I was connected with my Mythical Beast, and from what I could sense through its vision, the Golden Authority remained quiet, too quiet.
In the physical world, I slowly whisked the eggs in the pan, golden yolk folding into itself.
My hands moved automatically, but my mind balanced across two existences.
Maintaining dual perception for this long was exhausting. My body, despite all appearances, was fragile.
Not powerless, just strained from the weight of the abilities I carried.
Space manipulation, unlike elemental magic, doesn't respond gently.
It requires your physical body to act as both conduit and catalyst, using your own form to distort the structure of reality.
Mana merely fuels the interaction, but the toll is taken on the body.
Space, as a concept, is infinite. It contains the entirety of Earth and much more, overlapping layers of dimension and abstraction.
Most other realms are not fully bound by it.
They hover at the edge, parallel but unconstrained.
When I was younger, I tried to shift my awareness in the Spirit World, to see through the eyes of my Mythical Beast.
The result? Nausea. It felt like I was viewing all directions at once, like time itself had folded into a singular, incomprehensible moment.
It stunned me, fractured my understanding of space itself.
I haven't attempted it again since then, not until now.
Yet something is different.
Now it feels less like being overwhelmed and more like adjusting to a truth I once denied.
Having two sets of eyes, one cooking breakfast, the other scanning far beyond, was disorienting. But not impossible.
I turned off the stove and carefully placed the eggs onto two plates, the aroma of butter and spice mixed in the air.
I removed the apron and hung it neatly on the stove handle.
Then I searched through the cabinets for salt and pepper, shaking both over the warm eggs in even layers.
From the fridge, I took out milk. Poured it into two small glass cups, filling them nearly to the brim.
Looking at it all, the breakfast, the balance, I allowed myself a rare smile.
I'd been trying to get more used to making things. Not just casting, not just conjuring, but building.
Crafting. There was something beautiful in creation.
I had even started forging a new sword for Malachi, though I wasn't yet satisfied with the core.
It was all part of something larger.
Now that I had lost access to my primary ability, the one that made me special, I had to rediscover the true essence of my Regalia.
I needed to understand it, not just use it.
That was the goal. That was what I craved more than anything.
I looked down at my hands. Slim, scarred, trembling slightly from fatigue.
I curled my fingers tightly into fists and screamed with sudden joy.
"It's done!"
Malachi appeared to my right, picking up one of the plates. "Really? This is good. I'm surprised."
I smirked and rubbed under my nose, playfully smug. "I'm a woman of many skills. Don't doubt me."
He looked around, found a spoon, and began eating without ceremony.
After a moment of silence, and after helping himself to both his portion and mine, he let out a low chuckle.
"That was simply divine. Kivana, my dear, you could honestly become a chef."
I slapped his stomach in mock offense. Though with all the armor he wore, all I felt was pure steel.
"If you keep this up, you'll become my chubby cub," I said, grinning.
He winced dramatically. "Ah. Don't remind me of my past."
That's right. Malachi had been quite the heavy child. I think he even had a nickname for it back then, though he'd never tell me what it was.
Before I could tease him further, he pressed two fingers to my temple. "Don't even think of it."
I gave him a look. "How the hell would you even know that?"
He smiled softly, not in arrogance but in that warm, maddening way he always did when he thought he was being clever.
"I know where, what, and when you are, my dear. Is it such a stretch to know what you're thinking?"
I scoffed and turned away to hide my amusement, placing the dishes in the sink.
But even as we joked, my mind wandered back to the sword I was forging.
That sword wasn't just for him. It was a promise.
A promise that no matter what happened next, no matter how much of my Regalia I lost or reclaimed.
I would find a way to protect him, even if he thought I was already the stronger one.
Creation magic. Time manipulation. Space distortion. Sleep-induced dreamcasting. Personal control over spiritrons.
These were not small things. They were fragments of a larger truth.
Once I discover the full name and nature of my Regalia, once I speak it aloud to the world, everything will change.
And the name of Malachi's Regalia is Midnight Aevum.
The little brat actually gave me complete access to its inner workings, full knowledge, unrestricted insight, every cursed nuance.
Even more dangerous, he entrusted me with the power to determine whether he remembers any of it.
Whether he can even use its full effects at all.
He places entirely too much faith in me.
Fortunately, I'm madly in love, so betrayal isn't even on the table. Not for me. Not for him. Not ever.
I grabbed both of his ears and pulled him into a kiss, unable to help myself.
As my lips left his, he blushed. "Don't think that's enough for me to forget."
I chuckled and wrapped my arms around his neck. "It's not? What more must a girl do to please her husband?"
He thought for a moment. "There's nothing. I'm unpleasable."
I chuckled and smirked. "Ah well, we both know that's a lie."
I looked back at the table. "Let me clean up. You can watch me finish making your sword."
He nodded and picked up both plates. As I got the cups and placed them in the sink, we began washing together.
The sword I was forging would allow him to fully unleash his power through it. I was building it from my own mana and spiritrons.
Once it was complete, all he would need to do was pour his infons into it.
That would make it something beyond a weapon.
It would become an extension of his will, body, and mind.
Infons lack a natural form. They exist purely as information.
Manipulating them into the sword meant giving the blade the same existence as Malachi himself.
Spiritrons, by contrast, are particles of will, emotion, and the identifying marks of a soul.
Adding mine into the forging process would create a direct link between our souls through the blade.
And mana, the building block of reality itself, would allow the weapon to take shape according to his desires.
Instead of being bound to a fixed dimensional axis or set time fluctuation, it would exist purely as him.
Not a tool, not a creation, but a true extension of his being.
My mana is more potent than his, so the base of the sword's construction would be fixed at my level, at least while I remain stronger.
If, in time, he surpasses me, it will shift and adapt to his.
There are infinite sets of mana alignment.
I suspect that his will not be lower, only less infinite. A finer sliver of the same unknowable whole.
After we finished in the kitchen, we made our way to the smithery within the manor.
The space was alive with the roar of fire, the sharp scent of scorched metal, and the scattered remains of half-forged failures.
But what caught my eye most was the small white orb resting on the table to the left side of the room.
I walked over and picked it up, smiling softly. Then I turned back to him. "All right. Let's get started."