The two males walked silently, leaving Eleanor to resume her duties managing the household staff and daily financial matters. After what felt like half an eternity but was probably closer to thirty seconds, they reached a door connected to the laboratory—a structure nearly as large as the main house, excluding its gardens and garage.

  Acacia's breath caught as they stepped inside. The space defied his expectations. Though it shared certain commonalities with other laboratories he'd seen—white walls, steel tables, the sharp scent of innovation—the large windows and modern industrial design created something altogether different. It was something almost terribly beautiful in its preciseness.

  "Wow..." he uttered, awestruck.

  He'd seen laboratories before, but nothing approaching this scale…this ambition. Various machines and tools lined the shelves, each piece practically humming with expensive possibilities. At first glance, they might have been antiques, lovingly maintained relics of a bygone age, but his intuition told him otherwise. Every device, every gadget, every careful machination had been created within the past year or two. This was bleeding-edge technology—the kind of equipment military operations would kill to possess—casually displayed in what amounted to a private workshop.

  Such contradiction, such casual defiance of what he'd thought possible, left him momentarily speechless.

  "Welcome to my humble haven, my laboratory!" Sirius's hands spread wide. He was practically displaying the space as if it were a theater stage.

  "These are all your inventions?" Acacia asked, mildly suspicious as he drank in every detail as he moved through the room. He wanted—needed—to touch them, to understand how they worked, to comprehend the process of their creation. The mere presence of so many intricate devices made his fingers itch with possibility. Nothing like this had existed in his old world—in the hell he'd escaped mere days ago.

  His attention was fixed on one particular item, originally hidden behind a sliding glass panel. He opened it carefully, revealing a row of devices arranged militarily.

  The handgun gleamed in the laboratory light with a design, an elegant marriage of form and function. Like its companions arranged along the shelf, it bore a silver finish complemented by a black handle that seemed to absorb light. Acacia lifted it carefully, examining every angle as if he'd handled such weapons before.

  His pulse quickened. His body trembled with something between anticipation and fear as his fingers traced the weapon's contours.

  And a thought, unbidden and dangerous, slipped into his mind.

  If I pull the trigger, what happens?

  Would death erupt from the barrel, forever silencing its target?

  It was just an idle thought, a transitory consideration that clouded his judgment. If Pandora stood at the other end of the muzzle, he would never pull the trigger. She had become someone he cared about, someone who mattered.

  And yet.

  He couldn't help but wonder. His knowledge of firearms extended little beyond their basic premise. He didn't truly understand their impact beyond the obvious—the way they could pierce flesh and end lives.

  But what if there was more?

  What if their power extended beyond mere physical damage?

  The possibility sent a shiver through him. He found himself simultaneously terrified and fascinated by the weapon in his hands, knowing it could easily take his life yet feeling strangely alive holding it.

  An unfamiliar sensation bloomed in his chest.

  He felt... exhilarated. It had been years since anything had sparked such intensity of emotion. The feeling was foreign yet somehow right, as if he'd rediscovered a part of himself long forgotten. For the first time since Litore, he felt normal. He felt real.

  Acacia Belmont had always been curious about Thaumaturgy, though its scientific principles often eluded him despite countless hours spent absorbing Pandora's stories. But this—this was different. This represented something he'd never encountered in Litore or his old world.

  Yes, with this...

  Maybe this existence...

  "You've been staring at it quite intently." Sirius's voice cut through his reverie, gentle but knowing. "Everything alright?"

  "It's fine. I'm just... curious." Acacia turned to face the inventor. He still held the weapon in his hand. "Could you tell me about them? How do they function? What’re they called?"

  Sirius studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

  "Tell me, Acacia, have you heard of Mystic Gears?"

  "Yes, to an extent. You mentioned manufacturing Pandora's Mystic Gears. They're devices that store Thaumaturgy, right?" He ventured the guess carefully.

  "I did say that, and you remember well." Sirius scratched his stubble thoughtfully. "But allow me to expand that definition. While harnessing Thaumaturgy's power is indeed the core concept, Mystic Gears are far more sophisticated than simple storage devices. They're processing instruments that contain the spell's Integration Sequence—its entire formulaic procedure—in the form of prana-induced programs. All you need to do is channel your prana while conceptualizing the desired spell through its Aria—a spell’s root—and the Gear manifests it instantly."

  "So they're essentially computers?" Acacia's mind raced.

  "Precisely! Each Mystic Gear contains artificial neurons and organic signals designed to mimic how a human brain calculates spell parameters. Normally, casting requires mathematical computation. Since we perceive reality rationally..."

  "We calculate spells through mathematics and science," Acacia concluded, quickly piecing together Sirius's meaning. "But human error becomes a factor when computing complex equations in combat situations. That's why we invest so heavily in quantitative subjects and Flash Analysis, and yet we're still prone to mistakes. So Mystic Gears provide reliable and guaranteed results as long as you supply the prana?"

  Sirius's grin widened at Acacia's rapid comprehension. "Exactly, but therein lies their primary limitation." His enthusiasm grew as he continued, "Because we arrange the neurons and signals to mirror specific neural pathways for individual spells, they become permanently crystallized. They lack the fluidity of human thought."

  "So each Mystic Gear can only store one spell's Integration Sequence?" Acacia turned the concept over in his mind. "Well, it’s a fair trade-off—sacrificing versatility for consistency. Though I suppose having multiple Mystic Gears could compensate?"

  "In theory, yes. But the reality is far more complex." Sirius's expression turned rueful. "Mystic Gears are extraordinarily expensive and time-consuming to produce. We're essentially creating artificial brains in miniature. The average family might afford one or two basic models, depending on their profession, but that's the limit. Even after two decades of development, we're still experimenting with ways to improve efficiency. They remain supplementary tools as no Mystic Gear can match a skilled Thaumaturge's versatility. Perhaps someday we'll manage to encode multiple sequences in a single device, but even storing one pushes the boundaries of what's possible. They'll never achieve the fluid processing power of the human mind."

  Sirius was rambling now, but Acacia found himself captivated. The scientist's passionate enthusiasm proved infectious, and Acacia could sense the deep pride underlying his casual demeanor.

  "So this is a Mystic Gear?" Acacia's earlier unease about the handgun began to fade as he analyzed it with new understanding.

  "Yes, that's one of my favorites actually. The Contender, model PB-350." A new voice joined their discussion. Acacia turned to find a young woman approaching, her presence somehow both graceful and calculated.

  Her appearance befitted her noble heritage—straight black hair falling to her neck, emerald eyes sharp with intelligence. She wore a plain white lab coat over a black skirt, clearly her preferred attire for laboratory work. But what truly distinguished her was the overwhelming aura of prana she exuded. The sensation hit Acacia immediately, reminiscent of what he'd felt around Elias and Pandora. It was like standing near a wall of static electricity, the sheer power enough to make lesser prana collapse in on itself.

  This young woman, Leila Trafalgar, was clearly a formidable Thaumaturge. Even with his dulled prana perception, Acacia could sense her strength.

  "Ah, Leila, you’ve finally emerged from your projects!" Sirius called out as she walked past Acacia to retrieve a pen and paper, immediately beginning to take notes. "Did you finish that report I requested?"

  "Yes, though I still can't believe you expected me to actually complete it." Leila rolled her eyes.

  "Now, don't be like that. When your father makes a request, I naturally expect excellence! Besides, I thought you'd find the intersection of Thaumaturgy and historical development fascinating."

  "The information's undoubtedly crucial for my research, but the presentation is painfully dull. Yes, understanding the Empire's history is vital to comprehending how our world functions, but surely we could have focused on major events rather than exhaustive detail." She sighed, finally seeming to properly register Acacia's presence. "Oh—who's this?"

  "Leila, meet Dora's adopted little brother!" Sirius announced with characteristic flair.

  Adopted? And he's still using that ridiculous nickname?! Acacia felt his blood pressure spike as Sirius beamed.

  If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  "B-Big Sis Dora has an adopted brother? Well, it's nice to meet you." She offered a slight bow, her action precise and elegant.

  Big Sis Dora? Dear lord...

  "Acacia Belmont. The pleasure's mine." He returned her bow, swallowing his complex emotions. Whatever his feelings about their casual use of that nickname, he couldn't bring himself to be impolite to someone who carried herself with such natural grace.

  "Leila, this is Dora’s adopted little brother!" Sirius declared.

  Bruh, adopted? Wait, you're still calling her by that nickname again?! Acacia's blood began to boil once again as he saw the beaming grin on Sirius' face.

  "Big Sis Dora has an adopted brother? Well then, it’s nice to meet you." She bowed her head slightly towards Acacia.

  Big Sis Dora? Dear lord...

  "Acacia Belmont, it's nice to meet you." Acacia smiled as he bowed his head to her, swallowing up his mixture of emotions. He couldn't be impolite to such a pretty girl, even if she did have an unsightly nickname for Pandora.

  "Leila Trafalgar," she responded with equal politeness before suddenly paling. "W-wait! Father! Are you giving him the tour now?! Please tell me you're not!"

  "Hm? Is something wrong?" Sirius blinked in genuine confusion.

  "You didn't warn me he was coming! The other side of the lab is covered in my notes; it’s an absolute disaster! Everything's messy and disorganized and—oh my god…"

  "O-oh... right. I suppose I didn't think that through..." Sirius muttered sheepishly.

  "Dad!" Leila's reprimanded. "Can't you ever approach things seriously?!"

  "It's not that big of a deal.”

  "Not a big deal?! This isn't about magnitude—it's basic courtesy!"

  "You're blowing things completely out of proportion! He's just touring the lab! What could possibly go wrong?"

  "It's not about what might go wrong... it's more like..." Leila trailed off, a deep blush suffusing her cheeks as she fidgeted with her pen. "W-We shouldn't just show him the lab like this! He must be exhausted! Knowing you, you probably didn't even offer to show him the guest room first!"

  "Leila, he just arrived."

  "But—"

  "Everything will be fine. Just show him your project while I handle the side lab, alright?"

  Leila pursed her lips in resignation, but before she could protest further, Acacia stepped forward.

  "If I may," he interjected, "I doubt your work will impede the tour. But if presentation matters so much, I'm happy to help afterward. You shouldn't trouble yourself with cleaning alone. I'd welcome the chance to assist—and honestly , I'm quite curious about your side of the laboratory. Though I know it's not my place, I can't help but feel excited about seeing it. Besides," he added with careful humility, "it would let me feel like I'm contributing something worthwhile."

  "Contributing?" Leila repeated, genuine astonishment coloring her tone. "Is that so? Well...thank you. I'm in your debt." Her dignified aura reasserted itself quickly, but Acacia hadn't missed that moment of vulnerability.

  A hint of mischief crept into his expression, accompanied by a gleam in his sapphire eyes. "Debt... you say?"

  "Y-yes?" Leila replied, confusion and a hint of suspicion evident on her visage.

  "Well then, I'll have to take advantage of that."

  "If it's something weird, I'm not accepting it." She immediately crossed her arms.

  "Nothing like that, really. I just want you to continue explaining this." Acacia held up the Contender still gripped in his right hand. "You said this is a Mystic Gear?"

  "Yes. Most devices you see here are Mystic Gears—all my father's creations," Leila moved closer to examine the weapon in his hands. "Though it takes the form of a handgun, it's not a conventional firearm. The 'Contender' style is purely aesthetic. There's no ammunition chamber because the interior houses artificial neurons and dormant information matrices designed to interpret prana flow. These artificial quantum particles mirror brain-generated patterns. The only way to discharge this weapon is through prana activation." She paused thoughtfully before adding, "The model designation PB-350 refers to Prana Burst."

  "One of the most fundamental spells," Acacia noted with growing fascination.

  "Precisely. It's a basic Oscillation spell that releases concentrated waveforms of prana with power varying with the user's skill. This Contender model stores the Aria for Prana Burst, allowing repeated discharge of energy projectiles. The narrow muzzle design optimizes penetrating force, mimicking conventional bullets. But unlike traditional firearms, you're limited only by your prana reserves, not ammunition capacity. Given its versatility and relatively simple construction, this model pretty much standard issue for IPA officers upon commissioning."

  "I had no idea they could be so combat-oriented, let alone capable of energy projection," Acacia remarked.

  A fleeting expression crossed Sirius's face—something indistinct yet meaningful—before disappearing.

  Acacia noted it carefully.

  "You'll encounter various types of Mystic Gears: everyday utilities, practical tools, and yes, weapons designed to kill. The military closely regulates the latter category. But for all our advances, we'll never approach the raw power of a true Regalia,” Sirius generously explained.

  "Regalia?"

  "Think of them as sacred heirlooms, passed down through noble bloodlines. Noble families aren't noble by accident. They’re blessed by the Convergence itself with unique Thaumaturgical traits. Over centuries, as each generation channels their distinctive prana through objects, those items evolve into something extraordinary. They become Regalias—artifacts of power that reflect their family's unique abilities. The competition for these artifacts can turn savage; nobles have been known to slaughter their own kin over inheritance rights, as only one child can receive each Regalia." Sirius's usual cheer dimmed slightly. "Their existence inspired my work on Mystic Gears, actually."

  "Dad." Leila cleared her throat as her face flushed crimson. "You're rambling again."

  "O-oh, right. My apologies," Sirius scratched his head sheepishly. "I tend to get carried away discussing these matters."

  The next hour passed as Acacia helped Sirius organize the laboratory's far side while Leila remained in the center, finalizing details of her project. Though the work proved physically demanding, Acacia found himself enjoying this pocket of peace in his turbulent new world. Few people ever got to converse with one of the Empire's most celebrated innovators and his heir in such an intimate setting.

  "How are you finding my lab?" Sirius asked after they'd finished cleaning. Throughout their work, he'd enthusiastically explained various Mystic Gears as they encountered them, sometimes demonstrating their capabilities. Weapons of all varieties lined the shelves—swords, knives, firearms, protective gear—each a testament to human ingenuity. "I was going to offer you one, free of charge, but—"

  "Don't worry about it. While it's unfortunate that Irregulars can't use Mystic Gears, simply understanding them is important information. Better to know what I might face when Cagliostro's men make their next move." Acacia shrugged.

  "Acacia," Sirius's voice grew uncharacteristically stern. "Haven't I told you? You shouldn’t fear Cagliostro Narma. Neither he nor whatever assassins he sends will touch you in Windsor. I stake my name and reputation on it."

  "You've said as much before. I believe in your conviction." Acacia eyes narrowed heavily. "But can you truly guarantee there won't be a next time?"

  "And I've told you repeatedly—Pandora and I know exactly how to ensure that they won't dare approach Windsor. They won't be a problem, not in the foreseeable future. Trust me."

  Trust. What a funny prospect. The world, the empire, society, it gave him no reason to confide in others. People were slaves to the moment, fickle to their emotions and subservient to their whims. In this world, there was only one thing that could be trusted, and one thing that would remain constant as long as one lived.

  Oneself.

  The Irregular's grip tightened on the borrowed broom, knuckles whitening.

  "It's not about whether they'll pose a problem now. It's about how long that protection will last. What happens after the first attempt? The second? The third?" He paused, drawing a steadying breath before continuing his bitter analysis. "There's no guarantee they won't return. You can't predict the future. You can't rely eternally on hope or luck or miracles. Sometimes situations spiral beyond anyone's control. Sometimes, no matter how hard we fight, things don't proceed as we intend."

  "Then fight harder—fight until you can finally exist without fear." Sirius's gaze hardened to steel. "They want to separate you from Dora to kill you. They'll employ any means necessary. You must stay close to her."

  "That would only put her in danger!"

  "For heaven's sake..." Sirius's laugh bore no humor. "You think that just because you survived as an Irregular in Ocarina, you can handle Cagliostro's wrath alone? And if we offer help, you demand a 100% guarantee of success? Tell me, exactly how do you plan to face Cagliostro?"

  "I...uh...I'll—"

  "You'll what?" Sirius pressed mercilessly.

  "I'll...find a way. Like I always have."

  "'Find a way,'" the inventor mocked. "Life doesn't work like that. If you want to survive, you must at minimum cooperate with those trying to help you. We'll protect you from him. If you find accepting care so distasteful, think of it as a temporary alliance."

  "Protect me?" Acacia wanted to laugh. "You'd go this far for an Irregular? Why? I have nothing of value to offer. I can't provide anything in return, and I won't insult you by offering meaningless debts."

  "Aren't you tired of running?" Sirius's voice softened as he gazed through the window at the setting sun. "Aren't you exhausted from constantly looking over your shoulder, forever anticipating the next attack?"

  Acacia's teeth clenched involuntarily. Of course he was tired. Who wouldn't be weary after a lifetime of being ostracized for circumstances beyond their control? Who wouldn't feel drained by perpetual powerlessness in the face of oppression?

  Eventually, his tooth clenching morphed to an exasperated sigh.

  "I'll… consider it."

  He didn’t.

  Sirius's face brightened instantly as he cast one final glance at the landscape beyond the window, unspoken thoughts lingering in the air. Unable to resist, he reached over to ruffle Acacia's black hair with surprising gentleness. The boy's indignant struggling only made the gesture more satisfying. "That's the spirit, Acacia Belmont! You know, you'd make an excellent son!"

  "Son?" Acacia choked on the word.

  "Or perhaps you'd prefer son-in-law?" The scientist's eyebrow arched suggestively as his grin widened to impossible proportions.

  The Irregular felt his mental fortitude crumbling. "Please stop..."

  "I can hear everything you're saying! Just shut up already!" Leila's angry voice carried from across the lab, her face burning scarlet instead of crimson now. She'd apparently finished most of her work on the other side.

  "I didn't even do anything!" Sirius protested, sticking out his tongue before turning back to Acacia. "She's so mean, isn't she?"

  The boy remained silent for his own sake.

  "Don't ignore me..." Sirius pouted, but when Acacia remained unresponsive, he shifted topics. "Well, it's getting rather late. I should have our chauffeur take you back to Dora's place. Unless you'd prefer to join us for dinner?"

  "It's fine, I'm not particularly hungry," Acacia demurred. "Simply seeing the lab exceeded my expectations. Actually, this has been one of the best days of my life. Thank you."

  He turned toward Leila, who was currently filing papers into her laboratory drawers.

  "Hey, Leila—I've fulfilled my end of our bargain, wouldn't you say?"

  The emerald-eyed girl surveyed the laboratory space—the tables, chairs, and equipment arranged for her project in the center of the room. Everything sat in perfect, precise order, exactly as she preferred. A genuine smile broke through her usually composed expression.

  "It's perfect. Thank you again, Acacia."

  "I hardly did anything."

  "A single 'thank you' is much better than a million dismissals, you know?" She chided to his displeasure.

  "Acacia~" Sirius's voice dragged his attention back, arms spread wide as he emanated an almost demonic aura. "Where's my hug at?"

  "Get off me, geezer! You have a wife! Don't invade my personal space when we barely know each other!" Acacia struggled frantically against the self-proclaimed father figure who had enveloped him in an inescapable embrace. His resistance proved futile—despite his seemingly lanky frame, the ginger inventor possessed surprising strength. The mortifying part was that he wasn't even using Thaumaturgy.

  "Leila! I invoke our debt again! Save me!"

  But she had already vanished from the laboratory.

  "NOOOO!!!"