The next morning, the house felt wrong.
Dawn woke up expecting to hear her granduncle's voice downstairs or the sound of patients knocking at the gates. But there was only silence. No footsteps. No coughing visitors. No servants rushing around with hot water and herbs.
The healing center was closed.
And Leandor was gone.
The servants didn't explain anything. They moved around the house like shadows, quiet and expressionless, as if speaking too much would invite disaster. Dawn tried asking once, but Ethar only replied with the same calm words.
"Milord asked you to stay inside, Young Miss."
The rest of the day felt longer than usual, stretching like cold winter nights that refused to end. She spends most of her time just playing with the dolls she was given, as not only would this servant let her outside, but wouldn't even let her use mana.
Eventually, after the midnight hours, Curious Dawn went to her grandUncle's room, which was locked as always, but the servants weren't guarding it. Dawn pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room smelled like old paper, dried herbs, and cold incense.
Her eyes immediately fell on the desk.
"Third drawer…" she muttered.
She pulled it open.
The book was there.
The same thick, ancient book Leandor had taken out yesterday. Dawn didn't touch anything else. She grabbed it with both hands and carried it back to her room like it was a forbidden treasure.
Once inside, she sat on the bed and opened it slowly.
The pages were old, but the ink was still dark. Her eyes scanned the first lines.
'The Death Clan is one of the nine hidden clans that have existed for one hundred thousand years on the Xynnary Continent, founded by a noble family of the Xynnar Empire.'
She continued reading. The book spoke about the ancient Empire, about noble bloodlines, and about a weak child from the Death Clan who slowly rose into legend. It described his path, his battles, his cruelty, and how he became one of the so-called demigods.
Dawn didn't understand everything. Some words were too complex. Some events were too distant. She skipped entire sections, flipping through the pages impatiently.
"What I need is the hourglass," she muttered. "And the scythe. These two are the ones grandpa confirmed with this book and started to act weird."
While searching, she finally stumbled upon a page that described the weapon in detail. Her eyes widened slightly as she read the title.
Death Scythe.
She leaned closer and began reading the listed abilities. Each line made her brows tighten further. The abilities weren't meant for defense. They weren't meant for healing. They were written like instructions for slaughter.
Dawn stared at the page for a long moment.
"If my weapon is the same," he murmured, "then my abilities should also be the same."
For an eight-year-old, learning that her Soul Spirit existed only to kill should have been terrifying. It should have shaken her. It should have made him cry or panic.
But Dawn didn't.
She simply sat there, calm, frowning as if she was reading something ordinary.
After a while, she muttered, "Ever since the awakening… something changed in me."
Only then did she realize it wasn't just boredom. It wasn't just curiosity. It was her emotions. They felt distant, like they were behind a glass wall.
She shook her head and forced himself to focus again.
The book continued listing the Soul Spirit belonging to past clan heads. One page showed the Death Skull. Another described the Death Note. There was even a Sword of Death, and creatures like Cerberus, ghostly horses, skeletal dragons, and liches.
Dawn flipped page after page, her eyes scanning quickly.
Many Soul Spirits repeated.
That confused her.
Different clan heads had used the same weapons and the same abilities, as if the clan kept returning to identical power again and again. It didn't feel natural. Soul Spirit was supposed to be unique.
Then she noticed another strange shift.
After the hourglass appeared in the book's history, the dark Soul Spirit began to vanish. Suddenly, pages started showing healing plants like ginseng. Healing beasts like unicorns. Soul Spirit is meant for saving lives instead of taking them.
Dawn's frown deepened.
"Why would a Death Clan start healing?" he muttered.
Her fingers flipped faster.
And then she saw it.
A page showing a figure that looked exactly like the creature on her own soul spirit. A hooded skeleton-like being, surrounded by darkness.
Grim Reaper.
Dawn's breath caught.
He stared at the page as if it might bite him. The resemblance was too perfect. The same presence, the same horror.
After reading the description, he leaned back slowly and muttered, half-joking but half-serious.
"So, the Grim Reaper chose me to be his apostle? Why? Is it because of the Death clan?"
*
Days turned into weeks.
Then weeks turned into three.
Leandor didn't return.
In these three weeks, Dawn continued to stay at home. Several patients came to her home for Leandor to treat them.
"Where is Lord Leandor?"
"When will the healing center reopen?"
"My child is sick, please!"
Dawn had no answers for their questions or requests. The servants remained silent, refusing to speak. Even Ethar, who normally seemed capable of anything, acted like his lips were sealed with iron.
With nothing else to do, Dawn could only read books available in her grandUncle's study.
But at last, one day, as Dawn was busy reading a novel, a voice echoed from downstairs.
"Dawn…"
Dawn froze.
Her head snapped toward the door. Her heart jumped in her chest, and for the first time in weeks, her eyes lit up. She ran downstairs so fast her footsteps echoed through the halls.
But the moment she reached the living room, she stopped.
Her breath caught as she saw it.
Leandor was standing there.
But Leandor didn't look like the Leandor she knew.
His white hair had turned black. His face looked younger. The wrinkles that once marked his age had faded, and his body carried the vitality of a middle-aged man.
He looked… reborn.
Dawn stared at him like she was seeing a stranger wearing her grandUncle's skin.
"Grandpa… your hair…" Dawn muttered.
Leandor laughed lightly, waving his hand as if it didn't matter. "A small fortuitous encounter. Don't worry about it."
Then he smiled warmly. "Did you miss your grandpa?"
Dawn took a step forward, about to hug him.
But suddenly, a woman beside Leandor grabbed the latter's arm.
Her grip was tight, her posture stiff, and her eyes were sharp like a blade. She spoke in a cold voice, not even trying to hide her contempt. "Don't you dare, Uncle. Remember your position."
Leandor's smile vanished at that.
His hands lowered slowly, as if he had been slapped. Dawn stopped in place, staring at the woman in disbelief.
Uncle?
That word echoed inside her like thunder.
The woman stepped forward. She wore a neat suit, her hair tied back, her expression emotionless. She bowed formally, like a servant greeting royalty.
"Avia of the Scorpion Clan greets the Young Miss."
A man standing on Leandor's other side also bowed. "Aspen of the Scorpion Clan greets the Young Miss."
Dawn's eyes narrowed.
Scorpion Clan.
The words clicked instantly. He had seen them in the Book of Death.
One of the subordinate clans of the Death Clan, the clan of assassins.
Dawn's voice came out polite, but her eyes carried no warmth.
"Hello," she said. "Nice to meet you."
Her lack of respect was obvious, but Avia and Aspen didn't react. They remained silent, waiting.
Leandor then stepped forward, his gaze troubled.
"Dawn, I need to tell you something," he began.
Then he stopped.
His shoulders sagged, and A deep sigh escaped him, heavy and painful. "You're leaving with them," Leandor said quietly. "Right now."
Dawn blinked. "Huh? Where?"
Leandor didn't look at her. His eyes shifted away, as if facing Dawn directly would break him. "Everything will be explained on the way," he replied.
Dawn turned toward Avia and Aspen, but before she could speak, Ethar appeared silently beside them. It was so sudden that it felt like he had stepped out of the air itself.
Leandor's voice hardened. "Did you prepare everything I asked?"
Ethar nodded and pulled out a pouch, placing it into Leandor's hand.
It wasn't a normal storage pouch.
It was gold.
Dawn's eyes widened slightly. Even he knew what that meant. A golden storage pouch contained a portable storage room, at least a hundred square meters wide, tall enough to stack supplies like a warehouse.
Leandor closed his eyes briefly, checking the contents with soul sense. Then he nodded with satisfaction and handed it to Dawn.
"This has everything you need," Leandor said.
Dawn accepted it slowly.
The moment her fingers touched it, an unfamiliar heaviness settled in her chest. It wasn't the weight of the card. It was the weight of goodbye.
She looked up.
"Are you not coming with me?" she asked.
Leandor stared at her for a long moment. His eyes trembled, and his lips tightened as if he was biting back words he couldn't afford to say.
Finally, he whispered, "No."
Dawn's face didn't change much, but her eyes darkened.
Avia then stepped forward. "Young Miss," she said coldly. "We are leaving."
Before Dawn could say another word, she guided him toward the door. Outside, a carriage was waiting, its horses already seemed like they couldn't wait to get off.
Dawn turned her head one last time.
Leandor stood at the entrance, watching silently. His hands were clenched behind his back. His expression was controlled, but his eyes looked tired, like someone forcing himself not to fall apart.
If Dawn had been the same child as before the awakening, he might have cried. He might have screamed. He might have begged to stay.
But now…
As the carriage started moving, Dawn simply stared through the window.
Her face remained blank.
Her eyes remained cold.
And her granduncle, standing behind them in the snow, let out one more deep sigh.