Lucimia vaulted the wall again, light as a cat on snow, not a whisper of sound.

She slipped back to her room like a shadow at dusk, hid the cloak, and wriggled into her expensive uniform, a mask to keep Mother from sniffing trouble.

A pale-lavender uniform, a skirt skimming the knee like a calm tide, and those familiar gems shining like tame stars.

Soon, Maid Kaeli found her, words crisp as frost, saying Alvis wanted her in his room tonight and not to seek him meanwhile, since work still swarmed.

Questions still budding like spring shoots, the maid hurried away, vanishing like rain swallowed by stone.

That curt farewell, cold where warmth had been, left Lucimia restless all day, like an ant on a hot griddle.

She checked the window like a wary bird, paced and stalled, sipped water in little waves, then raked her hair like wind through reeds.

She feared the maid had tattled to Father, a storm brewing; yet at breakfast he’d stood by her, a steady harbor, even if she’d studied Dark Deity lore in secret.

So one answer rose like a blade: Father knew her identity as a Dark Deity.

First, Kaeli must’ve been watching her like an unseen moon. She’d guessed wrong—Kaeli wasn’t Mother’s, but Father’s—protection twined with surveillance, two vines on one trellis. Maybe that last flare of her fire today had tipped Kaeli off, so…

The more she thought, the more it fit, tightening like a noose; her heart drummed like hooves.

Maybe I should run now? The thought flashed like lightning under a black cloud.

Noon came quickly, like a shadow crossing a sundial.

Lucimia crept to the dining room, nerves fluttering like moths, snuck two glances at Father—no storm, just that gentle smile.

Mother, too, had smoothed like a quiet lake; the morning’s ripples erased. She even cut Lucimia’s beef into neat little pieces, like a patient sculptor.

“Th-thanks.” Facing Mother felt like walking fog; all she could offer was thanks.

At last the day slid into night, like embers dimming under ash.

Before Alvis’s door stood a young maiden, still as a lantern set at dusk.

Yes—Lucimia hadn’t run. She stood at her father’s study, nervous as a hare under hawk-shadow.

She drew deep breaths, like pulling water from a well, and eyed the corridor with jittery caution.

Midnight, a young girl, a man’s door—three stones thrown into one dark pond.

It felt indecent, like sneaking through a temple after bells.

Lucimia shook her head, scattering those thoughts like sparrows, and tapped the door with careful knuckles.

She hadn’t run, but she was packed to vanish. Savings were tucked in her Storage Ring, along with clothes and daily bits; if Father meant to end her, she’d bolt like a startled deer.

In the span of a heartbeat, Father’s voice came through the wood like warm smoke.

“Come in.”

Lucimia turned the handle and slipped into the study like a swimmer into calm water.

Amber light spread across the room like honey. Alvis sat on a rosewood bench, leafing through a yellowed book like dry leaves.

Seeing her, Alvis closed the book with a soft thud and lifted his gaze like sunrise over a ridge.

He smiled, a mild breeze. “Sit.”

“Okay.” Lucimia nodded, pulled out a chair, and sat facing Alvis like a student before a master.

Once she settled, Alvis went straight as an arrow: “You slipped out to read about the Dark Deity today, didn’t you?”

“…Yes.” Lucimia straightened, a bow pulled taut. Was he steering her to confess her identity as a Dark Deity?

She slid one foot outward from the chair, coiled to run like a spring.

Alvis saw the tension, waved it off like smoke, and smiled. “Easy. I’m not here to scold you.”

“Huh? Then why call me, Father?” Lucimia tilted her head, curiosity like a cat’s ear.

With no blades drawn in his tone, maybe it wasn’t about the Dark Deity. What else, then? The question spun like a leaf.

If her identity stayed veiled, anything was manageable; a cloak tight against the wind.

“Aren’t you curious how I know?” Alvis asked, voice smooth as river stones.

“It was… Sister Kaeli, right?” Lucimia voiced the guess that had perched like a bird all day.

“Haha, right.” Alvis laughed, bright as a bell. “That’s my daughter—sharp as ever.”

He went on, “Kaeli also said you ran into followers of the Deceiver?”

“Mm.” Lucimia nodded, a pebble dropping in a pond.

Alvis laced his fingers, smile warm as hearthlight. “Kaeli says your control’s superb. First real fight, two Deceiver cultists down. You’re Exorcist Family to the bone—beauty and strength, no less than a Church Holy Knight.”

His unabashed praise painted her cheeks pink, like sunrise on snow; she blinked, shy as a fawn.

It was her first time praised like this; joy rose like warm tea, shyness curled like steam.

In a past life, an orphan in winter, she’d had no friends, no family; a good grade brought no praise. Other kids danced to their parents, waving report cards like flags; heads were patted, dinners promised, lights warm as kitchens—she watched from the cold edge.

People said good grades were enough—you don’t study for praise. She knew that; yet as a minor then, her heart still craved a little warmth, like hands around a cup.

She shook off the tangent like a moth leaving a lantern.

“Thank you for the praise,” Lucimia said, voice soft as rain.

“Were you hurt?” His question landed like a feather.

“No, because…” She shook her head, then froze, like a deer catching a twig snap.

She remembered—the lack of pain came from that final flame, a white fire licking away harm.

Alvis read her thoughts like tracks in snow. “Don’t worry. That’s our family’s gift. Flames that burn the self, attacks that carry Exemption—I’ve never seen that variant, but it purged the toxin, so it’s ours.”

“Gift?” The word hung like a lantern.

“Yes.” Alvis nodded, slow as a nodding pine. “That’s why I called you. The Deceiver cultists are real, and they’ve lurked in town who knows how long. So it’s time I told you some things.”

So that was it? Not about her Dark Deity Authority Power? Doubt coiled like smoke in her chest.

“What about Mother…?” The question tiptoed out, a mouse in a chapel.

“That’s why we talk at night,” Alvis said, hands opening like a book.

“Alright.” The word fell like a pebble.

“Ahem.” Alvis cleared his throat; cheer faded like sunset, leaving a stern moon. “You asked how our family drives out evil.”

Lucimia nodded, small as a ripple.

She had asked before; he’d only said it’s not like the Church’s Purification Power.

“Mm. I can tell you now,” he said, words falling like rain that breaks a drought.

Hearing that, Lucimia sensed weighty words coming; she straightened up like a reed before wind.

She noticed her foot still jutting like a stray root; she drew it back, knees together, and waited, obedient as a tea cup.

Alvis waited a few beats, then spoke low. “Our method mirrors the Church. They rely on the one true god, the Purification Deity’s Blessing. We use a Dark Deity’s Blessing.”

“The Dark Deity Ruigana. Authority Power—Exemption.”