow, every opened door revealing empty rooms. The lively fortress had turned to stone. Chandeliers swung slightly as if recently disturbed, but no sound followed.
"This is... unsettling." Only his footsteps and heartbeat echoed back at him. He could almost hear the mansion breathing in the stillness—a deep, uncertain inhale. The walls felt heavier than usual, as if they too missed something vital.
Then he remembered—
The Forbidden Library.
Beatrice should be there. But finding it was never simple. The doorway moved, hidden by layers of magic. Yet it left traces—thick, tangible mana that called to those who knew how to listen.
Subaru wandered the corridors, fingers brushing walls as he tuned his senses. Soft vibrations. Whispers. The faint taste of mana in the air. Until—
There. One door pulsed faintly, its frame humming with invisible energy. Like a heartbeat behind ancient wood.
He entered without knocking. "Unauthorized entry into Betty's library is forbidden, I suppose... cursed one."
Beatrice's voice cut through the dim light, her nose still buried in a book, her tone as flat as the page she read from. The only illumination came from floating candle orbs, casting dancing shadows along towering bookshelves.
Subaru closed the door with exaggerated care. "First—hello, Beako! Second, you could just call me Subaru. 'Cursed one' sounds so... Weird."
Blue eyes flicked up dismissively. "Betty will address you as she pleases, I suppose."
Despite her frosty tone, Subaru found her presence oddly comforting. At least someone was predictable in this world. Beatrice never changed—not in posture, not in pride.
"Beako, where is everyone? The mansion's like a ghost town."
Without looking up, Beatrice recited: "The clown and the half-elf departed at dawn for royal negotiations in the capital. The twins followed at noon to assist."
"A political summit..." Subaru's stomach tightened. They're gathering allies without me. A familiar, biting loneliness wrapped around his ribs.
"Thanks for the intel, Beako." He turned to leave— "The half-elf left you this, I suppose."
A sealed letter materialized in Beatrice's outstretched hand, pulsing faintly with protective magic.
Subaru spun so fast he nearly tripped. His fingers trembled as he accepted it, instantly recognizing the delicate handwriting along the edges—
Emilia's.
The wax seal shimmered under the candlelight. A single snowflake engraved into red wax. He hadn't even opened it, yet his heart raced.
A gust of wind expelled him from the library before he could react. The door clicked shut with finality, a silent decree that Beatrice was done for the evening.
Alone in his room, Subaru collapsed onto the bed, clutching the letter like sacred text. Moonlight through the window illuminated two words pressed into the wax seal:
[Open Me]
And he did not. Not yet. Instead, he lay there, letter against his chest, wondering if he'd ever be truly ready for anything this world gave him—message, miracle, or monster.
Subaru carefully unfolded the parchment, the old paper sighing beneath his fingers. As he traced the flowing ink with a trembling hand, it felt like Emilia's voice curled off the page itself—whispering to him as if she were there, just behind him, breathing in his ear like a snowflake melting against his skin.
"Dear Subaru,
Last night, Roswaal suggested meeting with certain nobles to gather support for the upcoming royal selection. I agreed—though you know better than anyone how coldly the capital treats a half-elf like me. Still, I must go.
I wanted you by my side... but Roswaal convinced me your training shouldn't be interrupted so soon. When Puck and I came to your room at dawn, you were sleeping so deeply I couldn't bear to wake you.
We'll return by tomorrow morning. Until then—take care, Subaru."
-Emilia~
The parchment trembled in his grip, as if reacting to the whirlwind of emotions crashing through his chest.
Frustration—at Roswaal's manipulation, so artfully disguised as concern. Longing—knowing Emilia had stood by his bed, had looked down at him while he slept, had hesitated. Warmth—realizing she'd thought of him in the quiet moments before her departure.
"She thought of me..." His voice was barely audible, hoarse with emotion. He pressed the letter to his chest, as though he could press it through skin and bone, straight into his heart. The scent of frozen lilies clung to the parchment—her scent, unmistakable, delicate, and ephemeral.
He whispered, almost reverently, "Thank you, Mili."
The words felt heavier than they should have. Like a promise, or maybe a prayer.
He sat in silence, the world narrowed down to just himself and her lingering presence. He read her words again. And again. Her handwriting curved in familiar patterns, each letter a small intimacy.
Finally, with almost painful care, he folded the letter back along its original creases and placed it gently on the nightstand beside his bed, where it might catch the morning light.
Exhaustion hit like a hammer, but sleep didn't come easily. His body ached from training, yet his mind spun with crystalline clarity—too sharp to ignore.
Roswaal's scheming. The daggers' strange symbiosis with his mana. The flicker in Beatrice's eyes when she'd spoken of the "Great Spirit of Yin."
He stared at the ceiling, where shadow and light swirled. The darkness outside felt unusually heavy tonight—as if something unseen was watching.
Eventually, slowly, he drifted into sleep. But it wasn't peaceful. It was deep. And it was being observed.
Meanwhile – The Forbidden Library
Beatrice's small fingers hovered over the pages of an ancient tome. The air around her thrummed faintly, humming with dormant spells that pulsed from the very wood of the towering shelves.
But tonight, she wasn't reading. Her eyes were open, but they were staring inward—into memory.
"Mother… Echidna, the Witch of Greed."
She spoke the name like a curse and a prayer all at once. Her sapphire eyes narrowed to slits. Behind those eyes, something flickered—
A memory: white hair flowing like snow under moonlight. Tea steaming between pale hands. A voice, warm and cold all at once:
"Will you wait for 'That person,' for me, Betty?" The tome slammed shut with a magical clap that sent a ripple through the air. Beatrice's breath shook.
Some contracts, no matter how sacred, were like thorns embedded too deep.
400 Years Ago
The Forbidden Library was different back then. It breathed. Light from enchanted sconces shimmered gently against marble floors. The air smelled of parchment and blooming soul-flowers.
Echidna stood tall, elegant, and remote. Her smile was refined—yet brittle. It belonged to someone who had given everything and still expected to lose more.
"Betty, my dear daughter… I entrust this Forbidden Library to you." Her voice barely trembled, but Beatrice heard the sorrow stitched into each syllable. It wasn't just a command. It was a goodbye.
"Your duty is to protect it… and to wait for 'that person.' Guard all knowledge here until they arrive."
Little Beatrice trembled. Her hands curled into small fists. Her voice cracked, high and panicked.
"Mother… don't leave Betty! Why must Betty wait for someone she doesn't even know? Why must Betty be alone?!"
The words spilled out in a torrent. Desperation. Confusion. Fear.
Echidna knelt, brushing golden curls behind Beatrice's ear with hands that had already begun to tremble. "Because… no one else can fulfill this duty, Betty." A whisper now. "When the time comes… you'll understand."
With a soft flourish, a book materialized in her hand. Its cover was blacker than night, yet shimmered faintly—like it remembered the stars.
"This… is mother's." Her smile didn't reach her eyes. It was a mask. A farewell.
She turned to go. The door creaked open on magic older than nations. "Until we meet again… take care, My dear Betty."
The door closed behind her. Beatrice's world collapsed into silence. And thus began her four centuries of waiting.
(A/N: Yes, it's a bit too sentimental—but then again, so is she.)
Present Day
Beatrice sat in the same library—timeless now, untouched by sun or moon. Her fingers rested on the black book.
Dustless. Untouched by time. Like her heart. She opened it slowly, reverently. The first page stared back at her, unchanged for centuries:
"Wait for that person."
A single tear traced a slow, deliberate path down her cheek. She didn't brush it away.
That tear was a relic too. Not of weakness—but of memory. And the agony of still hoping after all this time.
Morning
"Subaru-kun, please wake up."
Rem's soft voice reached through the fog of sleep, brushing against Subaru's mind like a distant melody. He stirred, eyelids fluttering rebelliously, his body sluggish and unwilling to abandon the warm cocoon of blankets. Consciousness clawed at him, but he clung to the last remnants of rest like a drowning man to driftwood.
"If you don't wake, I'll have to inform Onee-sama."
The threat was gentle, but it struck with surgical precision. Subaru jolted upright as if electrified, fear tearing through the haze of sleep. His body moved before his brain caught up.
"Mornin', Rem... When'd you get back?" he croaked, rubbing his eyes. His voice was thick with sleep, but the alertness in his gaze betrayed a survivor's instinct—an edge honed by too many mornings that began in worse ways.
"Good morning. We arrived shortly ago," Rem answered, her tone polite as ever, but her eyes lingered on him with concern that reached deeper than words.
Subaru blinked blearily, his mind catching up with the world. One question cut through the fog like a blade.
"Where's Emilia?"
"Likely in her room—" Rem didn't get to finish. Subaru had already flung his sheets aside and lunged for the closet. In one fluid motion, he grabbed his signature tracksuit, barely noticing her standing there. With single-minded urgency, he peeled off his shirt—
—and only then remembered he wasn't alone.
Rem's reaction was instant. She spun around, crimson blooming across her cheeks, but duty anchored her to the room. Her posture stiffened, hands clasped behind her back.
Subaru paused for a split second, brain screaming, but the optimal play crystallized quickly: pretend nothing happened.
"Let's head down together, Rem."
She nodded, face still turned away, but the faintest curve of a smile tugged at her lips. In her quiet footsteps beside him, there was a shared understanding—silent, sincere.
The two descended the grand staircase of the mansion together. The halls echoed with their footfalls, but the moment of fragile peace shattered the instant they reached the main floor.
"Oh, Subaru-kuuun~"
Roswaal's unmistakable voice slithered through the corridor, oily and mocking. The air thickened. His garish clown makeup was a grotesque sight in the gentle morning light, his flamboyance somehow more sinister in the quiet of the house.
"Morning, Roswaal," Subaru replied curtly. His face was unreadable, mask slipping into place. "Is Emilia in her room?"
Roswaal bowed with exaggerated flair, as though performing for an invisible audience. His mismatched eyes gleamed with that ever-present mischief Subaru had come to loathe.
"Emilia-sama is indeed in her room~. You might want to comfort her – she seemed rather down after our return from the capital~."
Rather down?
Subaru's hands curled into fists. Anger simmered beneath his skin, his blood pulsing with quiet wrath. He wanted to confront every noble who had dared tarnish her name. He wanted to wipe the smirk off Roswaal's face with his fist. But he said nothing.
He turned away and stormed down the corridor, each step carrying him closer to her. He knocked lightly before easing open the door to her room.
What he saw made his heart lurch.
Emilia sat curled in the far corner of the room, knees hugged tightly to her chest. Her silver hair hung loose, a tangled veil over her face. Her shoulders trembled with quiet sobs, each movement fragile as glass.
Puck hovered beside her, his tiny body dimmed and dulled, his once-bright aura subdued. The playful spirit was silent, hovering like a broken guardian, his usual warmth nowhere to be found.
Subaru stepped closer, each movement careful and deliberate.
Puck met his eyes.
Without a word, Subaru extended his hands, gently cupping the weakened spirit. He knelt beside Emilia, running his fingers tenderly over her hair like a warm blanket. Then, wordlessly, he stood and walked out of the room, carrying Puck with him.
Some conversations needed to happen outside her ears.
In the hallway, Subaru's voice dropped to a sharp whisper. "Alright, oh mighty magical cat," he said, sarcasm barely concealing the fire in his chest. "Start talking."
Puck sighed, his body barely aglow.
"The journey was meant to bring her allies. You know that. But the capital... they didn't see her. They saw a reflection. A shadow. Some nobles called her the Witch of Envy outright. Others whispered slurs about her heritage—half-blood, cursed, less-than."
His voice cracked with pain. "It broke something in her, Subaru. She tried to stay strong, but every word was another dagger. And I... I could do nothing."
Subaru clenched his jaw. His heart thudded with fury, but he forced his voice calm. "There's more, isn't there."
Puck nodded gravely. "Her emotional state—it's disrupted my connection to the leylines. I haven't been able to absorb mana for days. I'm starving. You know what that means for a contracted spirit. If this goes on, I'll fade."
Subaru didn't hesitate.
He summoned Etherfang into his hand, the dagger pulsing with condensed mana. The blade shimmered with shadow-light, vibrating softly.
He held it out, hilt-first. "Use this. Draw as much as you need. Beako can help you stabilize the transfer later. Just... take it."
Puck blinked, stunned. "You've learned to imbue weapons already? Hah... I should've expected no less from the man who fought Elsa and lived."
A faint echo of his old smirk tugged at his lips. "Thank you. You've done more for Lia than you know. You may speak with her now—just... be gentle with my daughter."
Subaru nodded.
As Puck floated away, faintly revitalized, Subaru pressed a hand to his chest, grounding himself.
Then he turned...
And stepped back into Emilia's room.
(A/N: let's make a deal. Give me your Power Stones. Get new chapter)