Piers woke to sunlight streaming through the window and the sound of chaos downstairs.
For a moment, he didn't remember where he was.
Then it came back—the forest, the zombies, Mutou and Gyuunyuu, the blood-soaked clothes he'd been wearing when he climbed back through the window.
He'd been so exhausted he'd just collapsed into Styx's bed and passed out immediately.
The clothes.
He'd forgotten to hide the clothes.
Piers looked down at himself. Still wearing them. Dried blood clearly visible on the fabric.
[NULL SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
[CRITICAL ERROR DETECTED]
[EVIDENCE OF NIGHT EXCURSION: VISIBLE]
[PARENTAL DISCOVERY PROBABILITY: 87%]
[RECOMMENDATION: PANIC]
From downstairs came the unmistakable sounds of breakfast: plates clattering, Styx's excited voice, his father's rumbling snores.
His stomach growled.
Actually growled.
The sensation was strange. When was the last time he'd felt genuine hunger? Usually he just ate because food was provided.
But right now, with his mana depleted and his body aching...
He wanted food.
Piers stood, stretched, and—completely forgetting about the blood stains in his sleep-addled state—walked to the stairs and descended.
The kitchen was a war zone.
Styx had turned breakfast into a spectacle of chaos. She wasn't just eating—she was waging war on her food. Chunks flew in every direction: some rebounded onto the table, others hit the walls, several surrendered and landed on the floor. Her face was smeared with gravy, her hands busy, letting out joyful battle cries with each bite.
Rigas sat across from her with his eyes half-closed, somehow still eating while clearly asleep, his fork moving on autopilot.
Xylia worked at the sink, managing dishes and cooking simultaneously while keeping the household from collapsing into chaos.
A normal morning.
Piers, still half-asleep, one hand rubbing his eye, reached the bottom of the stairs.
The words came out before he'd fully decided to say them.
"Mama."
His voice was soft. Sleepy.
"I want milk, please. I'm hungry."
Crash.
The plate Xylia had been washing slipped from her hands and shattered in the sink.
She froze.
Completely still.
Hands suspended in the air, water still running.
Then she gasped—a sharp, trembling sound.
Slowly, like she was afraid any sudden movement would shatter the moment, she turned.
Her eyes were already welling with tears.
"W-what..." Her voice broke. "What did you just say?"
Piers blinked, suddenly uncertain. "I... I said I'm hungry? I want milk—"
The sound Xylia made was somewhere between a sob and a laugh.
Tears streamed down her face—not of sadness, but of pure, overwhelming joy that seemed to radiate from her very core.
Her entire body softened. Her shoulders relaxed. That fierce, protective exterior melted away, leaving only a mother who'd just heard the words she'd been waiting three years to hear.
Her face lit up with a radiant smile, her gaze overflowing with tenderness.
Rigas jerked awake at the commotion—eyes snapping open in confusion.
"What? What's wrong?" He blinked, disoriented, looking between Xylia's tear-streaked face and Piers. "What happened?"
"Our boy..." Xylia breathed, turning to him. "Our boy just—he called me Mama. For the first time. And he asked for something." The words came out soaked in tears, trembling with emotion as she turned to face clearly rigas. "He said he was hungry. He's never—in three years he's never once called me Mama, never asked for anything, and he just—"
Her voice broke completely.
Rigas went completely still. For a moment, he just stared—at Piers, then at Xylia, then back at Piers—like his brain was trying to catch up with what he'd just heard.
Then his face wrinkled.
"He... he called you Mama?" His voice came out rough, thick with emotion he wasn't even trying to hide.
Styx shot up from her seat like she'd been launched, leaving behind a battlefield of food scraps.
She dashed across the room and grabbed Piers's hands, shaking them excitedly, eyes sparkling like twin suns.
"Say it again, Piers! Say you love me! Say 'I love you, big sister'! Say it! Say it!
Piers blinked up at her, still half-asleep.
"...What is it?" His voice was soft but firm. "Big sister, I want milk first."
Styx gasped—then squealed.
Her joy reached catastrophic levels. She scooped him up in a bone-crushing hug, spinning slightly as she squeezed him.
"You heard that, right?! Mama! Papa! He said 'I love you, big sister'! He said he loves me! He's never said that before!"
Xylia blinked, then smiled warmly—not confused, just amused. "Sweetheart, he said he wanted milk—"
"HE SAID HE LOVES ME!" Styx insisted, squeezing Piers tighter.
Rigas chuckled, wiping his eyes. "Let her have this one."
She unknowingly smeared her gravy-streaked cheek against Piers's face.
Piers didn't flinch. He just sighed, resigned.
Xylia moved toward him slowly, laughing and crying at the same time, like she was afraid to rush and break the moment.
"Oh, my sweet boy," she whispered, kneeling to his level as Styx set Piers free. Her voice trembled with awe. "You said 'Mama'... You really said it."
She brushed a gentle hand along his cheek, her fingers soft and trembling.
"Can you say it again, darling? Please?"
Rigas dropped to one knee beside them, reaching for Piers's tiny hand and cradling it in his calloused palm.
"That's my son," he said quietly, pride thick in his voice. His eyes were damp.
Piers looked between them—his mother's tear-streaked face, his father's proud smile, his sister bouncing excitedly behind them.
Something warm and uncomfortable twisted in his chest.
"Mama,"
…
"Papa."
Xylia made a sound like her heart was breaking and healing at the same time.
Rigas pulled both of them into a hug—Xylia, Piers, and Styx who'd jumped in uninvited.
"I never thought a word could mean this much," Rigas said softly.
Xylia leaned against his shoulder. "I know. It's everything."
They stayed like that for a moment—a family, together, whole—
Until Xylia paused.
Her smile faded.
Her brow furrowed as she leaned closer to Piers, drawn by something that didn't belong.
A scent. Sharp. Metallic.
Her gaze snapped downward.
Fingers trembling, she brushed against the stiff fabric of his tunic.
Then she saw it.
Blood.
Red, dried in streaks across his clothes.
The warmth in Xylia's expression vanished like a candle snuffed out.
Her breath caught.
A shadow fell over her face as her bangs slipped forward, obscuring her eyes.
The entire room seemed to still—as if the very air was holding its breath.
When she looked up at Piers, her eyes were flat Icy.
"...Rigas."
Styx froze mid-bounce, her grin wiped clean. She went pale, eyes darting between her parents.
Rigas caught sight of Xylia's trembling hand. Then her shadowed face.
Then the blood.
It hit him all at once.
His body stiffened. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple.
He knew that look.
This wasn't regular anger.
This was something worse.
"Xylia..." Rigas's voice was careful, soothing, terrified.
"C-calm down, my love. Let's take a breath. Look at him—he's fine. Let's not jump to—"
She didn't respond.