Morning began with a scent.
It was not the one everyone had grown accustomed to over the past few days—not the sweetish, cloying stench of decay, not the acrid smoke, and not the bitter smell of fear that felt tangible, like grey dust. Today, it smelled of the sea. The salty wind, wandering through the cracks in the old shutters, carried with it the breath of seaweed, wet sand, and something long forgotten. The scent of open space. The scent of freedom.
Arthur stood on the porch of Riki's house, leaning against the railing, and looked out at the ocean. The wood beneath his fingers was rough, dry, warmed by the first rays of the sun.
Waves rolled lazily onto the shore, fifty meters away, with a viscous rustle. The sun had only just emerged from the horizon, turning the water into molten gold, and in the distance, seagulls cried—a wild, piercing sound. For the first time in a long time, he heard no moans, no clanging of metal, and no paranoid hum of shutters. This was a real, living silence.
He went down to the garage to check on Veridis. The dragoness lay on a pile of straw, curled into a tight ring. As he approached, she opened one emerald eye. Arthur crouched beside her and slowly ran his hand over her scales. She did not pull away.
"You'll fly soon," he said quietly. "Just a little longer."
He went back into the house, and it was already bustling with life. Yuria Komiya, the tall blonde widow who had become an unspoken pillar for everyone in this house, had taken the kitchen under her command. She moved through the room with the calm, almost hypnotic efficiency that only long-time housewives possess. On the top shelves, covered in a thick layer of dust, she had found canned tomatoes, a sack of rice, and even a few onions that had miraculously not rotted.
The smell of cooking food—real, hot, fragrant food—drifted across the entire first floor. Arthur noticed how people, upon entering the kitchen, would instinctively sniff the air, their shoulders relaxing and their faces, grey from hopelessness just yesterday, brightening a little.
Shizuka was helping Yuria, but her help was peculiar: she was more interested in tasting than cooking, for which she received a playful but firm swat on the hands every five minutes.
"Shizuka-san, if you eat all the rice before lunch, I will personally feed you these canned goods, can and all!" Yuria threatened with a ladle, though her eyes danced with mirth.
"But I'm just checking to see if it's spoiled..."
"It's in a can! It cannot be spoiled, woman!"
Hirano, who had stopped by the kitchen in search of tea, was immediately mobilized to chop vegetables. His protests—"I'm an armorer, I should be watching the perimeter!"—were ignored with Yuria's icy calm.
In the living room, Yotsuba and Hana Uzaki were washing windows. Hana, like a general at a review, pointed out spots on the glass until Yotsuba, losing patience, splashed water at her from a bucket. An explosion of laughter filled the room. It was such a strange, almost forgotten sound that Arthur paused at the doorway for a second, absorbing this illusion of normalcy.
Further away, in the corner, Hirano and old man Fujimoto were intently digging through an old radio receiver, trying to catch at least some signal. Tanaka sat in the corner, methodically honing his knife to a razor's edge. Meeting Arthur's gaze, he nodded—short, man-to-man. No words, just mutual understanding of the rules of the game.
On the windowsill, Miku was reading a tattered romance novel. Her headphones hung around her neck—a symbol of the past, an anchor she clung to. When Arthur passed by, she looked up.
"Is it interesting?" he asked.
"It's stupid," she replied quietly, a faint smile touching her lips. "But it has a happy ending."
"That's good," he nodded.
Ichika and Nino sat on the sofa, discussing something with muffled heat. At the sight of Arthur, they fell silent. Ichika smiled welcomingly, while Nino demonstratively turned away, but her groomed hair and neatly pinned bangs gave her away: she had stopped being a frightened animal; she was beginning to be a woman. In another corner, Ayane Shirakawa was showing Kotone self-defense techniques. Kotone listened intently, but Arthur saw those "devils" dancing in her eyes—she wasn't afraid. She was more dangerous than she seemed.
On the second floor, Rei looked out at the sea, while Saeko polished her blade. The silence here was very different from the noise on the first floor.
"They're laughing," said Rei. "Down there. I can hear it."
"That is good," Saeko replied without looking up from the blade. "As long as we are alive, we can laugh. It is not weakness, Rei."
When twilight began to thicken, the house became cozy, almost as it had been before the world collapsed. Marin sat by the fire, and Arthur sat down on the floor nearby, leaving a respectful distance.
"You don't have to believe me," he said quietly. "But I wish no harm to anyone in this house."
Marin looked at the dancing flames for a long time.
"I don't believe you," she admitted honestly. "But I see what you are doing. You gave them this day. You gave them the illusion of life. And for that, I... I appreciate it."
She left, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Arthur watched the fire and understood: now, while they were relaxed, was the perfect time to secure his position.
When dusk finally settled over the coast, three people approached him: Hana Uzaki, Megumi, and Hinata. They did not seem loud. They approached like petitioners, realizing that in this house, the only authority was him.
"We want to find our own," Hana said firmly. "My sister and brother. We cannot just sit here forever. We will go ourselves if we have to."
Arthur scrutinized them. He wasn't going to let them leave just like that. In this world, loyalty was the most scarce resource, and it had to be forged.
"It's dangerous," he said coldly. "The city is a meat grinder. If I let you leave, you will become targets. Or a burden."
He stood up, towered over them, walked to the table, and pulled a folded sheet of ordinary A4 paper from his inner pocket. On it, painstakingly drawn by hand, were ornate Gothic symbols—a mix of Latin, non-existent signs, and pseudo-runic patterns. It looked impressive, frightening, and very "ancient."
Arthur placed the sheet on the table.
"This is a contract. A pact of mutual protection and loyalty. It binds you to this house, to my will, and to my protection. If you sign it with your blood, I will exert every effort to bring your loved ones back alive. If not—you are free to choose, but outside this house, you are on your own."
The girls exchanged glances. To them, this sheet, covered in "ancient" script, looked like something immutable. They did not see an ordinary piece of office paper—they saw a last hope, sealed by something beyond human law.
"What do we need to do?" Megumi's voice wavered.
"Just a drop of blood. Beneath the symbols. It is a seal," Arthur extended a needle, trying not to betray a hint of irony in his voice.
They approached the table. The plain white paper was slightly yellowed by the candlelight, giving it the appearance of an ancient document. Hana was the first to take the needle, prick her finger, and leave a red smear right under the "Gothic" text. Then Megumi. Then Hinata.
Arthur carefully folded the paper, feeling a cold satisfaction wash over him. To them, this was a sacred pact that changed their destiny. To him, it was just a scrap of paper that had, nevertheless, worked perfectly. They believed in this contract, and therein lay their trap.
"Good," he said, tucking the paper into his pocket. "Now you are part of my system. Tomorrow at dawn, we move out. You will lead."
When the girls left, gripped by a mixture of awe and determination, Arthur remained on the porch alone. Heavy, confident footsteps sounded from the garage—Veridis came out and rested her head on his shoulder.
"We are growing," he whispered into the darkness. "Those who depend on us."
The dragoness purred quietly in response.
Candles were lit in the house. A golden light poured from the windows, mixing with the silver of the moon. Laughter drifted from the kitchen, and upstairs, someone was arguing about tomorrow's cleaning. Arthur closed his eyes, feeling the black, dormant branch in his mind pulsate—not from magic, but from the realization that he now controlled their fears.
Tomorrow, they would begin the search. Tomorrow, they would go back into hell. The Altar awaited its hour, and his "allies" didn't even suspect that they had sealed their pact in emptiness.
But today—today they were alive. They laughed, they ate hot food, and they looked at the sea.
And for now, that was enough.