CHAPTER NINE: WHEN CHANGE KNOCKS

The sun hung low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the mansion’s black-wood grounds. Chronifer strolled alongside his mother, their steps falling into a steady rhythm. The air carried a weight of approaching change – his birthday loomed ever closer, and with it, a tide of expectations he could feel but not yet see.

“I'm really scared about the Sombre Remembrance, father was clear about me joining as a division lord.” Chronifer began. “I was excited about joining but that was until he actually explained it to me, the elite group of the Spiral meant to take on the impossible missions, doesn't that just seem ruthless?”

“And yet your father still lives Son” Slora encouraged.

“Yeah, but there is always a fear, knowing that you have to accomplish what is seen as impossible.” Chronifer added, remembering the odds he had to face as John, he wanted to be more than that but still, having to face impossible challenges on every turn would be maddening. Chronifer with all his dreams and ambitions was left unsure if he would even survive such a life.

"Don't worry; your father is the one training you, so you should have no fear.” Slora comforted

“I guess so, I really do.” His mother patted his hair gently, not ruffling his hair.

“Now did he tell you about the Spiral?” Slora asked, gently, her husky voice measured and light.

“Yes, on second thought, no,” Chronifer began but quickly corrected. “He just told me how the Spiral was created by six clans and that among all of them, the Shinasho's where the least funny,” He turned to his mother with raised eyebrows “I'm guessing you told him that I liked Ryuu’s jokes.”

“Yes, yes I did.” Slora said her voice carrying a hint of a smile, chronifer looked at her beautiful face and there was one indeed.

So Ryuu Gregor Shinasho is part of one of the clans who created the Spiral, like us the Montcroix-Wythe, interesting.

“Didn't he tell you more about the Spiral, though?” slora inquired.

“Not really.” Chronifer answered, with a shrug

"Well, apart from the Shinasho's being the least fun, let me give you a little lesson on what The Spiral of Wickedness truly is," Slora began, her voice calm and familiar yet spoken with majestic resonance. "To the worlds and other organizations, we are but a mercenary group, and yes, we are that. But what we truly represent is a declaration–a Declaration of freedom."

Her tone carried a weight, each word deliberate, as if carving truth into the very fabric of existence. "We do not limit ourselves by the rules of engagements deemed too dark or too vile for others. No, we engage in all things, even the Foulest Deeds." Here, she paused, allowing the gravity of that statement to settle, branding it onto Chronifer's soul. "But that is merely a smidgen of what makes us a declaration. We are not bound by the mere notion of payment; we choose what we desire. The amount does not choose us. All that matters is our will. We are the architects of our destiny, the shapers of our fate and of those we deem our clients and allies, unbound by the chains of morality or coin.”

Before Chronifer could answer or could shake the goosebumps and chill flowing through him like a wave he saw a figure on the periphery of his vision.

Nyte stood a short distance away, his posture unsure but his gaze focused. Ashen-skinned and lean, the boy seemed taller than Chronifer remembered. Something about his presence unsettled the moment, like a wind shifting direction.

Slora noticed and smiled faintly. “I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be in the library.”

She departed, leaving the two boys alone among the towering trees. Chronifer turned to Nyte, whose expression betrayed inner conflict.

“You offered me a deal,” Nyte began, his voice quiet but laced with tension. “Why?”

Chronifer tilted his head, thrown by the question. “What do you mean?”

“Why are you doing all this?” Nyte’s words came quickly, as if he feared losing the nerve. “For power? For your family? Or is it just so people fear you?”

The questions hung heavy between them. Chronifer hesitated, unable to summon an answer.

“Why did you offer me companionship?” Nyte pressed on, his voice trembling with something raw. “Was it pity? Or just another chain of kindness?”

The words hit Chronifer like a hammer, forcing him to confront an uncomfortable truth. A chain of kindness… is that what this is?

Chronifer’s mind raced. He remembered his life as John—cutting ties with friends, betraying them, sacrificing everything for success. By the time he’d reached the stars, he’d been nothing but hollow, his heart devoured by cold calculation. Every move, every relationship had been a tool, a game. Was this any different?

The answer was clear. Yes.

But it wasn’t only that. Beneath the blackened edges of his ambition flickered a faint, stubborn ember, tainted, but real, empathy. He wasn’t chasing purity; he wasn’t trying to redeem himself. But he was building something new, and this time, he wouldn’t let it crumble into emptiness.

Chronifer looked around the grounds, the mansion, his mother, his father, Dante, and Nyte. If they were the ones on the line, what would I do?

He thought he could let them go. But in the silence behind that thought, the emptiness stirred, gnawing at the edges of his resolve.

No. Not this time.

“I don’t know what I want beyond power,” Chronifer admitted at last. “But I know this, I won’t abandon you, Nyte. Or anyone who stands with me. If I rise, we rise. Together, we’ll find something worth all of this.”

The words came with surprising weight, anchoring him in a way he hadn’t expected. This was something new – a promise, not just to Nyte, but to himself. Loyalty to my family and all I deem worthy of it.

Nyte studied him for a long moment, as if trying to gauge the truth behind the words. Finally, he nodded, his tension easing. “Thank you.”

Chronifer started to reply, but a voice interrupted.

“Unfortunately, all vacations must come to an end.”

Dante’s figure emerged from the shadows, his presence commanding as always. For a brief moment, a faint halo of light flickered behind his head before fading into nothingness.

“Your training begins tomorrow,” Dante announced, a faintly remorseful tone dripping from his words. “Oh, and good news, Oniihino calls for you.”

Chronifer’s mind raced. Were they waiting for this before removing the seal?

He cast a glance at Nyte, who looked more resolute now but still uncertain. Chronifer exhaled deeply. Tomorrow begins a new chapter for both of us.

The days crawled by towards Chronifer’s sixth birthday, the weather turning colder with each passing moment. Training became routine, a dull ache fading into normalcy. Dante's approach to training Nyte became unconventional, allowing Nyte to choose when to train. If the boy felt up to par and Dante agreed, they'd simply lounge and talk instead.

Their time around the dining table served as a reprieve from the hard labor and toiling. His mother engaged his father in talks about politics, while Cipher would always praise her, thanking her for giving him the opportunity to focus on his blade. Meanwhile, Dante would whisper to Nyte about gambling games, offering glimpses into a world beyond training.

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There were many such moments, and Chronifer found a rhythm he enjoyed, a slow and peaceful flow. Nyte, too, seemed to be growing, his first opinion voiced during one of Slora’s tea taste testing sessions, a ritual of idle luxury amidst their rigorous lives.

Winter struck hard, colder than anything he had experienced before, but for the first time in months, Dante's hateful shouts didn’t wake him.

Still, Chronifer rose early, tapping the sigil on the wall – a habit now ingrained. Three taps and the soft light of the chandelier illuminated his room. He moved to the mirror, pausing to admire his reflection.

Pale-golden hair tousled from sleep framed his sharp, delicate features. His golden eyes, still heavy with drowsiness, caught the light just right. “Looking amazing as usual,” he mused, tilting his head. “Truly angelic.”

His skin was pale but alive, unlike Dante’s ghostly complexion. His lean frame showed no outward signs of his rigorous training, but that didn’t stop him from spinning in place with a wicked grin.

“Well, I look like I’m going to break hearts today,” he declared dramatically, punctuating it with an evil laugh, although he just looked like a particularly stubborn toddler.

His reverie broke when movement caught his eye. A flash of black hair in the mirror froze him mid-spin. His head snapped toward the figure. Slora stood there, a bemused smile on her face.

Chronifer’s stomach dropped. Kill me.

“I…” He stammered, wondering if the floorboards could swallow him whole. Slora chuckled lightly, covering her mouth.

“Happy birthday, son.” Her tone was soft, warm but not overly celebratory.

Chronifer nodded stiffly, following her into the hallway. The air felt sharper, and his embarrassment clung like a second skin.

“So… what now?” he ventured, trying to fill the silence.

“Now?” Slora echoed, her tone playful.

“I mean, six feels… significant? You’ve all been talking about it like it’s special.”

Slora glanced at him, her expression unreadable. “Six is when children start socializing properly. It’s also when formal training begins. The important part is your father’s domain.” She paused, her gaze turning thoughtful. “But there’s something else you should know.”

Chronifer raised a brow. “Oh?”

“You may face some… skepticism.” Her words were careful, her tone measured.

“About what?”

“About you being Cipher’s son. Most children your age have been known to the community for six years. You, on the other hand, were officially recognized only three months ago after the Birth Moon. You look the part, your Montcroix-Wythe heritage is obvious – but people love to gossip. I’ve dealt with the political implications, but whispers are harder to silence.”

Chronifer groaned, dragging a hand down his face. Oh, I’m not going to enjoy this.

“Oh, and son, are you sure that’s what you really want to wear today? The visitors may think you’re taking the ball unseriously,” Chronifer’s mother remarked with a pointed tone.

Chronifer froze at her words, then laughed lightly. She had to be joking, right?

“Mother, you’re joking... right?” he asked, his voice teetering between humor and disbelief. “Mother?”

“It’s just a simple surprise party,” she replied, her tone dismissive. “Don’t overthink it. It’s not just for you, but for all the kids.”

Chronifer sighed, but then his panic set in. He spun on his heel and bolted back to his room to change.

Curse this! he thought, flustered.

Several minutes later, he finally emerged, a small mirror in hand as he meticulously adjusted his already-perfect appearance. His reflection gleamed back at him, but something about the moment felt... odd.

Instead of heading straight to the ballroom, he made a detour to the dining room, his mind drifting toward food. As he glanced in the mirror once more, the unsettling feeling of being watched returned. He lowered it to find Nyte standing in the doorway, staring at him dubiously.

Chronifer shrugged, offering a causal explanation. “There’s going to be a ball,” he said, as if that summed up everything.

Nyte winced and groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Damned Dante won’t let me skip this one.”

“Well, then we’re in this together,” Chronifer replied with a grin, relishing the thought of having someone else share his misery.

He studied Nyte for a moment, noting the subtle but undeniable changes in the boy. When they first met, Nyte had been like a blank canvas, with thin tears. Now, he was becoming something more, a painting in progress. Yet Chronifer couldn’t help but feel uneasy about the influences shaping him.

Most of it came from Dante: his carefree, almost reckless demeanor had left a noticeable imprint on Nyte. But there was also a hint of Cipher in the mix, reflected in Nyte’s stoic silence and reactions. Still, Nyte’s personality wasn’t entirely borrowed. Unlike Dante or Cipher, who thrived in the limelight, Nyte shunned it entirely. He disliked praise and loathed attention, preferring solitude over spectacle.

Nyte had kept his promise to Chronifer, though, and had shared the name of his bloodline: Blood of the Pale.

Chronifer had been incredibly jealous. The name was so effortlessly cool. Nyte hadn’t disclosed its full description, however, citing Dante’s advice: never reveal the specifics of one’s bloodline.

As they entered the dining room, Chronifer’s mother had already prepared food for both boys. They devoured it with a shared enthusiasm before finally making their way to the ballroom, a place Chronifer rarely visited within the vast mansion.

One step into the ballroom, Chronifer froze, breathless. He had attended countless award shows in his past life, but as his gaze swept over the room, he realized this was something entirely different. This was not Earth. This was another world.

The magnificence of the ballroom was overwhelming, almost oppressive. The air shimmered with an otherworldly brilliance. For a moment, Chronifer stood motionless, caught in a tangle of emotions. There was awe, yes, but also a deep, gnawing repulsion. The sheer beauty of the room felt like a cruel contrast to the harsh reality he knew this multiverse represented. His body felt cold as flashes of memory surged: the spaceship, the books he'd read, the constant reminders that this was a world of death and hardship. He couldn’t help but wonder, for a fleeting moment, how all of this beauty would come falling down.

Its vaulted ceilings seemed impossibly high, as if they touched the heavens themselves. Crystal chandeliers floated above, untethered and cascading a glistening light across the space. The polished black-and-gold tiles below mirrored the radiance, their inlaid patterns swirling like constellations in a starry sky. Midnight-blue walls stretched endlessly, adorned with celestial murals that gave the impression of stepping into a boundless universe. Golden balconies lined the room’s edges, offering a perfect view of the grandeur below.

Chronifer had avoided this ballroom for years. It had always felt haunting in its emptiness, cloaked in shadows that seemed to watch him. But tonight, it was alive, pulsating with brilliance, even if no one else was there except for the tables of floating food, drinks, and other extravagant delights.

He glanced at Nyte, who seemed just as out of place as he felt. Together, the two of them drifted through the space, their movements slow and cautious, as though the room itself might swallow them.

Time slipped by as they wandered the ballroom, until a figure stepped into view.

It was Slora.

She wore a playful smile, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Well,” she began, her voice lilting, “this was actually just a joke. There’s not going to be a ball.”

Chronifer’s face twisted in betrayal, but before he could speak, Slora raised a finger to silence him.

“But…” she continued, letting the pause hang in the air. “There is going to be storytelling.”

A familiar voice echoed across the room, gravelly and commanding. Dante’s.

“Sit tight, lads,” he called from a podium at the far end of the ballroom. “Here comes a story you’ll never forget.”

The room seemed to hold its breath as Dante began, his voice heavy with gravity.

No doubt this was his idea. Chronifer thought with an eye roll

“This is the tale of the first mission me, Cipher, and an old friend of ours –Hazriel Noctis– ever went on. Though I should make one thing clear: Hazriel is not a coward.”

Nyte arched an eyebrow, while Chronifer leaned forward, intrigued despite himself.

“It was a mission deemed impossible,” Dante continued, his tone grim. “Countless had failed before us, young lords, princes, rising stars. All of them died. The goal? To clear a planet that had become a dungeon.”

The room grew colder as Dante’s words sank in.

“And the system’s restriction was this: only three Rank Two's could enter.”

Before Dante could continue, the air around them seemed to ripple. A sudden, deafening buzz rang out, silencing everything.

Chronifer froze as a message appeared before him, glowing and unmistakable:

System Announcement!

A new universe has been successfully integrated. Rejoice!

The words burned into his vision, and the weight of their meaning pressed down on him.

This was no ordinary night. This was a moment that would change his life –and the entire multiverse– forever.