Ronan stood at the centre of it all, engulfed in bluish-white flames that did not behave like fire should. They did not flicker wildly or consume—they pulsed, slow and deliberate, like breath drawn from something ancient and patient. The light they cast was cold, almost sterile, bleaching the colour from the courtyard stones and stretching long, trembling shadows that seemed reluctant to exist. Even the air felt wrong. It tightened around the lungs, thin and brittle, as if inhaling too deeply might shatter something unseen.
Mordek's pupils shrank to pinpoints.
"This… this looks like Ice Flame." The words slipped out before he could stop them, but they sounded hollow even to his own ears. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, knuckles whitening. A pressure settled over him—no, pressed into him—like a hand forcing his spine to bow. "But what is this…?" His throat worked. "I've seen Ice Flame before—but never like this. Never with this kind of…" His breath hitched, refusing to complete the thought. Fear wasn't the right word. Fear was something you could face. This… this felt like being judged.
Then, just as abruptly as it had risen, the flames vanished.
No flicker. No fading. One moment they were there, swallowing the world in pale fire—the next, nothing.
The silence that followed rang louder than any explosion.
Mordek staggered a half-step forward, his chest heaving as the invisible weight lifted. "The sealing… did it fail?" His gaze darted across the courtyard, searching for something—anything—that could anchor what he'd just witnessed. "Or was that something else entirely?" His jaw tightened. "That feeling… it wasn't like Lirith." His stomach churned. "Then what the hell was that?"
Before the question could settle, Ronan vanished.
A blur. A distortion.
And then—
He was behind Lirith.
The cold gleam of a dagger pressed lightly against her throat, the edge just enough to indent the skin without breaking it. Ronan's body trembled violently, his breath coming in ragged pulls that scraped against his throat. A dark line of blood trailed from the corner of his lips, dripping onto the stone below. He brought his left hand up, clamping it over his mouth as another cough wracked through him, his shoulders jerking with the force of it.
"I can't…" His voice broke into a rasp, barely audible. "Keep this up… much longer…"
He swallowed hard, forcing the weakness down, forcing his voice to rise.
"What the hell is going on?!" The words tore out of him, raw and jagged. "Tell me, Lirith!"
Lirith didn't flinch.
Not at the blade. Not at the tremor in his voice.
Slowly—so slowly it almost felt deliberate—she raised her hand and wrapped her fingers around his. The one holding the dagger.
Her touch was gentle. Warm.
Not resisting.
Not afraid.
Ronan's grip faltered for the briefest instant.
"Afraid?" she asked, her voice soft, uneven, each syllable separated as though she were stepping across broken ground.
His jaw tightened. He tried to steady his hand, but the tremor only worsened under her touch. It wasn't strength he was fighting—it was the absence of it. She wasn't pushing back. She wasn't even trying to escape. Her fingers simply rested over his, like reassurance.
It unsettled him far more than resistance ever could.
Ronan's gaze flickered, unfocused for a moment, as if he were searching inward instead of outward. His lips parted, words stumbling out in fragments. "Who's… afraid?" His brows knit together, confusion threading through the strain. "Talk…?"
Lirith gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. Her fingers shifted slightly, patting the back of his hand once, twice—awkward, but deliberate. As if encouraging him.
"Big Brother…" she began, her voice catching. The words came slowly, dragged up from somewhere deep and tangled. "Me… same." A pause. Her brow furrowed faintly, as though the next word resisted her. "Different."
Each syllable sounded heavier than the last, like something inside her was unravelling with every attempt to speak.
Ronan's expression softened despite himself. The tension in his shoulders loosened, replaced by something quieter, more uncertain. "So…" His voice dropped, the edge fading from it. "You're not here to kill me?"
Lirith shook her head.
"No."
The silence that followed stretched long and fragile, as a thread pulled too tight.
Then Ronan exhaled.
The dagger lowered.
And the strength seemed to leave his body all at once.
He collapsed backwards, landing hard on the stone with a dull thud, his breath punching out of him. Sweat clung to his skin, soaking through his clothes, his chest rising and falling in uneven bursts as he struggled to steady himself.
Lirith turned toward him, her gaze moving slowly over his blood-streaked form, as if taking inventory of something she didn't fully understand but instinctively recognised as wrong.
Without a word, she slipped a ring from her finger.
Simple. Silver. Unadorned—save for the blue stone set into it, its surface catching the moonlight with a faint, steady glow.
A Soul Smooth Crystal.
She reached for his hand. His fingers twitched faintly in response, but he didn't pull away. Carefully—almost ceremoniously—she slid the ring onto his index finger. Her touch lingered for a moment longer than necessary, as if ensuring it stayed.
Then she hesitated.
Her lips parted.
"Big Brother…" The words came softer now, thinner. "Hate… me?"
The question seemed to cost her. Her voice faltered, fragments breaking apart as they left her. "Big Brother… become… me." A pause, longer this time. Her gaze dipped slightly, unfocused. "No… feeling. Hard…"
The sentence dissolved before it could finish.
Ronan stared at her.
There were no tears on her face. No tremor in her lips. No visible crack in that quiet, distant expression.
And yet—
Something in his chest twisted sharply.
She's crying.
The certainty settled in him without reason or evidence, pressing against his ribs.
Not like this… not where I can see it.
"She's saying I'm becoming like her…" The thought slid in, cold and unwelcome. "That I'll lose it too? Everything?" His fingers curled slightly against his palm. "Become… empty?"
He shook his head sharply, as if he could physically dislodge the idea.
"No."
The word came out firmer than he expected.
He leaned forward, reaching for her shoulders. His grip wasn't tight—just enough to anchor her there, to make sure she didn't drift away into that distant quiet she carried with her.
"How could I ever hate my little sister?" His voice wavered, but the smile he forced onto his face held, fragile but real. He brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear.
A faint crimson light began to seep from his hand, spreading slowly across her small frame. It wasn't strong—barely more than a steady warmth—but it carried intention, care threaded through every flicker.
This won't restore her stamina, he noted distantly. But it's something.
Lirith's eyelids fluttered.
"Warm…" she murmured.
Her gaze lifted to meet his, and for a fleeting moment—just a flicker—something stirred behind her eyes. Not fully formed, not clear, but there.
Ronan huffed a quiet breath through his nose, the corner of his lips twitching upward. "Don't go hugging too tight," he said lightly, though his voice still carried the strain beneath it. "Big brother might not survive round two."
She didn't respond.
She simply leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him.
Gently.
Carefully.
As if she were afraid he might break.
Ronan winced despite himself, a sharp breath slipping between his teeth as the pressure pressed against his bruised ribs. But his hands came up anyway, one resting lightly against her back, the other patting her head in slow, absent strokes.
"Okay… okay…" he murmured. "Let's sit on the bench. Then we talk."
He nodded toward the old wooden bench at the edge of the courtyard, its surface worn smooth by time, bathed in pale moonlight.
They moved slowly.
Together.
By the time they reached it, Lirith's movements had grown quieter, heavier. She lay down without prompting, her head settling onto Ronan's lap as naturally as if it had always belonged there. He adjusted slightly, one hand continuing its faint, steady glow as it traced over the small cuts and bruises scattered across her skin.
His other hand drifted into her hair.
Soft.
Untangled.
He ran his fingers through it in slow, careful motions.
Time stretched.
The night air cooled.
And eventually, the tension that had gripped her seemed to loosen, her breathing evening out as sleep took her.
Mordek watched from a distance at first.
Then, with a quiet exhale, he approached and lowered himself onto the bench beside them. The wood creaked faintly under his weight.
"You've got questions," he said, his voice softer now.
Ronan didn't look at him immediately. His hand continued its slow movement through Lirith's hair, his gaze fixed somewhere distant.
"And you'd better answer all of them."
Mordek raised both hands slightly, a faint grimace tugging at his lips. "Hey, hey. I'm still your teacher. Where's the respect?"
A short, humourless laugh slipped from Ronan. "You lost that a while ago." His eyes shifted, finally meeting Mordek's. "Depending on your answers… maybe you'll earn it back."
Mordek clicked his tongue, glancing down at Lirith. "Tch. Favouritism much?"
Ronan's gaze followed, softening as it settled on her sleeping form. "She's innocent," he said quietly. "You're not." His fingers stilled for a brief moment before resuming their motion. "She doesn't understand the world the way you do. She can't pick apart lies, weigh consequences, decide who gets hurt and who doesn't." His eyes lifted again, the softness gone. "You could."
The words landed heavier than they were spoken.
"That makes you the sinner." A pause. "For now."
Mordek held his gaze.
Something in his expression shifted—subtle, but real.
What a heavy way to judge someone… The thought lingered, uncomfortable. But… is he wrong? One mistake… and that's all it takes?
The courtyard fell quiet again, the three of them framed beneath a sky scattered with indifferent stars.
After a while, Mordek exhaled slowly.
"This has nothing to do with Flamecrest," he said. "We just… needed to make you angry."
Ronan didn't respond, but the slight tightening of his fingers betrayed his attention.
"I can't explain everything," Mordek continued, his voice low, steady. "But our demon clan performed a forbidden ritual on Lirith." His gaze flickered toward her. "That's why she's like this."
Ronan's hand paused mid-motion.
For a moment, completely still.
Then, slowly, it resumed—gentler than before.
"You give off the same aura," Mordek went on. "As those who've undergone it. In our clan, there's a seal—something that can suppress the effects. But it only activates under a berserk state." He let out a quiet breath. "We thought that was our best chance to help you."
His jaw tightened slightly.
"We were wrong."
Ronan's voice, when it came, was calm.
Too calm.
"Are there others?"
Mordek nodded. "Yes."
"Then why help me?" Ronan's gaze shifted, sharp again. "What's the real reason?"
Mordek looked away, his expression tightening. "There isn't one." A brief pause. "Lirith said… she couldn't feel what you think."
Ronan blinked, the tension in his expression faltering for a moment. "She can read minds?"
"Not exactly." Mordek shook his head. "She doesn't hear thoughts. She feels emotions. Specifically—how people feel about her."
Ronan's gaze dropped back to Lirith.
Is it the Ghost Flame? he wondered. Or the barrier? Something's blocking her…
He let the thought settle, unfinished.
"I had trouble processing rage," he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. "So I used Silent Requiem to seal it." His fingers tightened faintly against his knee. "But it's starting to… crack."
Mordek's head snapped toward him. "Silent Requiem?" His brows drew together sharply. "You shouldn't be using that for something like this. That technique is—" He stopped himself, exhaling through his nose. "Even we don't fully understand what it does."
Ronan didn't respond to that.
Instead, he asked, "Do you regret it? What did your clan do to her?"
Mordek leaned back slightly, his gaze lifting toward the sky.
"Back then?" he said slowly. "No."
A pause.
"Now… I do."
The words came without resistance.
"I can't undo it," he continued. "But I can still care for her. That hasn't changed." His lips pressed into a thin line. "We're not looking for redemption. We just want her to be happy."
Ronan let out a quiet breath, something almost like a smirk tugging at his lips.
"You say that easily."
His gaze drifted upward, following Mordek's.
"I'm still stuck on things that should've been simple to let go." His fingers stilled again, pressing lightly into Lirith's hair. "Mistakes that barely matter compared to this… and yet they don't leave." His jaw tightened faintly. "My emotions don't line up. They don't make sense."
He exhaled.
"So I separate them. Lock them away." A faint pause. "That berserk state you saw… It's still me. Just… louder. Everything I don't deal with, all at once."
He shook his head slightly.
"That was the first time it took over."
A beat.
"I'll reinforce the seal."
Mordek studied him for a long moment before speaking.
"Don't just bury it again," he said quietly. "Try to understand it. You're not dealing with something you can just suppress forever." His gaze hardened slightly. "Human emotions aren't simple. They can be worse than any curse."
Ronan nodded once.
"I'll try… Sir."
Mordek blinked—then let out a short laugh. "Now you're calling me 'Sir'? Took you long enough."
"Don't get used to it," Ronan muttered, though a faint smile lingered.
His gaze dropped to his hand.
The ring glinted softly in the moonlight.
"This… is expensive," he said. "Won't it cause trouble?"
Mordek waved it off. "We're not Flamecrest. No one's going to come knocking."
Ronan frowned slightly. "Still… I haven't given her anything in return."
Mordek snorted. "You sound like an old man."
"You are an old man," Ronan shot back. "Respect revoked."
A quiet chuckle passed between them—brief, but real.
Then Ronan stilled.
"Wait."
He reached into his shirt, pulling out a necklace. The chain caught the light first—subtle, heat-resistant metal—but it was the pendant that drew the eye.
A sphere of deep sapphire.
Within it, faint currents of emerald and azure flickered, like flames trapped beneath glass.
Mordek leaned closer, eyes narrowing slightly. "That's…"
"Soul Smooth Crystal," Ronan said. "It helps… when things get unstable."
Mordek gave a small nod. "If you want to give it, give it. If she refuses, that's on her."
Ronan didn't hesitate.
Carefully, he lifted Lirith's head just enough to slip the necklace around her neck, letting it rest gently against her collarbone. The faint glow of it pulsed once, then settled.
Mordek stood, stretching slightly. "She's out. Let's take her back. Vexara will handle the rest."
Ronan nodded.
He shifted carefully, lifting Lirith onto his back. She barely stirred, her arms instinctively settling around his shoulders, her weight light—but the trust in that gesture far heavier.
Together, they walked.
The courtyard fell behind them, the silence of it lingering like an echo.
Above, the stars watched—distant, unmoving—as if bearing witness to something neither of them fully understood yet.