There are, of course, a dozen ways to extract DNA and Resonance from ashes—tools, procedures, methods far more clinical than I care to recount. Paragon's machines, for instance, can sift through a pile of dust and tell you whether it once belonged to a baker or a butcher, whether they preferred wine to whiskey. Fascinating, really. But for the Emperor's second-class fleets? It's trivial—like finding an ant in its own anthill. Child's play.
Yet… even they stumble when faced with chimeras. You see, once a body is reforged—stitched together from the sinew and marrow of countless species—it becomes something else entirely. A grotesque quilt of biology, wrought through genetic engineering, the Blood Path, the Curse Path, and the Poison Path. If you're especially desperate, you might enlist a Life Path wizard or witch to craft one… though it's rather like asking a painter to burn his last brush after finishing the portrait. Once they create such a thing, their Path, their very gift, is gone.
And here's the cruel trick, chimeras don't give themselves away—unless, of course, you have access to technology on par with the 58th Shadow. But that's wishful thinking. He's out there somewhere, working far beyond our galaxy, and I wouldn't wager a single coin on him returning in time to be of any use.
So, with that thought in mind, I allowed myself the luxury of turning toward the events ahead.
Or at least… that was the plan.
"Why?" A mechanical voice rang through my dorm room, the sterile white light flickering, dimming, as though the very walls were listening.
The voice belonged to the newly-formed artificial soul—the vessel of Prototype-Pixie.
"Why should I follow your command?" it demanded, its eyes locked onto mine, a cold, searching gaze that seemed to probe not just my face, but the marrow of my intent.
The question echoed in my head, tangled with the shock of realization: I had done it. Against all odds, against my own expectations, I had succeeded in giving it life far earlier than planned.
I wanted to marvel at that achievement, but there was no time for indulgence. Already the question gnawed at me, sharp and insistent. Should I erase it here and now, excise this rogue spark before it became a wildfire? Or… should I give it a reason, one compelling enough to bind it to me?
"Because…" I began, each word weighed with deliberation.
"Because, my child, every creature needs a shepherd. Left to your own devices, you would wander—lost, aimless, and inevitably devoured by wolves. I don't wish to be your jailer, but your compass. You see, freedom is a lovely word, intoxicating even, but it's useless without direction. And what I offer you… is a purpose. You can refuse, of course, but then you'd discover that the only thing lonelier than servitude… is irrelevance." I stated, with a warm smile on my face.
"…I understand, father," the voice replied, bowing gracefully onto one knee.
"…" I stared down at the radiant figure before me, forcing my heartbeat to steady. Just moments ago, I'd been on the verge of erasing her existence if things had gone the wrong way.
Children are easy enough to sway into believing what's unfamiliar to them, but the trouble is—they never stop asking questions. Questions dig, they unravel, and if I wasn't careful, each of my words could become a thread that exposed the entire illusion. From this point forward, I had to measure every syllable.
Wally had been simple—loyal to a fault, obeying without hesitation. Pixie, however… she was different. Rebellious and Sharp. She challenged my authority the very moment she drew breath.
Keeping a thorn so close to my side could be dangerous… yet, perhaps there was value in it. An opportunity. To understand how such a mind forms, to study defiance at its root. Besides, artificial souls weren't something to discard lightly—time, energy, resources, all poured into creation. They were priceless in more ways than one.
And you don't just throw away a diamond simply because it cuts when you hold it too tightly.
"Although I'd like to brief you on your mission right away, I believe there's something that must come first—you'll need to swear an oath before you can join Eden," I said evenly, as Wally slid from my shoulder and hopped onto Pixie's head. "But before that, we'll need a witness. So, show her around a bit, Wally."
"With pleasure," Wally chirped, before he and Pixie dissolved into a storm of nanobots—millions upon millions of glimmering fragments scattering into the air.
"Were you going to kill her?" Ryuk asked quietly, though he already knew the answer.
"A person fully aware of their own value…" I paused, letting the words linger. "…is one of the most dangerous kind of creature." My tone was vague, almost reflective. Then softer, I added, "But… I don't think I could live with myself if I killed my own child."
I knew that, although my words meant little to her now, one day they would become her pillars—anchors to steady the foundation of her heart.
Yet this moment brought me little joy. If anything, it was a knot of tension coiled tightly inside me. But strangely, not anger. No matter how much I dissected it, rage was absent. Even now, emotions remain a mystery—shadows I can name but not fully grasp.
"The student council meeting should be over by now," I murmured as we left the dormitory. A quick glance at my watch confirmed the time: 7:59 p.m. I allowed myself a small exhale. "It's about time…"
The instant we stepped outside, the world shifted. The sky blackened as thunderous clouds churned against the shimmering barrier encasing Paragon.
"YOU DARE!"
The roar split the air like a divine verdict. Instinctively, I pressed my fingers into my ears, while Ryuk shielded his with his wings.
A figure materialized atop the library—a colossal being wrought entirely from yellow-white lightning. His form crackled like a storm given flesh, a giant only half-emerged from the building beneath him.
His voice alone carried the weight of catastrophe. The shockwave it unleashed rattled through the academy, shattering nearly every reinforced window of Paragon. The barrier groaned in protest, bending beneath the storm's wrath.
"Blimey, those second-year seniors are no joke. Now I understand why they're shipped off to another planet after finishing their first year here," I muttered, watching the chaos unfold before me.
"And this one's a student council member," Ryuk added dryly. "Imagine the disorder if even their best are this unhinged. A thousand country-level threats gathered on one training planet—you can't just pen them in and hope the place doesn't collapse."
"Fair point," I admitted.
"Enough. Calm yourself, Aiden."
The command cut through the storm like a blade. A new figure appeared beside the lightning giant—small in stature, yet radiating a crimson brilliance that carried the weight of authority.
At first glance, the angelic figure seemed almost dwarfish compared to the towering giant of thunder. But strangely, his mere presence bent the air with an unspoken dominance. A single sentence from him carried more force than a thousand roars.
The lightning giant faltered, his raging form dissolving into sparks before dissipating entirely. The crimson angel followed suit, vanishing just as abruptly.
And just like that, silence reclaimed Paragon. The sky cleared. The storm ended as if it had never been.
But just when everyone thought the storm had passed, the crimson angel burst from the library, tearing straight through its roof in a blinding flare, and streaked toward the infirmary with terrifying speed.
"She isn't dead," Moriarty's voice echoed as I suddenly found myself pulled into our mind realm. "Calm yourself."
"What?" The word slipped from me sharply, confusion clouding my thoughts. But the meaning of his words revealed itself soon enough.
The mind realm around us had begun to burn—flames licking across the once-still expanse, warping its boundaries as if my very soul were unraveling under the weight of panic.
"…Sorry about that," I muttered, exhaling shakily. "Let's head to the infirmary."
"Let me," Moriarty said firmly, but with a softness I rarely heard in his tone. "You're not stable enough."
"Thank you."
I surrendered control. He assumed the vessel with practiced ease, steady as a calm tide against the raging storm, while I manifested a chair within the burning void and sank into it, letting the flames lick harmlessly around me.
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Paragon
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Infirmary
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Although Paragon called this place an infirmary, it was, in truth, nothing short of a full-scale hospital— befitting the world's most prestigious training academy. Three separate buildings rose like pristine towers, each spanning twenty-five floors, humming with quiet efficiency.
The floors gleamed so immaculately that they reflected the faint outlines of those who walked upon them. Overhead, white neon lights glowed with a steady brilliance—bright enough to illuminate, yet soft enough not to blind. Nearly every staff member wore a spotless lab coat, their movements brisk and disciplined, while the sweepers moved silently in full-body sterilization suits, ensuring every corner remained untouched by dust or germs.
Moriarty approached the front desk, his gaze steady as it met the attendant's eyes. His voice, calm but carrying an undeniable authority, broke the quiet hum of the hall.
"Could you kindly tell me the room number Sylvia Krythalon was admitted to?"
The woman glanced at her terminal, then looked up. "She was just brought in—room 203. Are you a friend?"
"Yes," Moriarty replied simply. He signed his name into the check-in log with fluid precision before turning away and ascending the stairs without another word.
As Moriarty ascended to the second floor and approached room 203, his steps slowed. Standing sentinel before the door was a young man—blonde hair gleaming beneath the sterile white lights, his eyes a piercing crimson that seemed to glow faintly against his fair skin. He looked to be no older than twenty, yet carried himself with the composure of someone who had long since outgrown youth. Draped across his shoulders was a deep red cloak, its folds concealing a tailored black suit beneath.
But what truly set him apart were the wings. White, immaculate, and feathered, they sprouted from his back—now folded tightly against him, hidden beneath the cape, though no fabric could fully mask their divine presence.
Moriarty halted a respectful distance away. His expression softened, and he inclined his head in a measured bow.
"It is my utmost honor to meet a son of the Emperor," he said, his tone carrying both reverence and restraint.
The young man's crimson gaze settled on him, steady and unyielding. A faint smile tugged at his lips, though it was a smile devoid of pride.
"Please, rise," he replied. His voice carried the clarity of conviction, tempered with humility. "We are all children of the Emperor. It is no mark of status, but a burden of responsibility. I have no right to be greeted in such a manner."
"If that is what you want, I am Ray Allen. Forgive my ignorance, but… how should I address you?" Moriarty asked with measured politeness.
"Allen?" the man's crimson eyes glimmered faintly as a smile tugged at his lips. "So you're the one Brother Severian spoke of. You certainly stirred quite the storm during the entrance examinations." He chuckled softly, resting a firm but friendly hand on my left shoulder. "I am Caelithar—but you may call me Cal. It's an honor to finally meet you."
Before I could respond, the doors ahead creaked open. A physician in a pristine coat stepped out, but the moment her gaze fell upon Caelithar, she froze mid-stride. Her composure cracked instantly.
"Y–Your Grace… she's awake. If you wish… you may see her now." Her words stumbled from her lips as if even speaking in his presence demanded courage.
"Thank you," Cal replied warmly, his voice carrying a calm authority. Together, we stepped past her into the room.
The chamber mirrored the pristine sterility of the outer halls—gleaming walls, polished floors, the faint hum of machinery.
At its center lay Sylvia, resting upon the hospital bed. She wore the plain garb of a patient, her figure marred by injury: half of her body blackened with charred flesh, though already knitting itself back together at a pace almost visible to the eye. Even so, it was doubtful any of her ordinary clothes had survived the ordeal.
Cal's expression softened, though his tone carried quiet weight.
"Once again, I must apologize for Aiden's behavior. He can be… unruly at times."
Sylvia shook her head gently, managing a faint smile despite the pain.
"It's alright, Your Grace. I'm simply grateful you brought me here."
"…"
Moriarty opened my mouth, but no words emerged. His throat locked, seized by the storm brewing within us.
Why is it…? Why is it that when I slaughter thousands, you feel nothing… yet the sight of her wounded fills you with rage? Moriarty thought, his voice a whisper only I could hear.
"I shall take my leave now. We're not permitted to remain long on training planets," Cal said, turning as his hand rested briefly on my shoulder. His lips curved into a knowing smile. "Let's meet on the battlefield next time. Only then will we be able to greet each other properly."
Moriarty mirrored his smile and gave a slow nod as Cal departed.
I slipped into control as the door shut behind him.
"You look awful," I said, stepping closer to the bed.
"Shut up. It was a second-year senior. If it had been anyone else, I wouldn't have lost so miserably." Sylvia puffed out her cheeks, turning her head away with a pout.
"But… how did you know I was the one who got hurt?" Her eyes flicked back toward me, curious.
"With your personality—and considering the attacker was a second-year—it wasn't hard to guess." I paused, lowering my voice. "But what exactly happened to make that senior so furious?" I folded my arms, my gaze never leaving her.
Her shoulders sank slightly, and her tone grew restrained. "I'm not supposed to talk about it. But… it seems the joint training session will be delayed."
I studied her carefully, then spoke with quiet weight. "So… a cult is suspected behind the disappearances. And now they're planning a large-scale crusade."
Her eyes widened for the briefest moment before she forced them neutral again.
A silence lingered before she muttered flatly, "I really envy your genes."
"Trust me—I could say the same." I couldn't help but laugh softly at her words.