Klaus and Amara held The Fateweaver's Charm and The Golden Die of Eternity in their hands, their minds still trembling from the sheer impossibility and impracticality of what had just unfolded before them.

As beings who had long surpassed the fragile years of youth, having lived through centuries in which very little could move their hearts, they had almost believed themselves impervious to shock. Hardly anything could surprise them anymore, hardly anything could stir their emotions, and hardly anything could provoke a genuine reaction.

But, here and now, a mere nineteen-year-old boy sat calmly before them, a boy with strikingly handsome features, and he had just gifted them two artifacts so rare, so impossibly valuable, that even they, with all their accumulated knowledge, influence, and power, could not have procured them on their own.

Amara found herself utterly speechless. Earlier, when Anthony had given her The Golden Die of Eternity, she had thanked him with all the sincerity her heart could muster. But now, after receiving The Fateweaver's Charm as well, words of gratitude felt hollow. She felt that to thank him once more would diminish the enormity of his actions, that it would be an insult not only to her existence as a mother and as a woman of stature but also to her family's name and honor. Gratitude seemed far too small a currency for what had been given.

Her mind wrestled with conflicting thoughts. Should she offer something in return? Anything at all? But then a sobering realization struck her like lightning across a darkened sky, what could they possibly offer to someone who already possessed treasures beyond their reach? If Anthony had the power and fortune to hold such items, would anything she and her husband possessed be of value to him?

The thought brought with it a paradoxical sense of relief. If she had nothing to give, then she was spared from the risk of turning this sacred act into a mere transaction. For if she were to present Anthony with something tangible, it might taint the sincerity of the moment, making it seem as though his gift to them had to be "paid for" or "equalized." That thought unsettled her deeply.

She sighed softly, her gaze lingering on Anthony. She had known him for barely three days, yet in that short span, he had done what she herself could not. In such a brief time, he had accomplished what even seasoned beings of immense renown had failed to do.

Klaus, in contrast, sat quietly but not passively. His composure was steady, but inwardly, he felt a rare surge of genuine goodwill toward Anthony. Though he had not fully approved of the boy dating his daughter, Anthony's actions today had undeniably shifted his perspective. He could no longer view Anthony in the same light as before. At the very least, this remarkable act had increased the likelihood that he might someday consent to their relationship.

A mischievous thought crept into Klaus's mind, and his lips curled slightly. 'Should I simply accelerate time across the entire Blue Planet so that my daughter's birthday would arrive sooner?' he wondered.

It was not mere jest. Klaus truly possessed the ability to manipulate the flow of time on a planetary scale. If he willed it, he could fast-forward the progression of days, months, even centuries, and no being alive would be the wiser. It was within his grasp, within the arsenal of his godlike abilities.

But just as quickly as the thought emerged, he dismissed it. Such recklessness would be unforgivable. To tamper with time for the sake of his own impatience would not only jeopardize his daughter's chances of awakening a higher-ranked bloodline, for he knew well, reality had a cruel tendency to scorn the arrogant, especially the strong who bent its rules the farthest.

He exhaled slowly, forcing patience into his being. 'This will be the greatest test of patience I have ever endured,' he mused, though not without a faint smile of contentment. After all, only a few hours remained until Vega's birthday.

Vega herself, however, had never cared much for birthdays. She did not anticipate them with joy, nor did she resent them with disdain. To her, a birthday was simply another day, neither exalted nor cursed. It carried no special meaning, at least, not until now.

This particular birthday, which she had initially dismissed as inconsequential, now weighed upon her like a mountain. She had recently uncovered the painful truth of her parents' struggles, their repeated failures, their hidden grief, and the sacrifices they had endured in silence. All of it had been for her sake. Their efforts, their suffering, their determination, all existed so that she might smile on this day.

And as though that were not already enough, her lover, the man who had captured her heart from the very first moment they met, had achieved what even her parents could not. Anthony had reached into the impossible and pulled forth miracles, miracles he then placed in her hands without hesitation.

She could not fathom what trials he had endured to obtain such artifacts, nor what dangers he had faced. She did not even want to imagine. It was irrelevant. Whether he had sacrificed his life and blood to procure them or had simply stumbled upon them by chance on the roadside, it did not matter. The fact remained: he had surrendered them to her willingly, selflessly.

Her chest tightened. Her heart thundered so violently within her ribcage that it felt as though it might break free. Blood raced through her veins, each beat carrying a flood of emotions too vast to contain.

Happiness. Love. Hope. Certainty. Gratitude… and then, unexpectedly, disappointment.

The last emotion was not directed at Anthony, far from it. No, the disappointment was inward, aimed at herself.

For in that moment of raw reflection, she realized an unsettling truth: if their roles had been reversed, what could she have done? If Anthony had been the one in dire need, if he had stood in her place, could she have risen to the occasion as he had? Would she have been able to present him with something of equal worth, something that embodied her love as his actions embodied his?

The question tore at her. Could she have helped him? Could she have alleviated his burdens? Or would she have been reduced to nothing more than a comforting presence, a voice of encouragement, a hollow "trophy girlfriend" who stood by his side yet brought no true aid? What treasures could she have offered him? What sacrifices could she have made?

A deep inadequacy gnawed at her. She felt as though her love was dwarfed by his, as though she could never match the sheer weight of his devotion. Anthony's love was not merely spoken; it was enacted. It was not empty affirmation but living proof, woven into reality by his deeds.

Yes, she was wealthy. Yes, she came from power and privilege. But so did Anthony. What value was her wealth, her family's influence, when measured against his willingness to risk all for her sake?

Love, she knew, was not materialistic. But that truth did not negate the reality that love could be expressed in action, in sacrifice, in tangible proof of devotion. And Anthony had given her nothing less than that, the highest proof imaginable.

Her emotions swelled like an ocean storm, crashing within her soul. Closing her eyes, she tried to steady herself, to calm the turbulent tide that threatened to overwhelm her completely.

Klaus, Amara, and Anthony all felt the storm within her, sensed the torrent of feelings that rolled off her like waves of heat. Yet none of them spoke. None intruded upon her private struggle. They allowed her the space to feel, to wrestle, to reconcile with herself.

For words like "It's okay" or "Don't worry" would have been meaningless in that moment. Platitudes could not still the whirlpool of her heart.

Her emotions, her doubts, her disappointments, her questions, all converged into one unshakable truth: she loved Anthony. She loved him as deeply, as fiercely, as he loved her. If anything, the very fact that she agonized over her inadequacy proved the strength of her devotion.

And perhaps, in time, she would discover her own way to show it.

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