CHAPTER 142 — VISITATION
A knock came at the door. Not urgent. Not repeated. Just precise enough to interrupt silence without disturbing it.
Séraphine paused. Her body reacted before her thoughts aligned with recognition. She hadn't been expecting anyone. Not here. Not after what had just happened inside her vessel.
She moved to the door and opened it. The Marquis was already there. Not waiting in distance. Not arriving. Already present, as if the concept of arrival did not apply to him.
For a brief moment, Séraphine did not move. Then she stepped aside. Marquis.
He tilted his head slightly, eyes scanning her before he even acknowledged the space around her. "I knocked," he said. There was a short pause. or at least I believe I did.
Without waiting for permission, he stepped inside. Séraphine closed the door behind him. The moment it shut, the atmosphere changed, not in pressure, but in familiarity.
The Marquis looked around as if the room itself was something he had seen before but did not fully trust in its current state. Then he stopped. His nose shifted slightly.
burnt smell, he said. He turned toward her slowly. "Did you cook?" Séraphine blinked once. …what?
The Marquis stared at her for a second longer, then exhaled through his nose and raised a hand to his forehead. "Oh. Right. You don't even have a kitchen." He lowered his hand and moved deeper into the room.
The chamber layout opened further in the back. A small table stood near the window, lined with scattered books and a single scribbling pen.
The Marquis approached it without asking. He picked up one of the books, flipped through a few pages, then set it down again without comment. Silence stretched.
Séraphine watched him. "…why are you here?" she asked finally. He didn't answer immediately. Instead, his gaze shifted across the room, slowly mapping the environment.
His eyes paused briefly on the crystal formations along the walls. "…you're almost out of resources," he said. His tone remained casual, but his attention sharpened slightly.
"I thought I replenished this recently." He shook his head once, as if correcting a minor miscalculation. Séraphine's eyes narrowed slightly before she could stop herself.
She hadn't noticed. Not the depletion. Not the rate. A quiet irritation formed in her chest. Bastard. The thought slipped out under her breath without permission.
The Marquis paused. "…sorry?" She coughed lightly. "Nothing. What are you here for?"
A short silence. Then he sighed. "That's no way to greet your uncle, is it?" He stepped closer.
Only then did his appearance fully settle into focus. Snow white hair that didn't belong to age. A face sharpened by time, not softened by it. A body that still carried restrained strength beneath white robes that moved like they understood authority.
He raised a hand and gently touched her cheek. "You've grown," he said quietly. A pause. "…your mother would have been proud."
Séraphine stepped back immediately. The contact broke. The distance returned. The Marquis noticed it, not emotionally, structurally.
He lowered his hand. you've also learned distance," he said. A brief silence. Then he looked around again, this time more serious. "What happened here?"
Séraphine hesitated. Not because she lacked an answer. Because the correct one did not feel safe to say.
"There was a destabilization during internal circulation," she said carefully. "A misalignment in refinement control."
The Marquis tilted his head slightly. "No cauldron?" "…no." He sighed again, slower this time.
"You don't need to push yourself into experimental refinement," he said. "If you need resources, you ask. You know I will always cover for you."
Before she could respond, he lifted his hand. Space shifted. Boxes appeared. One. Then four. Then ten.
They multiplied across the floor in quiet succession, each one sealed and marked, purple tinged containers filled with compressed resource cores.
Séraphine's eyes widened slightly. "Stop." He didn't.
Fifteen. Twenty. Fifty. Sixty boxes filled part of the chamber floor before he finally lowered his hand. "That should be enough," he said.
Séraphine stared at him. "…enough?" The Marquis blinked once. Then he frowned slightly.
"Oh. Right." He tapped his forehead again. "I forgot why I came."
Silence.
Then his tone shifted. "Royal family movement," he said. "One of them was sighted near a hunting ground."
Séraphine's expression sharpened instantly. "…royal family?" He nodded once.
"There are rumors. Something connected to a secret realm opening soon."
She straightened slightly. "…the secret realm?" He waved a hand lightly, as if dismissing the weight of the topic.
"Once every decade. An ancient cultivation domain opens. Controlled access. Seven houses manage entry."
A pause. His gaze drifted slightly, distant for a moment. "I'm too old for things like that."
Séraphine gave him a flat look. "You are barely a thousand years old." He smiled faintly. "And still too old for you."
He turned toward the door. Before leaving, he paused. "Cultivate," he said casually.
Then his tone shifted slightly. "…and I will assign you something soon."
He left. The door closed. Silence returned.
Séraphine stood still for a moment longer than necessary, staring at the space he had occupied. Then she exhaled slowly.
Her gaze drifted toward the stacked resource boxes. "…secret realm?"
Inside her, something else stirred faintly. Not Leylin's voice. Not fully hers either.
Just a quiet echo of recognition forming too early to be understood.
And for a moment, the question simply remained without answer.