Darkness.
Total darkness.
There was nothing, absolutely nothing.
No sound, no form.
Yet, in that infinite silence, a voice made its way through…
Sweet, gentle, ethereal, filled with an intangible energy.
It seemed to come from a distant, undefined place in space, yet so close that it brushed against his soul:
'Mirac… Mirac… Mirac… Wake up!'
Suddenly, Mirac opened his eyes.
His breath returned abruptly, as if someone had pulled him from the jaws of death. His heart started beating again, pounding in his chest with a force that seemed like it might break him.
A sharp pain coursed through his body, concentrating mostly in his head, where his temples throbbed as if they were about to explode.
"UGH! What a pain…" he groaned, clutching his forehead with his hand.
He struggled to sit up, crossing his legs. His body was drenched in cold sweat, while his skin burned as if after a violent fever.
"Where… Where am I?" Mirac mumbled, his voice trembling.
He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the heavy feeling of numbness.
His eyelids opened with difficulty, and his gaze, still blurred, wandered aimlessly for a few seconds before adjusting to the dim light around him.
When his vision cleared, Mirac found himself scanning the environment around him, examining every detail of his surroundings.
'What the…?!'
A chilling shiver ran down his spine.
He was no longer in his room. There was no wooden floor, no desk with the ticking clock.
The place was cold, cramped, oppressive.
He was in a rectangular room. The skill "Instant Knowledge of Dimensions" revealed it to be just over 1.80 x 2.40 meters, with a height of about 3.30 meters.
In the corner to his left, there was only a bit of straw scattered on the ground, serving as a poor makeshift bed, and nothing more.
From a high corner of the ceiling, a long, rusty metal pipe protruded—perhaps a ventilation duct, but it seemed little more than an abandoned channel, its inner walls crusted with dirt.
In front of him, at the center of the wall, stood a massive wooden door with a small barred porthole, resembling that of a cell. On either side of the door, two torches burned weakly, their flickering flames fighting against the darkness, casting dancing shadows on the stone walls.
In the right corner, near the door, there was a worn ceramic toilet, with lime stains along the edges. Next to it, a sink with a clogged faucet, the rust suggesting that the water wasn't of the best quality—if it still flowed at all.
'Am I… in a detention cell?' Mirac wondered, a knot of anxiety tightening in his stomach. 'How the hell did I end up here?'
His head was still spinning, filled with blurry and jumbled images, like fragments of a faded dream. He felt immersed in a sea of confusion, unable to grasp his memories clearly.
He couldn't piece together what had happened before he woke up and found himself in that cell.
Mirac ran a hand through his hair, desperately trying to remember something… anything!
And so, after spending a couple of seconds wracking his brain, suddenly the memories began to resurface!—like shards of glass tearing through the silence in his mind.
Mirac started to remember that night…
His room…
The wait for Carmen…
The poison that had killed him…
The five figures at the door…
And also…
"Dad?" he murmured, his voice broken with emotion, as the features of his father resurfaced in his mind.
That image—clear as a dream too vivid to be ignored—made him flinch.
But how was that possible?!
Would his father be part of the group of five individuals who hired Klark?
Of course not! The King couldn't have orchestrated an assassination attempt against the Prince… against his own son!
Yet, contradicting this truth, there were those eyes…
That face full of disdain…
That impassive expression, while his son was dying before his eyes…
But speaking of that:
Mirac had felt his heart stop.
He still remembered the chill of death wrapping around him. He remembered life abandoning him—just as it had the first time in his previous life.
For this reason, Mirac would have sworn he had died that night. He was more than sure of it!
But then… how was he still alive?!
'What the hell is going on?!'
But before he could even form a single hypothesis, a hoarse voice broke the silence:
"So, you're still alive, huh?"
A sudden chill gripped Mirac's heart, as if everything had stopped for a moment.
'This voice…!'
Mirac didn't hesitate for a single second.
With a deep breath, he struggled to rise, ignoring the overwhelming weight of exhaustion. His legs trembled as he staggered forward, his feet dragging on the cold floor.
His fingers clutched tightly onto the cold bars of the porthole, thin but enough to serve as an obstacle between him and the outer corridor.
He held his breath, his heart pounding wildly.
From the voice, Mirac had already figured out who he would find beyond those bars…
And indeed, he was right…
In the corridor outside the cell, immersed in shadow—illuminated only by the glow of a torch in his hand—stood none other than him: his father!
The light danced on his face, casting deep shadows that accentuated his eyes, sharp as blades of ice—void, as always, of any trace of affection.
Mirac swallowed.
His lips barely moved, his voice reduced to a whisper:
"D-Dad?"
But his father did not answer. He remained still, rooted in place, just like that night.
And even now, he wasn't alone at all!
Beside him, there was a woman…
Her dark, curly hair fell over her shoulders, framing a face contorted in an expression of ruthless coldness. Her brows were slightly furrowed, while her thin lips twisted into a barely concealed sneer.
"Mom?"
The name slipped from Mirac's lips in a fragile, hesitant whisper, full of heartbreaking tenderness.
But her gaze didn't change.
No hint of affection. No trace of warmth. No sign of recognition.
Only silence…
And finally, before his parents, with faces so alike they seemed reflections of each other, stood the three identical figures he had learned over the years to distinguish and recognize: his twin sisters.
In addition to their usual elegant clothes, all five of them were wrapped in long, dark cloaks that fell heavily to the ground.
While King Arthur and Queen Ginevra watched him with cold, chilling glares that made him shiver, the three sisters were gathered in the middle, each holding a hand in front of their mouth, as if trying to keep what they were talking about from leaking out—ignoring the boy who was silently watching them from the barred porthole of the cell.
But all of this was in vain, as Mirac managed to hear every single word they said:
"Damn it!" Camilla exclaimed, turning to Veronica with a wicked smile. "How is he still alive?! Does he have a natural resistance to poison?"
"No, I don't think so," Veronica replied in an analytical tone, like someone assessing a simple problem. "But it was to be expected from the 'Risen Prince.' We thought it was merely a Divine Miracle that brought him back that time when he had a heart attack right after birth. But apparently… it seems he possesses a complete Divine Blessing, with incredible regenerative power. However, I think it only activates with his death. Otherwise, by now, his arm would have already regrown."
"WHAT?!" Camilla's mouth and eyes widened in disbelief. "A-A Divine Blessing?! I can't believe it… Which deity could have granted it to him? Perhaps Mother Nature? But for what absurd reason?!"
"I have no idea," Michelle replied, with the usual calm that set her apart from her sisters. "But anyway, regardless of the poison we use, the fact remains that he can't die, right?"
Mirac held his breath, trying to process those words.
'W-What?! P-Poison? D-Did she just say… p-poison?!'
Yes, he had heard correctly.
His sister had mentioned the very thing that had killed him that night: poison!
'W-Wait! D-Don't tell me that…!'
At that very moment, a wild and disturbing theory took shape in his mind—just as absurd as it was inevitable:
What if the five figures standing at the door while he was dying were none other than them?
His own family?!
'N-No… That's impossible!'
Mirac couldn't-
No. This time, he refused to listen to his intuition!
As right as it might have been, he refused to even consider, for a single second, that his own family had poisoned him…
That they had tried to kill him!
After all, for what absurd reason would they have done such a thing?!
'I-I must be w-wrong… Yes, there must be some misunderstanding! I'm sure of it! It can't be otherwise…'
A wave of anguish coursed through his body, making him shudder. He felt a cold chill run up his spine, as the weight of that realization crushed him.
And yet, despite everything, he forced himself to smile…
To pretend everything was normal…
To act as if he weren't locked inside a cell, with his family standing on the other side of the door, watching him—as if he were a complete stranger…
"What… What is going on here?" Mirac finally asked, uncertainty trembling in his voice.
Hearing their brother's question, the three sisters turned toward him in unison, interrupting their chatter.
Camilla then burst into a small, restrained laugh, bringing a hand to her lips as if she wanted to hide—or make even more evident—the amusement sparkling in her eyes.
"Oh, dear little brother…" she whispered, her tone sweetly venomous. "How we wish we could tell you that this is just a lovely family reunion…"
Her words dripped with sarcasm, and that tone made his skin crawl.
Next to her, Veronica sighed, interrupting her sister before she could continue:
"But unfortunately, that's not the case…" she said, her sharp, unrelenting eyes locked onto him.
Then, Michelle spoke, with a calmness that made what she said even more threatening:
"The situation is far more serious than you could ever imagine, Mirac…"
She paused, letting the weight of her statement sink deep into him.
Then, she pierced him with an icy stare.
"Your very existence has become a danger. An unimaginable risk to all of us…"
Mirac felt his breath catch in his throat.
As he listened to them, his heart pounded furiously against his ribs, as if trying to break free and escape.
"I… I don't understand…"
But Mirac didn't even have time to finish his sentence…
"Stop pretending!" Ginevra suddenly shouted, with a violence that made him flinch.
The Queen's eyes were filled with fury, and her voice seemed to scrape at his ears.
"For how much longer do you think you can keep up this charade?"
Mirac wavered, feeling his legs threaten to give way beneath him.
'Charade?' he wondered, as his brain fought desperately to make sense of those words.
But the more he thought about it, the bigger the void inside him grew, swallowing every certainty.
The Queen glared at him with contempt, while slow, relentless tears clouded her gaze, ready to overflow like streams on the verge of flooding.
Worried, Michelle immediately approached to comfort her, while the other two sisters tried to calm her and wipe away her tears.
"How could you hide this from us?" continued Ginevra, her voice heavy with a rage that seemed to have no limits. "You've been gambling with all our lives for all these years! Don't you think you've been selfish? Don't you feel the slightest bit of guilt for what you've done? For how long have you known about this? Come on, answer: SINNER!"
The last word echoed down the corridor, reverberating in Mirac's ears.
'S-Sinner?!' he thought, feeling his throat tighten.
He raised a trembling hand to his mouth, desperately trying to hide his stunned expression. 'NO! Don't tell me that…'
"So it's true, huh?" said Veronica, pinning Mirac with a contemptuous stare. "From your reaction, it seems like it is…"
"Answer our question, Mirac…" Camilla continued, crossing her arms.
Her tone of voice, once sarcastic, now became frighteningly more serious:
"Are you really a Chaotic?"
At that question, Mirac's face went pale instantly, as though the blood had stopped circulating.
"Wha-?!" He froze before he could fully express his shock.
He stood motionless, as if time itself had stopped around him.
The weight of the question fell on his shoulders, a boulder that seemed to want to crush him.
He felt his breath shorten, his heart racing. His mind raced too, searching for an escape that didn't exist.
He didn't know what to do!
Every fiber of his being was paralyzed, torn between the need to tell the truth and the fear of the consequences.
A heavy sense of shame washed over him, forcing him to lower his gaze. Inevitably, he found himself staring at the crack in the floor, which suddenly seemed like an abyss ready to swallow him whole.
The silence surrounding him was more eloquent than any words, an unmistakable confirmation.
But in the end, Mirac decided to answer anyway:
"Yes…"
The confession exploded in his throat like a shard of glass, tearing through every breath. He felt the word carve itself into his tongue, bleed between his teeth, turning into a scar even before it reached the air.
Mirac clenched his fist, his fingers trembling with tension as he tried to keep the whirlwind of emotions from overwhelming him.
"But… how did you find out?!" asked the Chaotic, his voice thick with tension.
The sound of crumpled paper tore through the silence.
"With this," came a cold, deep voice in response.
Mirac quickly lifted his gaze, already aware that the voice he had just heard belonged to his father.
Without thinking too much, his eyes settled on him, catching the play of shadows dancing across his impenetrable face.
In that moment, he noticed that in his free hand—the one not holding the torch—King Arthur was holding a white sheet of paper, carefully folded.
"What?!" exclaimed Mirac, his voice cracked with disbelief. "A-A letter?!"
"Exactly," replied his father, his impenetrable eyes scanning Mirac's bewildered face. "I found it today, on the desk in my private office."
Mirac felt his heart race, the beating shaking his chest.
'How is that possible?!' he wondered, confused.
For all this time, Mirac had always believed he had concealed his secret with obsessive care.
Yet now, everything he thought he had guarded so carefully seemed to be crumbling into a thousand pieces.
But Mirac had no doubts: someone had discovered his darkest secret and, afterward, decided to reveal it to the royal family through a letter!
This realization made him tremble for a moment, a subtle shiver creeping into his veins.
His mind was in turmoil, crowded with countless thoughts that piled up relentlessly.
But among them, one question stood out above all others: who could it have been?!
Who, other than him—and now his family—knew that he was a Chaotic?!
Mirac stood in silence, contemplating for a couple of seconds, immersed in an absence of words that seemed to weigh down the air, making it almost tangible.
But suddenly, an unsettling thought struck his mind, pulling him out of his anguish and forcing him to widen his green eyes.
"Wait a minute…!"
His voice trembled, but he gathered strength to continue:
"Are you telling me… that as soon as you read that letter, you blindly trusted its content?! That without any hesitation, you agreed to… kill me?!"
His tone grew more heated, almost accusatory.
"And since you failed, you decided to lock me up in here? All of this, blindly trusting what was written in the letter?! Without even bothering to check first if I was really a Chaotic?!"
King Arthur stared at him impassively, not letting any emotion show.
Then, with disarming calm, he replied:
"Exactly."
That answer left Mirac speechless.
Arthur took a step forward, closing the distance between them, and added in a firm voice:
"And do you know why?"
He paused briefly, fixing him with an intense gaze.
"Because, simply, we don't want to die."
Mirac flinched, a chill running down his spine.
"You should already know," Arthur continued, his voice growing sharper. "When someone is discovered to be a Chaotic, the death sentence is immediate. And with them, their entire family, regardless of rank or social status. So, unfortunately, this law applies to us as well."
Mirac's face stiffened for a moment.
But nothing more.
After all, he was already aware of all of this.
And it was that very awareness that had driven him for all these years to keep his Anomalous Syntony a secret!
To protect himself, of course!
But most of all, to protect his family…
"Few remember it, because it's rarely talked about anymore, but something similar already happened to a former royal family," Arthur continued, lowering his tone slightly until it became a deep echo. "One of their members was a Chaotic, just like you. And she kept it hidden from everyone as well. But one day, no one knows how, the truth came to light, and the entire family was exterminated in the most cruel and unimaginable ways."
Mirac swallowed nervously. The bitter taste of fear and anguish slid down his throat with his saliva.
"So… is this why you tried to… kill me?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.
The silence that followed lasted only a moment, but to Mirac, it felt like an eternity.
In those few mere seconds, he desperately clung to the hope that he had been wrong all along!
That, in reality, they hadn't really poisoned him and tried to kill him!
That the people in front of him weren't really his true family, but perhaps just a diabolical trick from someone who wanted to make him suffer…
Maybe he was truly dead.
And maybe, what he was experiencing now was nothing but his punishment in hell!
Of course, he would have much preferred it that way.
But unfortunately, deep down, he already knew it wasn't like this…
In the end, with a chilling coldness, devoid as always of any emotion, King Arthur simply replied:
"Exactly."
Just one word…
The same fucking word!
'Exactly…'
Spoken without any hesitation or remorse.
There was no longer any way to deny the reality in front of him…
His family had truly tried to kill him!
And this was nothing but a harsh truth.
One that pierced Mirac deeply, burning his soul and leaving him stunned, not knowing what else to say.
"None of us want to meet the same fate as that royal family," Camilla explained firmly. "That's why we tried to eliminate the threat that, sooner or later, would inevitably drag us to ruin. But, it seems that the poison didn't work…"
"Considering that it's not the first time you've resurrected, it's highly likely that you possess a 'Divine Blessing,'" Veronica added, her tone cold and calculating. "This makes any further attempt to kill you useless, since you would simply keep coming back to life."
"So," Camilla concluded, with a cold smile, "we've decided that if we can't get rid of you, we'll simply keep you imprisoned in this cell for the rest of your days! That way, we won't risk anyone discovering in the future that there is a Chaotic among the Strongolds. And thus, our lives will be saved…"
Mirac stiffened, clenching his fists.
Their reasoning made sense, but…
"But that's absurd!" the prisoner exclaimed, his voice cracked with despair. "Think about it: whoever wrote that letter already knows that I'm a Chaotic, right? That means the information has already slipped beyond your control. Maybe locking me in this cell will prevent anyone from discovering my Chaotic nature in the future. But what about the sender? Even if you lock me up here, what makes you think they won't speak anyway? Whoever they are, they could decide to reveal the truth at any moment. Even now, while we're talking!"
He took a trembling breath and shook his head, trying to contain his agitation.
"Regardless of whether I am free or not, the risk of being discovered already exists, and it's out there! A ticking time bomb ready to explode at any moment. And there's nothing we can do about it… It's impossible to escape this risk! It's too late!"
The King remained unmoved.
"You're wrong…" he said, his voice calm and impenetrable. "It's true, the letter is anonymous, and there's no way to find out who wrote it… However, we have reason to believe that the sender has no intention of exposing us. Their sole purpose was to warn us about the danger you represent to our safety before someone else discovered it and reported us to the Papal Council or the Purifiers. Moreover, if they had wanted to blackmail us, they would have demanded money in exchange for their silence. But they didn't. Instead, it's more likely that this person planned to help us in secret in exchange for a chance to redeem themselves and gain a high social position. Something they couldn't achieve by turning us in, because, obviously, we are the only means through which they can reach their goal. That's why, whoever they are, we can be certain they're on our side—and that as long as we fulfill their request, they won't say a word to anyone…"
Mirac was left speechless.
King Arthur spoke with disarming certainty, as if his son's life was merely a matter of logic…
As if everything were a chess game, and he was simply moving the pieces with cold determination, ready to sacrifice a mere pawn for his victory.
But Mirac couldn't accept it so easily!
"On your side?" he repeated, almost shouting. "Do you realize how ridiculous that is? Is it possible that none of you wondered why someone decided to reveal my secret to you instead of using it against us? Doesn't that seem… suspicious?"
A tense silence descended between them, suffocating like a shadow that swallowed every unspoken word.
Then, the King broke the silence with his usual, cold firmness:
"The reason is irrelevant," he declared, as he tucked back the letter into his pants pocket. "The fact remains that you are a Chaotic… and letting you free is too risky for our lives."
Mirac's breath caught in his throat, as though the air itself had suddenly turned to stone in his lungs.
He remained still, his gaze lost in the void, as he tried to process those words.
"Oh, and don't think you can escape from this cell so easily, little brother," Camilla added with a mocking smile.
"Fire Runes are carved on the door," Veronica explained, her voice cold and detached, as if she were describing a trivial detail. "If you try to force it, or even just tamper with it, the spell will automatically activate, triggering a devastating explosion."
"What?!"
Hearing this, Mirac widened his eyes, quickly pulling his hand away from the door as if it had become burning hot—his heart pounding even harder.
"With your Divine Blessing, you don't have to worry about dying, because if the worst were to happen, your body will simply regenerate, and you'll be good as new in no time," Camilla continued, her tone amused. "But the pain of being burned alive… well, it's an experience I wouldn't recommend you try. After all, I think just thinking about it is more than enough to convince you not to try escaping. Am I right, little brother?"
A cold shiver ran down his spine, a wave of freezing dread that seemed to consume every last bit of warmth left in him.
Mirac had no more doubts: in that moment—though, in reality, even before—he understood that every bond he thought he had with his family had now dissolved into nothing!
Every smile, every hug, every sweet word exchanged with them since the day he was born into this world…
Everything was crumbling right now, right before his very eyes!
Vanishing into the air, like dust in the wind…
And the worst part?
There was nothing he could do to stop it!
He was a Chaotic!
And for his family, that was more than enough to renounce him…
To abandon him…
And inevitably, forget him…
"I-I can't… I can't believe this…" he whispered, his heart thundering.
Mirac swallowed, the bitter taste of despair on his tongue.
He remained silent for a long moment, unable to find the words—prisoner of a void that seemed to swallow every thought he had.
He wanted to speak, to shout, to ask a thousand more questions and demand answers!
But the truth was simple: there was nothing left to say.
The reality was there, raw and unyielding, and there was no space for dialogue or compromise.
His family had already decided his fate, and every word, every plea, would surely be ignored.
Yet, despite everything, one last hope—rooted deep in his nature—urged him to call out…
The woman who, over time, he had learned to love with every fiber of his being…
"M-Mom…"
But the response was immediate and heartbreaking…
"Don't call me like that anymore!" she screamed, her voice trembling with rage and pain.
Her disheveled hair and tear-streaked face told a story of suffering that went beyond words.
Meanwhile, the three sisters were still by her side, unsuccessfully trying to calm her down.
Mirac, then, tried to reach out to them, hoping that at least one of his sisters would respond.
"Camilla… Veronica…" he called, hesitating, but then stopped. His gaze fell on the third sister, the one who had spent the most time with him during his childhood. "Michelle!"
But none of them stepped forward.
Instead, all three turned their gaze away, refusing to meet his, as if even looking at him was contaminating.
The young man, now overcome with despair, fixed his gaze on the only figure left before him, the last person he could still call:
"D-Dad…"
"ENOUGH!" King Arthur shouted, his voice tearing through the air like a whip. "I AM NO LONGER YOUR FATHER! Or rather…"
He paused, then emphasized every following word:
"WE ARE NO LONGER YOUR FAMILY!"
At those words, Mirac was stunned, scandalized, as he lowered his gaze to the ground.
"None of us want anything to do with you anymore, Chaotic Sinner!" King Arthur exclaimed.
The flame of the torch he was holding flickered, as if the King's voice had driven it to dance furiously.
"Accept it once and for all, Mirac…"
Finally, without a final glance, without the slightest hesitation, the group turned and walked away in complete silence.
No one hesitated, no one lingered. No one looked back.
They simply vanished into the shadows of the corridor.
Before he even realized it, Mirac had fallen to the ground, on his knees. His body had given up before his mind, crushed by the weight of abandonment.
His eyes filled with tears, but for some strange reason, they stayed in place, doing nothing but blurring his vision.
The cold of the stone seeped into his bones, sharp and relentless, but it wasn't that making his hands tremble.
It was another kind of cold, invisible and cruel:
The cold of loneliness.