The empty air didn't even last a heartbeat.
In the next instant, light burst into existence — a red flame twisting itself into form. Out of that brilliance stepped a woman with hair the color of molten fire, each strand shimmering like living embers. Her crimson pupils gleamed sharply, and a long, curved sword of the same hue rested at her waist. The air itself bent under her presence — this was no mere knight; this was the Red Flame of Origin, the one called Irene.
"It's a surprise you could swallow your pride enough to summon me for help," she said coldly, her voice echoing with restrained power. Her arrival alone made the trees sway, their leaves igniting faintly before dimming again.
"Where is the enemy?" she demanded, her aura flaring.
The sunlight above seemed to bend around her — a mark of her celestial right. As a Knight of Origin, she was allowed to refuse a summoning unless her master faced mortal danger. The summoning Lucian had used was one of Refusal, a last-resort invocation that could only be cast when one's life was at risk.
That was why his hand still rested on the sword — the symbol of invocation and obedience.
"There is none," Lucian said softly, guilt flickering in his golden eyes. He knew Irene's temper, and he knew he had broken an unspoken bond by calling her this way. She had every right to be furious — he had left her behind when he descended through reincarnation, and though it hadn't been his choice, he couldn't explain what truly happened.
Irene folded her arms, her crimson armor glowing faintly. "You're telling me you dragged me here for nothing?"
Lucian winced.
Her eyes narrowed. "Where is your sword?"
That was never a question — it was a warning.
Lucian raised a hand in surrender, a crooked smile on his face. "Relax, woman. Be calm, alright? There's a mortal here."
He gestured toward a small figure sleeping beside him.
Irene followed his gaze — and her expression softened, if only slightly. The little girl lay quietly, her small hands curled near her chest, her cheeks flushed pink from the night air.
"You… had a child?" Irene asked, genuine shock in her tone.
Lucian groaned. "Come on! I haven't even been here a week."
Irene sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Then why summon me, Lucian?"
"For her," he said, nodding toward the girl.
The Red Knight tilted her head. "You called me… to take care of a child?" Her tone dripped with disbelief — and a little disgust.
Lucian chuckled. "I knew you'd say that." Then, more seriously, he added, "No. I want your help… to create a soul — one that can help mortals rise. One that can allow them to remain and become gods."
For the first time, Irene froze. Her pupils contracted, and the space around them trembled faintly.
"You know what that means," she said slowly. "You'll anger the gods. They already hate that immortals can ascend — now you want mortals to have that chance?"
Lucian looked away, his eyes clouded with thought. "The gods want mortals weak. They want them to depend on divine mercy forever. That's not how it should be." He glanced at the sleeping girl again — the small, fragile life that had come to rely on him. "If there's another path, tell me. But I can't just stand by."
Irene studied him silently. Despite her fiery nature, there was a flicker of warmth in her gaze. He had changed — perhaps not in power, but in purpose.
Finally, she sighed. "There is a way," she admitted.
Lucian's eyes lit up. "Really?"
"Yes," Irene said, her voice softening. "The mortals… they have something the gods often overlook — the power of will. Their determination, their resilience, their endless will to survive…"