Darkness.

  Total darkness.

  There was nothing, absolutely nothing.

  No sound, no form.

  Yet, in that infinite silence, a voice made its way through…

  Sweet, gehereal, filled with an intangible energy.

  It seemed to e from a distant, undefined p space, yet so close that it brushed against his soul:

  ‘Mirac… Mirac… Mirac… Wake up!’

  Suddenly, Mirac opened his eyes.

  His breath returned abruptly, as if someone had pulled him from the jaws of death. His heart started beating again, pounding in his chest with a force that seemed like it might break him.

  A sharp pain coursed through his body, trating mostly in his head, where his temples throbbed as if they were about to explode.

  “UGH! What a pain…” he groaned, clutg his forehead with his hand.

  He struggled to sit up, crossing his legs. His body was drenched in cold sweat, while his skin burned as if after a violent fever.

  “Where… Where am I?” Mirac mumbled, his voice trembling.

  He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the heavy feeling of numbness.

  His eyelids opened with difficulty, and his gaze, still blurred, wandered aimlessly for a few seds before adjusting to the dim light around him.

  When his vision cleared, Mirac found himself sing the enviro around him, examining every detail of his surroundings.

  ‘What the…?!’

  A chilling shiver ran down his spine.

  He was no longer in his room. There was no wooden floor, no desk with the tig clock.

  The pce was cold, cramped, oppressive.

  He was in a regur room. The skill “Instant Knowledge of Dimensions” revealed it to be just over 1.80 x 2.40 meters, with a height of about 3.30 meters.

  In the er to his left, there was only a bit of straw scattered on the ground, serving as a poor makeshift bed, and nothing more.

  From a high er of the ceiling, a long, rusty metal pipe protruded—perhaps a ventition duct, but it seemed little more than an abandoned el, its inner walls crusted with dirt.

  In front of him, at the ter of the wall, stood a massive wooden door with a small barred porthole, resembling that of a cell. Oher side of the door, two torches burned weakly, their flickering fmes fighting against the darkness, casting dang shadows oone walls.

  In the right er, he door, there was a worn ceramic toilet, with lime stains along the edges. o it, a sink with a clogged faucet, the rust suggesting that the water wasn’t of the best quality—if it still flowed at all.

  ‘Am I… in a detention cell?’ Miradered, a knot of aightening in his stomach. ‘How the hell did I end up here?’

  His head was still spinning, filled with blurry and jumbled images, like fragments of a faded dream. He felt immersed in a sea of fusion, uo grasp his memories clearly.

  He couldn’t piece together what had happened before he woke up and found himself in that cell.

  Mira a hand through his hair, desperately trying to remember something… anything!

  And so, after spending a couple of seds wrag his brain, suddenly the memories began to resurface!—like shards of gss tearing through the silen his mind.

  Mirac started to remember that night…

  His room…

  The wait for Carmen…

  The poison that had killed him…

  The five figures at the door…

  And also…

  “Dad?” he murmured, his voice broken with emotion, as the features of his father resurfaced in his mind.

  That image—clear as a dream too vivid to be ignored—made him flinch.

  But how was that possible?!

  Would his father be part of the group of five individuals who hired Krk?

  Of course not! The King couldn’t have orchestrated an assassination attempt against the Prince… against his own son!

  Yet, tradig this truth, there were those eyes…

  That face full of disdain…

  That impassive expression, while his son was dying before his eyes…

  But speaking of that:

  Mirac had felt his heart stop.

  He still remembered the chill of death ing around him. He remembered life abandoning him—just as it had the first time in his previous life.

  For this reason, Mirac would have sworn he had died that night. He was more than sure of it!

  But then… how was he still alive?!

  ‘What the hell is going on?!’

  But before he could even form a single hypothesis, a hoarse voice broke the silence:

  “So, you’re still alive, huh?”

  A sudden chill gripped Mirac’s heart, as if everything had stopped for a moment.

  ‘This voice…!’

  Mirac didn’t hesitate for a single sed.

  With a deep breath, he struggled to rise, ign the overwhelmi of exhaustion. His legs trembled as he staggered forward, his feet dragging on the cold floor.

  His fingers clutched tightly onto the cold bars of the porthole, thin but enough to serve as an obstacle between him and the outer corridor.

  He held his breath, his heart pounding wildly.

  From the voice, Mirac had already figured out who he would find beyond those bars…

  And indeed, he was right…

  In the corridor outside the cell, immersed in shadow—illuminated only by the glow of a tor his hand—stood her than him: his father!

  The light danced on his face, casting deep shadows that atuated his eyes, sharp as bdes of ice—void, as always, of any trace of affe.

  Mirac swallowed.

  His lips barely moved, his voice reduced to a whisper:

  “D-Dad?”

  But his father did not answer. He remaiill, rooted in pce, just like that night.

  And even now, he wasn’t alo all!

  Beside him, there was a woman…

  Her dark, curly hair fell over her shoulders, framing a face torted in an expression of ruthless ess. Her brows were slightly furrowed, while her thin lips twisted into a barely cealed sneer.

  “Mom?”

  The name slipped from Mirac’s lips in a fragile, hesitant whisper, full of heartbreaking tenderness.

  But her gaze didn’t ge.

  No hint of affe. No trace of warmth. No sign nition.

  Only silence…

  And finally, before his parents, with faces so alike they seemed refles of each other, stood the three identical figures he had learned over the years to distinguish and reize: his twin sisters.

  In addition to their usual elegant clothes, all five of them were ed in long, dark cloaks that fell heavily to the ground.

  While King Arthur and Queen Ginevra watched him with cold, chilling gres that made him shiver, the three sisters were gathered in the middle, each holding a hand in front of their mouth, as if trying to keep what they were talking about from leaking out—ign the boy who was silently watg them from the barred porthole of the cell.

  But all of this was in vain, as Miraaged to hear every single word they said:

  “Damn it!” Camil excimed, turning to Veronica with a wicked smile. “How is he still alive?! Does he have a natural resistao poison?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” Veronica replied in an analytical tone, like someone assessing a simple problem. “But it was to be expected from the ‘Risen Prince.’ We thought it was merely a Divine Miracle that brought him back that time when he had a heart attack right after birth. But apparently… it seems he possesses a plete Divine Blessing, with incredible regeive power. However, I think it only activates with his death. Otherwise, by now, his arm would have already regrown.”

  “WHAT?!” Camil’s mouth and eyes widened in disbelief. “A-A Divine Blessing?! I ’t believe it… Which deity could have gra to him? Perhaps Mother Nature? But for what absurd reason?!”

  “I have no idea,” Michelle replied, with the usual calm that set her apart from her sisters. “But anyway, regardless of the poison we use, the fact remains that he ’t die, right?”

  Mirac held his breath, trying to process those words.

  ‘W-What?! P-Poison? D-Did she just say… p-poison?!’

  Yes, he had heard correctly.

  His sister had mentiohe very thing that had killed him that night: poison!

  ‘W-Wait! D-Don’t tell me that…!’

  At that very moment, a wild and disturbing theory took shape in his mind—just as absurd as it was iable:

  What if the five figures standing at the door while he was dying were her than them?

  His own family?!

  ‘N-No… That’s impossible!’

  Mirac couldn’t-

  No. This time, he refused to listen to his intuition!

  As right as it might have been, he refused to even sider, for a single sed, that his own family had poisoned him…

  That they had tried to kill him!

  After all, for what absurd reason would they have done such a thing?!

  ‘I-I must be w-wrong… Yes, there must be some misuanding! I’m sure of it! It ’t be otherwise…’

  A wave of anguish coursed through his body, making him shudder. He felt a cold chill run up his spine, as the weight of that realization crushed him.

  A, despite everything, he forced himself to smile…

  To pretend everything was normal…

  To act as if he weren’t locked inside a cell, with his family standing oher side of the door, watg him—as if he were a plete stranger…

  “What… What is going on here?” Miraally asked, uainty trembling in his voice.

  Hearing their brother’s question, the three sisters turoward him in unison, interrupting their chatter.

  Camil then burst into a small, restrained ugh, bringing a hand to her lips as if she wao hide—or make even more evident—the amusement sparkling in her eyes.

  “Oh, dear little brother…” she whispered, her tone sweetly venomous. “Hoish we could tell you that this is just a lovely family reunion…”

  Her words dripped with sarcasm, and that tone made his skin crawl.

  o her, Veronica sighed, interrupting her sister before she could tinue:

  “But unfortunately, that’s not the case…” she said, her sharp, uing eyes locked onto him.

  Then, Michelle spoke, with a ess that made what she said even more threatening:

  “The situation is far more serious than you could ever imagine, Mirac…”

  She paused, letting the weight of her statement sink deep into him.

  Then, she pierced him with an icy stare.

  “Your very existence has bee a danger. An unimaginable risk to all of us…”

  Mirac felt his breath cat his throat.

  As he listeo them, his heart pounded furiously against his ribs, as if trying to break free and escape.

  “I… I don’t uand…”

  But Mirac didn’t even have time to finish his sentence…

  “Stop pretending!” Ginevra suddenly shouted, with a violehat made him flinch.

  The Queen’s eyes were filled with fury, and her voice seemed to scrape at his ears.

  “For how much longer do you think you keep up this charade?”

  Mirac wavered, feeling his legs threaten to give way beh him.

  ‘Charade?’ he wondered, as his brain fought desperately to make sense of those words.

  But the more he thought about it, the bigger the void inside him grew, swallowing every certainty.

  The Quee him with pt, while slow, releears clouded her gaze, ready to overflow like streams on the verge of flooding.

  Worried, Michelle immediately approached to fort her, while the other two sisters tried to calm her and wipe away her tears.

  “How could you hide this from us?” tinued Ginevra, her voice heavy with a rage that seemed to have no limits. “You’ve been gambling with all our lives for all these years! Don’t you think you’ve been selfish? Don’t you feel the slightest bit of guilt for what you’ve done? For how long have you known about this? e on, answer: SINNER!”

  The st word echoed down the corridor, reverberating in Mirac’s ears.

  ‘S-Sinner?!’ he thought, feeling his throat tighten.

  He raised a trembling hand to his mouth, desperately trying to hide his stunned expression. ‘NO! Don’t tell me that…’

  “So it’s true, huh?” said Veronica, pinning Mirac with a ptuous stare. “From your rea, it seems like it is…”

  “Answer our question, Mirac…” Camil tinued, crossing her arms.

  Her tone of voice, once sarcastiow became frighteningly more serious:

  “Are you really a Chaotic?”

  At that question, Mirac’s face went pale instantly, as though the blood had stopped cirg.

  “Wha-?!” He froze before he could fully express his shock.

  He stood motionless, as if time itself had stopped around him.

  The weight of the question fell on his shoulders, a boulder that seemed to want to crush him.

  He felt his breath shorten, his heart rag. His mind raced too, searg for an escape that did.

  He didn’t know what to do!

  Every fiber of his being aralyzed, torween the o tell the truth and the fear of the sequences.

  A heavy sense of shame washed over him, f him to lower his gaze. Iably, he found himself staring at the cra the floor, which suddenly seemed like an abyss ready to swallow him whole.

  The silence surrounding him was more eloquent than any words, an unmistakable firmation.

  But in the end, Mirac decided to answer anyway:

  “Yes…”

  The fession exploded in his throat like a shard of gss, tearing through every breath. He felt the word carve itself into his tongue, bleed between his teeth, turning into a scar even before it reached the air.

  Mirac ched his fist, his firembling with tension as he tried to keep the whirlwind of emotions from overwhelming him.

  “But… how did you find out?!” asked the Chaotic, his voice thick with tension.

  The sound of crumpled paper tore through the silence.

  “With this,” came a cold, deep voi response.

  Mirac quickly lifted his gaze, already aware that the voice he had just heard beloo his father.

  Without thinking too much, his eyes settled on him, catg the py of shadows dang across his imperable face.

  In that moment, he noticed that in his free hand—the o holding the torch—King Arthur was holding a white sheet of paper, carefully folded.

  “What?!” excimed Mirac, his voice cracked with disbelief. “A-A letter?!”

  “Exactly,” replied his father, his imperable eyes sing Mirac’s bewildered face. “I found it today, on the desk in my private office.”

  Mirac felt his heart race, the beating shaking his chest.

  ‘How is that possible?!’ he wondered, fused.

  For all this time, Mirac had always believed he had cealed his secret with obsessive care.

  Yet now, everythihought he had guarded so carefully seemed to be crumbling into a thousand pieces.

  But Mirac had no doubts: someone had discovered his darkest secret and, afterward, decided to reveal it to the royal family through a letter!

  This realization made him tremble for a moment, a subtle shiver creeping into his veins.

  His mind was in turmoil, crowded with tless thoughts that piled up relentlessly.

  But among them, one question stood out above all others: who could it have been?!

  Who, other than him—and now his family—khat he was a Chaotic?!

  Mirac stood in silence, pting for a couple of seds, immersed in an absence of words that seemed to weigh down the air, making it almost tangible.

  But suddenly, an uling thought struck his mind, pulling him out of his anguish and f him to widen his green eyes.

  “Wait a minute…!”

  His voice trembled, but he gathered strength to tinue:

  “Are you tellihat as soon as you read that letter, you blindly trusted its tent?! That without aation, you agreed to… kill me?!”

  His tone grew more heated, almost accusatory.

  “And since you failed, you decided to lock me up in here? All of this, blindly trusting what was written iter?! Without even b to check first if I was really a Chaotic?!”

  King Arthur stared at him impassively, not letting aion show.

  Then, with disarming calm, he replied:

  “Exactly.”

  That answer left Mirac speechless.

  Arthur took a step forward, closing the distaween them, and added in a firm voice:

  “And do you know why?”

  He paused briefly, fixing him with an intense gaze.

  “Because, simply, we don’t want to die.”

  Mirac flinched, a chill running down his spine.

  “You should already know,” Arthur tinued, his voice growing sharper. “When someone is discovered to be a Chaotic, the death sentence is immediate. And with them, their entire family, regardless of rank or social status. So, unfortunately, this lies to us as well.”

  Mirac’s face stiffened for a moment.

  But nothing more.

  After all, he was already aware of all of this.

  And it was that very awarehat had driven him for all these years to keep his Anomalous Syntony a secret!

  To protect himself, of course!

  But most of all, to protect his family…

  “Few remember it, because it’s rarely talked about anymore, but something simir already happeo a former royal family,” Arthur tinued, l his tone slightly until it became a deep echo. “One of their members was a Chaotic, just like you. And she kept it hidden from everyone as well. But one day, no one knows how, the truth came to light, and the entire family was exterminated in the most cruel and unimaginable ways.”

  Mirac swallowed nervously. The bitter taste of fear and anguish slid down his throat with his saliva.

  “So… is this why you tried to… kill me?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

  The silehat followed sted only a moment, but to Mirac, it felt like ay.

  In those few mere seds, he desperately g to the hope that he had been wrong all along!

  That, iy, they hadn’t really poisoned him and tried to kill him!

  That the people in front of him weren’t really his true family, but perhaps just a diabolical trick from someone who wao make him suffer…

  Maybe he was truly dead.

  And maybe, what he was experieng now was nothing but his punishment in hell!

  Of course, he would have much preferred it that way.

  But unfortunately, deep down, he already k wasn’t like this…

  In the end, with a chilling ess, devoid as always of aion, King Arthur simply replied:

  “Exactly.”

  Just one word…

  The same fug word!

  ‘Exactly…’

  Spoken without aation or remorse.

  There was no longer any way to deny the reality in front of him…

  His family had truly tried to kill him!

  And this was nothing but a harsh truth.

  Ohat pierced Mirac deeply, burning his soul and leaving him stunned, not knowing what else to say.

  “None of us want to meet the same fate as that royal family,” Camil expined firmly. “That’s why we tried to elimihe threat that, sooner or ter, would iably drag us to ruin. But, it seems that the poison didn’t work…”

  “sidering that it’s not the first time you’ve resurrected, it’s highly likely that you possess a ‘Divine Blessing,’” Veronica added, her tone cold and calg. “This makes any further attempt to kill you useless, since you would simply keep ing back to life.”

  “So,” Camil cluded, with a cold smile, “we’ve decided that if we ’t get rid of you, we’ll simply keep you imprisoned in this cell for the rest of your days! That way, we won’t risk anyone disc iure that there is a Chaotic among the Strongolds. And thus, our lives will be saved…”

  Mirac stiffened, g his fists.

  Their reasoning made sense, but…

  “But that’s absurd!” the prisoner excimed, his voice cracked with despair. “Think about it: whoever wrote that letter already knows that I’m a Chaotic, right? That means the information has already slipped beyond your trol. Maybe log me in this cell will prevent anyone from disc my Chaotiature iure. But what about the sender? Even if you lock me up here, what makes you think they won’t speak anyway? Whoever they are, they could decide to reveal the truth at any moment. Even now, while we’re talking!”

  He took a trembling breath and shook his head, trying to tain his agitation.

  “Regardless of whether I am free or not, the risk of being discovered already exists, and it’s out there! A tig time bomb ready to explode at any moment. And there’s nothing we do about it… It’s impossible to escape this risk! It’s too te!”

  The King remained unmoved.

  “You’re wrong…” he said, his voice calm and imperable. “It’s true, the letter is anonymous, and there’s no way to find out who wrote it… However, we have reason to believe that the sender has no iion of exposing us. Their sole purpose was to warn us about the danger you represent to our safety before someone else discovered it aed us to the Papal cil or the Purifiers. Moreover, if they had wao bckmail us, they would have demanded money in exge for their silence. But they didn’t. Instead, it’s more likely that this person po help us i in exge for a ce to redeem themselves and gain a high social position. Something they couldn’t achieve by turning us in, because, obviously, we are the only means through which they reach their goal. That’s why, whoever they are, we be certain they’re on our side—and that as long as we fulfill their request, they won’t say a word to anyone…”

  Mirac was left speechless.

  King Arthur spoke with disarmiainty, as if his son’s life was merely a matter of logic…

  As if everything were a chess game, and he was simply moving the pieces with cold determination, ready to sacrifice a mere pawn for his victory.

  But Mirac couldn’t accept it so easily!

  “On your side?” he repeated, almost shouting. “Do you realize how ridiculous that is? Is it possible that none of you wondered why someone decided to reveal my secret to you instead of using it against us? Doesn’t that seem… suspicious?”

  A tense silence desded between them, suffog like a shadow that swallowed every unspoken word.

  Then, the King broke the sileh his usual, cold firmness:

  “The reason is irrelevant,” he decred, as he tucked back the letter into his pants pocket. “The fact remains that you are a Chaotid letting you free is too risky for our lives.”

  Mirac’s breath caught in his throat, as though the air itself had suddenly turo stone in his lungs.

  He remaiill, his gaze lost in the void, as he tried to process those words.

  “Oh, and don’t think you escape from this cell so easily, little brother,” Camil added with a mog smile.

  “Fire Runes are carved on the door,” Veronica expined, her voice cold aached, as if she were describing a trivial detail. “If you try to force it, or even just tamper with it, the spell will automatically activate, triggering a devastating explosion.”

  “What?!”

  Hearing this, Mirac widened his eyes, quickly pulling his hand away from the door as if it had bee burning hot—his heart pounding even harder.

  “With your Divine Blessing, you don’t have to worry about dying, because if the worst were to happen, your body will simply regee, and you’ll be good as new in no time,” Camil tinued, her tone amused. “But the pain of being burned alive… well, it’s an experience I wouldn’t reend you try. After all, I think just thinking about it is more than enough to vince you not to try esg. Am I right, little brother?”

  A cold shiver ran down his spine, a wave of freezing dread that seemed to e every st bit of warmth left in him.

  Mirac had no more doubts: in that moment—though, iy, even before—he uood that every bohought he had with his family had now dissolved into nothing!

  Every smile, every hug, every sweet word exged with them sihe day he was born into this world…

  Everything was crumbling right nht before his very eyes!

  Vanishing into the air, like dust in the wind…

  And the worst part?

  There was nothing he could do to stop it!

  He was a Chaotic!

  And for his family, that was more than enough to renounce him…

  To abandon him…

  And iably, fet him…

  “I-I ’t… I ’t believe this…” he whispered, his heart thundering.

  Mirac swallowed, the bitter taste of despair on his tongue.

  He remained silent for a long moment, uo find the words—prisoner of a void that seemed to swallow every thought he had.

  He wao speak, to shout, to ask a thousand more questions and demand answers!

  But the truth was simple: there was nothio say.

  The reality was there, raw and unyielding, and there was no space for dialogue or promise.

  His family had already decided his fate, and every word, every plea, would surely be ignored.

  Yet, despite everything, o hope—rooted deep in his nature—urged him to call out…

  The woman who, over time, he had learo love with every fiber of his being…

  “M-Mom…”

  But the response was immediate abreaking…

  “Don’t call me like that anymore!” she screamed, her voice trembling with rage and pain.

  Her disheveled hair and tear-streaked face told a story of suffering that went beyond words.

  Meanwhile, the three sisters were still by her side, unsuccessfully trying to calm her down.

  Mirac, then, tried to reach out to them, hoping that at least one of his sisters would respond.

  “Camil… Veronica…” he called, hesitating, but then stopped. His gaze fell ohird sister, the one who had spent the most time with him during his childhood. “Michelle!”

  But none of them stepped forward.

  Instead, all three turheir gaze away, refusing to meet his, as if even looking at him was inating.

  The young man, now overe with despair, fixed his gaze on the only figure left before him, the st person he could still call:

  “D-Dad…”

  “ENOUGH!” King Arthur shouted, his voice tearing through the air like a whip. “I AM NO LONGER YOUR FATHER! Or rather…”

  He paused, then emphasized every following word:

  “WE ARE NO LONGER YOUR FAMILY!”

  At those words, Mirac was stunned, sdalized, as he lowered his gaze to the ground.

  “None of us want anything to do with you anymore, Chaotiner!” King Arthur excimed.

  The fme of the torch he was holding flickered, as if the King’s voice had driven it to dance furiously.

  “Accept it ond for all, Mirac…”

  Finally, without a final gnce, without the slightest hesitation, the group turned and walked away in plete silence.

  No oated, no one lingered. No one looked back.

  They simply vanished into the shadows of the corridor.

  Before he even realized it, Mirac had fallen to the ground, on his knees. His body had given up before his mind, crushed by the weight of abando.

  His eyes filled with tears, but for some strange reason, they stayed in pce, doing nothing but blurring his vision.

  The cold of the stone seeped into his bones, sharp aless, but it wasn’t that making his hands tremble.

  It was another kind of cold, invisible and cruel:

  The cold of loneliness.

  AnnouHeyy, author’s here!

  I just wao sincerely apologize for not publishing a chapter this Sunday as I had promised. I’ve been very busy, but more importantly, this particur chapter has been especially difficult to write and anize.

  As I approach the finale of this volume, I want to make sure it’s the best it possibly be—something that satisfies both me as a writer and all of you as readers. That takes time, and I truly appreciate your patiend uanding.

  I’m w hard t you the final chapters that live up to expectations, and I hope the wait will be worth it!

  That said, I sihank you all once again for your patience, uanding, and support! :)