Chương 255: Chapter : 255

Risa wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and let out a small, watery giggle. She looked at Ken with genuine gratitude. He was not ignoring what had happened. He was not dismissing Ira's pain. He was simply doing what he always did. Making things lighter. Making things easier. Being the ridiculous, lazy, snack-obsessed anchor that kept everyone from drowning in the depths of their own emotions. Ira turned her head, just slightly, and looked at Ken. Her pale, empty eyes met his dark, lazy ones.

Something passed between them. Not words. Not expressions. Just a quiet, unspoken acknowledgment that one masked person recognized another. Then Ira looked away, and the moment was over.

"There is a dessert shop on the next street," Ira said, her voice returning to its normal flat monotone.

"It specializes in caramel-based confections. I have catalogued their menu previously."

"See?" Ken said, grinning.

"This is why we keep Ira around. Tactical dessert intelligence. Invaluable." Ira did not respond. But she did not let go of Risa's hand as they walked toward the dessert shop. And Risa did not let go of hers. The four of them walked down the quiet alley together, away from the glittering cruelty of the Inner City and toward the simple, sweet comfort of caramel pudding. The sun was warm on their backs. The market noise was a distant hum. And for a little while, at least, the shadows seemed a little less dark.

The afternoon sun hung lazily over the 13th Unit estate, casting long shadows across the dusty courtyard. It was the kind of quiet, uneventful day where nothing particularly exciting was supposed to happen. The kind of day where you could sit on a stone pillar, let your shirt hang untucked, and stare at the clouds without a single care in the world. That was exactly what Ken Eliot was doing.

He was perched on a short stone pillar near the courtyard entrance, slouched so far forward that he looked like he might slide off at any moment. His navy blue suit was wrinkled. His tie was missing entirely, probably abandoned somewhere between the kitchen and the front door. His shirt was untucked on both sides, and the top button was undone, revealing exactly zero effort toward looking presentable. His messy black hair ruffled in the warm breeze.

His dark eyes were half-closed, tracking a single white cloud as it drifted across the pale blue sky. A half-eaten piece of toast rested in his right hand. He had forgotten about it roughly three minutes ago. Inside the estate, the rest of the unit was going about their afternoon routines. Sayma was in the strategy room, organizing files with her usual meticulous precision. Zinia was in the training yard, doing one-armed push-ups on a wooden bench.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. Laxmi was sprawled on the living room couch, reading a fashion magazine and occasionally setting the edges on fire when she got bored. Naomi was in the kitchen, cleaning up after lunch with the fierce, aggressive energy she brought to everything. The sound of plates being stacked echoed through the hallway like tiny, angry drumbeats.

Ira was in the library, sitting perfectly still in a straight-backed chair, reading a book about fluid dynamics. Her encounter with Niro the previous day had not left any visible marks on her expression. Her face was as blank as always. But she had not left the library all morning, and the book in her hands was open to the same page it had been on three hours ago. Luna was asleep on the couch upstairs, her recovery from the Blue Decay still demanding extra rest.

Risa was tending the garden, humming the same sweet song she always hummed, though today her voice was a little softer than usual. The estate was quiet in the way that only a rare day off could make it. No missions. No briefings. No early-morning alarms. Just sunshine and the distant sound of Risa's humming drifting through the open windows. Ken took a bite of his forgotten toast. It was cold and slightly stale. He chewed slowly, staring at the sky. Life was good. Life was simple.

Life was— A shadow fell across the courtyard. It started as a distant hum. A low, resonant vibration that rattled the windows of the estate and made the pebbles in the courtyard vibrate against the ground. It grew louder and deeper with each passing second, like the heartbeat of something enormous approaching from above. Ken looked up. The white cloud he had been tracking was still there, but something else was now visible in the sky. A shape.

A large, elegant, impossibly luxurious shape descending slowly from the clouds. It was a carriage. But not just any carriage. This was a gravity-defying carriage, the kind that only the highest-ranking nobles in the Empire could afford. It floated through the air on a cushion of pure gravitational mana, its polished white exterior gleaming like a pearl in the sunlight. Gold trim lined every edge, every window frame, every spoke of its ornate wheels.

The Belmontia crest, a golden dragon clutching a sword, was emblazoned on both doors in shimmering gilt. Four white horses made of enchanted mana trotted alongside the carriage, their forms shimmering and semi-transparent, their hooves striking invisible ground as they guided the vehicle down toward the dusty road outside the estate gates. The carriage touched the ground with the soft, graceful finality of a swan landing on a still lake. Not a bump. Not a jolt.

Just a smooth, effortless settling, as if the very concept of gravity had been politely asked to step aside and had graciously complied. Ken took another bite of his stale toast and watched with the mild, unhurried curiosity of someone observing a moderately interesting commercial on television. The door of the carriage opened. A small army of attendants stepped out first. They wore pristine white uniforms with gold trim, and they moved with the synchronized precision of dancers in a royal performance.

Two of them held parasols. One carried a small, elegant chair. Another unfolded a red carpet from the carriage door to the ground, smoothing it with white-gloved hands. Then she appeared. Hera Belmontia, the 2nd Princess of the Belmontia Empire, stepped out of the carriage and onto the red carpet as if the ground itself should feel honored by the contact. She was tall and statuesque, with an elegant posture that made everyone around her look like they were slouching.

Her gown was pristine white and gold, a masterwork of Imperial tailoring that shimmered with every step. The fabric flowed around her like liquid light, cinched at the waist with a golden sash and trailing behind her in a modest but authoritative train. A small golden tiara rested on her perfectly styled golden hair, which fell in thick, wavy curls around her shoulders.