Mirabel did not cease in her questions as we prepared for the day.
She hovered near the doorway as I dressed, watching my movements too closely, listening for pauses, for things I chose not to say.
Her concern was not subtle, nor was it careless.
She had always been perceptive when it came to me, even when she pretended otherwise.
I answered what I could and ignored the rest. Some matters were already decided, and explaining them would only invite resistance.
Eventually, I retreated to my study and closed the doors behind me.
The room smelled of parchment and ink, of old decisions that had long outlived the hands that made them.
It was a familiar scent, one I associated less with comfort than with responsibility.
I spread documents across the desk.
Treaties renegotiated after war. Records of funds lost, then quietly recovered.
Ledgers that traced where blood had been spilled, and where coin had followed shortly after.
This was what remained after conflict. Not glory. Accounting.
The company we had formed to aid in monster hunting had exceeded my expectations.
Contracts were honored.
Bounties paid. Supply lines stabilized and reinforced without attracting undue attention.
It was enough to begin quietly funding my operations, enough to move resources without drawing the eyes of inquisitive nobles.
Power, I had learned, traveled best when it disguised itself as necessity.
There were other concerns.
Borders strained but remained intact. Alliances persisted only because no one wished to test them yet.
Kingdoms watched Anstalionah carefully, waiting to see whether we would overreach or collapse inward.
Peace was never stable. It merely waited.
Strangely, after the dream, all of it felt clearer.
I felt closer to the world itself, as though some invisible distance I had never noticed had quietly vanished.
The systems beneath everything, the quiet rules that governed cause and response, felt nearer to the surface.
Mirabel could still startle me, of course, but not in the way she once had. Not with sudden movement or raised voice. Not anymore.
The most significant change lay in my eyes.
As I scanned the papers before me, the information arrived all at once.
Figures, clauses, omissions, hidden implications. Nothing escaped notice, not even the things intentionally left unsaid.
Understanding still took time. Ordering the information, assigning meaning, weighing consequence. But taking it in was effortless.
What once required an hour of focus now demanded no more than a second.
Cradella's gift.
My gaze lingered on the page as the world remained faintly washed beneath that pale veil, details sharp despite the absence of depth.
It was unsettling. Useful. Dangerous.
Mirabel noticed immediately.
"Nicholas," she said, leaning against the doorway. "Are you sure you're alright? You look even more blind than before."
I waved it off without looking up. "Don't worry. I gained something new. I just haven't decided what to call it yet."
She stepped closer and rested her hands on the edge of the desk.
Her hair slipped forward slightly as she tilted her head, studying me with quiet intensity.
"Well," she said softly, "all that blood was frightening."
I almost laughed.
She had nearly brought ruin to the world not long ago, and yet this unsettled her.
Perhaps it was my expression, or perhaps blood was easier to fear than consequence.
Nicholas may appear gentle. That does not make him kind.
Still, Mirabel had been invaluable. She spoke freely and passed along information without realizing how carefully I listened.
Horia's final ramblings, repeated in fragments, had been especially enlightening.
There were patterns there. Gaps. Warnings hidden beneath nonsense.
Enough to form theories. Enough to be uneasy.
Thinking about the future, however, remained difficult.
Not because it was unclear, but because it demanded movement.
I looked down at the maps spread across my desk, my finger tracing familiar roads before stopping on a name I had already chosen.
Solstice.
A neighboring city. Close enough to matter. Distant enough to breathe.
The capital was no longer where I needed to be.
I closed the ledger and stood, the decision settling firmly into place. Mirabel watched me, already knowing what I was about to say.
I met her eyes.
"Mirabel," I said quietly, "you can't come with me."
Before she could protest, I stepped forward and kissed her.
It was not desperate. It was not rushed. Just a single, honest kiss meant to linger.
Her cheeks flushed instantly.
She leapt back on instinct, one hand rising as if to wipe her lips, only to stop halfway, fingers trembling in the air.
"What are you doing?" she demanded. "Don't think buttering me up will work."
I smiled faintly and touched my cheek. "It's a goodbye kiss. Isn't that enough?"
She studied my face then, truly looked at me, and whatever she found there made her expression falter. She turned away.
"Do you not need me?" she asked quietly. "Has my temper truly driven you off?"
I raised a hand at once. "On the contrary. I need you here. I need you to rule in my place."
I paused, choosing my words carefully. "Spread the rumor that I've gone into a deep sleep."
Her head snapped up. "That is—"
"I know," I said lightly. "That excuse again."
It had always been the lie we used when I withdrew from the world, when even lifting my eyelids felt like a burden.
I stepped into the light spilling through the window and let the warmth settle against my neck.
"I am nothing on my own, Mirabel," I said softly. "But with you here, I can afford to be absent."
I extended a hand toward her. "So let me prove that whatever little worth I have can still change something."
Her eyes shimmered. She turned away before the tears could fall.
"Your plan is foolish," she said. "The ambition of a child. Reckless and naïve."
I vaulted lightly over the desk and wrapped my arms around her shoulders from behind.
"That is exactly why it will work."
She exhaled sharply and glanced back at me. "Are you truly certain this method of yours will succeed?"
I puffed my cheeks slightly, feigning confidence. "Don't doubt me. I've seen the way."
I stepped back and spread my hands. "I've seen where power truly gathers, Mirabel. This is the only path left to me."
She shook her head, a tired smile breaking through her worry. "Stop trying to play the jester. It doesn't suit you."
I leaned against the desk. "Regardless, my plan has only one real downside."
She frowned. "And that is?"
I grinned. "People may grow wary of my name."
This world was filled with methods. With paths and hidden frameworks that led toward power.
Some were dark. Some holy. Some so cruel they barely deserved a name.
But power was always there.
As Mirabel let out a long sigh, the haze clinging to my vision thinned, the world sharpening just enough to remind me why I could not stay.
"Alright," she said at last. "I won't try to stop you. Go, then. Run away, if you must."
I nodded.
This plan allowed no mistakes. Only one chance. One intervention, placed at exactly the right moment.
Solstice was the key.
Something terrible was going to happen there. Something no one else saw clearly enough to stop.
Not even Ouroboros.
I had chosen this path the very moment I regressed.
It would be the beginning of something grim.
Something unforgivable.
And perhaps, the end of the vile thing that humanity pretended not to be.
Because in the end, all of us are lambs.
And if we wish to rise above that truth, then we must step willingly into the court of lambs.