Shortly after reaching Sheila's clinic, Juvia woke Albion. Though groggy at first, it didn't take him long to realize he was somewhere new. That meant one thing: it was time to explore.
The clinic smelled of clean linen and dried herbs. Along one wall stood three sturdy wooden patient beds made up with crisp white sheets, dark blankets, bedside tables, and adjustable magical lamps. Muted cream curtains pulled around each bed for privacy, keeping the space from feeling overly sterile.
Opposite the beds, a long dark-wood counter served as the main workstation—stocked with bandages, instruments, and labeled drawers—beneath glass-front cabinets filled with apothecary jars. A compact, functional kitchen corner sat just off the main floor.
Juvia wasn't nearly as curious. Having spent so much time in the guild and at Sheila's side, she practically lived here. This was essentially home.
Behind a heavy rear door, Sheila's bedroom was surprisingly spacious and quiet, dominated by an absurdly massive custom bed with a dark wooden frame, thick white sheets, and a mountain of pillows.
The bed said everything: Sheila liked her space and hated feeling cramped. Connected directly to the room was a narrow walk-in closet organized with obsessive precision, alongside a luxurious bathroom finished in moody dark stone.
Walking over to the bed, Albion leaned down toward the pillows. His enhanced sense of smell picked up a heavy, familiar scent. Before, she had simply smelled like stale cigarettes to him. But this was her room.
Surely it smelled different, right? Curiosity got the better of him, and he ended up sniffing through several pillows.
To his lack of surprise, they smelled exactly like her: cigarettes. She really had a habit.
Juvia watched him from the doorway, her quiet, observant gaze tracking his movements.
"I'm taking a shower first," she said softly, clutching a fresh set of clothes. "What about you?"
"I'll take one tomorrow," Albion replied, looking up from the bed. "I don't feel like bathing right now."
Juvia's expression flattened into mild disgust. "You're gross."
Albion stared back at her, blank and unbothered. "My body isn't dirty."
"Take a shower," Juvia repeated, her voice firm and quiet.
Albion held her gaze for a long moment before letting his shoulders drop. 'She's persistent.'
"Fine. I'll take one after you."
A faint, fleeting smile touched Juvia's lips. "Good."
She turned and entered the bedroom's private bathroom, shutting the door behind her. With nothing else to do, Albion laid back on the massive bed, staring up at the ceiling as his thoughts drifted. After a moment, he noticed something. There wasn't much white in this room. In fact, there was barely any white in Phantom Lord as a whole.
'White…'
The thought immediately brought Amon to mind. Specifically, his last appearance back in the flooded corridor. It was only thanks to Juvia that Albion had pulled himself back to reality.
Now that he thought about it, that was the second time Juvia had helped him without knowing. The first was when he had been on the verge of breaking his own arm back when they met, just to test if his body could heal itself.
"I want to talk to him," Albion murmured to the quiet room. "Before the day ends... I need to talk to Amon."
Since he was no longer moving forward by relying solely on absolute detachment, he knew he wasn't acting like a "King." But he was fine with that. Before, he had tied his entire value to holding that throne. If he wasn't the King, and he wasn't fully human either, then what was he?
It was the same way Gajeel tied his entire self-worth to his physical strength.
'I don't know if Juvia and I are friends,' Albion thought, watching the ambient light shift against the dark wood. 'I don't really know what having a friend feels like. But... I care about what happens to her. I trust her. I hope she trusts me, too.'
A sudden realization struck him, causing him to sit up on the edge of the mattress.
"Wait." He frowned. "If I'm not acting like the King right now... why am I still in control?"
In the domain of his mind, the title "King" didn't mean ruling a realm. It meant holding dominion over the physical body in the outside world—the right to act, move, and exist. Only one King could reign at a time.
Either he or Amon could pull the other into the inner world, freezing the physical body in place while they fought for control.
'The Inner World is just my psyche,' Albion reasoned inwardly, his thoughts slowing into a clear line of logic. 'Everything there is a reflection of my mind. That's why it exists.'
When Amon had appeared in the corridor, he had mocked Albion for showing weakness. In the past, Amon claimed that the moment Albion wavered, he would drag him back down into the abyss and seize the throne.
So why hadn't he? What was stopping him?
Amon wanted to be the King. He wanted to stand at the top, believing that he alone truly understood what Albion was. But Albion rejected that entirely.
Letting Amon take control meant letting Amon decide his fate, destroying the personal conviction Albion had fought so hard to build. Amon was his complete opposite.
"If Amon really wanted the throne..." Albion rested his chin on his hand, staring at the floor. "Why hasn't he taken it by force? It would be simple. Even if he failed once, he loses nothing in the inner world. He could just keep trying until my mind cracked."
With Codex Magic constantly eroding his mental state, it should have been easy for Amon to overpower him. Amon was possessive, volatile, and obsessed with gaining power to enact vengeance on their past.
Yet his actions didn't match his words.
"It's almost like..." Albion muttered softly. "...he doesn't actually want to be King. Maybe he wants something else entirely."
Before he could finish the thought, the bathroom door clicked open. Juvia stepped out, a small towel draped loosely over her shoulders.
Albion's eyes blinked in mild surprise.
She wore a pale-blue, full-length pajama set lined with subtle white trim at the collar and cuffs. The oversized shirt fell loosely over her small frame, paired with matching ankle-length pants. Her dark blue hair hung completely loose and damp over her shoulders, free of her usual pigtails and ribbons.
Barefoot and holding a familiar gray-and-blue plush seal tightly against her chest, she looked strikingly young—and unusually relaxed. Noticing his stare, Juvia paused, looking at him with quiet confusion
.
"What?" she asked. "Is something wrong?"
Albion stood up from the bed, walking past her toward the open bathroom door. He paused at the threshold, looking back at her for a brief second.
"You look like a doll," he said plainly, his tone completely flat.
Before Juvia could react, he stepped inside and shut the door behind him, leaving her standing in the bedroom with a small, annoyed pout forming on her face.