The evening air was still, carrying the faint scent of night-blooming flowers. Elijah's hands rested gently on Grace's cheeks, his thumbs tracing the path of her tears. She leaned into his touch, her eyes closing, and pressed a soft kiss against his palm.
Elijah's mind reached out to Wonko, his mental voice carrying a note of troubled confusion.
It doesn't make sense, he thought. What I perceive from Grace isn't what she radiates during her battles. The way she described her awakening—that was the old path. But the way she fights... that's the new way. Why?
Wonko's mental voice carried a note of weary patience. Nothing new about it. She was just an ignorant child taken in and turned to practice the new way. It happens. The world isn't always consistent.
But it doesn't add up, Elijah insisted. The description of the attackers for her mother—that fits those lunatics from the fallen clan. The uncle is mostly suspicious because if I'm not wrong, Grace's mother was against them. But her uncle made her practice their way. Why?
Wonko's mental voice carried a note of grim recognition. You mean there's probably a discrepancy with Grace's uncle. He might have something to do with those Gilgamesh clan fanatics. The ones who worship the old ways and would do anything to reclaim their lost glory.
Elijah's brow furrowed. That's what I'm thinking.
---
Elijah pulled Grace into a sudden embrace, catching her off guard. Her arms wrapped around him instinctively, her body relaxing into his warmth.
"Your Aethernova," he said, his voice soft and casual. "Your uncle gave it to you, right?"
Grace nodded against his chest. "He was a part-time informant. The kind who collaborates with police networks to gather dirt on politicians and other associates. In return, he got rewarded with special equipment. The Aethernova came recently."
She paused, her voice dropping to a whisper. "When I was younger, I felt an eerie feeling towards it. Like something was wrong. But my uncle rubbed it off as just my imagination. He said I was being foolish."
Elijah's arms tightened around her. "When you awakened—have you ever felt that sensation again?"
Grace shook her head. "Not really. When I'm with you, the uncomfortable pain stops. It's like..." she paused, searching for the right words, "...like the heaviness in my chest lifts. I feel faster. Stronger. Lighter. Since gaining it, my training has been more effective."
Elijah's voice carried a note of careful curiosity. "But there are usually drawbacks to using it, right?"
Grace's body tensed slightly. "In the initial phases, there were. Heavy chest, constant fatigue, headaches, nightmares almost every day. It caused me great anxiety."
---
The stable was dimly lit, filled with the earthy scent of hay and horses. A young Grace stood in the corner, her aethernova suit gleaming under the faint light. Her hand pressed against her chest, her breathing shallow and labored.
Her uncle stood nearby, his back to her as he scrubbed a horse's flank. His movements were methodical, unhurried. He didn't turn to look at her.
"Uncle," Grace said, her voice carrying a note of pain. "I feel—"
"You feel nothing," he interrupted, his voice cold and dismissive. "You're too lazy to hold within you the work ethic needed to be strong. Such a weak spirit—your mother would be disappointed. If you dream of wanting to see her again, it's crucial for you to stop being a nuisance. Grow up. Focus on your training. Or don't, and fail her memory."
Grace's eyes glistened with unshed tears. Her hand pressed harder against her chest, the pain intensifying.
"Yes, Uncle," she said, her voice barely a whisper.
---
Elijah listened, his expression shifting to one of quiet understanding. His eyes held a flicker of something sharp beneath the surface—the glint of a plan forming.
"Grace," he said, his voice soft but deliberate. "If one day you find out that what you saw in me wasn't the real—that the change in disposition and mannerisms you've seen was always the real self that you never got to see..." He paused, searching for the right words. "The river you see is the same water that flows beneath the surface. The seed you water becomes the tree it was always meant to be. Sometimes, what we see is not what we get—it's what we needed all along. The reflection in the stream might show a face you don't recognize, but the soul beneath the surface has always been there."
Grace's brow furrowed, her expression one of complete confusion.
"What are you saying?" she asked, her voice carrying a note of unease. "Can't we just enjoy this moment together?"
Elijah sighed, his expression softening. His hand moved to her shoulder, his fingers pressing gently against a specific point.
Grace's eyes widened, her body going limp. She slumped against him, her breathing evening out into peaceful sleep.
You are so kind to me, Elijah thought, his internal voice carrying a note of quiet regret. But I'm not Leo. And I don't think I'm ready for another relationship—the last one ended up hurting me. I'm sorry, Grace.
He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering for just a moment.
---
Wonko's mental voice cut through the silence. What do you intend to do? Because when you make that look, it always means you're going to do something I won't like.
Elijah's lips curved into a faint smile—a cold, calculating thing that didn't reach his eyes.
I need to confirm something, he thought, his voice carrying a note of dark determination. That's all.
His gaze was fixed on Grace's sleeping form, his expression one of quiet resolve.
The night stretched before him, filled with unanswered questions and hidden truths. And Elijah knew that the answers he sought would not come easily.
---
Elijah's hand moved to Grace's cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of her jaw. His expression was one of quiet regret, his voice barely a whisper.
"I'm sorry," he said. "But I need to know the truth."
The night air was still, the stars beginning to emerge in the darkening sky.
And Elijah knew that the path ahead was fraught with danger, deception, and the weight of choices made.