The trio sat in the dining hall. Harmus claimed the center seat—the one Edwin had always taken—while Syl and Alice kept to the far ends, as though distance might shield them.

  After a moment, Harmus rose, footsteps echoing across the long stretch of polished oak. He stopped beside Syl, smiling faintly.

  “You know, Edwin was always arrogant. He liked unnecessary things… just like this table. Look at it. Ridiculously long, turning a family meal into an occasion, rather than intimacy.”

  He lifted his hand. A line of black iron thread unspooled from the air itself, taut and gleaming. With a single motion, it sliced clean through the table—no sound but a sharp hiss, no splinter out of place. One half collapsed with a dull thud, the wood trembling before it stilled.

  The other half he caught with the same thread, weaving the dark strands into its base. They coiled and shaped themselves into a foot of iron filigree—elegant, balanced, carved as if by an unseen artisan. Compared to the crude stump it once stood on, the table now looked reborn—grander, as though it had always been meant to stand this way.

  “There. Now we look like a family, don’t we?”

  Neither Syl nor Alice raised their eyes.

  “Oh, forgive me.” He turned towards Alice, voice carrying the warmth of a mock host. “My manners. I never asked your name, little one.”

  “...”

  Harmus’s smile thinned. “What is this? Are you deaf? I am trying to be civil, and you sit there mute? That is not fine. It is bad manner. Very bad.”

  He leaned forward, voice dipping low, almost instructive. “Let me tell you something, kid. When you do not give people what they are owed, they grow angry. Not because they are bad, but because you withhold what should have been theirs. Didn’t your father ever teach you that?”

  His eyes glinted, the edge of his grin tightening. “If only he had not tried to kill me back then. If only he had behaved like a good brother, which he never was, then this bad mannerism of yours would never have happened.”

  “.....”

  The silence pressed against him. His composure shattered.

  “So, TELL ME YOUR NAME! YOU OWE ME THAT!”

  Alice clutched at Syl’s sleeve. Her chair scraped back with a harsh squeal as she stood too quickly, legs trembling beneath her. She stumbled the few steps toward her mother and clung to her arm, burying her face against the fabric as though hiding there could make Harmus vanish. Her small fingers dug into Syl’s sleeve, desperate, shaking, refusing to let go.

  “No, no, no, no… this isn’t the real me. Did I forget to do the thing again?” Harmus muttered, fingers dragging across the blank side of his face.

  “Ahhh, no wonder I’m so snappy. And why you are so afraid of me. I forgot to do it, haha. Silly me. Wait a bit.” He turned, voice booming. “LYN! COME HERE!”

  From the shadow of the corridor a woman stepped into the hall. Alice’s breath caught—she knew that face.

  “You know her, don’t you?” Harmus grinned. “Of course you do. Lyn was your maid for years. Let me tell you something, though—she works for me. So you see, you never really escaped me.”

  “Lyn… why?” Sylvaria’s voice was a mixture of sorrow and rage.

  “Envy is a bad thing, Frau Sylvaria. Truth be told, I always envied your love for Alice.” Lyn spoke flatly, as if it were a simple matter of fact.

  “But we always looked at you as our own daughter!”

  “Frau Erbenzram, daughters don’t receive severance checks.”

  Both Alice and Sylvaria stared at Lyn in disbelief. Betrayal struck like a dagger to the heart. All those years—her gentle advice, her kind smiles—had it all been a lie? Just a mask to get close to them? Was any of it untouched by the green murk of envy?

  Harmus only laughed at the pain carved open by Lyn’s betrayal. Then his gaze turned back to the maid.

  “Lyn, your work here is done.” Harmus’s voice was calm, sincere—the same kind of tone Alice remembered hearing from Edwin when he spoke to her. “Now you can join the rest.”

  “Thank you, Pontiff. I am honored to join the holy communion,” Lyn said, bowing her head.

  Harmus’s smile deepened, his voice warm, almost tender as if comforting his own daughter. “Your happiness is one of my truest wish, Lyn. And I am sorry, truly sorry, that I made you wait so long before granting you the holy communion.”

  Tears welled in Lyn’s eyes. “Thank you, Pontiff. When all is one, Envy is gone”

  “When all is one, Envy is gone,” Harmus said, almost like a benediction.

  He placed his hand upon Lyn’s head. Then it began.

  Lyn’s breath hitched, chest heaving once before her body betrayed her. Her skin tightened against her skull, drawing taut like parchment stretched too thin. Veins blackened and split beneath the surface, branching out in jagged webs like ink bleeding through paper.

  Her cheeks sank, lips tearing as they cracked, the flesh around them splitting into raw lines. Moisture fled her form in grotesque haste, leaving her limbs shriveled, hands twisting into clawed, bone-thin talons. A guttural rasp scraped out of her throat—half gasp, half death rattle—but no true sound followed, only the obscene slurp of life being drained away.

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  And yet, through it all, her face remained impossibly calm. Her features did not twist in pain or fear. Her face was serene, almost beatific, like a saint in a fresco, untouched even as her body rotted around her.

  As the horror unfolded, half of Harmus’s mannequin like face started to grew with flesh again, sinew weaving itself, skin knitting smooth where the void had been.

  Alice staggered back, choking on a scream. Bile surged up and she doubled over, retching onto the floor, the sour stench mingling with the death that clung to the hall. Her vision blurred with tears, but she scrubbed at them hastily.

  Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, her mind screamed, a desperate mantra thrumming beneath her breath. If I cry, he’ll kill me. He’ll kill Mother.

  From the outside of the memory, Lina clamped a hand to her mouth, then lurched to the side and vomited again, her body heaving as the sight broke through her defenses a second time. Halwen stood rigid, lips parted, eyes wide, as though the laws of the world had just cracked in front of him. His disbelief was so sharp it left him silent. Beside them, Leopold did not flinch. He only looked at Vierna, his gaze narrowing, searching for the slightest change.

  Syl stood frozen, eyes wide, lips parted in disbelief. She simply stared, her mind refusing to accept what her eyes showed.

  When it was finished, only a husk remained—Lyn reduced to a hollow shell, skin stretched thin over brittle bones. Harmus drew back his hand. His face was whole once more, his smile complete.

  “YOU SICK FUCK, HARMUS! WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?” Syl’s voice cracked, half fury, half horror.

  “SHUT UP!” Harmus’s voice cracked through the room, raw and jagged, carrying the weight of genuine offense—like Syl had spat on something sacred. He slashed his hand through the air as though striking an unseen face, and a thin line of blood split across Syl’s cheek. The wound blossomed sharp and sudden, as if an invisible blade had mirrored his gesture.

  “Mother!” Alice screamed, clutching desperately at her sleeve.

  “Sorry… sorry.” Harmus tilted his head, then, calm slid across his face again, but it looked fragile, like glass over fire. “I just… need time to process. To process her envy.” His fractured smile widened, half-mask gleaming. “In short, I release her from all of that. That is all.”

  Syl and Alice did not answer. Words caught in their throats, smothered by the memory of his sudden violence. Especially now, after seeing how a single remark about the so-called ‘Communion’ had driven him into a storm.

  He turned to Alice, smile widening. “Now, young lady. What is your name?”

  Alice looked at Syl. Her mother’s eyes glistened with terror. After a long pause, Syl gave a small, trembling nod. It was clear she feared for both their lives and chose the only path left, to play along.

  “My name is Alice, Uncle Harmus.”

  The word tasted foul. To call him Uncle made her stomach twist, but it was safer this way. He hated Father. She could hear it in every word, every laugh that wasn’t really laughter. Envy. That’s what it was. He wanted what Father had. And still—he kept talking about family, about the table, about belonging. Like he needed it. Like he couldn’t stand being outside of it. It was sick, but clear: he hated Father, and he wanted to be seen as better than her father.

  “Uncle Harmus? Haha!” His laughter rang against the walls. “See, Syl? Just a moment with me and she behaves far better than she ever did with Edwin. You see? I give you the daughter you are owed. You should be thanking me.”

  Syl did not answer. Alice caught it though, the disgust in her mother’s eyes, naked and sharp, even as her lips stayed sealed.

  “Oh yes, Syl. I am a bit famished. Could you please make the omelet I used to eat?” Harmus’s tone turned almost casual, like a master testing a servant.

  Sylvaria stood up, she knew that the best thing was to play along with this lunatic’s request so he quickly get out from their life. “Come on, Alice,” Syl said, voice low.

  “No. My dear niece stays with me. I want to chat with her.”

  A flicker of hesitation crossed Syl’s face. Alice saw it clearly. Her mother was ready to fight, but Alice knew she could not win. Not against someone whose mana weighed down the entire room.

  “It’s okay, Mother,” Alice said quickly. “Uncle Harmus will not harm me.”

  “You see? You see?” Harmus’s grin widened, his voice climbing. “Even she know that I wont harm her. so would you kindly make me an omelet while I talk to my niece?”

  Syl looked at Alice again. Alice gave a small nod, forcing her face calm, trying to reassure her mother that nothing would happen.

  With heavy steps, Syl turned away. The sound of her footsteps dragged across the floor as she walked toward the kitchen, each one reluctant, as if leaving her daughter behind cost her everything.

  The dining hall fell silent. Only Alice and her uncle remained.

  “Ahh, so Alice,” Harmus said, settling back with an ease that felt unnatural. “Did your mother and father ever tell you about me?”

  The question sounded mundane, almost casual, but Alice’s stomach turned. She knew her answer mattered. Whatever she said had to satisfy him.

  “I guess they did, Uncle,” she murmured. “But I must have forgotten. I am not a smart girl, you see.”

  “Hm, hm.” Harmus tapped a finger on the table, as if weighing her words. “Well, the fact that you realize it means you are not completely lost, you know. Hey, I am sorry I called you a bastard before. That was before I knew you. Turns out you are not completely so bad after all. For Edwin’s child, that is.”

  Alice’s throat tightened. She forced the words out, knowing everyone watching the memory could see how much it cost her. “No apology needed, Uncle.”

  “Hmmm,” Harmus hummed, tilting his head. “So civil after all. Surprising. I thought Edwin was incapable of raising anything but a brute. Yet looking at you now…”

  “No, Uncle. That’s because of Mother. Father… rarely came home.”

  “Ahhhh, now it makes sense.” Harmus threw his head back with a laugh, too loud, too long, filling the hall like broken glass tumbling. When it finally ebbed, his smile lingered, brittle. “Since I so clearly misjudged you, that means I owe you something. And as a kind man, I cannot bear to owe anyone. So—” his eyes glimmered, cutting sharp as blades—“I will answer your question. Anything.”

  The air of the hall pressed tighter. Everyone watching through the spell saw it: Alice’s stillness, her pulse quickening though her face tried to stay calm. Inside her thoughts bled out, faint but clear. It’s a trap. If I ask wrong… it ends. That’s it. The end of the line.

  Her lips parted, voice small but steady. “Then uncle… why did Lyn call you Pontiff? Are you… an Imperium Pontiff?”

  “IMPERIUM PONTIFF?” Harmus’s voice cracked the hall like thunder, his single eye blazing.

  Alice flinched. “Uncle, please, forgive me. I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

  The fury ebbed by degrees. His breath steadied, his half-smile twitching back into place. “No, no. It seems I am still processing Lyn’s envy. You are a child, Edwin’s child no less. I should expect this level of ignorance.” His tone softened into mock patience, each word heavy with disdain.

  He leaned closer, his voice a velvet whisper. “But you are lucky, so very lucky, that your uncle is a kind man.”

  The air tightened as his next words slithered out, heavy with declaration. “I am not an Imperium Pontiff. I am one of the Seven Heads of the Believers of Paradise. Pontifex Neidiae — the one who will bear all envy.”

  He straightened, pride settling on him like a mantle. His fractured smile gleamed in the light of the hall. “Your dear uncle, Harmus Von Erbenzram.”