Life is unpredictable, no matter how much you try to pn for it.
I’ve made countless attempts to control my circumstances, but it has all been in vain. Over time, I’ve accepted its unpredictability and chosen to adapt to whatever comes my way.
Take my family, for instance.
Standing before me is a grave bearing my mother’s name. Beside me stands my older sister, tears streaking her face. Aside from the two of us, no one else has come to pay their respects.
My mother passed away just after I graduated high school.
I can’t say I was entirely surprised.
For years, she had been overworking herself, shouldering most of the family’s responsibilities. Gradually, the strain wore her down, leaving her increasingly exhausted and despondent.
But what caught me off guard was the manner of her death.
She wasn’t lost to illness or exhaustion; she was murdered—by my younger sister and my father.
The details are still unclear, but my father orchestrated the entire crime, using my younger sister as a scapegoat.
Had it not been for my intervention, he might have succeeded in shifting all the bme onto her.
The supposed motive?
It was something like an argument over money my mother had kept hidden from him.
After the incident, my father was imprisoned, and my younger sister went missing.
My older sister shouldered the entire emotional weight of the incident.
Even so, she managed to move forward, though it demanded immense effort. In time, she chose to let go of our st name, severing her final tie to our father. I eventually did the same, realizing I no longer had any need for it.
In doing so, we closed the chapter on our family legacy.
Strangely, none of this unsettles me. My only response to it all is, “That’s surprising.”
I haven’t shed a tear, nor do I harbor resentment toward my father. Instead, I’m left with questions—a curiosity about his actions.
'Why did he do it?'
'If he was clever enough to orchestrate my mother’s downfall with such precision, why didn't he apply that same ingenuity to better his own life?'
"Was he simply losing his rationality? If so, when did it start?"
"In my memory, he was always a rational person, running his company with clear judgment."
"What could have caused such a dramatic shift in his reasoning?"
As I ponder these questions, a thought gradually forms: there seems to be an invisible force in this world, one that can gradually erode a person’s rationality.
And so, I added to my mental to-do list: understand this force and preserve my own rationality until the end.
***
Naphael sat in his office, hunched over a stack of paperwork, but his thoughts kept drifting.
After the breakfast incident, he had resumed his schedule as pnned, but the image of his daughter's tearful face lingered, pulling him back to the moment that marked the beginning of the rift between them.
In that memory, Sophia was a small girl, clinging to his clothes as she sobbed.
"Father... I'm so sorry. I—I don’t have any talent. I couldn’t meet your expectations..."
Naphael had stood there in silence, staring down at her, unable to offer any words of comfort.
He knew the harsh reality of the noble world—merciless to those without talent. Yet, as time passed, he realized he could have responded differently, more gently.
After that moment, Sophia withdrew, retreating to her room and shutting him out.
Soon after, international conflicts erupted, consuming his time and leaving no opportunity to make amends. He missed every chance to apologize or reconnect, and so the years passed without another word between them.
Now, with a rare chance to rebuild their retionship, he had only succeeded in worsening it further.
Naphael put down his pen and leaned back in his chair.
"I’m such an idiot...," he muttered to himself.
Suddenly, a surge of emotion overwhelmed him. His chest tightened, his hands trembled, and a cold sweat broke out across his forehead.
'I let my guard down...'
This had happened several times since his encounter with the Beast, Seraphix.
He focused, circuting mana through his mind, applying a calming cue to himself. It was a hypnotic spell, typically used in battle or war to help soldiers stay calm and sharp under pressure.
Gradually, his breathing steadied.
"I see... it really is trauma," he whispered.
***
As I open my eyes, I see Sophia still asleep, her eyes red from all the crying. A bandage wraps her hand, a reminder of the breakfast incident.
'I should at least give him a scratch on the face.'
I lie down beside her, repying the events in my mind.
'Naphael... was his rationality intact?'
To me, it didn’t matter who a person was—whether they were rich, poor, famous, or a stranger. How I treated someone was always based on whether they had rationality or not.
In my previous life, I never had a high opinion of people with wealth or power, primarily because I often found them cking in this aspect.
As for Naphael...
'I guess he wasn’t that bad.'
For once, he actually listened to me—a cat—when I told him to let go of Sophia.
I’m not sure if talking animals are common in this world, but judging by the shocked expressions on Naphael and Valeslina’s faces, I suspect it is.
But still...
'I really want to scratch him at least once...'
I shift my focus to my status window.
---
Seraphix
Level: 1 Mana Capacity: 24Occupation: Beast (cat) tamed by Sophia Kovalevska
Strength: 1 Intelligence: 1 Agility: 1 Dexterity: 1 Vitality: 1
Skills: Transmogrify Essence, Veil of the Abyss, Essence Devour
---
'So, my mana capacity has decreased by 2.'
This confirms that Veil of the Abyss consumes 1 mana every 3 minutes.
As for the distance limit, I’m not entirely sure. However, I was able to cover the entire dining room—about a 30-meter radius.
Since it’s an aura skill, I didn’t expect much beyond making my presence known to the people in the room. But to my surprise, the skill actually extends my senses.
It’s a strange form of perception, almost like a blend of touch and sight.
With it, I can observe everything in the room in great detail, even the facial expressions of the person behind me.
This skill is perfect for me, as it will help me avoid unnecessary trouble by giving me a better grasp of my surroundings.
I shifted my attention to the window.
'I guess it's still the middle of the night.'
Then, I moved closer to Sophia and settled back into sleep.
***
In a simple house, a woman sat leisurely, sipping her tea. She had dark brown hair and eyes, and her skin was sun-kissed.
She was Shira, the Grand Tamer.
She gazed absently at her garden, deep in thought, when a letter bird appeared. It nded softly on her p, holding a letter in its beak, and dropped it before her.
As Shira's fingers brushed the paper, the letter began to change in appearance.
At the sight of the letter's altered appearance, Shira involuntarily frowned. She didn’t need to read its contents to sense its gravity; the color of the paper alone spoke volumes.
In this world, the color of a letter’s paper held great significance, indicating how the message should be handled and revealing its nature.
The letter in her hands was dark red, a color that symbolized both secrecy and danger. Its deep hue conveyed the highest level of confidentiality, while its vivid intensity signaled a threat grave enough to endanger an entire nation.
After giving the bird a token in acknowledgment of receiving the message, Shira rose from her seat and quickly returned inside the house.
Once inside, she entered her room and activated a concealing barrier, ensuring complete privacy. Sitting down, she examined the letter more closely. Her eyes narrowed when she recognized the seal's pattern.
"The Grand Magus," she murmured under her breath.
A letter from the Grand Magus, carrying both a high level of secrecy and a significant threat, was enough to make her tense up at the thought.
Shira took a deep, steadying breath before breaking the seal and unfolding the letter.
