The first rule of the Code, Grey taught me, was simple, never grow too emotionally attached to anyone.
Now... I think I understand why.
My plan had been to get well-acquainted with Caelithar after meeting him, but after seeing Sylvia's condition, it was hard to think about anything else.
However, dwelling on it would only disrupt my plans—something I could not afford. So, I forced myself to move on.
Above the cloudy platform where we had first welcomed Grunthar—within the dream realm—I sat upon a throne forged from clouds as Pixie swore the new oath I had written after Wally's birth. An oath that every one of my children would swear from this day forward.
One that would bind them—irrevocably—to me and to Eden.
Wally stood upon an elevated dais while Pixie knelt on one knee before him.
"What is your fate?" Wally's voice carried through the mist like a solemn decree.
"My duty is my fate," Pixie answered, and at her words, a luminous string began to coil around her heart.
"What is your purpose?" he asked, his tone steady and unwavering.
"My purpose is to serve Father." The thread shimmered, glowing brighter as it wove tighter around her essence.
"What is your fear?" Wally raised one of his arms.
"My fear is to fail." The thread that encircled Pixie's heart extended outward and fastened itself to Wally's arm.
"And what is your reward?" With his eight arms, he tied a sacred knot in the glowing cord before releasing it toward me.
"My salvation is my reward," Pixie declared as the string anchored itself to Wally—and then to the hand I extended from my throne of clouds.
"Then, from this moment forth," Wally intoned, his voice reverberating like distant thunder, "you who have sworn the oath shall bear a new name, Illya. Illya Allen." With those words, the ritual was sealed.
I rose slightly from my throne, the clouds beneath me swirling as though stirred by unseen winds. "Illya, my daughter," I spoke with measured gravity, "these vows you have uttered have bound us... yet remember this, you are not a mere tool forged for my design. You are now our family. Thus, seek your own path, even as you walk beside mine."
Her eyes lifted to me, glimmering like fragments of starlight. "You mean to say," she asked softly, "that I may defy the plans others lay before me?"
"…If that is the path your soul demands," I answered, though deep within, I prayed such a day would never dawn. My gaze shifted to Wally. "If you will."
"Your first mission, dear sister," Wally declared, his eight arms folding in perfect symmetry, "is to hunt down the traitor, Cooper, who has betrayed Eden, alongside three orcs who conspire with him."
"What are his crimes?" Illya's tone bore no hesitation, only cold curiosity.
"He has loosed vital secrets into the wind," Wally replied, his words carrying the weight of judgment. "His betrayal has dealt grievous harm to Father's grand design, and worse, he has painted us as butchers, casting shadows upon the name of Eden."
"I understand," Illya said simply, her voice firm.
"Then you may go," I said softly, and with a graceful motion, Illya dissolved into the mist, her form unraveling like threads of moonlight until only silence remained.
For a moment, the dream realm was still. Then Wally turned toward me, his many arms folding with mechanical precision.
"Father," he spoke, his voice calm yet laced with unease, "is it truly wise to send her after a traitor?"
I tilted my head, a faint smile tugging at my lips. "Do you think it would be unwise of me?"
"While I do not intend to question your judgment," he said, his tone almost subdued, "she has exhibited… tendencies. Signs of rebellion since the day she was born. I fear that if we entrust her with the task of capturing Cooper, she may—turn against us."
"Wally," I said, my voice low but carrying a strange weight, "do you believe in Fate?"
His head inclined slightly. "I believe in nothing but you, Father. But if you choose to enlighten me…" A flicker of curiosity passed through his usually unwavering tone. "…perhaps I might believe in it as well."
"No, Wally—it is no religion to be worshipped." I let out a quiet laugh, the sound rolling through the mist like a distant echo. My gaze drifted into the infinite expanse of clouds above, as if seeking answers from a sky that had none.
"From birth, every soul carries a story—etched by Time and Fate—a path they follow without ever knowing. But…" My eyes returned to him, sharp and glimmering. "…those who dare to defy that story, those who tear their own script from the hands of Fate—they are the variables."
"The ones we hunt," Wally said, his tone sharpened by understanding. A pause. "Then… how are we any different from them?"
"We aren't," I answered simply, a faint smile curved my lips.
"That is the point, Wally. In the end, the variables are not sinners—they are writers. They choose to write their own destinies." My voice softened, almost mournful. "Your sister is no different. Should the day come when she betrays us… that, too, will be her choice, just as it is now her choice to remain loyal."
"…I will see to it that such a day never comes," Wally murmured, the words barely a breath upon the mist—unaware that, no matter where he stood in the dream realm, I could hear every syllable.
A faint smile curved my lips as his quiet vow reached me.
------------
Ryuk's perspective:
------------
Eastern Seas
------------
District 67
------------
Inside a dimly lit tavern room, five figures huddled around a battered wooden table—two humanoids and three orcs cloaked in shadow.
The orcs wore tattered, dark-brown cloaks that concealed most of their hulking frames. Yet their brutish builds and the curved tusks jutting from beneath their hoods betrayed their lineage.
The man among them cut a lean silhouette, clad in a long, weather-worn trench coat. A striped brown-and-white beanie rested upon his head, barely containing the messy strands of chestnut hair that framed his sharp, black-eyed gaze.
Opposite to him sat the woman. She dressed like a pirate, wearing a broad-brimmed hat on her red hair, a loose white shirt tucked into worn trousers, and boots. Her eyes were the blue and her skin fair.
"We can't… see the future anymore…" one of the orcs rumbled, his voice a low, uneasy growl.
"What?!" The woman shot up from her chair, palms slamming against the table. "What d'you mean by that? You think this is some kind of joke?" Her voice cracked like a whip through the stagnant air.
"Calm down, Iris." The man raised a placating hand, his tone smooth but laced with fatigue. "There's nothing we can do. We've run far enough… so far you could almost call it an achievement."
"Achievement?!" Iris spun on him, her eyes blazing. "You think we can just give up? After all the running we've done?"
"You were the reason I betrayed that monster, and now you tell me to quit?" She jabbed a finger at his chest, voice rising like a storm tide. "I should've known better than to trust you… Cooper."
"…" A glint of anger flashed in Cooper's eyes, but it disappeared an instant later. He calmly removed her hand from his chest and said, "Please, Iris. Don't lose your temper. We need to work together in times like these, not fight each other. And he won't kill us outright—not before hearing us out."
"Easy for you to say," Iris muttered, her voice low and bitter. "You're his subordinate. But me? I'm nothing more than someone he worked with once… just a traitor in his eyes."
Cooper's expression softened, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "The young master is reasonable most of the time. As long as you don't push him too far, you'll be fine."
"Then what do we do now?" one of the orcs finally asked, his deep voice breaking the tense silence.
Cooper leaned back in his chair, his tone calm but firm. "We prepare… for a battle that will capture his interest. That's the only way we survive."