"…It's only natural that I wouldn't know." Vandal finally spoke, his voice low yet carefully steady, as though he were patching over something within himself that was beginning to crack. "I was adopted by Valeria Nacht. That's the only certainty. There was no 'family.' No structure. Just her. So… it makes sense that I wouldn't know."
The girl did not interrupt. She watched him calmly—far too calmly for someone who had just shaken the foundation of another person's identity.
"Then," Vandal continued, sharpening his gaze, "answer my question. What is your purpose in calling me? You didn't come all this way just to tell me I've misunderstood my own life."
"I did not say you were wrong," she replied flatly. "Only that your understanding… is incomplete."
"Stop playing with words." Vandal stepped half a pace closer. "Get to the point."
The girl gave a faint nod. "The Young Mistress has summoned you. But before that, allow me to ask you something first. You remember that event, don't you? The pressure that nullified everything—the aura with no origin, yet encompassing all."
"…Orpheon." The name left him softly, yet its weight was enough to tighten his breath.
"Yes."
"I don't just remember it. I died there." No dramatics. Just fact.
"Then you should also recognize the inconsistency," she continued. "If you truly died, there is no normal scenario in which you would return as you are now."
"And yet I'm here." Vandal narrowed his eyes. "Which means something intervened."
"Correct."
"Who." The question did not seek possibilities. It demanded certainty.
The girl did not answer immediately. She looked at him, as if ensuring that what came next would not be something he could simply dismiss.
"Valeria Nacht."
Vandal's heartbeat skipped.
"…Impossible." The denial came swiftly, almost instinctive. "She's just—"
He stopped.
Just what?
"She's just my adoptive mother," he finished at last, though his voice no longer carried the same conviction.
"Are you certain?" The girl did not raise her voice, yet the pressure behind it deepened.
"Don't answer a question with another." Vandal's gaze hardened. "Explain."
"Valeria Nacht," the girl continued, "is the Young Mistress of the Nacht family."
Silence fell.
"…Young Mistress?" Vandal repeated slowly, as if trying to align the term with the reality he knew.
"Yes."
"That means…" he paused, his thoughts assembling something he did not like, "…there is a hierarchy above her."
"Correct."
"And you mentioned a 'Great Lady' earlier." Vandal's tone sharpened. "Who is that?"
"The supreme head of the Nacht family."
The statement landed like a weight that could not be ignored.
"…And you expect me to believe that the woman who adopted me… is merely a part of such a structure?"
"I am not asking you to believe." Her voice remained flat. "I am stating a fact."
"A fact that has never existed in my life." Vandal pressed each word. "I lived with her. There was no family. No servants. No mansion. Nothing but a simple life."
"Because you only saw a fragment," she replied without pause, "and assumed it to be the whole."
"I don't need the whole to recognize reality."
"And the reality you recognize…" she stepped slightly closer, her gaze unwavering, "…is it the result of your own observation, or something you were 'allowed' to see?"
The question cut deeper than it should have.
"…What do you mean." Vandal's voice dropped.
"If Valeria Nacht truly is the Young Mistress of the Nacht family," she continued, "then there are two possibilities. First, you were merely a small part of her life. Second—" she paused briefly, letting the implication settle, "—you were deliberately kept away from the whole."
"Enough." Vandal cut in, though not as forcefully as before.
"But that still does not address the central issue," she continued, unperturbed. "The Orpheon incident."
Vandal fell silent.
"If this world was meant to end," she went on, "yet did not, then the only consistent explanation is the presence of high-level intervention."
"And you attribute that to Valeria." Vandal's gaze sharpened.
"Not blame. Attribution." The precision of her answer was too deliberate to be coincidence. "She appeared at that moment… and halted the collapse of the human era."
"…Without a trace," Vandal added quietly.
"Without a trace you can access."
Silence.
"Why don't I remember that part?" Vandal murmured, more to himself.
"That is the right question," she replied, "but not one for me to answer."
"Then who?"
"The Great Lady."
The answer came without hesitation.
"…So that's your purpose." Vandal exhaled slowly. "To bring me to them."
"To bring you home." The correction was subtle, yet heavy.
"I've never had a 'home' beyond that place." Vandal turned slightly, as if his old house still lingered within sight.
"Now you do," she said simply. "And someone is waiting for you."
"…Valeria?"
"No." She gave a slight shake of her head. "The Great Lady."
The silence deepened.
"…The supreme head of the Nacht family… is waiting for me?" Vandal repeated, his tone difficult to read.
"Yes."
"Since when?"
"Since you returned."
"I never left."
"That is from your perspective." Her answer was calm, immediate. "But from the world's perspective, you ceased to exist for a time."
"…How long?"
"Long enough for this world to no longer be identical to the one you knew."
Vandal studied her for a long moment. There were no cracks. No hesitation in her answers.
"…Fine." At last, he spoke. "Then lead the way. I want to see this 'reality' you speak of with my own eyes."
The girl gave a brief bow. "Please follow me, my lord."
They walked without many words. The city appeared normal, yet the longer Vandal observed, the clearer it became that something had shifted—more stable magical structures, symbols he did not recognize, and most striking of all: not a single trace of Orpheon.
"…If she truly stopped it," Vandal murmured, "then it's not just the event that was altered… but its consequences as well."
The girl did not respond, as though such a conclusion required no confirmation.
At last, they stopped before a massive gate. The mansion stood with a grandeur that had no reference in Vandal's memory—its architecture not merely magnificent, but imbued with a subtle existential pressure, as if the place itself possessed authority.
"…This never existed." Vandal narrowed his eyes.
"Now it does."
"And this… is the residence of the Nacht family."
"Yes."
The gate opened slowly without being touched, as though recognizing Vandal's presence.
"…As if it's been waiting for me," he murmured.
"It has."
Vandal fell silent for a moment, then stepped forward—not out of belief, but because he no longer had the space to deny it.
If all of this was true—
If Valeria Nacht was truly only the "Young Mistress"—
Then the question that remained was no longer about the world.
But about—
Who the woman he had always called his mother truly was.