Night settled over the academy.
Kael sat at his desk.
"…Lith Family."
The name remained unclear.
"…No records."
That was the problem.
He opened the drawer.
A ring rested inside.
Plain.
Dark.
"…Suspicious."
He examined it carefully.
No markings.
He wore it.
Nothing.
"…Expected."
He gathered mana.
Weak.
Controlled.
Fed a small amount into the ring.
A pulse.
"…There."
He reduced output.
The response stabilized.
"…Not power."
"…Control."
A faint script appeared.
In the air.
"…Old language."
Fragments of memory surfaced.
"…Lith…"
The text formed.
We are not the sword.
We are the record.
Kael's eyes sharpened.
"…Observers."
More words appeared.
We observe.
We remember.
We endure.
"…That's why…"
No records.
They weren't meant to exist publicly.
More text.
Do not be seen.
Do not interfere.
Kael stared.
"…Not happening."
The script shifted.
Then survive.
Silence.
Kael leaned back.
"…That works."
The text faded.
The ring cooled.
Everything returned to normal.
"…So that's my advantage."
Not strength.
Not talent.
Perspective.
Information.
Kael tapped the desk lightly.
"…That's enough."
Because in a world driven by heroes—
The one who understood the story—
Could outlast it.
Kael looked at the ring once more.
"…I'll use this."
Not to become strong.
But to stay alive.
Outside—
The wind moved quietly.
Unnoticed.
Like the Lith Family.
Like Kael.
For now.