The air was different this time.

The first time they came, the mother and daughter carried an air of distant curiosity—a low-risk, low-expectation gamble, offering the sky only if the impossible was achieved.

Now?

Now they wanted it.

Badly.

Their arrival was as silent as before—no fanfare, no announcement. Just a quiet ripple in the world as they stepped into the negotiation room, moving like ghosts of a forgotten age. The little girl, Lys, and her mother, as usual, didn’t walk. Her golden eyes locked onto the egg for a moment, then she looked at me deeply, then back at the egg with a quiet, unreadable intensity.

Her mother, Mistress Vaelith, was composed as ever. Too still. Too perfect. But there was something new in the air—something subtle. A shift.

Interest had turned into certainty.

They weren’t just here to talk.

They were here to claim.

Anya, ever the master of reading the room, leaned back slightly, her usual casual confidence sharpened. “You’ve returned quicker than expected.”

Vaelith gave a slow nod. “We see no reason to delay.” Her voice was smooth, refined. “The discovery is… significant.”

Lys hovered closer to the egg, staring at it as if it might disappear if she blinked.

I stayed silent under my disguise, hands resting on the table, my heart steady. I knew what was coming.

“We want it.”

Vaelith’s words were simple, absolute. No hesitation. No second-guessing.

Anya smiled, tilting her head. “Of course. The question is, how much do you want it?”

Vaelith didn’t flinch. “Name your price.”

Anya flicked a glance at me. I took the cue, placing a list of required resources on the table.

Vaelith’s gaze swept over it.

Nothing. No reaction. No raised brow, no flicker of emotion.

But her fingers pressed against the parchment just a fraction harder than before.

They had seen the list. And it had shocked them.

Of course, they wouldn’t show it. Not people like them. But I could feel it.

It was a lot. Even for them.

Lys finally spoke, her voice quiet but absolute. “It will be my first contract.”

I blinked.

That… was a big deal.

A first contract was everything for a summoner. It shaped the entire foundation of their path. And she had chosen this.

Anya’s eyes gleamed with something close to amusement. “Oh, well. That changes things, doesn’t it?”

Vaelith inclined her head. “We will provide the materials. However, some are… difficult to procure. We require a week.”

Anya nodded as if this was expected. “Acceptable.”

And then—

I spoke.

“I will succeed.”

The words left my mouth before I even thought about them.

A guarantee.

Not a probability. Not a maybe.

A promise.

Vaelith’s gaze landed on me. Even through the disguise, even without knowing who I truly was, I felt it—the weight of expectation.

Lys, still watching the egg, locked her whole attention on me and whispered, “Good.”

And then Vaelith spoke the words that made Anya’s entire expression shift.

“We will not only offer wealth and resources for this. We will offer you something greater.”

Silence.

Anya tilted her head slightly. “…And that is?”

Vaelith’s golden eyes met mine.

“Friendship.”

Anya inhaled sharply.

For the first time since I’d met her—since I’d known her—she actually looked genuinely surprised.

Because this?

This wasn’t just a contract.

This was a connection to the Old Bloods. A bond with one of the most powerful lineages in existence.

And people like them?

They didn’t offer empty words.

A promise from them was absolute.

Lys finally turned her gaze from the egg, her golden eyes locking onto me.

“We always keep our word.”

Anya’s smirk returned, sharper now. Brighter.

“Then I’d say we have a deal.”

---

The room had settled, the deal sealed. The Old Bloods had spoken their final words, left behind the weight of their promise—and then they were gone.

But the egg remained.

I stood there, staring at it, feeling the weight of something much larger than myself settling onto my shoulders.

“This thing,” I muttered. “This thing is ridiculous.”

Anya, sitting comfortably with one leg crossed over the other, smirked. “That’s an understatement.”

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I exhaled. “Alright. I’m taking it home.”

The smirk vanished.

“Excuse me?”

I looked at her. “I need to study it properly. I work better in my own space. If I—”

“No.”

The word was flat. Final.

I blinked. “What?”

Anya sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Akul. Do you have any idea what this egg is worth now?”

“Yes—”

“No, you don’t.” She leaned forward, fixing me with a look. “You think you do, but you don’t.” She tapped the table once, voice sharp. “Before today, this was a high-risk, low-expectation job. Now? It’s everything. If this goes wrong, we don’t just lose money. We lose them.”

I frowned. “They wouldn’t—”

“Akul.”

Her voice dropped just slightly, something rare flickering in her expression.

Seriousness.

“This isn’t about whether they’ll ‘forgive’ us if something goes wrong. It’s about what this means. If you mess this up, we don’t just lose a client. We make a very powerful enemy.”

I exhaled through my nose, looking back at the egg. It sat there, still and silent, yet somehow heavy.

“…Alright,” I muttered. “Fine. It stays.”

Anya relaxed slightly. “Good.”

“But,” I added, crossing my arms, “I’m still going to be the one handling it. I need full access.”

Anya tilted her head, considering. Then she nodded. “That was never in question.”

I glanced back at the egg.

Still silent. Still unmoving.

But somehow, I felt like it was watching me.

---

Lina was already waiting for me when I stepped through the door.

She had planted herself on the couch, arms crossed, her plushie sitting on her lap like a silent judge. The moment she saw me, she perked up—then immediately squinted.

“You took too long,” she accused.

I smirked, ruffling her hair as I passed. “I was working.”

She grabbed my sleeve, eyes burning. “Tell me everything.”

I didn’t even have to ask what she meant.

So I told her.

Every detail, every strange, impossible moment. The girl who floated instead of walked. The way her mother barely seemed real, like a statue carved from something too smooth, too flawless. The air of weight they carried, like they weren’t just rich—they were important.

Lina gasped at the floating.

She screamed at the idea of the little girl staring silently at me for minutes on end.

She flopped back dramatically when I described their skin—“They were what color?! No one is that pale! Are they ghosts?! Wait—ARE THEY GHOSTS?!”

She kicked the air when I described the sheer pressure they carried without even trying, gripping her plushie like it was absorbing the intensity for her.

By the time I finished, she was sprawled across the couch, eyes wide, brain clearly running at full speed.

I smirked. “So? What do you think?”

Lina blinked, then sucked in a deep breath.

Then she shot upright.

“I HAVE DECIDED!” she declared, pointing at me. “I WILL FLOAT TOO.”

I choked. “What?”

She hopped off the couch, standing tall, determined. “If she can float, I can float!”

I groaned. “Lina, that’s not—”

“I WILL STUDY THE ANCIENT ART OF ANTI-GRAVITY WALKING.”

“That’s—Lina, that’s not—”

“MARK MY WORDS, AKUL. THE NEXT TIME YOU SEE ME, I WILL BE AIRBORNE.”

I sighed, rubbing my face.

Then, casually, I added, “Anya called them Old Bloods.”

It was supposed to just be a passing comment.

Just a small note at the end of the chaos.

But—

The moment I said the words—

The room changed.

The air shifted.

Like something old had just woken up.

I turned—

And saw Father staring.

Not blinking. Not moving.

Just—staring.

His expression unreadable.

“…What did you say?” His voice was quiet.

I blinked. “Uh. Anya called them—”

“Old Bloods?” he finished.

Something about the way he said it—

Not like a question.

Like a realization.

A memory.

A weight.

I nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

Silence.

Lina looked between us, suddenly aware that something had changed.

Mother, standing nearby, exhaled softly. “…So it’s them.”

Father closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.

Then, when he opened them—

Something was there.

Something deep.

Something old.

“…Akul,” he said quietly. “Tell me everything. From the beginning.”

---

Father sat in silence, eyes dark with thought.

The weight in the air was heavier now, pressing against my skin like an unseen force. I glanced at Mother—her expression was calm, but there was something in her gaze, something cautious, as if she already knew what Father was about to say.

Lina, sitting cross-legged on the couch, hugged her plushie tightly, wide-eyed but silent.

I exhaled slowly. “Alright,” I said. “From the beginning, then.”

And so I told them.

Every. Single. Detail.

The way they floated. The unnatural whiteness of their skin, their flawless, eerie beauty. The sheer weight of their presence, the way they carried themselves—like something not quite human, something other.

I told them about their offer, their promise of friendship—how they valued their words like a contract written in stone.

I described the egg, the dormant horror inside it, the Mawling, the creature that would one day become a devourer of history itself.

And as I spoke, Father remained still. Listening. Watching. Absorbing every word.

Finally, when I was done, I leaned forward, my voice quiet but firm.

“Dad.”

His gaze lifted to mine.

“What are Old Bloods, really?” I asked. “And why did you react like that?”

A long silence.

Then—

Father exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Old Bloods…” he murmured. “They are human. But at the same time, they are not.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

Father leaned back in his chair, eyes distant, as if looking at something beyond the present moment.

“‘Old Blood’ means exactly that—the blood of the ancient.” His voice was quiet, measured. “They are the remnants of a time when humans were not the only rulers of this world. When we were not at the top of the chain.”

A chill ran down my spine.

“They carry the blood of things older than recorded history,” he continued. “Creatures of the past. Entities that walked the world before the Towers existed. Beasts whose names have been lost to time.”

I swallowed. “So… they’re not normal summoners?”

Father’s expression was grim. “They are more than summoners. More than humans. They are something else entirely. And that makes them… dangerous.”

A heavy pause.

“Old Bloods do not mix,” he went on. “They do not seek outsiders. They do not expand their families. They do not grow their numbers.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because they are obsessed with their bloodlines,” he said simply. “With keeping them pure.”

Lina shifted uncomfortably beside me. “That sounds creepy.”

Father nodded. “It is. Old Bloods do not marry outside their kind. And even between their own clans, they rarely mix. Each family is its own world. They do not recruit. They do not adopt. They do not accept outsiders—unless they have no other choice.”

I frowned. “So if they avoid outsiders so much… why did they come here?”

“Because they need you,” he said. “If what you told me about that egg is correct, it’s a lost cause. Undeveloped, broken at the core—it’s an impossible mission. Trust me, many before you have tried, and every single one failed.”

The words settled heavily in my chest.

Father exhaled again, his fingers tapping lightly against the armrest.

“There are not only two Towers,” he said suddenly.

I blinked. “What?”

“You know of the Heavenly Tower and the Abyssal Tower. But in reality, there are six.”

I sat up straight. “Six?”

He nodded. “Six great Towers. Each one holding a different part of the world’s history. Each one with a purpose beyond human understanding.”

I opened my mouth to ask more—but then I stopped.

Because Father’s gaze had sharpened.

“And by what you’ve told me… their family is from the Abyssal Tower.”

Silence.

Mother sighed softly. “The Ghost Clan,” she murmured.

The name sent a shiver through my body.

“The Ghost Clan?” I echoed.

Father nodded. “One of the most dangerous clans of Old Bloods to ever exist, and one of the few that does not fear the Abyss. Actually, they don’t fear anything. They’re the odd ones.”

I stiffened.

“The Abyssal Tower is a nightmare for most,” he continued. “Its depths swallow people whole. The creatures that dwell there are beyond human comprehension. The deeper you go, the more reality itself begins to… warp.”

I shivered, remembering the things I had seen about the Mawling.

“But for them,” Father said, “the Abyss is not a place of fear.” His gaze darkened. “It is their home, their battleground, their playground.”

A slow, creeping realization settled into my bones.

“They… live in the Abyssal Tower?” I asked.

“They do more than live there,” he murmured. “They thrive. They hunt. They grow. From childhood, their people are raised in its depths. They do not merely survive it—they become part of it.”

“Rumors say they came from somewhere else,” Mother said quietly. “Before their home was… broken.”

The weight of that statement was suffocating.

From another place? Then to the Abyssal Tower?

I had heard about the Abyssal Tower from Ryzar before—about how the further one descended, the more twisted the world became. The heavier it felt, a pressure that would break many. How summoners had ventured too deep and never returned.

And yet—

This family treated it as their training ground.

“…Why would anyone do that?” I asked quietly.

Father’s eyes met mine.

“Because to them,” he said, “there is no greater glory.”

The words sent chills down my spine.

“The pressure the Abyssal Tower produces does not seem to affect them. They have a real advantage there,” he added softly.

I leaned back, trying to process everything.

The Old Bloods.

A people who carried the blood of ancient things.

A people who refused to mix with the rest of the world.

A people who saw the Abyssal Tower—one of the most terrifying places in existence—as nothing more than their personal battleground.

And now—

They had come to me.

For a moment, the room was silent.

Then—

Lina tugged on my sleeve.

“Akul.”

Her voice was small now. No more jokes. No more wild declarations. Just a quiet, honest worry.

I turned to her.

She was gripping her plushie so tightly her knuckles were pale.

“…Are you sure you should be doing this?”

I opened my mouth—

And stopped.

For the first time, I wasn’t sure how to answer.