Path of the Extra

It wasn't until the sun rose, its golden light filtering through the windows and curtains, that Azriel and Amaya realized how long they had been talking. It hadn't even been anymore about what had happened that day—well, yesterday now—just trivial, random things. Yet, strangely, Azriel didn't mind. He liked it… just talking. Nothing more, nothing less. It was a good distraction.

In the end, though, Azriel decided to take a nap, and they parted ways. Amaya, no doubt, would busy herself with whatever tasks a personal maid performed while her master slept.

As Azriel made his way to his bedroom, he paused midway, his gaze lingering on a certain closed door. For a moment, he hesitated, lost in thought, before finally reaching for the handle and stepping inside.

A simple room greeted him—plain, almost barren, with a king-sized bed and little in the way of decoration.

Beyond the glass doors leading to the balcony, a small figure stood, her black hair fluttering in the wind. She was perched atop a chair, her tiny hands gripping the railing tightly as she peered down at the world below.

Azriel's lips curved into a faint smile as he approached, but at the sound of his footsteps, the girl flinched. The sudden movement made her lose balance, the chair wobbling beneath her.

She let out a startled yelp as she tipped forward.

In the blink of an eye, Azriel was there.

The chair clattered to the ground, but in its place, he stood—arms securely wrapped around the girl as she clung to his neck with trembling hands.

Her body stiffened for a moment before, slowly, she opened her golden eyes, blinking up at him in confusion.

"Azrie—ah, no, big brot—w-wait, what happened to you!?" Her bafflement turned to shock as she scanned his face. "Did you make another mana contract with a god for plastic surgery!?"

Azriel couldn't help but chuckle at her outburst.

"The gods don't seem particularly interested in my looks just yet," he replied, amused. "No, I simply became a Grade 3 Advanced."

"…Grade 3 Advanced…"

Awe replaced her initial confusion as she stared at him, inspecting his face up close. Her small hands reached forward, brushing against his cheek. Azriel remained still, allowing her to do as she pleased, the warmth in his gaze unwavering.

Then, as if suddenly realizing what she was doing, Iryndra's hands stiffened. A deep flush spread across her face before she hurriedly buried her head against his neck, her voice muffled.

"…You can put me down now."

"Is that really a good idea?" Azriel teased. "I wouldn't want the princess to hurt herself by falling again… which is quite the talent, considering she has space magic."

"Ugh…"

She buried her face deeper, her small fists weakly hitting his shoulder in protest. Azriel only laughed.

A peaceful silence settled between them.

The wind played with their hair as Azriel stood there, Iryndra still in his arms, gazing at the cityscape below.

It was beautiful—the sun rising over dozens of buildings and skyscrapers, the academy stretching beneath them like a kingdom of its own.

After a while, he finally spoke.

"Why were you awake?"

"…."

"Amaya told me you sometimes wake up in the middle of the night from nightmares… Did you have one just now as well?"

She didn't respond, but her silence spoke volumes.

Azriel let out a quiet breath.

"I won't ask you to tell me what the nightmare was about," he said gently. "But… I should have told you this much earlier. I know I haven't paid as much attention to you as I should have, but… if you ever want to talk to me—about your nightmares, your past, anything at all—just know that I'm always here to listen. I won't look at you any differently. I won't judge. Whenever you feel ready, I'll wait. As long as it takes."

A slight tremor ran through her small body.

Another silence followed. Neither of them spoke, Azriel simply holding her as he gazed into the horizon.

Then, after what felt like an eternity—just as he was about to think she had fallen asleep—Iryndra's quiet voice broke the stillness.

"You know… I never really had a real family."

Azriel didn't move. He just listened.

"Apparently, after I was born, my real parents left me. I grew up in an orphanage… in the slums. The adults there didn't like me much. My body's always been weak, but that only made it easier for them to pick on me. Maybe it was because I never made any friends with the other kids, either… they didn't like me, either.

I was too weak to run away. If I had, I wouldn't have lasted a day out there.

It wasn't until I was on the verge of dying that Lucidiux appeared before me… and adopted me."

Her words came to an end.

Azriel understood the weight behind them. The way she had said 'pick on me'… he could tell. It had been no better than torture.

His grip on her instinctively tightened, his gaze darkening.

Sensing the shift in his demeanor, Iryndra cautiously lifted her head—only to freeze at the fury in his expression.

Then, gritting his teeth, Azriel spoke.

"Is that orphanage still standing? The people who hurt you… are they still alive?"

At his words, she immediately shook her head.

"I don't know… I don't care, either." She hesitated. "It doesn't matter. Not anymore."

Hearing her desperately trying to calm him down, Azriel forced himself to suppress what he was feeling, burying it deep inside. Then, like a sudden shift, his demeanor changed. A gentle smile curved his lips as he ran a hand through her hair, stroking it.

Iryndra let out a quiet sigh of relief and leaned her head against his shoulder.

Azriel knew her body was weak—far weaker than average. There was nothing to be done about it unless she became a Master.

The only problem was that she was still too young.

There was a reason why most children from both lesser and great clans, despite their numerous advantages, did not have an overwhelming lead in mana core levels compared to others.

No human under the age of fourteen could become an Intermediate.

Well, they could, of course—but they would die within a week, their bodies failing them. As for why this happened, countless theories existed. Some claimed the body wasn't developed enough to withstand the change. Others believed the mana was simply too much to handle.

But no matter the reason, it had taken far too many deaths for people to realize one undeniable truth: anyone who becomes an Intermediate before the age of fourteen would die. There were no exceptions.

It had come to the point where, out of sheer caution, some chose to focus on their mana core only after turning fifteen.

And for Iryndra, who wasn't even ten yet, becoming a Master was out of the question.

With a fragile body like hers, she wouldn't last a day.

A quiet sigh escaped Azriel's lips before he spoke, his voice soft.

"You should be happy."

Iryndra turned to him, surprised.

"I am happy. Really... because of you, I am free."

"...Then why do you never leave your room?" Azriel asked, watching her carefully. "Amaya even told me you said something about not wanting to cause trouble for me."

"Isn't that normal?" she murmured. "If I were to leave my room… it would naturally cause trouble for you."

Azriel sighed and met her gaze.

"Iryndra… you are a princess of the Crimson Clan, a former Heptarch, and someone with space magic. Most importantly, you are my little sister. No one in this world, in their right mind, would dare cause trouble for you. And you should never worry about causing trouble for me.

I will always have your back—no matter what you do. If you want to kill, save, spend money, or even stay sheltered forever... as long as it makes you happy, then nothing else matters. I will protect you.

So please, stop worrying about me when it's my job to protect you, okay? At the very least, don't hold yourself back for my sake. Whatever happens, we can always count on each other. Always."

Iryndra's eyes trembled at his words before she suddenly buried her face in his neck and gave a small nod.

"...Okay."

Azriel smiled.

"Get some sleep," he said. "And when you wake up, Amaya will take you outside—wherever you wish to go."

She nodded again but didn't say anything else. Azriel simply kept running his fingers through her hair, his smile lingering.

...In the end, she fell asleep in his arms.

And Azriel never got to sleep himself.