Strax stood near the table for a few moments, his eyes still fixed on the open map, as if he were not only analyzing routes but anticipating everything he would encounter on the way to the capital. The silence in the office wasn't uncomfortable—it was the kind of silence that precedes concrete decisions, where everyone already understands that something is truly about to begin. He then slightly raised his gaze, unhurriedly, and spoke with the naturalness of someone who had already decided long before opening his mouth.

"We're going tomorrow," he said directly, leaving no room for discussion, as if that sentence were merely the confirmation of something inevitable.

Monica, who was leaning against the side of the table organizing some papers, showed no surprise at hearing this. In fact, she didn't even raise her head immediately. Her fingers simply slid among the documents until she pulled out a roll of parchment already set aside, as if she had been waiting for exactly that moment.

"I already imagined you'd say that," she replied, finally looking at him as she extended the map towards him with almost mechanical precision. "So I saved time and prepared this even before you asked." There was a slight trace of satisfaction in his voice, not from anticipation itself, but from always being one step ahead.

Strax unceremoniously took the map, opening it with a firm movement as his eyes quickly scanned the details drawn there—routes, cities, strategic markings, possible stopping points. He analyzed everything silently for a few seconds, absorbing the information with that natural efficiency that required no visible effort. Then he let out a small nasal sound, almost a silent confirmation, before speaking again.

"Let's fly," he said, as if it were the most obvious decision possible. "There's no point in wasting weeks in carriages when we can cross half the continent in days."

Scarlett, who was sitting relaxed in one of the nearby chairs, resting her elbow on the armrest as she watched the conversation with growing interest, leaned slightly forward at this. Her eyes gleamed with a slight strategic enthusiasm, like someone who was already starting to assemble the plan in her head before even finishing listening.

"Then we'd better organize ourselves properly," she said, crossing one leg and resting her chin on her hand, thoughtfully. "If we take turns, we can keep the pace without tiring anyone out."

She made a small gesture with her hand, as if drawing the logic in the air.

"One of us flies in dragon form while the other three ride," she continued, now more involved, her voice taking on a practical and efficient tone.

"After a few hours, we switch. That way nobody gets overwhelmed, and we can maintain a constant speed." Her eyes quickly scanned the others, silently assessing each one's capabilities. "If we do this right… we can get there in less than a week."

Strax slightly raised his gaze from the map, staring at Scarlett for a moment before nodding almost imperceptibly, recognizing the logic without needing to verbalize much. He then partially rolled up the parchment again, resting it on the table while crossing his arms, his posture still relaxed, but clearly focused.

"We'll stop in a few towns along the way," he added, his voice calm but firm enough to set the pace of the journey. "Even if we manage to go straight through… it's not worth it."

He tilted his head slightly, as if organizing his thoughts as he spoke.

"Adequate rest keeps performance steady," he continued, without sounding too technical, but making it clear that this wasn't just a matter of preference—it was calculation.

"And we have no reason to rush." There was a short pause, and then a slight smile appeared at the corner of his lips, laden with a quiet, almost provocative confidence. "The Emperor can wait."

A small laugh escaped him soon after, low, but clearly amused by the situation.

"He's the one who wanted to meet me," he said, shrugging naturally, as if speaking of something trivial.

"So I have all the time in the world." There was no exaggerated arrogance in it—just an absolute certainty of position, like someone who understands exactly his own weight within the larger picture.

Ouroboros, who had been leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, observing everything in silence until then, let out a small sound through her nose, almost a suppressed laugh. Her gaze wandered for a moment, as if she were more interested in the idea than the conversation itself, before finally speaking.

"He didn't even demand a specific day," she commented, her voice lower, but still carrying that characteristic tone of slight disinterest. "So… his problem."

She uncrossed one arm just to rest her shoulder against the wall more comfortably, tilting her head slightly as her eyes returned to Strax. There was something different about her—more restrained, more distant—but still present enough to participate.

"If he wanted urgency, he would have made that clear," she continued, as if she were merely organizing the logic of the situation. "He didn't. So it's not a real priority."

Tiamat, on the other hand, was leaning against the window, watching the light coming through the glass for a few seconds before finally turning to the group. Her expression wasn't particularly worried, nor especially interested—it was that strange middle ground that seemed to define her relationship with almost everything around her lately.

"This could still cause confusion," she said, crossing her arms and leaning slightly to one side, her tone carrying more observation than warning.

She paused briefly, her eyes passing over each of them before letting out a small sigh, almost resigned.

"But… honestly?" she continued, shrugging slightly, as if dismissing the problem before even delving into it. "Life with you guys is basically a series of misunderstandings." A slight smile appeared on her face, not exactly amused, but… accustomed. "So this doesn't change much."

The silence that followed wasn't heavy.

It was… level-headed.

"Well, let's see what we have to do until then, shall we?" Strax said calmly with a smile. "How about~"

—

The rest of the night passed without major events, each person dispersing naturally after the conversation, as if everyone already knew exactly what needed to be done before departure, even without direct orders being given. The mansion settled into a quieter, more restrained rhythm, but no less active—there was always movement in Asgard, always preparation, always someone adjusting something behind the scenes. Still, on that particular day, there was a different feeling in the air, something subtle, almost imperceptible, like the beginning of a change that hadn't yet fully manifested.

And then—

Morning arrived.

The first sign came with the light.

It didn't invade the space abruptly, but glided slowly across the surfaces of the mansion, passing through high windows and resting on the stone floor with an almost calculated gentleness, as if dawn itself respected that place. The sky outside was clear, a light blue that stretched uninterrupted, bringing with it a deceptive tranquility—the kind that precedes movement.

But not everyone was at peace.

Ouroboros was already awake.

Alone.

The room she was in was spacious, but at that moment it seemed... distant. Not physically, but in sensation, as if the space around her wasn't completely aligned with her own presence. She was near the window, standing, her body still, but not relaxed—there was a subtle tension in her posture, something that didn't match her normally fluid and unstable nature.

Her eyes were fixed outside.

But they weren't really seeing.

Her gaze wandered across the horizon, fixed on something that didn't physically exist there, as if trying to reach an answer that refused to reveal itself.

The silence in the room was absolute.

And yet… noisy.

She took a deep breath.

But it didn't help.

Her shoulders tensed slightly, and she brought one hand to her own arm, squeezing it for a moment, as if testing something… or trying to anchor herself to her own body.

"…this isn't right…" she murmured, her voice low, almost dragging, as if she were more tired than she should be at that hour.

She closed her eyes for a brief moment.

But she found no rest.

The feeling didn't lessen.

It didn't ease.

In fact… it seemed to worsen when she tried to ignore it.

She let out a longer sigh this time, letting her head fall slightly forward before speaking again, now in a heavier, more honest tone, as if finally admitting something she had been avoiding naming.

"My body is tense…" she said, almost as a clinical observation, her fingers moving slowly along her own arm, feeling every little detail as if searching for something out of place.

She opened her eyes again.

Still nothing.

"My mind… is cloudy…" she continued, frowning slightly, as if trying to organize thoughts that simply wouldn't align.

There were gaps.

Noise.

Interference. It wasn't pain.

But it wasn't normal either.

"…and my existence…" she hesitated for a second, something rare for her, as if the word itself were difficult to accept.

"…is screaming."

The silence that followed was heavier than any sound.

Because that—

It wasn't a metaphor. 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

She wasn't exaggerating.

She was… describing.

And the worst part—

She didn't understand.

Her fingers slowly closed, forming a fist before relaxing again, as if her body were reacting to something her mind couldn't yet fully comprehend.

"Something's wrong…" she said again, this time more firmly, as if she needed to reaffirm it to herself.

She turned her face slightly, looking at the faint reflection in the windowpane for a moment.

But it wasn't her who seemed to be there.

Or… not completely.

Her expression hardened.

And then she looked at the sky again.

The blue was clear.

Flawless.

Without flaws.

Without distortions.

But still—

She felt.

Something out of place.

Something out of place.

Something broken.

"…totally wrong."