The Extra's Rise

The next few days settled into a comfortable routine that felt like the kind of normalcy I'd always hoped to build. Mornings were spent reviewing necessary paperwork while Stella worked on improving her mana visualization device, afternoons involved training sessions with Rose and Cecilia as they consolidated their new Radiant-rank abilities, and evenings were reserved for family time that reminded me why all the cosmic responsibilities were worthwhile.

"Look, look!" Stella called from her workshop, her voice carrying the kind of excitement that usually meant either breakthrough discovery or minor explosion. "I made it portable!"

I found her holding what appeared to be a device about the size of a tablet, though considerably more complex. The original chaos of blinking lights had been organized into elegant patterns that somehow managed to look both sophisticated and distinctly like the work of a twelve-year-old inventor.

"It's perfect for classrooms now," she said proudly, activating the device to demonstrate. "Kids can pass it around and see exactly how mana flows work, even if they can't sense it themselves."

"That's remarkable progress," I said with genuine amazement. "You've managed to compress all that functionality into something truly practical."

"I had help," she admitted with unusual modesty. "Reika showed me some organizational tricks, and Rose helped with the aesthetic design. Oh, and Cecilia threatened to critique my engineering if I didn't make it pretty enough."

"Constructive feedback," I said with amusement.

"She said it looked like a pile of exploded electronics held together with hope and glue," Stella said with a giggle. "She wasn't wrong."

The afternoon brought one of Rose and Cecilia's joint training sessions, which had become increasingly impressive as they learned to coordinate their newly enhanced abilities. Watching them spar was like observing a carefully choreographed dance, each fighter's strengths complementing the other's style.

"They're getting scary good at that," Stella observed as we watched from the estate's observation deck. "Like, really scary. I'm glad they're on our side."

"Teamwork multiplies individual capability," I agreed, noting how their coordination had reached levels that would make them formidable opponents for most threats.

"Plus they both get really competitive when they're training together," Stella added with the kind of perceptive observation that reminded me she understood people better than most adults. "It makes them push harder than they would alone."

As evening approached and the training session concluded, I found myself alone with Rose in the estate's library while she reviewed some documents related to her family's holdings. Her auburn hair caught the lamplight as she worked, brown eyes focused with the kind of intensity that marked important matters.

"Rose," I said quietly, settling into the chair beside her desk. "There's something we need to discuss."

She looked up immediately, noting the seriousness in my tone. "What is it?"

"Your mother," I said carefully. "Evelyn. We both know that eventually, confronting her will become necessary."

Rose's expression shifted to something harder, though I could see the pain beneath her controlled exterior. The corruption that had transformed her once-loving mother into a demonic threat was a wound that would never fully heal.

"I've been thinking about that constantly since reaching Radiant-rank," she said with quiet firmness. "And I've made a decision."

"What kind of decision?"

"When the time comes to stop her," Rose said with growing resolve, "it has to be me. Not you, not anyone else. Me."

I studied her face, seeing the determination that spoke to months of internal struggle. "You're sure about this?"

"Completely sure," she replied without hesitation. "She's my mother, Arthur. If anyone has the right—the responsibility—to end what she's become, it should be me."

"Even knowing the risks?" I asked gently. "Evelyn is dangerous, Rose. More dangerous than most people could handle, even at Radiant-rank."

"I know the risks," she said with steady conviction. "But this isn't about tactical efficiency or minimizing danger. It's about responsibility. About closure. About making sure that the person who loved her most is also the one who ensures she can't hurt anyone else."

The weight of her decision settled between us. I could see that this wasn't an impulse or emotional reaction—it was a carefully considered choice that reflected her understanding of both duty and grief.

"If that's what you need," I said with complete sincerity, "then I promise I won't interfere. When the time comes, the decision will be entirely yours."

"You mean that?" she asked with something approaching amazement. "You'd let me face her alone?"

"I'd provide whatever support you needed," I clarified. "Protection, backup, resources—anything. But the final confrontation would be your choice to make."

Rose stared at me for several seconds, processing the magnitude of what I'd just promised. "Arthur, you have no idea what this means to me."

"I think I do," I replied gently. "Some responsibilities can't be shared, no matter how much people who love you want to help carry the burden."

"Exactly," she said with grateful understanding. "Thank you for understanding why this matters."

"Family means supporting each other's most important decisions," I said simply. "Even when those decisions are difficult."

The following morning brought the kind of peaceful domesticity that had become our standard. Stella was already working on her device modifications, having apparently woken up with new ideas for improvement. Reika coordinated her expanding charitable initiatives through a series of video conferences with organizations across the continent. Rose and Cecilia maintained their training schedule, each session building their coordination and mutual understanding.

"The foster family program is exceeding all projections," Reika reported as we shared breakfast. "We've helped place thirty-seven children in stable homes this month alone."

"That's incredible," I said with genuine satisfaction. "Your work is making a real difference."

"Stella's organizational suggestions have been invaluable," Reika continued with obvious appreciation. "Her systematic approach to resource allocation has improved our efficiency tremendously."

"Math makes everything better," Stella said cheerfully around a mouthful of toast. "Well, except vegetables. Math can't make vegetables taste good."

"I thought you liked vegetables," Cecilia said with amusement.

"I like some vegetables," Stella clarified. "Carrots are okay. Broccoli is evil and no amount of mathematics will change that."

The comfortable morning routine continued as I handled routine correspondence and reviewed intelligence reports that kept me informed about continental developments. Nothing urgent, nothing that required immediate attention—just the steady flow of information that helped maintain awareness of potential future concerns.

Stella had spread her device components across the main sitting room, explaining her latest modifications to anyone willing to listen. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and even Cecilia had been drawn into providing suggestions for aesthetic improvements.

"If you're going to revolutionize magical education," Cecilia had said with characteristic directness, "it should at least look professional enough that teachers will want to use it."

"It's not about looking professional," Stella had replied with twelve-year-old logic. "It's about working really well and being fun to use."

"Both can be true," Rose had observed diplomatically.

Everything was proceeding exactly as it should, with the kind of productive peace that made domestic life feel genuinely fulfilling. The intelligence reports showed no immediate threats, the family projects were advancing successfully, and even the weather was cooperating with plans for an outdoor lunch.

Then pain exploded through my consciousness.

Not physical pain—something deeper, more fundamental. A surge of terror and desperation that wasn't my own, transmitted through a bond I'd almost forgotten in the peaceful routine of recent weeks.

Luna.

My bonded qilin, somewhere where she'd gone to train, was in mortal danger.