Monica knew every detail of the Arcanists' stories, from their ancient glories to their darkest tragedies. She felt the weight of the truth in every word, a truth that was an ancestral burden. Her family was deeply intertwined with those terrible tales, but in front of her cousins, she needed to maintain her composure. The last thing Monica wanted was to show any sign of insecurity, as if her own doubt could weaken the legacy that ran through their veins. They were lost, completely unaware of the destiny that awaited them, and she couldn’t afford to discourage them further.

The air around them seemed to grow denser, as if the atmosphere itself were aware of the gravity of the conversation unfolding. The tension was palpable, almost electric, and Monica was impeccable, her presence unmistakable. She wore a fitted black top that stretched over her slender, muscular frame, and dark leather pants that gave her the aura of an elegant warrior. The combination was practical but with an undeniable touch of sophistication, reflecting the nobility and strength of her lineage. Her deep ruby eyes were fixed, like sharp blades, as she scanned her cousins’ faces. Every expression was analyzed, measured, and she prepared herself for what was about to be revealed.

— A long time ago, a race of insane mages started a war against humanity... — Michelle’s voice cut through the silence, with the irritating familiarity of someone who relished recounting old stories. She was seated in a velvet armchair, her slender silhouette contrasting with the softness of the fabric, but her posture was rigid, almost indifferent, as if she were in another world, narrating an ancient tale, distant from any tangible reality.

Tyler, the older cousin, seemed oblivious to the weight of the conversation, his expression laden with disdain. He was sprawled on the opposite couch, his feet carelessly on the table and his shoulders relaxed, as if he were in a moment of rest, not understanding the seriousness of the situation. The skeptical look he gave Michelle clearly showed his disbelief.

— Are you really taking this seriously? — he muttered, his tone dripping with irony, as if he were listening to a fable that would soon be dismissed. He rolled his eyes, clearly uninterested, as if the weight of Michelle’s words were nothing more than a fantastical story.

Monica felt her stomach churn at Tyler’s disdain. Since their reunion, he seemed to enjoy ignoring everything around him, as if reality weren’t worthy of his attention. Even after witnessing the impossible, he still refused to acknowledge the magnitude of what was happening. It was as if the world were crumbling around him, but he shut himself off in a bubble of disinterest, as if he were immune to the growing chaos.

— The Lunatics... — Monica murmured, turning slightly to Hyan, who was beside her. He watched everything with the expressionless look that always unsettled her. His red eyes were like deep, unfathomable wells, absorbing everything around him but giving no clue as to what he was really thinking. She had always struggled to decipher Hyan. The emptiness in his gaze, the unsettling calm with which he reacted to everything, only made her feel that there was much more at stake than he let on.

— Here we go... — Hyan murmured in response, avoiding everyone’s gaze. His hands were clasped in his lap, his fingers tightly interlocked, but Monica noticed a slight tremor in one of them, a subtle but clear sign that the tension was building. Even he, with his usual calm, didn’t seem entirely immune to the weight of what was happening.

Michelle, on the other hand, continued, oblivious to the disinterested looks and postures around her. Her voice was low and dramatic, imbued with a gravity that seemed to expand in the air, almost palpable. Each of her words seemed to increase the weight of the moment, as if she weren’t just telling a story but revealing the very foundation of the world they lived in.

Michelle’s fingers, adorned with gleaming rings, moved with grace and precision, reflecting the soft light that filled the room, creating a magical glow that only heightened the seriousness of the conversation. She seemed more like a priestess than a mere woman, and the aura of authority she exuded made even the environment seem to revere her.

— Humanity was infinitely inferior to the power of the Lunatics and was about to succumb... — Michelle continued, her voice resonating imposingly. — If it weren’t for the intervention of another people, the Arcanists...

Tyler, sitting with his feet on the table, rolled his eyes, clearly uninterested, as if he expected this to be just another story for some temporary entertainment. He sank further into the couch, as if waiting for this to be a passing joke, something that would soon lose its impact.

Michelle rose slowly, as if every movement were part of an ancient ritual. Her steps were heavy but deliberate, as if the environment around her awaited the cadence of her gestures. She walked to the wall, where the family portrait hung, with the figure of her late father, the Scarlet Arcanist, dominating the center of the frame. Monica watched her mother, her gaze fixed and attentive. She knew this moment carried immeasurable weight—more than words could express. Michelle’s gesture, in its careful reverence, seemed to elevate the portrait to something sacred, as if she were connecting with the memory of an irreparable legacy.

— Now, listen, you two — Michelle said, her voice low, controlled, but with an underlying tension, like a rope about to snap. She adjusted the portrait with a delicacy that bordered on veneration. — Your father was the most powerful among the Arcanists: the Scarlet Arcanist.

The room seemed to shrink as Michelle’s words settled in the air. For a moment, Tyler lost his relaxed posture, his image of disdain fading. His eyes fixed on the portrait, and he remained motionless, the silence breaking the natural flow of his thoughts. His childhood memories, blurred and fragmented, tried to process the magnitude of the revelation, but the idea of his father being a hero seemed impossible. How could such a grand man simply disappear, leaving no trace?

— The most powerful and... he died? — Tyler let out a short, bitter laugh, a sound laden with disbelief, as if he had heard a disconcerting and completely nonsensical joke.

Monica felt a fierce heat rise in her stomach, a rage that boiled with every mocking word that came out of Tyler’s mouth. How dare he ridicule his own father’s legacy, the history that bound them?

Without hesitation, Michelle grabbed the portrait with the precision of a fatal strike and, with a sharp motion, hurled it at Tyler. The frame hit his head with a dry thud, the sound echoing through the room, cutting through the air.

— I already told you to speak respectfully of your father! — Michelle’s voice was now cold, merciless, cutting through the environment with relentless clarity, like the edge of a sharp blade. — You, Tyler, are his direct successor. Protector of the world of men...!

Hyan, who had quickly ducked to avoid the impact, raised his head with the lightness of someone unshaken by the chaos around him. An ironic smile slowly formed on his lips, as if he were watching a hopeless play.

— We’re screwed then... — he murmured, his voice laden with bitter resignation, the tone so dark that Monica couldn’t help but notice the depth of his bitterness. Hyan was always calm, but now it seemed like something inside him had broken.

Monica, though irritated by Hyan’s skepticism, couldn’t help but agree with his observation. She could feel the weight of the situation growing heavier with every second.

Monica, feeling the tension escalate, stood up abruptly. She didn’t try to hide her frustration, but there was something more in her eyes: a clear purpose, a need to prove that there was more to be done.

— Well, as it’s obvious he’s not ready — she said, her voice firm, like a sharp blade. — That’s why we’re here!

Tyler, still picking shards of glass from his messy hair, looked at her with a mix of disbelief and exhaustion. His gaze, confused and disoriented, reflected the doubt he couldn’t help but feel.

— For what?

Monica smiled, a smile that bordered on challenging, her eyes gleaming with the flame of determination. The moment to prove her worth had come, and she had no intention of backing down.

— So, let’s go. — She murmured the words of power with the precision of someone familiar with the process: — Arcanum Evocattio: Petalis Rosae!

In the blink of an eye, the scarlet armor formed around her body with the sound of metal sliding against metal, the impact of power resonating through the room. The armor seemed alive, as if it were an extension of her own strength. A long, luminous sword appeared in her hand, emitting a radiant aura. The power of the Arcanists pulsed through her, its overwhelming energy filling the environment with a palpable sense of strength.

Perhaps, she was the key to transforming Tyler into the hero everyone believed he could be. She needed to believe that, more than anything else.