Mirac stiffened, his hand still on the hilt of his sword, his heart pounding harder as Blake's amused tone echoed in his ears.
The gloom of Blake's house seemed to close in on him, thick and oppressive, the silence broken only by the click of the door shutting behind him.
His senses, honed by years of training, frantically tried to make sense of the situation.
"Blake, what the hell-" Mirac began, his voice a tense hiss, filtered through the scarred black mask, as he turned toward his companion.
But the words died in his throat when a sudden glow pierced the darkness.
An oil lantern flared to life with a faint sizzle, casting a warm, flickering light across the small ground-floor living room.
Mirac spun around, his hand ready to draw his sword, his body taut like a bowstring.
But he froze, his breath catching, when he saw Carmen—or rather, Ananya—standing beside the wooden table in the center of the room.
Her face, usually cold and impassive, was lit this time by a rare smile, faint but unmistakably genuine.
On the table, a rustic cake dominated the scene like a trophy, its white icing flecked with red berries that gleamed like rubies under the trembling light of a candelabra.
Fifteen candles burned atop it, their lively flames casting golden reflections, dancing across the faded gray plastered walls.
"What the…" Mirac murmured, his voice uncertain, his eyes struggling to make sense of the scene.
But before he could fully grasp the moment, Carmen dispelled any lingering doubt with a firm voice, saying:
"Happy birthday, Isaac."
Mirac stood petrified, his brain scrambling to process the scene.
His hand slowly slipped from the hilt of his sword, the cold metal parting from his skin like a weight lifted.
"Hah, you should've seen your face, Isaac!" Blake exclaimed, stepping forward with a swagger and clapping a hand on Mirac's shoulder. "I didn't think someone like you could actually forget their own birthday!"
Behind the scarred black mask, Mirac's face warmed with surprise and a touch of embarrassment.
"What…? My… birthday?!" he murmured, his voice muffled, as his green eyes darted from Carmen to Blake.
Suddenly, a thought struck him like a lightning strike:
'Today's my birthday?!'
His fifteenth, to be precise.
But only in that moment did he remember, realizing it had completely slipped his mind—a detail lost in the frenzy of the day.
That very morning, in fact, he had filled out documents for the Association, entering his fake personal details, including his supposed date of birth—a date that should have rung a bell in his mind.
And yet, nothing.
No memory, no signal.
'How's that possible? How did I forget and not realize it all day?!'
But as these thoughts crowded his mind, Mirac shook his head, almost as if to shake off the weight of such a trivial matter.
He didn't have time to waste berating himself or blaming his carelessness. 'Well, it doesn't matter…'
Beneath the mask, Mirac's face was a mosaic of emotions: surprise, amusement, and a hint of shame, all blending to make it hard to suppress a genuine smile.
"You two… planned all this?" he asked, his voice still tinged with disbelief, as his eyes scanned the living room, transformed in just a few hours into a haven of warmth and simplicity.
The living room was adorned with colorful paper garlands hanging from the ceiling, hand-cut with evident care, a sign that the red-haired woman had put in real effort.
The wooden table, surrounded by four high-backed chairs—one of which wobbled due to a shorter leg—held not only the cake but also wooden plates ready to be used and a basket brimming with fresh fruit.
The slightly ajar kitchen door revealed the cold hearth and pots hanging on hooks, while the warmth of the fireplace and the candles enveloped the entire ground floor of the house.
Blake laughed, his hands planted on his hips like an actor who had just delivered his best performance.
"Heh, it wasn't easy keeping it from you, especially considering how sharp you are with details," he said, shooting a conspiratorial glance at Carmen as he headed to the kitchen to wash his hands. "This morning, while you were still sleeping, Ananya told me it was your birthday and that she wanted to throw a little party for the occasion. Naturally, I offered to help, and we worked out the plan: my job was to keep you busy all afternoon, dragging you around Raerno, while she used the money from selling the Rogthars' organs for the cake and other preparations."
Mirac's eyes widened, surprise rippling across his face. "You used the organ money for this?" he asked, pointing at the cake. "Weren't we supposed to use it for the equipment we needed?"
The masked boy was clearly referring to the equipment needed for their journey to the Red Desert, and Carmen was fully aware of it.
Yet, the red-haired woman merely shrugged, her face returning to its usual composure.
"Yes, and not only that: we still need to pay off the debts we owe to Blake and the Association," she replied, her voice calm but laced with a hint of warmth, while a faint blush betrayed a touch of embarrassment. "But, you know… I thought a day like this deserved something special."
Blake burst out laughing, stepping closer to the table. "You did a great job, Ananya," he said, addressing her with a voice full of admiration he didn't bother to hide.
Mirac went to the kitchen to wash his hands, then returned to the living room table, observing the cake more closely and lingering on the small details that made it almost unique.
The white icing was slightly uneven, a sign of handmade decoration, and the red berries were arranged carefully along the edge, at almost regular intervals, as if Carmen had tried to give it a harmony all her own. At the center, a few slices of candied citrus stood out, releasing a faint sweet fragrance mixed with the warm aroma of toasted bread on the table.
Suddenly, the silence of the room was broken by a discordant, improvised melody when Blake, with an enthusiastic grin, launched into the birthday song first.
"Happy birthdaaay to YOOOOU!" he sang, his voice booming through the small living room as he clapped his hands to the rhythm.
Carmen, initially hesitant, eventually gave in, joining the song with a lower, more controlled tone.
Mirac, faced with the scene, said nothing but mentally shook his head.
'Blake, enough… You're killing my ears!' he thought, though his inner tone carried an affection he didn't want to show.
When the song ended, Blake clapped enthusiastically, while Carmen turned to the birthday boy:
"Make a wish," she said, her voice soft but firm, as the candle flames reflected in the lenses of her glasses.
Mirac didn't hesitate: he slightly lifted the black mask and closed his eyes for a moment, his heart lighter than it had been in days.
Then he blew out the candles in a single breath, while Blake resumed his loud clapping and Carmen, with a satisfied nod, began cutting the cake for everyone.
Mirac let out a soft laugh, the sound mingling with the crackle of the fireplace.
"Thank you," he murmured at last, his voice softer than he intended. "I didn't expect this. Really."
Blake didn't respond: instead, he gave him another pat on the shoulder, lighter this time, his smile shining as always.
Right after, the tall, lanky boy grabbed a jug of fruit juice and filled three wooden cups from the kitchen.
"To Isaac!" he toasted, raising his cup with a theatrical gesture. "May your next year be full of adventures, victories, and… why not, maybe you'll even find a beautiful girlfriend!"
'The last part you could've kept to yourself!' Mirac thought, holding back from commenting aloud.
All three laughed, their cups brushing with a faint clink, a sound that blended with the crackle of the fireplace and the glow of the candles.
The light danced on the walls, intertwining with the shadows of the chandelier and the fire.
As they bit into the cake, the sweet taste of the berries mingling with the candied citrus, Blake suddenly added:
"Oh, by the way," he began, grinning with a mouthful of cake, "I hope I didn't catch you too off guard, Ananya, when I brought up the idea of eating out…"
Carmen shook her head, a restrained smile curling her lips.
"No, it's fine," she replied, her tone calm but tinged with amusement. "It's just that… I didn't expect it…"
Mirac let out a soft laugh, recalling Blake's insistence that afternoon, when he had dragged him and Carmen to the inn with his overwhelming enthusiasm.
'He's only known me for a day… and yet, he put in so much effort for this little party…' the masked boy thought.
In that moment, he almost felt as if all his problems—the Rogthars, the chain of events that had led him to this point, and the secrets of Carmen and her organization—had vanished, leaving room for something simpler, more pleasant, and welcoming.
It was then that he recalled how, if it hadn't been for the events at the castle—the revelation of his Chaotic nature to the royal family, the imprisonment, the escape with Carmen—he would have been in a golden hall at that moment, surrounded by praises and bows, celebrating not only his fifteenth birthday but also his coronation as the rightful heir to the throne of Ardorya.
Trumpets would have blared, nobles would have toasted, and the weight of the crown would already be pressing on his shoulders.
But another thought, deeper, crept into his mind, digging into the recesses of a life that didn't belong to this world.
Before his reincarnation, before becoming Mirac, Prince of Ardorya, Vector's birthdays—after the loss of his parents—had been moments of silence, spent without a cake, without a smile, without anyone remembering him.
No candles, no toasts: just the weight of an insignificant existence.
Now, though, in that modest house, surrounded by two people who had taken the time and care to organize a surprise party for him, Mirac felt something new.
Or rather: something he had believed was lost forever, extinguished by the loneliness of his past life and by a fate that had destined him to rejection and isolation from his new family.
In front of the lit candles, with Blake's enthusiasm and Carmen's rare, precious smile, Mirac felt a sense of belonging that warmed his soul like a rediscovered flame.
And in that moment, with a clarity that almost took his breath away, the masked boy understood the truth of why he felt that way:
'All I've ever wanted was this: someone who cared about me... Someone who remembered something as trivial as my birthday... Someone capable of melting the cold of loneliness with the simple warmth of their presence...'
With a deep breath, Mirac closed his eyes and smiled.
He had already blown out the candles, but he hadn't needed to make a wish.
It was already there, in front of him, in that room full of life and shared emotions.
* * *
The celebration continued for another hour, with Blake, as usual, chatting away about whatever crossed his mind, while Carmen, more reserved, chimed in with sharp-witted comments that drew laughs from Mirac.
When the candles had burned down and the cake was reduced to a few crumbs, the three cleared the table, leaving the living room tidy.
Carmen offered to wash the dishes in the stone sink in the kitchen, the sound of water mingling with her cheerful humming.
Mirac, with precise movements, stored the decorations in a wicker basket beside the boot rack.
Blake, with no tasks to handle, decided to take a shower upstairs, leaving the bathroom free for Mirac, who still needed to wash up later.
Taking advantage of the tall, lanky boy's absence, Mirac approached Carmen, not so much to help with the dishes as to tell her about his afternoon.
Therefore, without lingering on superfluous details, such as the tour of the Square of Affairs or the explorations in the various districts of Raerno, Mirac went over the most significant moments of the day.
He began by recounting his visit to Raerno's Central Library, where he had discovered Floor -1, a Secret Archive accessible only to Association members of the seventh rank or higher via the rightmost elevator, activated by inserting the Association's Identity Document.
However, to bolster the credibility of his mysterious powers in the eyes of the red-haired woman, Mirac seized the opportunity to weave a lie as cunning as it was captivating into his story.
He declared that it was not chance that had led him to the right elevator, but a new and extraordinary manifestation of his powers: a "Fortuitous Vision."
With a firm and convincing tone—without betraying the slightest hesitation or crack in credibility—he claimed that, as he was preparing to meet Blake on the upper floor, the entity he was in Syntony with had transmitted a vivid image of the rightmost elevator, guiding him to the discovery of the Archive.
A phenomenon that had never occurred before.
Thus, he introduced the concept of "Fortuitous Visions," describing them as a distinct evolution of the simpler "Fortuitous Knowledges."
He explained that while the latter, as he had previously implied, merely granted him fragments of knowledge, Fortuitous Visions were far superior: they revealed vivid, precise, almost tangible images that concealed a greater meaning yet to be unveiled.
Of course, none of this was true, but it was a lie that Mirac had cleverly crafted during his afternoon walk with Blake to strengthen Carmen's trust in the alleged "Fortuitous Knowledges," introduce the new "Fortuitous Visions," and, at the same time, conceal the existence of his mathematical powers in anticipation of a possible future where the secrecy of his abilities might prove to be of vital importance.
"Well, as Blake already said, my plan was just to keep you away from the house to organize the party," Carmen explained, interrupting Mirac. "So, to be honest, I didn't really expect you'd actually have one of your Fortuitous Knowledge… Or rather, Fortuitous Visions… We got really lucky, don't you think?"
'Are you sure about that?!' Mirac thought, without commenting aloud, but he nodded, relaxing slightly. "Yeah, but not for the reason you think. If someone else, without the proper authorization, had been with me in the elevator and I'd accidentally led them to discover the Secret Archive, I would've violated the contract's article on privacy and nondisclosure of the Association's sensitive information. Luckily, that didn't happen. I don't know if Mrs Rose wasn't aware of it, completely forgot to mention it, or simply chose not to bring it up today in Blake's presence, but the important thing is that the existence of Floor -1 didn't leak. Right?"
Carmen didn't respond immediately.
Her eyes drifted to an invisible horizon, her face, with a pensive expression, betraying that she was lost in her own thoughts.
A few moments later, with a low, thoughtful voice, she finally replied: "Yes, you're right…"
Mirac savored the satisfaction of seeing Carmen's expression, as she seemed to buy his fabricated tale without asking too many questions.
'Perfect!' thought the masked boy, smirking to himself.
Then, he went on to explain that the Level -1 floor stored reports on past missions, dossiers of various individuals wanted by the Association and the Intercontinental Council, descriptions of rare magical beasts, maps of unusual locations—including several Dungeons—and much more.
Among that material, he also said he had found potentially crucial information about the Red Desert and a tribe living in the Western Belt of Ahmar.
When he mentioned the latter, however, he caught a slight flinch from Carmen: an almost imperceptible movement of her pupils and shoulders, but enough to spark a strong suspicion in him.
'This reaction… Don't tell me…!'
It was then that Mirac hypothesised that the red-haired woman was already aware of the hidden people of Ahmar and that, therefore, the assumption he had formed back on Level -1 was likely correct: the ahmarians were, in some way, connected to Carmen's secret organisation!