The oracle.
The moment Abel Senuart had read its contents eight years ago, he had been certain.
It was aimed at him. There was no doubt.
He couldn’t have been anything but certain.
There was no one else who could throw the Declair Empire into chaos and ultimately lead it down the path of ruin. No one but him.
And he had no intention of letting anyone else steal that role from him.
Abel Senuart turned the events of the past over carefully in his mind.
“The true prince returned, and the temple lost the sacred beast with embarrassing speed. And my staff disappeared on top of that…”
Somewhere along the way, his plans had begun to slip — one small deviation at a time.
He had worked to manipulate the Empress into eliminating the four great ducal houses that stood as pillars of the Declair Empire, but…
That scheme, too, had collapsed before it even began.
He had been methodically fabricating evidence that House Arachrene was preparing for treason, when the Arachrene family abruptly withdrew every last soldier stationed at the border.
After that, everything continued to unravel.
It started when Ian — the spy he had planted within House Arachrene — was finally caught and his signals went dark. From that point on, nothing had gone right.
Who could have known Ian would develop feelings for his own blood.
That, in particular, had been something he hadn’t anticipated.
A deal had been struck with what Ian wanted as the price, and Ian had successfully seduced the Empress as agreed — but afterward, the man had grown unreasonably attached to his own kin. To the point of seeing the children he encountered on the streets as reflections of his own family.
And in the end, hadn’t it reached a stage where Ian had stopped carrying out Abel’s orders properly?
Ian was most useful when it came to extracting information about House Arachrene.
It was simply a waste that he could no longer be used.
“All the time I spent building a useful piece for this game…”
And yet the board that Abel Senuart had so carefully arranged was now showing signs of trying to return to its rightful order.
He scowled, irritation creasing his face.
“Haa. If the moment has come where I must stand against Rafella…”
He murmured the words, reclining against the sofa with his head tipped back.
In truth, from the moment Abel Senuart had chosen immortality, he had already been standing against the goddess. Immortality was one of the sins mortals were never meant to claim. To draw near to the divine was forbidden.
“Riersha Arachrene.”
The name left his lips — awkward in cadence, yet fluid in its passage.
“Yes. That was certainly the name.”
The one who had been disrupting his plans.
Finding that particular existence hadn’t been difficult. There was one family that had captured his attention first and foremost.
He had scattered the members of House Arachrene to the four winds, and yet…
That child had called them all back.
“So you are the child of Rafella — the one who will restore everything to its proper place.”
For the first time in a very long while, Abel Senuart broke into a laugh touched with genuine delight.
⁂
House Arachrene, the Ducal Estate.
Riersha returned with Aska at her side, her head held high and her stride confident.
“…Welcome home, Riersha. Your expression is rather bright.”
Arcmund had come to the entrance of the manor to receive her, yet his face wore a peculiar look.
He was enormously relieved to see his granddaughter home safe — but the sight of that proud, triumphant face sent a rapid wave of unease through him, and yet somehow that very sight made him want to smile. It was an utterly bewildering expression to find on one’s own face.
He had fully expected her to return crestfallen, without the Mark of Calling in hand…
What on earth has happened?
Arcmund shot a swift glance toward Aska.
Aska replied with a look that said, I haven’t the faintest idea either, then quietly drew close to Arcmund and began to report.
“On the way home, she seemed to have worked up quite an appetite — she ate two full bowls at a restaurant along the road.”
“That happy, is she?”
“Yes, sir.”
“…That can’t be right.”
Arcmund stared uneasily in Riersha’s direction.
There she was — Riersha, her face bright and dewy, beaming with a radiant smile.
“Welcome back, Riersha. That expression of yours tells me the test went well.”
“Of couwse it did, Risideon oppa.”
“Where did you go for this test, anyway?”
Riscal slipped in a curious question of his own.
“What kind of test was it that had both Grandfather and Father waiting at the entrance together to meet you?”
“…Why? Is that not allowed?”
Riersha blinked at him with wide eyes, and Ricador gave a small shrug.
“When we came back from our tests, neither of them ever came out to meet us. We always had to go in and present ourselves to Grandfather.”
“Oh, is that so?”
Riersha smiled brightly.
She was smiling, but she was not smiling at all.
The fact that no one had ever gone out to meet an heir returning from a test before — that meant…
They thought I would fail. They came out early to console me.
Without a doubt, they had assumed Riersha would come back teary-eyed and empty-handed, having failed to obtain the Mark of Calling, and had come out of their own guilt to soften the blow.
Two accomplices — and this was the very test they had designed for her.
That was precisely why both Arcmund and Pernoa were watching Riersha with such peculiar expressions.
“Appa.”
“…Yes.”
“Harabuji.”
“Come here, Riersha.”
After surrendering her identification tag, Riersha walked with measured, deliberate steps toward Pernoa — a man she had never once met face to face.
Pernoa seemed caught off guard; the tips of his fingers gave a small, startled twitch.
“I brought back the Mark of Calling.”
“…”
“…”
Silence settled over them.
In the same instant, the faces of both Arcmund and Pernoa went rigid.
The three brothers, on the other hand, were the ones who looked genuinely stunned.
“Riersha — don’t tell me you went to the Forbidden Altar?!”
Ricador’s voice rang out loud and clear from the front of the manor, loud enough to carry.
“…You brought back the Mark of Calling?”
Pernoa’s voice was low and sunken as he fixed his gaze on Riersha.
The atmosphere turned unexpectedly grave. Riscal promptly pressed his hand over Ricador’s mouth before he could say another word.
Arcmund studied Pernoa for a brief moment, then decided to redirect the attention of those gathered.
“For now, since Riersha has returned safely, the rest of you may go. This conversation is likely to take some time… Riersha, come inside with your grandfather.”
⁂
Arcmund’s study.
Riersha sipped her warm cocoa, quietly reading the heavy, subdued atmosphere that had settled over her grandfather and her father.
It seemed that refreshments had been prepared in anticipation of her arrival.
There’s cocoa and a whole spread of desserts. But apart from that…
In the corner of the study, she could see a pile of gift boxes stacked neatly together.
They had clearly prepared all sorts of things to comfort the Riersha they had expected to come home defeated and downcast.
Unfortunately for them, Riersha had returned having passed the test with flying colors.
Sip.
She decided to wait, sipping her cocoa, until one of the two of them broke the silence first.
But neither spoke for a long, long while.
It was undoubtedly because Riersha had said she had brought the Mark of Calling.
The Mark of Calling is nothing extraordinary. It simply means you saw us here, heard our names. In short — if you heard our call, you pass the test.
But it isn’t the Mark itself that has Father angry.
It was something else entirely.
The qualification needed to obtain the Mark of Calling.
The fact that Riersha had met that qualification — that was what seemed to be the true source of Pernoa’s fury.
But I can’t tell Grandfather and Father the full truth.
If she told them everything, the two of them would do everything in their power to stop whatever Riersha was planning to do next — regardless of reason, regardless of circumstance. That much was certain.
Time passed.
How much, she wasn’t sure.
“…You brought back the Mark of Calling.”
“Yes, Appa.”
Pernoa was the first to speak.
His voice was heavy, and deep.
“What was the mark?”
“His Majesty Dillis, the First Emperor. Grand Vizier Valotra. Great Sage Gatran. Knight Commander Pavlan of the Imperial Guard. Duke Arkas.”
“Haa.”
She recited each name without hesitation, one after another, and Pernoa let out a long, heavy sigh.
Once again, the only sound was the steady ticking of the clock.
Arcmund, who had been watching in silence, finally stepped in.
“Riersha. When, exactly, did all of this happen?”
