“My apologies. We haven’t found them yet.”

The words came softly, respectfully, but Aziel, didn’t need to look back to sense the tension behind them. He stood still in the corridor’s fading light, the air dense with unspoken consequence, and after a moment he offered only the shadow of a smirk, the kind that curled at the edge of his mouth without ever reaching his eyes.

“Let me know when you do,” he said, his voice smooth, unreadable. “I think it’ll be fun.”

“…Understood.”

He didn’t expect sincerity in the reply. He didn’t require it. Family, after all, wasn’t a fixed definition. Some family you protected. Some you endured. And some, you studied from a distance like a knife you kept under glass,beautiful, dangerous and always waiting to be drawn.

He had just begun to turn when Alfred’s voice followed him, composed but edged with intent.

“Your Highness. I know I overstep, but may I make a request?”

The chamberlain stood with the kind of stillness that came from knowing exactly when to speak and how to sound like it wasn’t manipulation. Aziel didn’t respond aloud,he didn’t need to. Silence was permission when it came from him, and Alfred knew it.

“Would it not be best to refrain from inviting Her Majesty the Empress and the young princess for a while?”

The words dropped into the hallway like a subtle tremor, and Aziel turned just enough for his gaze to meet Alfred’s with the kind of quiet that carried weight.

 Not anger. Not a surprise. Just a cold precision.

“You overstep.”

“My apologies.”

“You’ve already had your life spared. Don’t ask for more than that. Do your job.”

“I will keep that in mind.”

The exchange could have ended there, but Aziel didn’t let it settle. His eyes lingered a second longer than necessary, sharp, unreadable, laced with a pressure that said more than words ever could. It wasn’t fury,it was a flicker of the madness that once ruled this palace. The kind that needed no explanation, because everyone already knew what it meant.

Alfred bowed, the gesture deep and exact, and Aziel continued past him without pause… though not without thought.

“Ban any invitations for ten days,” he murmured as he passed, too quiet for anyone else to hear. “Say the madness has returned. They’ll understand.”

He didn’t look back to see Alfred’s reaction, but he could feel it,the brief, stunned pause, followed by the subtle shift of something softer brushing the edges of his mind. Gratitude, maybe. Or the ghost of relief.

Even now, he was still carrying the remnants of his former fate,rebellion, arrogance, pride, cruelty and twisted knots of impulse that flared without warning, pressing against the edges of his restraint. There were moments when he wanted to snap, to burn, to let the old fury tear out from his throat and remind the world what kind of man they thought he was. But he didn’t. Because restraint, in this place, was the only thing that kept him alive.

He knew what Alfred truly was. Understood that behind the bow and the obedience lived a man who answered to no title. And in front of men like that, madness was armor, and control was the only language worth speaking.

[You have devoured the minor fates: Rebelliousness, Self-Righteousness, Arrogance, and Cruelty.]
[A large number of Alteration Points have been gained.]
[Your Small Patience trait has strengthened.]
[Between Familial Betrayal and Affection, future actions will influence the path.]

The system’s whisper was confirmation, but he barely registered it.

[As a result of your actions, a destined assassination attempt has missed its mark.]
[Due to your earlier choice, you have greatly devoured the fate of Familial Betrayal. A large number of Alteration Points have been gained.]
[Fates of related individuals have shifted slightly.]

The words caught him mid-step. Assassination. Missed its mark.

He turned sharply, but Alfred was gone, the corridor empty once more, as if no one had ever been there. The silence that followed wasn’t peace,it was the kind of quiet that settled in just before something breaks.

The air felt wrong. Still. Too still. Even the wind had stopped breathing.

Goosebumps traced his arms, cold and immediate, and he shook them off like water, his steps quickening until he reached his quarters and closed the door behind him with a finality that didn’t echo,it absorbed.

The next day began the same way all days had lately,early, focused, without indulgence. 

Training from before sunrise, breath steady, rhythm intact.

[You have devoured the minor fates: Laziness, Frail Constitution, and Poor Stamina.]
[By virtue of a Lucky Misfortune, your Patience has activated, devouring additional fates.]
[More Alteration Points acquired.]

[Total Alteration Points: 250]

The moment he felt the weight of its crest, he made the choice.

[All Alteration Points invested in Unluck. The Unlucky fate weakens. The activation rate of Lucky Misfortune increases.]

He could have invested in strength, in resilience, in reflex. But those things could be earned with pain and time. Luck,true, but unprovoked luck was something else entirely. It was wild. Unreliable. But when it bent in your favor, it could rewrite endings before they even began.

[Lucky Misfortune activates.]

And almost immediately, the wind howled in. There was a sudden thud-sharp, wet, and unmistakable.

“…Ah?”

“…Mm.”

He blinked, then blinked again, as he realized what had just narrowly missed his face by inches…bird droppings ,not on him, but on the shiny, balding head of a passing attendant.

He didn’t laugh right away. He stared. Stunned. And then the laughter came, unexpected and bright, cracking the surface of his composure like sunlight through frost. Not cruel, not mocking,just genuine, amused disbelief.

The attendant didn’t speak. Just lifted a handkerchief with quiet dignity and wiped it away, his face the color of a bruised plum.

“Permit to access the Archive has been granted,” he muttered stiffly.

Aziel was still catching his breath. “I’ll wash. Eat. Then go.”

“I’ll prepare transport.”

And so, within the hour, the carriage arrived,streamlined, silver-trimmed, powered by mana, and silent as snowfall. No one spoke on the ride. The driver glanced at him through the mirror more than once, but Aziel didn’t respond. He let the silence stretch, let the weight of it settle into the corners.

“We’ve arrived.”

Alfred opened the door, and Aziel stepped down, eyes rising slowly to the sight before him.

The Archive loomed,not like a building, but like a monument to impossible memory. Cubic wings hovered in space, suspended by spellcraft, shifting slightly as though gravity itself had learned to wait.

It still stunned him.

“Magnificent.”

A royal mage stepped forward, offered a bow. “Allow me to guide you. Access has only been granted to the library wing.”

Aziel’s mouth twitched into something too small to be a smile.

“By His Majesty’s order, I presume?”

“Yes,” the mage said, pausing. “Due to… past behavior.”

“Let me guess,” Aziel murmured. “Weapon smuggling. Gem theft. Arcane leaks?”

“Correct,” the mage said. Then hesitated. “Your Highness.”

“Enough,” Alfred interjected.

Aziel’s gaze slid to him. “Why are you here again? Didn’t I leave you behind?”

“As your chamberlain, how could I not accompany you?”

“You’re not just here to keep an eye on me?”

“…Of course not.”

“That pause was too long. That’s another life you owe me.”

“I’ll repay it.”

The mage watched the exchange in confusion, then turned and activated the Archive’s gates.

The sound was deep and slow ‘BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.’…as the floating blocks began to lock into place, forming a staircase of thought, a corridor of power. The library alone held twenty wings, each larger than any single hall in the palace.

“I can accompany you if you wish,” Alfred offered, still standing neatly to the side.

Aziel shook his head. “No. I don’t want to be watched in there, too.”

And with that, he stepped inside.

The magic recognized him without needing proof. He passed through invisible wards as if walking through the edge of a dream. Rows of suspended shelves floated above glass floors, humming faintly with locked knowledge.

Only the library was open, that was fine, but he wasn’t ready for the rest yet anyway.

An hour passed. Then two. Then three, until, at last, his fingers stopped on something.

“…Found it.”

It didn’t look like a book. It shimmered like flame, pulsed like breath, alive with something not entirely of this world. His hand moved without hesitation, drawn not by curiosity, but by memory, the moment he touched it, the fire leapt up.

[You face a power great enough to rewrite your fate. It tries to consume you.]

But he didn’t flinch.

[You’ve wielded this before. You devour the forgotten, discarded fate of this mystery.]

The flame didn’t burn him, he consumed it instead.

A fate once held. Once feared. Once abandoned,but this time, it would not control him.

This time, it would serve.