"First of all… it's impossible that we have no guest rooms," Anastasia stated firmly, arms crossed as she gred at Zenith.

  But Zenith, ever the calm and smiling mother, was prepared. "We did have one—until you cimed it as your personal room the moment you decred yourself ‘independent’ and started moving about on your own."

  Anastasia’s face twitched. That was true, but still! "But she's a stranger! A magician, even! I am a very weak and frail dy—"

  Her words were met with bnk stares from everyone at the table. Even Lilia, who rarely reacted to Anastasia's antics, gave her an unimpressed look.

  Seeing her argument fall apart before it even began, Anastasia let out a sigh and slumped back into her chair. "...Fine. I guess," she muttered. Then, after a beat, she added with a mischievous glint in her eye, "Just don't be surprised if I walk out of the room alone in the morning."

  Her words carried a vague, ominous threat—but to Rudeus, it strayed dangerously into forbidden territory. His face turned pale, his mind spiraling into unspeakable scenarios.

  Roxy, catching onto the unintended implication, stiffened in her seat, a noticeable blush creeping onto her face.

  Anastasia groaned, rubbing her temples. "You two are the worst." She shot an irritated gnce between Rudeus and Roxy. "Truly perfect for each other."

  "Now, now, young missy, let’s not get heated and start making threats." Zenith ruffled Anastasia’s hair with a motherly smile, earning a pout from the girl. And with that, dinner ended without any further incidents.

  Later that night, Anastasia had just finished washing up, thanks to the convenience of Roxy’s water magic. It made bathing far easier—no more tedious trips to the well. Not that she ever actually made those trips more than once. Instead, she had secretly relied on her Faint Frost magic, though it could barely produce enough water to fill the wooden tub. Fortunately, no one questioned it. They all just assumed she was an extremely frugal girl.

  Drying her hair, Anastasia gnced at Roxy and casually remarked, "Miss Roxy, could you wash yourself before getting into bed? I’m pretty sure you’re clinging to filth."

  Roxy blinked, her mind catching on a single phrase.

  ‘Getting into bed.’

  Her face turned red in an instant. "N-No, no, no! I am sleeping on the floor!" she stammered, waving her hands frantically.

  Anastasia, now sitting cross-legged on the bed, stared at her—expression ft, gaze unwavering. It was the kind of stare that said, ‘Did I ask for your opinion?’

  Roxy gulped. It seemed resisting was not an option. With a sigh of defeat, she nodded, grabbed her things, and retreated to the bathroom.

  As the door clicked shut, Anastasia exhaled and muttered under her breath, "I fear for my innocence here... but surely, she’s not that depraved... right?"

  But for some reason, she couldn't shake off a lingering sense of unease.

  Anastasia reached for a book titled "The Summoning God."

  In this world, it was regarded as absolute truth—every word within its pages holding undeniable weight. But in her previous life? It would have been dismissed as nothing more than a work of fantasy.

  Still, this book was exactly what she needed.

  With it, she could finally commence her Avatarice Project—a grand experiment that would redefine the limits of summoning.

  The concept was simple but ambitious: a Summoning Catalogue, with this book acting as its core medium. By binding it to her mana and infusing it with a wisp of her own essence, the book would continuously monitor her state, setting specific criteria for summons. But that was just the foundation.

  The real breakthrough was in how she intended to give life to her Avatars.

  Instead of merely calling forth spirits or existing beings, she would craft entirely new existences—Avatars molded from scratch. By creating clones of herself, stripped of personal memory and independent thought, she could inject them into these constructs. These Avatars would retain only the necessary memories, skills, and instincts to fulfill their designated roles. They would be extensions of her, but without access to the vast library of knowledge locked within her true self.

  And why go through all this trouble?

  Because it was fun.

  Of course, she couldn't carry out this project in the real world. Not yet. The resources, the time, and most importantly—the scrutiny from others—would make it nearly impossible.

  But inside her mindscape… that was a different story.

  There, she could experiment freely, refining her methods until the time was right to bring them into reality.

  For now, she would bide her time.

  And when the world was ready, she would unveil something beyond their wildest imaginations.

  Anastasia’s daydreaming came to an abrupt halt as she heard a knock at the door. Before she could respond, it opened.

  Roxy stood there in her nightwear.

  Without much interest, Anastasia shifted her gaze back to her book. "Tch. I thought it was Lilia bringing me steamed milk. Now my excitement has fizzled out." Her tone was ft, her disappointment obvious.

  Roxy, deciding not to comment on that, stepped further into the room. As she did, something felt... off.

  Her sharp magical perception tingled.

  She subtly gnced around, her gaze drawn to the strange markings etched along the walls. They weren’t just decorations—each one emitted a faint, steady pulse of magic. Even the candlelight in the room was unnatural. Though the fme flickered like any other, its glow spread evenly across the space, illuminating every corner without casting deep shadows.

  What kind of magic was this?

  Before Roxy could ask, another knock sounded. Instinctively, she turned and opened the door.

  Lilia stood there, holding a small cup. "Miss Roxy, please remind the young miss to drink this. Just pce it on the table."

  Roxy took the cup and nodded. A question burned in her throat—What exactly is this room?—but she swallowed it down. Now isn’t the time.

  Instead, she simply said, "Goodnight."

  Closing the door, she turned back to Anastasia—only to find the girl's golden eyes now locked onto her.

  "What? Give me the milk."

  Roxy stepped closer as Anastasia casually stood, moving to the chair near the table. She took the cup and relished the warmth, sipping the hot milk with an air of contentment.

  Roxy hesitated, but the curiosity gnawed at her. She couldn’t let it go. "Lady Anastasia, why do you have so many magical runes and artifacts in your room?"

  The moment the words left her lips, Anastasia froze mid-sip.

  Roxy’s breath hitched.

  The golden glow of Anastasia’s eyes fractured into a myriad of colors, swirling with an unnatural brilliance. Like a shifting aurora.

  Then Anastasia muttered, voice eerily soft yet carrying weight beyond reason:

  "Huh. No wonder... You’re actually a demonkin, sensitive to magic."

  A shiver ran up Roxy’s spine before— her thoughts slipped into a haze.

  Her vision blurred.

  For the briefest of moments, reality itself seemed to distort around her.

  Then— snap.

  Crity returned.

  Roxy found herself standing still, a dull confusion settling in her mind. Had she just bcked out?

  Across from her, Anastasia sat with perfect composure, zily resting her chin on one hand. "Oh, the runes?" she said, her voice now casual, light. "I got them from a bazaar in the vilge. They were dirt cheap. People thought they were fakes. Maybe I got lucky."

  Roxy frowned. Something felt off, but she couldn’t pce it. A whisper of doubt lingered in the back of her mind, but it refused to surface.

  Anastasia shifted slightly, her eyes now calm and unreadable. "Just blow out the candle. Let's sleep."

  A part of Roxy wanted to question everything.

  As the room plunged into darkness, only the faintest glow remained—a silver hue bathing Anastasia’s face.

  Roxy blinked. The moonlight?

  That was odd.

  She distinctly remembered peeking out the window downstairs—the sky had been shrouded in clouds, not a trace of the moon visible.

  And yet, here in Anastasia’s room, the light was soft, cool, soothing... almost deliberate.

  A fleeting thought surfaced in Roxy’s mind, a whisper of doubt—why does this feel different?

  But just as quickly, the question slipped away.

  It felt normal. Completely natural.

  Her gaze lingered on Anastasia, who y there, serene and unreadable. The glow of her unseen moon framed her delicate features, her rhythmic breathing steady and calm.

  Roxy felt something stir in her chest—a quiet tenderness.

  Not of love, not of admiration.

  But of profound curiosity.

  Who exactly is this girl?

  She would ask, perhaps.

  Tomorrow.

  For now, Roxy closed her eyes.

  And drifted into sleep, never questioning the unnatural moonlight that continued to shine.

  But instead—she obeyed.

  With a soft breath, she extinguished the candle. The room plunged into darkness.

  And neither spoke again.