“Dad! Dad! Uh—wait… Dad, are you—”

“No. Relax. At least I’m not a Heretic Inquisitor here to cut your trail.”

“How did you even find us?”

“If I want to find you, there’s always a path. Those who could find you won’t chase; those who chase can’t find.”

Augustus said it like dropping a pebble into a still pond, ripples kept simple.

He pushed off the doorframe, fingers sketching a spatial sigil like chalk on air. From seams in space, he tugged out pouch after pouch, like fish from a torn net, and tossed them to the rebellious Hero Squad.

“Stini, you still haven’t learned space magic, right? I told you ‘Space Lock’ and ‘Anchor’ matter. You never listen… ugh, take these. Hey, Aerian over there—Catherine, right? You should be able to use space spells. Grab these.”

“What even is all this?”

“Andor asked me to deliver various supplies—underwear, clothes, grooming stuff, tents, plenty of toiletries. He covered a day’s needs end to end. He’s thorough, for once.”

“Andor sent them? Whoa! Andor sent them!”

“It’s from your dad! Stini, seriously—get a boyfriend, toss your old man aside…”

Raven rose with polite warmth, a candle-flame kept steady. Joy bubbled anyway, matching Stini’s. Back when she ran to Hero Academy and fainted on the street, Augustus found her like a stray bird, funded her first coin, and introduced clients for magitech machinery. That let Raven plant roots in new soil.

She met Stini, same year. They grew up together.

Since then, she often drifted back to the Hero’s home for dinner, half a daughter by habit. So she knew: if Augustus were truly angry, he wouldn’t wear this wind-and-sun face.

Catherine, wings tight, scanned corners like a hawk at dusk. She’d heard the former Hero’s name, but didn’t know the man behind the legend. And as a rebel, standing before a mountain makes your knees remember gravity.

“Catherine—hmm? Don’t worry. If Dad planned to drag us home, he’d start with poison, then nagging ambushes, sometimes heavy blows. He’d keep at it till we lose our sense of tempo and impact. Then he’d go all out and finish. Standing right here in the open means zero intent to attack.”

“It feels… not like the Hero Augustus I’ve heard of.”

“Miss, Heroes aren’t invincible. We’re experts in banishing, so we plan tactics. You’ve got a big misunderstanding. Even if we differ from normal folk, it’s mostly the Immunity Privilege to challenge the Demon King. An Aerian’s innate gift isn’t weaker than a Divine Being’s blessing.”

Augustus tilted a corner of his mouth, a flare that might’ve won a princess twenty years ago. On a scruffy middle-aged face, the move wasn’t cute—more like a tired lantern trying to wink.

Stini’s look said “ugh,” like a cat seeing a wet boot. Rebellion didn’t end just because storms had passed.

“I brought you supplies. How can you talk to me like this! Haah, I know—you wanted that punk Andor to come, right? Too bad. Didn’t expect me, did you!”

Augustus wasn’t the sober, ironclad kind of Hero. After blowing up Hero Academy, he fled, planned to hunt the Demon King, and pay damages with bounty—wild lightning in human skin. His temper matched Stini’s: jumpy, flammable, sometimes raging for no reason.

Half-complaint turned into a taunt, thorns aimed at his own daughter. Maybe the whole Hero family prefers barbed ways to say they’re upset?

Warm air cooled. A couple of gripes congealed the room like jelly, then pop—an explosion. Augustus jabbed Stini’s rebel reflex, and sparks flew.

They traded a few shots, then the dispute hit the hottest forge.

“Mind your own business! Mind your own business! I’m an adult. Don’t micromanage me!”

“I’m your father! You messed up—how could I not?”

“It’s my decision!”

“Your ‘decision’ is a small-timer’s rush of blood. You think I don’t know you?”

“Anyway, I’m fine with Raven and Catherine. We don’t need your worry or your panic!”

…And so on, like rain arguing with thunder.

Former Hero and rebel Hero bickered on empty calories. No, scratch “Hero”—this was an ordinary father and daughter mid-rebellion. If they don’t shout, the words don’t come. If there’s no little jab, it feels too bare.

They aren’t frank. But this is their way to keep the bridge standing.

Seeing storm-lines draw in, Catherine tensed, hand drifting to an arrow. Raven pressed her wrist, gentle and firm, like a hand to a startled horse.

“Don’t worry. They’re always like this.”

“Like this—as in, using arguing to talk?”

“Looks like it. Arguing won’t get you neat theory. But it vents piled-up feelings, and that’s what they need most right now.”

Cursing, mocking, tearing down—each is a burst of fresh air through a clogged pipe. The root of ‘vent’ is to throw out the ugly stuff inside; whether you toss it at a person or onto paper depends on habit.

Stini and Augustus favor the floodgate method—release and roar.

The Hero girl launched into a torrent, listing Dad’s “impure entanglements with too many women” during his Hero days. Mid-rant, she ran out of breath and suddenly laughed. First a small ripple, then a wave—she fell back, clutching her belly, laughing on the bed.

Augustus covered his mouth, shoulders shaking like reeds in wind, mirth leaking anyway.

“I still don’t understand what’s happening.”

“It’s nothing. They haven’t vented face-to-face in too long. We just watch.”

After a time, Augustus, looking refreshed as if rinsed by rain, stopped stabilizing the spatial array, and tossed the last item to Stini—a sword.

“Eh, eh, I already have Galewind… This is Awakening! I remember it was Abigail’s!”

Stini could never forget that blade’s silhouette. She used it to kill a Divine Being.

A godslaying sword, cold as moonlight on steel.

“Andor asked me to bring it. He said, ‘You might need this.’ I don’t know how he convinced the Prince of Beatrice to hand it over. Anyway, take it.”

“Mm… Dad, actually, I feel like this time I—”

The nonsense quarrel got shelved as a joke. Both faces steadied. Stini struggled for words to explain her choices.

In truth—

“No need to explain.”

“…”

“Stini, you’ve grown. You’re an adult. Do what you think is right, if you’re ready to smash your head to blood and bone.”

“Whew… Good to know you’re not scared for me…”

“How could I not be! But… it’s your choice. I’ll respect it as far as I can.”

“Dad, you’re the best!”

“But—listen. I won’t give you any concrete aid. I won’t wash your charges, and I won’t block pursuit—unless you admit you were wrong and you compromise. Hear me, Stini?”

“Mm…”

“I worry about you. I worry one day I’ll see your corpse. But as a father, before I protect your safety, I should protect your possibilities, right?”

“…”

“That’s it. If no Heretic Inquisitors chase you, this is nearly a pleasant trip. Oh—Andor added an internal tip: Maki will resign as head of the Heretic Inquisition in half a month. The Heretic Inquisitors will pull back to Skyward City Atlante for reorganization. You could come back then.”

“Thanks to Andor, sure, but… no need to return. In a big city like Hero Academy, even with a pullback they’ll keep some agents. I don’t want to invite trouble.”

“Hold up,” Augustus said, hunting for the misstep like sifting sand for gold. “Stini, what’s your plan for the future?”

“Same as usual—hunt monsters. Keep at it till everyone understands Catherine isn’t some fallen monster. Then we walk back with our heads high… probably?”

“How long do you intend to spend on that?”

“Three years… no, five. That long and they’ll get it, I think.”

Augustus went solemn, a cloud shading the sun.

“Putting aside your innocent plan… do you know how long Andor has left to live?”

“What do you mean? He’s going to die? What happened?!”

“One year. He’s only got one year.”

Time until Shadow Artisan Andor Mephy exits the stage: seventeen days remaining.