It was the door to the Arctis Patriarch, his father's office.

Ryn realized that as they stood before it, the white hall stretched endlessly behind them. Everything else in the world had gone still except for this door.

His mother's hand tightened around his.

She exhaled once, slow and steady, then reached for the handle.

The moment it turned, warmth spilled out.

Not comfort, but heat. The kind that pressed against skin, heavy and stifling after the quiet cold of the hall.

The Arctis patriarch stood behind a broad desk of dark wood, posture immaculate as always. Papers were neatly arranged before him, ink still wet on some of them.

He looked up as they entered.

His gaze passed over Ryn first.

Then settled on her.

"You're late," he said.

"I won't be staying," she replied.

No hesitation. The silence that followed was thick, stretched taut between them like a bowstring about to snap.

"You're being emotional," he said at last. "This isn't the time."

She stepped forward anyway, releasing Ryn's hand but staying close enough that he could feel the shift in the air around her.

"I'm leaving the estate," she said. "And I'm taking Ryn with me."

The words landed without force, a statement rather than an intention.

The patriarch's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Out of the question."

She didn't raise her voice. Didn't argue.

"You know what this house expects," he continued. "And you know what you are asking of him."

"I do," she said.

He stood then, slow and deliberate, the firelight catching in his auburn hair as he moved around the desk.

"You're not thinking clearly," he said. "The west is no place for—"

He stopped and adjusted his tone.

"…Someone in your condition."

The room went very still.

Ryn felt it before he understood it.

Her shoulders stiffened. Just slightly.

"You're sick," the patriarch said. His words weren't rude or degrading. They sank in, like stating a fact, one that's been long accepted.

"And because of that," he continued, "you are no longer in a position to make decisions for him."

Her eyes hardened.

"That's not your call."

"It is," he replied calmly.

"You are not asking to leave alone. You are asking to remove the heir from this house."

Ryn's head pulsed. Sharp and sudden, like pressure snapping tight behind his eyes.

He winced, fingers curling reflexively into his sleeve.

The room… stuttered.

Sound dipped, like someone had pressed a hand over his ears. The edges of the world went pale, bleached white for a heartbeat, and then it snapped back.

Ryn blinked.

His mother was still standing there, the patriarch still behind the desk, the fire still burning.

"…He is an Arctis," the patriarch was saying, as if he hadn't stopped at all. "By blood. By law."

Ryn swallowed, his temples throbbing faintly now.

She stepped forward. "You don't get to call him that when it's convenient."

"For years," she continued, voice tight, "you've made your plans without him. You train the other two. You parade them through the halls like proofs of success. And now—now you decide to remember?

The headache lingered.

Not pain exactly.

More like something pressing down, insisting:

Don't look there.

Ryn shifted his weight, grounding himself. The feeling receded just enough for him to breathe.

"This house cannot afford ambiguity," the patriarch replied. "Not now."

…

"You've already decided," she said quietly.

The patriarch didn't deny it.

"He cannot be both," he replied. "Not Eden and Arctis. Not heir and outsider."

She stepped closer to the desk again, anger finally cracking through her composure.

"You don't get to erase me," she said. "You don't get to take my name from him like it's excess baggage."

"He is not excess," the patriarch said. "He is an obligation."

The word hit harder than the headache.

Ryn flinched.

Her laugh was short. Bitter.

"That's all you ever see."

"This house survives because we do not indulge sentiment," he replied.

Ryn's fingers curled, with only a single thought ran through his mind.

If I stay like this…the fighting would never stop.

He stepped forward before he could second-guess himself.

"I don't want it," Ryn said.

The words came out clearer than before.

Both of them turned.

"I don't want to be the heir," he continued. His head still ached, but the thought felt solid.

"If that's what you're arguing about, then I don't want it."

Her eyes widened. "Ryn—"

"I want to keep her name," he said quickly, afraid she'd stop him. "I'll stay here. I just—"

He swallowed. "I don't have to be first."

The patriarch studied him, long and searching, like reassessing a piece already placed on the board.

"You would give it up," he said. Not a question.

Ryn nodded. "Yes."

His mother dropped to one knee in front of him, hands gripping his arms.

"You don't understand what you're saying," she whispered. "This isn't something you should—"

"I do," Ryn said softly. "If I'm not the heir… you don't have to fight anymore."

The room stayed quiet.

Too quiet.

Ryn's mother didn't speak. She surged forward instead, arms wrapping around him with sudden force, clutching him tight against her chest.

"Oh—Ryn," she breathed.

For a moment, it felt right. Safe. Her hands trembled in his hair, fingers pressing into his back as if trying to memorize him.

Then her weight shifted.

Her grip slackened.

"Mother…?"

His mother's knees buckled.

Ryn barely had time to catch her as she collapsed against him, breath hitching sharply in her throat.

"Hey—!" Ryn panicked, arms scrambling to hold her up.

Her body shuddered. She coughed, blood and strength bleeding out of her all at once as she slumped fully into his arms.

GASP.

Cold closed over his shoulders.

Ryn sucked in a sharp breath, water flooding his mouth.

His eyes flew open.

The cavern wall loomed above him, distorted through rippling water, light refracting in slow, warped bands. His limbs jerked on instinct, arms flailing uselessly as his body sank instead of rising.

No—no—

Panic detonated in his chest.

He kicked hard, but the water seemed to just be pulling him down. His lungs burned as he thrashed, breaking the surface for half a breath before slipping under again.

Then, a hand seized him underneath his arm.

"RYN—!"

Jay's voice cut through the water, muffled but frantic.

Ryn choked as he was hauled upward, coughing violently as his head broke the surface. Water poured from his mouth and nose as Jay dragged him backward, boots skidding on stone.

"Easy—easy, I've got you—!" Jay grunted, muscles straining as he pulled Ryn clear of the pool.

Ryn hit the cavern floor hard, rolling onto his side as he retched, chest heaving. His fingers clawed at the stone like he was still sinking.

Jay dropped beside him, one hand gripping his shoulder, the other braced on the ground.

"What the hell was that?!" Jay demanded, breath ragged.

"You just—went under. You weren't moving, then you started flailing like you were drowning."

Ryn lay there, staring at the cavern wall, water dripping from his hair, heart hammering so hard it hurt.

His arms trembled.

"Sorry…bad memory resurfaced," he rasped.

Jay frowned. "What?"

"Never mind," Ryn whispered.

The lake behind them was perfectly still again.

Cold and silent, like nothing had happened at all.

Then, his stomach pulsed. Something inside him was moving. Ryn sucked in a slow breath, then another.

Jay shifted closer, reaching out without thinking. "You're not burning up or anything, are you?"

He stopped short.

"…Huh."

Ryn glanced at him. "What?"

Jay hesitated, then pressed two fingers lightly against Ryn's forearm.

Then, he pulled his hand back slowly.

"You're cold."

Ryn frowned faintly. He lifted his own hand, brushing his fingers along his arm.

Jay was right.

The chill wasn't on the surface. It felt deeper than skin, like the cold had settled into him rather than clinging to him

"…That's new," Ryn murmured.

Nothing felt wrong. But something was undeniably different.

"It's not fading," Ryn said quietly.

The cold stayed. It might've been the effects of the lake.

He checked his status again to confirm.

[Essence: 16 → 27]

[Essence Rank: Mid-Trainee]

Ryn stared in disbelief. His Essence had increased by almost significantly, close to double what it was when he'd left the Forest Isles.

He replayed the sequence carefully.

The lake hadn't reacted when he stepped in. It hadn't surged when he began absorbing.

The change hadn't happened until the memory surfaced.

Not at the beginning. But at the end.

When he stopped resisting it. Ryn frowned faintly.

Normally, it was common for Essence to increase when one was pushed to their limits.

But, if anything, the timing was impossible to ignore.

Ryn exhaled slowly, tracing the moment again in his mind. The pressure behind his eyes. The memory surfaced intact instead of fragmented. The instant he stopped pushing it away, that was when his Essence had shifted.

Not because it was forced to expand, but because it unlocked something else within.

As if the lake hadn't added anything at all.

That unsettled him.

It implied that part of his capacity wasn't tied to discipline or talent, but to continuity. To memories he carried incompletely. To parts of himself that he subconsciously trimmed away just to keep functioning.

Ryn exhaled slowly, a thin plume of mist leaving his lips.

If fragments of his past could influence how much Essence he could safely hold… then his strength hadn't increased because of the lake.

Twenty-seven was just the result of one memory.

It was simply too much progress for too little effort.

He didn't know how many fragments were left. Didn't know what would happen if he stopped holding them back one by one.

But he understood the implication clearly now.

His strength wasn't capped by talent.

If only he'd realized that in his past life.

Ryn's gaze drifted toward the sealed path leading deeper into the dungeon.

If that gate kept opening—

Then this was only the beginning.

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