Algernon calmly withdrew his hand, the warmth of his power receding from her chest. He remained standing over her, the intense, proprietary smile still restrained on his lips, an expression that was half-amusement and half-predator.
Ingvild's reaction was unexpectedly calm. Her orange eyes fixed on his face, showing confusion and calmness, but none of the hysteria one might expect from waking up in a strange room after a century.
"How does it feel to wake up, sleeping beauty?" Algernon asked, his voice smooth and deceptively gentle. "Although it may sound unbelievable, I assure you: you have been asleep for one hundred years."
Recognizing the immense emotional dam she must be holding back after the century-long isolation and the shock of the time skip, his proprietary smile receded. He returned to his standard, calm, authoritative face.
He gently placed his hand on the top of her head and, with surprising tenderness, pulled her head into his embrace, resting her cheek against the cold, hard surface of his armor.
"You know, it's okay to cry a little," he murmured, his voice softening just enough to grant permission. "It's been a long sleep."
The small, carefully constructed dam of her resilience shattered. The strange surroundings, the lost century, the suddenness of her awakening, and the sheer, overwhelming reality of losing her parents—it all became too much.
Algernon soon felt wetness on his chest, the sound of soft, muffled sobs escaping the throat of the newly awakened Leviathan.
Algernon held her tightly, the fragile frame of the Ingvild shaking against him. He didn't try to stop the tears, didn't offer empty words of comfort. He simply offered his solid presence, letting the ancient, primal grief run its course. Her sobs slowly faded, leaving only a heavy, shuddering breath every few seconds. He kept his grip firm until he felt the tension finally drain from her.
After some time, when the room fell silent save for the distant hum of the city, Algernon asked, his voice low and roughened, "Are you better?"
Ingvild pulled herself out of his embrace, her movements sluggish. She kept her head lowered, nodding once, unable to meet his eyes.
"So," he continued, carefully standing up and moving to retrieve his suit jacket. "Anywhere particular you want to go?"
The mundane nature of the question made Ingvild raise her head. Her wet eyes, framed by the dark shadow of exhaustion, shone with a sudden, almost desperate light.
She didn't name a city or a continent. She named a yearning, a necessity.
"SEA," she spoke, the word a soft, profound exhalation.
Algernon stopped mid-movement, his hand resting on the jacket's lapel. He didn't question it.
A slow, knowing smile touched his lips, a look of profound understanding replacing the worry.
"Then the sea it is," he confirmed, turning fully toward her. "Get your satchel, Ingvild. We leave now."
Algernon yanked his hand up in the air—a gesture that seemed to grab nothing but air—and the space beside him shimmered and cracked, revealing a sliver of darkness, like looking through a broken lens into a vacuum. From this impossible aperture, he pulled a heavy, dark, waterproof jacket.
"Put this on," he commanded, his voice a low, urgent rasp, shoving the material into her hands. "Now."
Ingvild, driven by instinct and the deep pull of the ocean, obeyed without question, pulling the coat over her slender frame. She clutched her worn satchel to her chest, ready.
Algernon wasted no time in moving toward the door. "Stay close. Don't look at them. Follow behind me."
He reached the heavy door pushing it open.
The brightly lit corridor outside was filled with the figures. Doctors in clinical whites holding clipboards, their faces etched with professional anxiety; Grayfia and Sarafall.
All of them were gathered, seeing Algernon coming out they were about to salute but they stopped. Every single person froze, their expressions snapping from vigilance to utter, disbelieving shock.
Their eyes were not fixed on Algernon. They were fixed on the slight, coat-clad figure standing just behind his shoulder: Ingvild.
Ingvild, the Sleeping Leviathan. The patient who had been in an unrecoverable coma for hundred years.
Grayfia's hand, poised to salute, dropped heavily to her side. Sarafall's clipboard clattered to the carpet.
The Sleeping Sickness was a known condition, recorded across history in the demon race. It had been recorded many times, but never, ever cured. To see Ingvild standing, breathing, moving under her own power, was to shatter the bedrock of their scientific and supernatural understanding.
Algernon ignored all of them, he didn't pause or offer a word. He simply placed a firm hand on the small of Ingvild's back and propelled her forward.
"Out of the way," he growled, as a low, dangerous command that finally broke the silence.
His voice brought everyone out of their shock, they remembered who was standing before them. Everyone quickly made way in the center and bowed down to salute.
Algernon marched straight toward the elevator, Ingvild following closely in his wake with Grayfia and Serafall, leaving behind the filled corridor.
_____________________________________________________
On a vast, secluded beach on a small island in the human world.
Algernon lay stretched out on a thick beach lounger, his shirt discarded, allowing the sun's rays to warm his skin. He looked weary, but fundamentally at peace. He watched the scene before him, a tableau of easy, joyful chaos that felt impossible given their recent turmoil.
Ingvild was the focal point. She had shed the heavy, dark coat and wore simple swimwear. She was utterly transformed. The deep shadows were gone, replaced by a vibrancy that radiated from her. She splashed and laughed in the shallows with a childlike glee, her movements fluid and unburdened.
Beside her, the tiny, energetic Asia splashed back, giggling, while the quiet, cat-like Koneko stood firm against the gentle waves, her posture relaxed.
Further down the beach, the atmosphere was more spirited. Akeno and Kuroka were engaged in a spirited game of beach volleyball, leaping in the sand, their long hair flying. Both were wearing bold bikinis that drew the eye, their rivalry on the court as intense as any magical duel.
Algernon closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of salt and sun-heated sand, letting the strange, domestic calm wash over himself.
Soon, he felt a shadow fall over him, eclipsing the warmth of the sun. He opened his eyes and looked up.
Standing over him was Rias, clad in a crimson swimsuit that contrasted sharply with her pale skin. She was holding a bottle of sunscreen and had a mischievous, playful smile curving her lips—the kind that promised light trouble and easy teasing.
"Can your majesty," Rias asked, her voice rich with humor, tilting the bottle slightly, "grace me with his assistance? I simply cannot reach that tricky spot right between my shoulder blades."
Algernon chuckled, a low, easy sound that signaled his willingness to play along. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and took the bottle Rias offered, the metal warm from the sun.
"Very well, Your Grace," he murmured, his gaze sweeping over the intricate knot of the bikini on her back. "It seems even powerful demons require mortal aid against the tyranny of UV rays."
Rias turned, shifting her long, scarlet hair over one shoulder, and offered him her back. Algernon squeezed a generous dollop of cream onto his palm—cool, viscous, and smelling faintly of coconut. His touch was professional and neutral as he worked the cream across her shoulders and down the impossible-to-reach spot, his hands warm against her skin.
"Don't worry," Rias purred, closing her eyes as she enjoyed the attention. "I'll make sure to return the favor later."
He finished Rias's back just as Akeno and Kuroka, breathless and slightly competitive after their volleyball match, sauntered over. They stopped side-by-side, casting long shadows over Algernon and the retreating Rias.
Akeno, her violet eyes gleaming with calculated mischief, leaned down, resting her hands on his shoulders.
"Ara, ara," Akeno cooed, her voice silk-smooth. "It seems ~Darling is already in the service of sun protection. Goodness knows, after exerting myself so much, I'd hate for my sensitive skin to be ruined. Wouldn't you agree, Kuroka?"
Kuroka smirked, adjusting the tie of her own bikini top. "Meow. Of course. It would be a crime to let such lovely skin burn. Besides, you look like you need the practice, Dear."
Algernon merely raised an eyebrow, a slight weariness mixed with amusement entering his expression.
He started with Akeno, she leaned into the touch, humming softly in appreciation, occasionally glancing back over her shoulder with an expression that bordered on flirtatious challenge.
When he moved to Kuroka, the interaction was even more teasing. Before even he begun Kuroka even pulled his head over her chest to show her appriciation.
"There," Algernon said finally, finishing the last stroke and wiping his hands on a nearby towel. "All demons adequately protected. You may proceed"
Kuroka gave him a soft, feline smile. "Thank you, Dear. You're much better at this than you look." She winked, and before Algernon could respond, she swiftly grabbed his wrist.
With a strength that belied her relaxed posture, she didn't just turn to follow Akeno; she started dragging Algernon toward the water.
"Come on, Dear!" she chirped, the playful energy of the moment infectious. "You've been cooking in the sun. Time for a swim! You can't just lay there and be the watchful sentry all day!"
"Kuroka, wait! I—I'm fine right here!" he protested, laughing despite letting himself be dragged by her.
"Nonsense!" Kuroka pulled harder, giggling as she dragged him across the last few feet of dry sand. "You need a vacation, too."
They hit the shallow, cool lip of the ocean. Kuroka let go, spinning around to face him, her eyes sparkling. Just then, a large wave, sent maybe a little too enthusiastically by Akeno and Rias who were watching the show, crashed over his lower half.
"Welcome to the water, Algernon," Rias called out from a short distance, a triumphant smirk on her face.
Algernon sighed, running a hand through his damp hair, his seriousness finally giving way to a grudging acceptance of the chaos. He looked out at the vast, calming ocean, then at the girls—especially Ingvild, who was laughing openly, having fun for what felt like the first time in years.
"Alright," he conceded, dipping his head slightly. "You win. But if I get water in my ear, I'm blaming you, Kuroka."
Kuroka just smiled, the soft, feline expression promising plenty more trouble. "Meow. you can count on me, Dear."
_________________________________________________________
The sun was a magnificent, sinking orb of molten orange and violet, casting long, bruised shadows across the damp sand. The waves, once boisterous, had settled into a rhythmic, soft whisper. One by one, the group—Rias, Akeno, Kuroka, Asia, Koneko, and Algernon—gravitated back toward the shore, the energy of their playful antics giving way to the quiet reverence of the sunset.
Ingvild was the last to emerge, wading slowly until she stood at the water's edge. The setting light haloed her wet hair. She didn't look at others; her attention was utterly consumed by the spectacle of the sun drowning in the ocean. It was a sight of such profound beauty and power that it seemed to call to the Leviathan within her.
She lifted her head slightly, her gaze fixed on the fiery horizon, and opened her mouth.
It was not a loud sound, but it was absolute.
Her voice, pure and ethereal, emerged as a low, crystalline hum that quickly expanded into a song so heavenly and devastatingly beautiful that it seemed to vibrate in the very bones of the listeners. It carried no discernible words, yet conveyed all the sorrow, depth, and endless longing of the ancient deep.
Everyone on the beach was instantly caught in its spell. They were all dazed, their movement arrested, their attention riveted. Algernon, who had seen countless displays of power, stood rigid, feeling a strange, irresistible pull toward the sound, a desperate ache in his chest.
But the most astonishing response came from the environment itself.
The sea obeyed her voice.
As the pitch rose, the nearest waves seemed to pause mid-curl, their foam frozen in place before slowly retracting in a deferential hush. A long, smooth expanse of water near the shore became unnaturally flat, turning into a sheet of rippling, dark glass that reflected the sunset exactly according to her voice.
When her melody turned sorrowful and deep, the ocean surface darkened and stilled; when it soared with an unseen hope, small, delicate whorls formed on the glassy surface, shimmering with gold.
Ingvild was entirely lost to the moment, her eyes half-closed, her expression one of tranquil, unconscious power. She was unconsciously using her Sacred Gear and the powers of the Leviathan clan—the power of control over the abyssal deep—but not as a weapon. She was wielding it as pure art, as communication, as a song of homecoming.
As the final rays vanished and the hum faded, the spell broke. The ocean sighed, the retracted waves rolled softly back to the sand, and Ingernon blinked, the world rushing back in a dizzying torrent.
Ingvild simply stood there, silent and still, looking satisfied, as if she had just had a long, necessary conversation.
Algernon was the first to move, walking slowly toward her, his gaze steady as he patted her shoulder. "Ingvild," he whispered. "That... was... No, You were incredible."
(END OF CHAPTER)
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