"There's a powerful being around… ha. Not stronger than me, of course."

These were Kysa's words the moment they'd escaped the terrain controlled by the hero Kitten's worshippers.

They'd reached the Ashen Ages—a region known for its distinct culture and powerful warriors. Encountering such strength should've been expected, yet despite being newcomers to this world, Dark Saint and Jihriel exchanged worried looks.

"The priest mentioned an 'evil caretaker.' A Demonic Sinner, apparently. That's not something we can ignore."

Dark Saint's comment changed the mood, but Jihriel's response made things even heavier.

"I've heard of something like that before… but the caretaker has been missing for centuries."

Centuries ago, before history learned how to remember itself, there existed a Demonic Sinner feared even among its own kind.

Its horns were long, red, and jagged, curving like blades carved from a dying sun. Jet-black skin, layered in dragon scales, armored its form, each scale a testament to battles that shaped it.

Its body was unmistakably masculine, vast and brutal, shaped as though it could birth destruction itself. From its back protruded immense pincers, not quite wings, yet spreading outward like the skeletal promise of flight. It was an omen rather than a means of escape.

This being was known as the Caretaker.

Countless Sinners bowed beneath it, not out of loyalty, but because resistance had long since proven meaningless. Yet for all its dominion, all its savagery, the Caretaker existed for a single, sacred purpose: to protect a child.

A child whose origin was unknown. Perhaps unknowable. Perhaps a secret even the Caretaker itself was never meant to understand.

At the edge of a frozen mountain where the wind screamed like a dying god, the Caretaker stood unmoving. Wrapped within its massive arms was the child, small, fragile, and impossibly alive against the cold.

The Sinner's heat burned fiercely, not with rage, but with devotion, shielding the infant from a world that sought to claim it too soon.

Rumors spread. Whispers became prayers, and prayers became obsessions. Mortals and monsters alike questioned what kind of being demanded such protection. What child was worthy of a monster's mercy and a god's vigilance?

Many came seeking answers. Very few returned.

Those who did spoke of an unyielding presence; of a force that did not hesitate, did not negotiate, and did not falter.

The Caretaker did not defend the child with strategy or emotion, but with inevitability.

When danger neared, its strength did not merely increase, it answered as though the world itself recoiled at the thought of harm coming to what it guarded.

Through blood and fire, through time's slow decay, the Caretaker endured. Each threat only sharpened its resolve. Each attempt on the child's life was met with extinction.

And then, one day, without warning, without prophecy, the mountain stood empty.

The Caretaker was gone. The child was gone.

Only silence… and the lingering fear that whatever had once required such protection might one day return.

"It sounds like a mother protecting her child, doesn't it? No. It was a monster.

"It tore through estates and safe zones alike, slaughtering for food, and sometimes simply because they might threaten the child one day.

"It didn't care when blood splashed across the child's face, nor about the terror it carved into them. There was no empathy. Only an emotionless puppet, carrying out a desperate Purpose it didn't fully understand."

It was unnerving that Jihriel knew so much about a place they'd only just arrived at. Either way, Halo wanted no part of antagonizing the Caretaker.

Probably a new one, given the child in its care. Not that it mattered to Kysa, Leto, and Brave, they were eager to fight it regardless.

"I see the threat, but Delilah is the priority. We'll postpone dealing with the creature and return to it later."

Omega's voice carried quiet steel, brooking no argument.

Halo wasn't fine, though. A sharp unease twisted in his chest, something emotional rather than physical. But he ignored it. Thor. He needed to talk to Thor.

After some quick reconnaissance, Halo joined Thor at the front, where the man was using his True Ability to find Delilah.

"I need to talk to you."

As plain as it sounded, that's what Halo said. Somehow, it was enough to get past Thor's villainous exterior.

Those unwavering dark eyes that suggested he could cut Halo down in an instant didn't make things any easier, though.

"You want to know about Delilah, don't you?"

Listening to him at close range, Halo realized the old man's voice was deeper and more daunting than he'd imagined.

"She's strong. Her heartbeat and temperature are higher than normal, but aside from that, there's nothing fatal, nothing that would put her life at risk."

No surprise there.

They'd obviously prepared everything using intel from the traitor, Nava. Still, Halo had no idea what awaited them. That persistent tightness in his chest made him more concerned than he wanted to admit.

"Do you think she'll be okay? They can't hurt her directly, but what if they already prepared something for her? I can't stop thinking about it."

Thor's expression looked tender now.

"You think she'd allow that? She considers you her brother. She will find you again. Believe in her. Hold onto that belief—and do whatever it takes to see her."

Halo's face darkened.

He'd never heard Thor sound so… old before.

But things were clicking into place. Delilah was an Assassin, trained since childhood like him. Just as formidable. Her instinct for survival, at least, was beyond question.

After that, Halo relaxed and talked more freely with the old man. Turned out Thor had plenty of menace when he wanted it. In a voice that could make anyone doubt their will to live, he swore he'd kill Halo personally if Delilah came to harm under his protection.

Beyond that, Thor was an enigma. Something about him nagged at Halo, made him want to dig deeper. The old man was hiding depths they couldn't fathom.

What was Jihriel's real goal with the NeverLight crew? Halo couldn't say.

And still, that unease lingered in his chest.

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