After a long, quiet moment with his eternally sleeping wife, Karen, Ramiro leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. His right hand lingered on her smooth cheek, fingers brushing gently as if afraid his touch might break her fragile stillness.

  "I'll return home as soon as I'm done, Karen," he whispered, his voice steady but heavy with unspoken sorrow. Slowly, he pulled back, his fingers slipping from her cheek like a final thread of connection. "I promise this to you."

  He stood from the bed, carefully smoothing the area of the sheets where he had sat, a silent gesture of respect for the woman who once shared his world in both presence and warmth. When the bed was neat again, he turned, his back straight and his steps measured, leaving the room in solemn silence.

  His long, shoulder-length hair — gray as winter's dawn — was gathered into a fine ponytail, swaying gently behind him with each graceful step. As he moved farther from Karen, his presence seemed to dim, like a flickering candle retreating into the shadows.

  Ramiro needed no knights by his side, no armies marching behind him, nor the aid of neighboring kingdoms or the revered Five Great Holy Families. He was enough. Alone, he would face the crucial task given to him — a duty sealed within the envelope bearing King Aldrich Charlotte's royal crest, delivered by his ever-loyal butler, Truman.

  Behind him, Karen remained still, her face serene, yet as Ramiro's presence faded from the room, a single tear slipped from beneath her closed eyelids — a silent, helpless response. Though unresponsive for so long, it seemed that somewhere deep within, whether in heart or soul, she could still feel the ache of her husband’s sorrow... and the pain of their daughter Serena's current state.

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  'Ramiro... Serena... I'm sorry I can't be there for you... and Brianna... Adeline...' The words echoed painfully in Karen's mind, a silent, conscious cry trapped within her unmoving form.

  Meanwhile, back at Noah's Mansion, Aiden sat cross-legged on his bed, his breathing calm and controlled. The book his father, Caden, had given him—a guide to awakening one's Grace—lay closed atop his desk. He had skimmed its pages once, but the words held little weight for him.

  After all, Aiden already possessed the memories of his former self—the warrior who had lived and died in the fallen world of Eden.

  "Remember it, Aiden..." he thought, his lips unmoving, his pale amber eyes hidden behind closed eyelids. His expression remained a mask of calm resolve, though the storm of his past churned silently within.

  Time drifted by, the silence broken only by the rhythmic beat of his heart.

  Then—a flicker.

  Aiden's hand slowly moved to his chest, feeling a familiar warmth bloom deep within—a pulse of subtle heat spreading like threads of fire through his veins. His body, young and untested at only eight years old, accepted the sensation without resistance.

  A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Right... this is the same feeling I had in my previous life when I first awakened to my Grace." Back then, the old him had only awakened at twelve—driven by a promise he made to Serena.

  He released a long sigh, letting his body fully relax as the heat coursed through him, running along every vein like liquid light.

  When he opened his eyes and looked down at his hands, his gaze widened.

  "Gold?..." he murmured.