It had been three days since they left the dungeon.

  The world outside remained unchanged—sunlight bathed the forest, birds chirped, and the breeze still carried the scent of dew. Yet within the stone walls of their temporary lodging, Kairyuuha had not slept.

  The others noticed. Of course, they did.

  He sat in the center of the training hall, unmoving. Surrounded by half-burnt scrolls, aged tomes, shattered mana crystals. The floor beneath him was scorched and cracked from repeated trials—blasts of internal mana, experimental forms of self-sealing, acceleration fields, simulated damage.

  Kairyuuha had thrown himself into a pit of theory, pain, and repetition.

  “I must know.”

  It echoed in his head like a curse. “I must know if it’s real.” If the immortality granted to them was true or merely a lie disguised in glowing sigils. He couldn't afford to relax, not when her life was on the line.

  Lumina.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  A daughter born from unnatural means, raised in an unnatural world, cursed with unnatural aging. And he—her supposed guardian—had done nothing but patch temporary solutions. He had failed to stop her aging, failed to discover its origin, and now...

  Was immortality a blessing—or a trick to delay the inevitable?

  He forced himself through advanced meditation rituals, diving into the depths of his spirit. He trained endlessly, attempting to separate his soul from his body, to observe changes at the existential level. He read day and night, absorbing every written human theory on long life, divine deals, and arcane binding. Even language scrolls, alternate dimensions, and ancient myths.

  He knew everything there was to know… and still, it wasn't enough.

  ---

  Meanwhile, in the other room, the group had grown quiet.

  No more teasing. No more comments about Kairyuuha being a one-year-older dad to a now-teenage girl. The air was too heavy.

  Kazuki leaned against the wall, arms folded. “He’s burning himself out.”

  “I’ve never seen him like this,” Thora muttered, worry flickering across his usually unshakable face.

  “He’s scared,” said Kael. “More than I’ve ever seen him. I think he believes this is his last shot to save her.”

  Yuno sat on a chair upside-down, tapping his fingers. “And we’re not strong enough to help him this time.”

  In the hallway, Lumina stood quietly. Listening. Watching.

  Her golden eyes dimmed with worry. Her tail gently flicked behind her, but her expression was still. Too still.

  “I don’t care about the years,” she whispered under her breath. “Even if I only have four more, I just want Papa to smile again.”

  ---

  Back in the chamber, Kairyuuha stood—his eyes bloodshot, his body battered from internal strain. Yet his face held no pain, only resolve.

  “If I cannot find the answer in books or theory... then I’ll forge one with my own power.”

  He turned toward the training dummies—no, simulations he had created to reflect divine enemies, ancient bosses, and theoretical threats. A new test. A new theory.

  The others watched from the shadows of the doorway.

  And in her room, Lumina sat at her desk, writing a letter she never meant to send.

  > “Papa… even if we don’t have forever, the time we do have… is enough for me. So please, rest. Just for a little while.”