The following days were… uncomfortable.
The interview was long.
Repetitive.
Methodical.
Men and women in uniform asked the same questions with minimal variations, observing every microexpression, every pause, every breath.
Samael answered what was necessary.
Nothing more.
When certain questions drifted too close to the truth, he simply refused.
The pain came.
It always did.
An invisible needle driving deep into his soul whenever someone lied in that room… or when he omitted something that brushed too closely against a lie.
The interviewers noticed.
But they didn't push beyond what protocol allowed.
Eventually, he was released.
He could have returned to his old house.
He didn't.
After the recent memories of the Coliseum… after reliving certain things… that house felt too small. Too tight. Too wrong.
So he stayed at the academy.
It was there that he witnessed something he would never forget.
The Candle Event.
In the novel, it had been described as touching.
In reality… it was overwhelming.
Thousands of people.
Silent.
Gathered beneath the night sky.
One by one, they lit candles.
A sea of small flames flickering in the wind, spreading golden light over solemn faces and tearful eyes.
All in the name of a single person.
The Immortal Flame.
Samael stood still, watching.
In the novel, it had been beautiful.
Here… it was almost sacred.
The sheer vastness of that fragile ocean of light tightened something inside his chest.
Nephis was still trapped.
And even so… the world honored her.
But time does not pause for grief.
Soon, another problem arose.
He couldn't remain at the academy indefinitely. Rules were rules.
He needed a residence.
He needed a formal anchor.
He needed to decide what to do with his life.
He was waiting for a Saint to escort him—along with Elizabeth—to a new citadel in the Dream Realm. He was also waiting for the final approval of his paperwork to join the government.
A few days later, he signed the contract.
Without ceremony.
Without emotion.
In exchange, he received a well-located residence—built in a relatively isolated area of the city.
Quiet.
Discreet.
And shortly after, he anchored himself in Ravenheart.
Two months passed.
Now, Samael was sprawled across his couch.
"Lying down" would have been generous.
He was practically tossed there.
His legs rested over the backrest, his head hanging backward, almost touching the floor. A book rested in his hand—rare and absurdly expensive.
Paper was a luxury in this world.
Obtaining that copy had been nearly a side quest.
Beside him, a cup of coffee still released faint steam.
The aroma was comforting.
Almost nostalgic.
He wasn't just lazing around.
Not entirely.
He trained.
Every day.
He tried to feel, to pull, to shape his own essence.
Tried to make it respond like in the novel's accounts.
But it wasn't simple.
Sunny had learned alone.
Naturally.
Samael… was not having the same ease.
His essence slipped away.
Wavered.
It was unstable under his control.
From what he knew, Elizabeth was facing similar difficulties.
It was irritating.
Almost humiliating.
They were Awakened now.
And yet… they stumbled over the basics.
On top of that, his Awakened Ability was nearly useless without real practice.
It depended on opponents.
On context.
On quick reading and judgment.
Without proper training, it would be nothing more than a dangerous tool swung blindly.
He needed help.
They both did.
That was why, on that lazy afternoon, Samael was waiting.
Elizabeth was coming over to plan their futures.
When she arrived, he would suggest what he had been considering for days:
Ask Layla for help.
Have her train them in essence control.
And… perhaps…
Invite her to the Court.
The idea still made him slightly uncomfortable.
Living closely with more people.
Trusting.
Sharing plans.
But he had promised himself he would change.
That he would face his own limits.
Samael turned a page of the book and lifted the cup to his lips.
The coffee was lukewarm now.
He sighed.
Mundane days.
Silent.
Almost normal.
A few hours later, the door opened.
Elizabeth walked in without knocking.
She had been there countless times to train. Formalities were unnecessary.
And she found the usual scene.
The house was messy.
Clothes tossed over a chair.
Books stacked in questionable formations.
A forgotten cup on the table.
She had told him countless times to clean up.
He always replied:
"Later."
He never did.
It was a lost cause.
She walked through the living room and found him in the same absurd position on the couch.
Elizabeth truly did not understand how someone could look comfortable like that.
And she also did not understand what was so fascinating about that book—especially considering the headache it had been to find it.
Samael had asked her for help locating that copy.
Just as he had asked her for help finding the house.
And sorting out the paperwork.
And half the things in his life.
She didn't mind helping.
But every single time made her question whether suggesting they form a Court had been a good idea.
"Are you ready?" she asked.
Samael slowly closed the book and downed the rest of the coffee in one gulp.
"Yeah."
He stood and walked toward the door.
Elizabeth observed him in silence.
Flip-flops.
Random shorts.
An old shirt with a small hole near the collar.
She raised an eyebrow.
"You're going like that?"
Samael looked down at himself.
Then shrugged.
"I don't have going-out clothes."
Elizabeth was silent for a few seconds.
She was impeccable.
An elegant skirt.
A fitted blouse.
White sandals.
Black hair neatly styled.
Light makeup.
The difference between them was striking.
Not in appearance—Samael was handsome too.
But in care.
In presentation.
In posture.
"You signed a contract with the government," she said.
"I did."
"You got a house."
"I did."
"You're officially Awakened."
"I am."
She crossed her arms.
"And that's the image you've decided to present?"
Samael tilted his head slightly.
"Professor Stern is teaching essence. Not social etiquette."
Elizabeth closed her eyes for a second.
Took a deep breath.
"I truly regret suggesting we form a Court."
A small smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.
"You can still leave."
She didn't.