The apartment lights dimmed to a soft amber hue, guided by Kazen’s quiet voice: “Lights, rest mode.”
The gentle glow faded around the walls, casting the room into warm shadows. A subtle cooling enchantment hummed through the vents, the sound so faint it could be mistaken for silence. It was te—far past what would be considered bedtime for children.
Yet Nia was still bouncing lightly on her bed, her tiny form bundled in a fluffy pair of starry pajamas, her twin pigtails flopping as she pouted dramatically.
“But I don’t wanna sleep yet!” she whined, clutching her stuffed sun-drake plush close to her chest. “I want a story!”
Kazen sat on the edge of her bed, a soft sigh escaping him. “It’s already past your sleep time. You need rest.”
“But it’s the first night you’re home! You gotta read me a bedtime story!” Her lower lip trembled theatrically, and then she added with a sniff, “Mommy used to tell me stories...”
That nded like a quiet meteor in his chest. He faltered. His hand, which had reached to adjust her bnket, paused midair.
From the adjacent bed, Rei didn’t say a word. She y there with her back turned, her bnket tucked up to her nose, pretending to sleep. But her ears twitched slightly.
Kazen looked down at Nia. She blinked up at him, all wide eyes and raw honesty, waiting for something magical to hold on to.
After a breath, he nodded. “Alright. One story.”
Nia’s face exploded into a grin as she wriggled happily beneath the bnket. “Yay! Yay! Okay! Tell me about the dragon egg again—”
“No,” he said gently. “Tonight... I’ll tell you a different story.”
He pulled the chair closer, settling in, and adjusted the dimming light orb above the bed. Nia stared at him expectantly, and Rei—though still silent—shifted a little so one eye could peek through her bnket folds.
Kazen inhaled.
“There once was a kingdom,” he began softly, “ruled by light and bound by ws. But the world wasn’t safe. Shadows grew at the edges of the continent—monsters born from corrupted mana, storms that devoured towns, and rogue sorcerers who bent reality like paper.”
Nia’s grip on the plush tightened. Rei’s gaze sharpened slightly.
“And in that time,” Kazen continued, his voice even, but deeper, “there was a knight. Not a normal knight with sword and armor. No—he was a Magic Knight, born with a rare gift. His magic core shimmered the color of forest storms—deep green, not yet bright, but strong.”
“What was his name?” Nia asked in a whisper.
Kazen smiled faintly. “They called him... Ardan.”
“Ardan,” she repeated, dreamily.
“He wasn’t the most talented,” Kazen said, his gaze drifting slightly, “but he worked harder than anyone. While others mastered spells, he trained his body, carved runes into his bde, and practiced focusing his mana until he could cut through stone with a whisper. One day, when a corrupt dragon attacked the city’s mana tower, and everyone else fled... Ardan climbed the spire.”
Nia’s eyes were shining now.
“He fought the beast alone—its scales like dark iron, its breath a firestorm. But Ardan wasn’t afraid. He channeled his magic into a single strike, aimed at the beast’s heart.”
“Did he win?” she whispered.
Kazen nodded slowly. “Barely. He was wounded, scarred... but he won. The people called him a hero. But Ardan didn’t want fame. He just... wanted to protect those he loved.”
Nia smiled, eyes already starting to flutter. “That’s the best story ever...”
He adjusted her bnket as she curled into her pillow. “Maybe I’ll tell you the sequel tomorrow.”
She mumbled something unintelligible—something about making friends with a baby dragon—and then her breathing began to slow.
He looked to the other bed.
Rei’s back still faced him.
“You were listening,” he murmured.
“I wasn’t,” came the quietest of replies. Her voice was muffled, but awake.
He didn’t press. He didn’t need to.
He rose slowly, careful not to make a sound. His fingers gently brushed Nia’s forehead, then tucked the plush deeper under her arm. He moved toward the doorway, pausing only to gnce back one st time.
Both girls were still.
Stillness that wasn’t forced. Just peace.
He stepped out into the hallway and exhaled softly.
—
The living room was silent.
Kazen sank onto the couch, his posture no longer stiff, but not quite rexed. A faint light from the city skyline poured through the balcony windows, casting his face in silvered blue shadows. He activated the memory assistant rune embedded in his neural ttice—a standard tool for elite prosecutors, especially those trained in structured mana analysis.
A series of glowing threads floated into his vision, organizing themselves into graphs, charts, and yered memories—structured like files unfolding across his mind.
He focused.
The power system of this world had always fascinated him. Here, strength was determined by a unique system: the color and density of one’s magic core.
At birth, a child’s core potential was measured by an enchanted resonance device—simir to a soul mirror. It emitted a talent rating ranked from D to SSS.
D-rank cores... barely flickers. Rarely reached beyond light red in their lives.
C-ranks could sometimes reach light orange with great effort.
B-ranks were more common—able to reach yellow if they trained hard enough.
A-ranks, like himself, could stabilize at green. Maybe, with luck, light green.
AA-ranks could push into the cyan tier—refined, rarer still.
S-ranks could manifest blue cores.
SS-ranks could reach silver. A sacred hue.
And SSS-rank? The mythical white core. No one had seen it in five centuries. It was the color of purity—of legends and gods. The color of creation itself.
Each color had three sub-stages—dark, solid, and light. Kazen’s current magic core was dark green: the base level of the green stage. That alone pced him as a 4th Rank Wizard—the very threshold of senior cssification, and why the council appointed him as a senior prosecutor two years ago.
But he had been stuck there ever since.
He clenched a fist unconsciously. Two years. No progression.
That was unusual for someone with A-rank talent. Not impossible... but something was holding him back.
And yet... his daughters...
He closed his eyes, summoning the memories.
Rei had been born under the glow of the Soul-Echo Moon—an auspicious sign in this world. The reading had been clear: AA-rank.
Higher than his own.
She was barely eight, but her control already rivaled apprentices nearly twice her age.
And Nia...
Born two years ter. Born ughing.
A-rank.
Same as him.
He smiled faintly, more emotion than he’d let show in years. Despite everything—his failure to protect Lira, his work-obsessed past, the burdens of another life entirely—these girls were shining stars. More than he could ever ask for.
He didn’t even notice when he’d drifted to sleep on the couch.
—
He stirred at the faintest sensation.
Not a noise.
Just... presence.
Soft footsteps.
Tiny fingers brushing over his chest, gently pulling a folded bnket over him.
He kept his eyes closed.
A warmth settled against him—a child’s frame curling carefully at his side.
Rei.
He could tell by the way she moved—quiet, precise, but not cold. Her body trembled faintly. Not from fear.
From hesitance.
She tucked herself under his arm, and he adjusted slightly, just enough to let her in without waking fully. His arm wrapped around her, pulling her closer.
He could feel her heartbeat. Fast. Slowing.
Then—
“No fair, Daddy!”
Nia’s tiny voice was loud enough to shake the mps.
She barreled into them like a shooting star, her plush sun-drake squished between her chest and his ribs. “You’re hugging Rei! I want too!”
Kazen chuckled low in his throat, not opening his eyes. “There’s room for both of you.”
She wriggled in, settling under the bnket, and threw an arm across her sister and her father alike.
The room fell into a hush once more.
The three of them—father and daughters—tangled together in the glow of starlight through the window, wrapped in the shared warmth of something long-lost and newly rediscovered.
Family.
Home.
Sleep found them there.
And for the first time in a long, long while, Kazen didn’t fight it.
