Samael woke slowly.
The stone ceiling above him was plain. The room, small. Modest.
He had purchased this chamber in Bastion — already immense, though still far from the colossal fortress it would become eight years from now.
His window overlooked the Lake of Bones.
The view was… magnificent.
Silent waters reflecting the gray sky, and in the distance, towering like a slumbering god, rose the castle of the Valor Clan.
Samael studied that structure for a few seconds.
Truthfully, he had no desire whatsoever to get involved with the great Legacy Clans.
First: he was still weak.
Second: they were troublesome.
Third… he knew their fate.
And he knew his own place in it.
The memories were still fresh.
Especially Ki Song's words:
"We hate loose ends."
The stronger someone became, the more they resembled a system.
And systems did not tolerate flaws.
They did not tolerate unpredictable variables.
He was a variable.
His clan had already been accused by them.
His future relationship with those forces was far from friendly.
That was why he had chosen the government.
For now… it was safer.
But none of that mattered at the moment.
The conversation in the Sea of Souls still echoed in his mind.
He needed to build five graves.
His parents.
The two he killed on the Forgotten Shore.
And the woman from his First Nightmare.
Five.
He had never built a grave in his life.
And he did not want to do it carelessly.
That would be disrespectful.
"I guess…" he muttered, trailing off.
He walked to the window.
The wind was cold.
"I'll do this for all of them. As a way to honor those I killed."
Silence followed.
He did not want to lie to himself.
It wasn't for the dead.
For them, it meant nothing.
It was for him.
To lighten the weight.
To silence the stares.
To keep that interval between worlds from swallowing him again.
It was selfish.
"I'm pretty selfish… huh?"
He spoke aloud because organizing his thoughts that way helped.
It gave shape to the internal chaos.
For a few minutes, he stood there, watching the lake in quiet melancholy.
He didn't even know if he deserved that peace.
But then he thought—
Who decides who deserves peace?
Comparisons are useless.
Guilt does not redistribute suffering.
So for a few minutes, he simply breathed.
Until he heard footsteps.
Voices.
Metal.
Samael frowned faintly and stepped out onto the street.
And then he saw her.
Long black hair.
Eyes red like burning rubies.
A commanding presence.
The princess of the Valor Clan.
Morgan of Valor.
She was accompanied by several Awakened. Likely heading out to hunt Nightmare Creatures.
She was… breathtaking.
But beauty had never been the greatest danger in that world.
Obsession was.
Morgan lived for vengeance.
Curiously, she reminded him of another equally driven figure:
Nephis.
Two women.
Two absolute objectives.
Back when he had merely been a reader, he found that fascinating.
Now?
It was problematic.
Being close to someone like that meant inevitably being dragged into the eye of a hurricane.
And he already had enough storms inside him.
Samael watched for a few seconds.
Morgan did not look at him.
Thankfully.
He turned away.
But the atmosphere he had built — introspective, almost peaceful — was broken.
"Ugh… I was in such a good mood."
He sighed.
"Princess's fault."
He complained a lot.
Always had.
Maybe it was just another way of dealing with the weight of things.
He returned to his room.
Five graves.
That was what mattered.
Not clans.
Not princesses.
Not future destinies.
Samael remained by the Lake of Bones for a while longer.
Five graves.
The number seemed to grow the more he thought about it.
After a few minutes, he exhaled and left the room. He needed to settle this once and for all.
He walked through the streets of Bastion toward the portal controlled by the Valor Clan.
Honestly, it was inconvenient.
Every time he needed to return to Earth, he had to pass through there.
Wait.
Be observed.
Be analyzed.
He could hardly wait to become Ascended and never depend on that portal again.
But challenge the Second Nightmare now?
Hell no.
That would be suicide.
More than an hour passed before he finally crossed through.
The sensation of transition was brief but uncomfortable — as if reality chewed him up and spat him back out.
When he opened his eyes, he was back on Earth.
Now came the complicated part.
How exactly did one build a proper grave?
Samael had no idea.
But he knew exactly who would.
He took out his communicator.
In his contact list, one name was marked:
Emergency.
Elizabeth.
Whenever he didn't know how to do something, he asked her.
People could call him opportunistic.
He didn't care.
Elizabeth called him that all the time.
Complained.
Cursed at him.
Sighed dramatically.
And still… always helped.
It was almost cute.
He pressed call.
A few seconds later, she answered.
"What do you want?"
Direct. As always.
She already knew he was asking for something.
That was how it always went.
"Hey, Liz. I need help building five graves."
Straight to the point.
On the other end, he heard a deep sigh.
The kind that carried accumulated regrets from questionable life decisions.
"Five?" she repeated, incredulous. "Why do you suddenly want to build five graves?"
"Two are for my parents. I never gave them a funeral.
And the other three… are for people I killed."
Silence.
Not a light silence.
A heavy one.
"Your parents, I understand…" she said at last. "But graves for people you killed? Are you sure about this?"
"I am."
He did not hesitate.
Not this time.
"So you'll help me, Liz?"
There was genuine expectation in his voice.
Another sigh.
Longer.
"I'll be there in two hours."
She didn't even have the energy to insult him this time.
Samael looked at the darkened communicator.
A faint smile almost formed — almost.
Five graves.
And for the first time since he woke up, it felt possible.
Maybe it wasn't redemption.
But it was a beginning.