The dinner was over.
And while Alvara hadn’t said it aloud, she truly enjoyed the food.
Whoever this boy was, he certainly knew his way around the kitchen.
But Tis, on the other hand, had barely finished her plate before she started getting sleepy.
She valiantly tried to stay awake during the meal, but by the time Alvara tucked her in and told her a bedtime story, her little sister was out cold.
For a few moments, Alvara kept sitting beside Tis, watching her sleep peacefully. Then, with a quiet sigh, she rose and left the room, closing the door softly behind her.
When she returned to the dining room, Samael was still there.
He was sitting with his back straight and his hands resting lightly on the table. His expression was calm but attentive.
He looked up as Alvara entered.
“She’s asleep?” he asked in a hushed voice.
Alvara nodded as she took the seat across from him. “She was exhausted. It didn’t take much to put her to bed.”
“She’s a lively one,” Samael said with a faint smile. “Talks a lot for someone so small.”
Alvara chuckled softly. “She gets that from our mother. Though sometimes, I think Tis could out-talk even her.”
Samael smiled softly. “I remember you telling me you had a little brother.”
Alvara’s expression turned stiff for just a moment before returning to normal. “Yes. He’s away on a school trip.”
Samael nodded understandably.
“That reminds me,” Alvara said, breaking the silence, “you’ve been nothing but polite, and you’ve even cooked dinner. But I think it’s time you told me who you really are. You’re clearly not from around here.”
Samael leaned back slightly, meeting her gaze without hesitation. “You’re right. I’m not from here. I’m from the Academy.”
Alvara frowned. “…Which academy?”
“The Academy,” Samael emphasized. “Apex Institute for the Awakened.”
Alvara’s eyes shot wide as he continued.
“I’m a first-year Hunter in training,” he said. “I’m sent here by the Academy to investigate the recent Spirit Beast sightings and attacks in this region.”
Alvara froze for a second, her breath catching in her throat. “D-Do you have any proof of your role? Something to show you’re really from the Academy?”
Without a word, Samael reached into his coat and took out a golden badge. The unmistakable crest of the Apex Academy glinted faintly under the room’s soft lamplight.
Meticulously engraved below the crest was his name. Of course, only his first name.
Alvara took it and examined it carefully. Her eyes scanned the details before she let out a quiet sigh of relief.
“It’s real,” she murmured, handing it back.
“I understand your caution,” Samael said as he pocketed the badge. “These are dangerous times, especially for a region like this.”
Alvara nodded. Her voice was heavy with concern. “We’ve already lost so many. Families were torn apart, homes were burned… The attacks have shaken everyone. I don’t know how much more people can take.”
“I’m sorry,” Samael said quietly. “I’ve seen the aftermath of attacks. I understand how horrific it must’ve all been.”
She studied him for a moment. His sincerity was evident in his expression.
Finally, she sighed. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Yes, actually,” Samael said, his tone shifting slightly. “I need to speak with the High Priest. He might have information that could aid the investigation.”
Alvara’s brows knitted in hesitation.
“The High Priest?” She shook her head. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible — not in the short term, at least.”
“Why not?” Samael asked, leaning forward slightly.
“The High Priest…” Alvara hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “He hasn’t been in the church much lately. He’s… preoccupied. And even when he is around, his schedule is tightly controlled. Setting up a meeting could take weeks.”
Samael frowned, but nodded. “What about the archbishop? Or another high-ranking member of the clergy?”
Alvara’s expression grew firmer. “I’m sorry, Samael, but that’s not an option either. The church has to tread carefully when it comes to matters like this. There’s been tension between the Central Monarch and the local government recently. If the church is seen as taking sides or interfering, it could jeopardize our ability to serve the people.”
“So you’re saying the church can’t help?” Samael asked.
“We want to help,” Alvara said earnestly. “But not in a way that risks inflaming political tensions or alienating the very people we’re here to support. I hope you can understand that.”
Samael leaned back in his chair. His posture was unnervingly still as he weighed her words.
And when he spoke again, his voice was edged with solemnity. “You didn’t ask why I got so angry when you questioned me about faith, Sister Alvara.”
Alvara blinked, caught off-guard. “I… I didn’t—”
Samael’s lips curled into a humorless smile. “You see, Sister, my mother was a devout follower of the Mother of Mercy. To her, faith wasn’t just a belief — it was her reason for living. She dedicated her entire life to her religion.”
He paused for a moment. “I was raised in that same faith. The church, the Goddess, they were the foundation of everything. But when I turned six… I fell ill. Have you heard of Essence Poisoning?”
Alvara felt a cold shiver run down her spine.
She had indeed heard of it.
The world was saturated with Spirit Essence, and for the Awakened ones, it was a boon.
But in rare cases, young children developed a condition where the very Essence in the air poisoned them.
There was no cure.
Healers, who used Essence to fuel their powers, would only worsen the child’s condition if they tried to heal them.
No medicine, no enchanted artifacts, no alchemy — nothing could help.
It was a slow, agonizing death.
It was like cancer, back when cancer was still untreatable. Some children survived, others did not.
Alvara was silent for a long moment, unsure how to respond. Finally, she found her voice. “…What happened?”
“My mother was one of the best healers in the land,” Samael resumed. “But even she couldn’t cure me. The condition is untreatable, as you know. And a few months before my seventh birthday, I was on the verge of death. Everyone was sure I wouldn’t make it. And I didn’t.”
A long, stunned silence fell between them.
Alvara stared at him, unable to find any words to fill the space. After a beat, she whispered, “Y-You… didn’t?”
Samael nodded slowly.
“My heart stopped for two full minutes. I was declared dead. But my mother…” He exhaled. “Through sheer stubbornness, my mother refused to accept it. She performed a miracle that night and brought me back. No one could believe it. There are powers that could reanimate the dead, but not like this. My mother… she actually brought me back to life.”
“That’s… impossible,” Alvara murmured, her disbelief clear.
“It would have been if it were a miracle, as I said,” Samael replied in a flat tone. “But it wasn’t. My mother gave her own life to save mine. She transferred her lifeforce into me. When I opened my eyes again, I was cured. But she was gone. She wasn’t there to see it.”
Alvara lowered her gaze with a heavy heart. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Samael said dismissively. “I was devastated, of course. I was hurt. But it left me with questions. If the gods are so merciful, if the heavens are so good, why didn’t they save her? Why did she have to die? If it was a punishment for bringing me back… for defying the will of the heavens, then the gods aren’t good. They are cruel. From that day, I decided to abandon my faith.”
His words hung in the air. Alvara opened her mouth to speak but found herself at a loss. How could she respond to such a confession?
Samael took another slow breath, continuing as though he needed to finish this part of the story.
“And when I came to Khandara, and saw the destruction wrought by the Spirit Beasts, the fear, the helplessness — the same cruelty was staring me in the face again. So, I lashed out at you.”
Alvara listened quietly, feeling the depth of his pain. His fractured faith, his anger, it all made sense now.
Her voice softened, and there was a hint of understanding in her words. “I… I can understand your frustration, Samael. But—”
Once again, Samael cut her off.
His voice was firm but not unkind. “I’m not expecting a miracle, Sister. I know that won’t happen. What I’m asking, though, is that you help me. Not as a member of the church, but as a fellow human. Help these people here.”
Alvara sighed, rubbing her temples. “Look, even if I tried to arrange a meeting with the High Priest or the Archbishop, they’d dismiss it the moment they hear you’re from the Academy. They won’t engage with that. And honestly, I don’t think they know anything worth hearing.”
“I’m not asking for politics, Sister,” Samael said, shaking his head. “I just want answers. If they don’t have them, then fine. I just want to ask them. I need to speak with them.”
Alvara hesitated.
She could see the earnestness in his eyes, but she also knew the complexity of what he was asking.
She glanced around the room as her mind raced. Finally, after a long pause, she nodded. “Alright. I’ll take you to the church. Meet me tomorrow morning, before the eighth bell. I’ll do what I can.”
Samael’s expression softened, and a brief smile touched his lips. “Thank you. You don’t know how much this means to me.”
Alvara could’ve sworn there was something else hidden in his gaze, something calculating.
But before she could think about it, the moment was gone.
Perhaps it was nothing more than her imagination.