A one-way mirror reflected its own silhouette. Behind it, the intricate Harmony Lattice swayed up and down, in time with Rinoa's breathing, which was beginning to steady. Fitran did not blink; his fingers tapped softly on the chair's frame, matching the rhythm of his thoughts. "This mind keeps racing," he murmured, struggling against the waves of thoughts that surged in relentlessly.

  Serise stepped in silently, her cloak floating gently above the floor, bringing with it a sharp scent of antiseptic. “Stable,” she remarked, halting half a step from the glass, her gaze sharp on the visibly vibrating lattice. “Its spiral curve is descending, baffle holding firm.”

  “Good,” Fitran replied, his voice flat, yet within his mind, ideas spiraled like a complex symphony. He leaned forward, striving to ensure that the world behind the glass did not vanish suddenly. “Now I’m starting to understand… why Zaahir chose such an approach.”

  Serise's eyebrows raised slightly, a sign of curiosity she could not hide. “Tell me what you see, Fitran,” she urged with an inviting yet firm tone, emphasizing the urgency of their discussion.

  Fitran closed his eyes for a moment, not to forget the memories but to ensure that every word he was about to speak remained intact. “He is trying to bind my power through bloodlines, not just through a simple agreement. That child has become a conceptual anchor—name-binding vector—forcing the emptiness within me to cling to a single lineage. Irithya is made into a vessel, not merely a human.” His breath felt heavy suddenly, before he managed to restore it to a semblance of calm. “He is aware of the birth crisis. The virus… SCV-7. Its motility is rapidly decreasing. The only way to remedy this is to enforce a ‘resonance of proximity’ to improve its viability for several minutes—just long enough to justify the mistakes that have been made.”

  Serise held his gaze, her face partially hidden in the soft shadows cast by the ambient light in the room. “Go on, Fitran,” she urged, her voice calm and firm, her eyes locked onto his tense expression.

  “The next layer is the political aspect,” Fitran continued, each word punctuated by enthusiastic gestures of his hands. “If I succeed, I will acquire an heir who is not only alive but also resilient against the void.” He looked at Serise with a conviction shining in his eyes. “This is not merely about having a child; it is a claim to the key desired by other factions. With that, I can negotiate borders, open gates, and even barter the future of these starving cities.”

  Serise listened intently, tilting her head slightly to show her engagement. “And what is the most difficult layer of all this?” she asked, her tone remaining steady and focused.

  “Psychology,” Fitran said, his voice trembling softly. “She did not strike me down with a sword; the choice she made is guilt. I am forced to intertwine my strength with her daughter, and now I must bear the weight of that until I break.” He bit his lower lip, contemplating the consequences of his words. The pain felt tangible, as if it enveloped him in a painful embrace.

  Serise merely nodded, her gaze fixed steadily on Fitran. “Are you linking this to the ancient rites? Do you mean that certain seals can only be surpassed by the ‘continuity of names’?”

  “Exactly,” Fitran replied, his eyes wide with understanding. “Zaahir referred to it as ‘binding pure power into the bloodline to unlock dimensions and bear new will.’ I heard it directly from him.” Fitran’s voice seemed to weave a spell, resonating within the room, creating an unforgettable vibration. “He commanded Irithya—not as a lover, not as a wife, but merely as an obedient tool.”

  The entire space was thick with a palpable tension. The flickering light from the Harmony Lattice technology in the corners of the room seemed to dare them to take the first step. The glass walls surrounding them felt cold, preserving a rich aura of mystery. In this profound silence, everyone froze, caught in intricate thoughts. The atmosphere in the room felt laden with unparalleled pressure, every word spoken hanging in the air, waiting for a response.

  Serise let out a soft sigh, allowing the sharp words to settle in the space. “You’ve seen these four dimensions: biological, ritual, political, and psychological. They’re all valid, right?” She pointed her fingertip toward the glowing data projections on the table, emphasizing the birth curves that indicated a drastic decline. “Take a look at the records of Nullbirth Window and those annotations on SCV-7.”

  Fitran observed everything intently; tension began to show on his face. “Are you sure this evidence is convincing enough?” he asked, doubt creeping into his tone, though a note of hope lingered beneath his deep voice. “So, all of this relates to the resonance of proximity—with the presence of an anchor, doesn’t it?”

  “Precisely,” Serise elaborated, her enthusiasm shining through. “We’ve found evidence indicating that the presence of an anchor can extend the half-life of viability by several minutes. Zaahir may not be the greatest scientist on this continent, but he is a clever student, having learned from the tragedies he has faced.”

  Fitran let out a low growl. “He’s a gambler. I know him; I can read the moment he’s about to cast a human onto his table. Perhaps one day, I’ll end up as one of the bets placed there.”

  Serise crossed her fingers, her expression taut with tension. “My difference from you,” she said, her voice calm but laced with firmness, “is that I choose the table you want, one you can choose to sit at or leave behind. Not a table that traps you with your wrists bound beneath the cloth.”

  Fitran shot a quick glance, his gaze sharp before it dimmed again. “That’s why,” he continued with a clarity that was unmistakable, “I support the in vitro route—ampoule void-shell, cold-curve aether, and silent alias as a solution. This isn’t the forced route of 'closeness.'”

  Serise nodded slowly, her eyes scanning the surroundings. “And you’ve set the conditions: Rinoa goes first, no extraction of names, and the child is not a commodity.” Her lips tightened, signaling the simmering tension between them. “Zaahir will most likely add another element you haven’t mentioned: a dimensional map. A child with your bloodline and such heritage could become a ‘living compass’—a kind of organism that indicates the direction of reality's fractures. That’s the most valuable item in the black market.”

  Fitran narrowed his eyes, recalling all those involved in this game. “A compass that gazes back at its owner,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with warning. He appeared uneasy about the consequences that would follow each step they took.

  “And biting,” Serise added, her voice serious and calm, seeming unshakable even as her words carried the weight of a decision. She was fully aware of the risks lying before them, both feeling as if they stood on the brink of a deep chasm.

  “If we let ourselves grow hungry, yes,” she continued, her voice dropping as if afraid something greater might overhear her. “You realize something else, don’t you?” She looked at Fitran, hope reflecting on her face, waiting for a sign of approval from his thoughts.

  “That Irithya isn’t entirely willing,” Fitran replied firmly, though doubt still flickered in his expression. “There’s a swirl of emotions—fear, love, and regret—intertwining with one another. She is caught in a struggle, yet at the same time, she chooses: choosing not to let me fall apart alone, even if her way might be flawed or lead to catastrophe.” His shoulders felt lighter after voicing that, as if the weight pressing on his soul had slightly eased. “That’s what makes her both dangerous and precious.”

  “Dangerous for Zaahir,” Serise interrupted, her gaze hardening in an instant. “Because someone in love is often unpredictable.” She continued, “Precious for you, because love can serve as a bridge back to yourself, especially when the void swallows your name.”

  Fitran did not deny the words, yet his expression remained serious. “However, this motive is dictated by his father,” he stated, emphasizing each word with a tense intonation that reflected the uncertainty in his heart. “Every path to a child—that becomes the key, the burden, and the shackle.” He glanced at the Harmony Lattice, which shone softly, its surface composed of a mysterious material that seemed to pulse with the rhythm of his anxious heartbeat.

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  “And you feel disgust because that pattern closely mirrors my recent request,” Serise fixed her gaze on him without blinking, choosing honesty over her usual comfort. “The differences lie in three aspects: permission, method, and a greater purpose. I am asking you to grant permission; the method I propose will not strip your name away; and my ultimate goal is not to control myself, but to defeat SCV-7 with a single birth capable of living freely.”

  Fitran lowered his gaze, the fingers that had been tapping now frozen in place. His expression was fraught with doubt, but there remained a resolute edge that could not be concealed. “You’re not trying to erase my hand from the blood of the future, are you?” he asked, his voice soft yet sharp. “Do you truly believe this is all a game we can control?”

  “I just want to ensure that blood doesn’t stem from coercion,” Serise replied, slowly adjusting her position to appear more composed. Her voice was firm yet gentle, flowing like water, yet imbued with the weight of responsibility. “You are not just a tool; you’re a challenging partner. That’s why this agreement feels complicated, yet it’s also the only way to keep it from rotting.”

  Silence crept back in, creating a suffocating atmosphere. From behind the glass shield, Rinoa took a deep breath; the numbers on the monitor’s display began to show a subtle decline. Fitran glanced at her briefly, his expression seemingly demanding that the honesty of the world remain intact. “Rinoa, do you truly grasp how immense the risk is in all this?” he inquired, his voice straining between hope and the uncertainty that hung in the air.

  “I want all of us to survive, Fitran,” Rinoa said, her tone gentle yet resolute. “But we cannot retreat. Someone must be willing to face the consequences of the choices we make.”

  “I need to tell you something you may not want to hear,” Serise said, her voice soft but unwavering. “Even though Irithya might be caught up in all of this, the consequences of what has occurred will not fade away. A child—if there is one—is not something that can simply be erased; they are individuals who must be protected from the narrative shaping itself beyond our control.”

  Fitran moved his hand, as if trying to pull meaning from the swirling emotional chaos surrounding him. “But we're playing with fire. Are we truly ready to face that flame?”

  “We have no choice, Fitran. This is part of our experiment,” Serise replied, her tone laden with determination as she emphasized the importance of that moment. “I will not retreat. We must ensure that every step we take is measured and every decision leads us toward a better outcome.”

  “A child should not be a pen used to rewrite my will,” Fitran said, his voice firm, echoing with suppressed dissatisfaction. His jaw tightened, and the expression on his face revealed a tense resolve. “Or Rinoa’s will,” he added, as if emphasizing her name served as a reminder of the dark history they wished not to repeat.

  “Agreed,” Serise replied, retracting her fading projection. The screen before her extinguished, and the atmosphere in the room felt more human, more vibrant. She shifted her gaze, as if savoring the silence that enveloped them before continuing. “Remember, Zaahir’s drive is not just a need; it is a thirst for control. He views Harmony Lattice as a machine to be subjugated, while we see it as a space to breathe. This is our fundamental difference.”

  Fitran nodded, grasping the weight of Serise's words. “That’s why he presses for a path of ‘closeness.’ He wants to bind us, not merely assist in our rebirth.” Perhaps he felt compelled to voice his discomfort over the manipulation he did not desire, longing to break free from the shackles that gripped his soul.

  “You’ve just articulated the reason that has always churned in my mind,” Fitran said, staring into the distance as if trying to untangle the complexities within him. “Why—why did he choose that path? In doing so, he could dominate everything: the numbers, the keys, the claims, and even my shattered self.” His voice trembled softly, yet it bore the weight of profound emotion.

  “But you remain whole,” Serise replied, a gentle smile blooming on her lips as she embraced that thought. In her gaze, a sincere empathy shone through.

  “Not tonight,” Fitran answered firmly, standing tall with a resolute posture, as if proclaiming the fortitude within his heart. “But to stay whole, the cost is understanding. I cannot turn away from the dirty algebra he employs,” he continued, his eyes aflame with fierce determination.

  Serise directed her gaze to the mirror, her expression serious. “You’ve crafted another equation. You’ve captured the right part of that motive—the need for enduring birth. However, you’ve overlooked the rest: coercion, claims, and shackles.”

  She turned back, her voice softening. “If you ever require a witness to remind you when that equation slips, I will always be here. It is important.”

  Fitran did not utter thanks. He merely nodded once, a small gesture laden with profound meaning amidst the tension aboard this ship. “If Zaahir comes collecting later,” he said quietly, “I will pay with boundaries. Not with myself.”

  “And if he sends Irithya?” Serise responded with a calm tone, though her eyes sparkled with sharpness. “I want you to be ready. This world does not always favor us.”

  “I will return those who can still go back,” Fitran said, his voice steady. “And sever ties that do not belong to him. That is all I can do.”

  Serise crossed her arms behind her back, her posture reflecting a fierce determination. “You’ll need an escape route that isn’t on the map. This isn’t just about us—it’s about the actions we’re going to take.”

  “Let me handle it,” Fitran replied, fixing her with a sharp gaze, his eyes filled with burning resolve. “I’ll safeguard our breath. This is a decision we make together.”

  One indicator light on the panel glowed green, casting a soft shadow across their faces. The healer behind the glass raised a hand, signaling that the next wave of Harmony Lattice was ready. “Time is running out,” Serise said urgently. “We cannot waste this opportunity.”

  Serise continued her stride before pausing momentarily. “Before I go: you do realize, don’t you, that the narrative about you and Irithya will be twisted? We must be doubly careful.”

  “Let them write,” Fitran interjected, his voice firm and unwavering. “I will bring back to life what needs to live. The rest—the paper can burn.”

  He pressed his palm against the cold glass surface, ensuring the distance between himself and Rinoa felt palpable, even though they were not truly in contact. “Rinoa,” he called gently, “please move if you can still hear me.” Behind the glass, Rinoa trembled slightly, like a bird rediscovering how to fold its wings. Serise watched intently, pondering the meaning of each small detail in this moment. “This is important, Rinoa. Every step you take holds profound significance.” Serise nodded slowly to himself, feeling a strong connection to this extraordinary moment.

  “Alright, we will proceed to the next phase,” Fitran said, his voice now infused with conviction as he turned. “Once everything is stable, I will take the ten minutes you promised. Swift, clean, without unnecessary drama.”

  “Hold to my promise,” Serise replied firmly, his eyes locked on Fitran with razor-sharp focus. “And hold to your own promise, for this is the moment we must act resolutely.”

  Serise stepped away, leaving Fitran alone with his reflection shimmering in the polished glass, while the machinery around him gently vibrated, the metal seemingly learning to breathe. He lowered his gaze, adjusting the blanket-like dress that enveloped Rinoa’s shoulders with a soft, barely-there touch. “You’re not alone in this, Rinoa. Keep that in mind,” he whispered, his voice thick with empathy. In his mind, fragments of answers wove together: SCV-7, ancient rites, dimensional maps, and guilt—four pillars that explained why a father might lead his daughter to do something that should never have occurred.

  “You won’t be trapped in these shackles,” Fitran murmured as he stared at his reflection in the glass. “Not you, not her, and not any other child.” His voice was hoarse as he clenched his hands, trying to summon the courage to face the bitter reality that loomed before him.

  “From afar,” Serise began, her voice steady even though the atmosphere around them crackled with tension. “The Leviathan’s machinery is shifting its tone. The sound now resonates deeper, warmer.” She watched the vibrating screen as the machine operated, then continued, “As if this ship can sense what we are experiencing.”

  Fitran stood beside the pulsing machine, gazing at it with a serious look. “We need to keep monitoring these changes. Every second is precious,” he said, trying to manage the tension that filled the air. Moving closer, he felt the vibrations in the floor coursing from the intricate Harmony Lattice technology before them. “Is there any data indicating how this machine operates with the new energy addition?”

  “It's still in the analysis phase,” Serise replied, swiftly grabbing a tablet from the table beside them. “However, we need to pay attention to the diminishing web of light.” She gestured toward the multicolored glow reflecting off the isolation room's walls. “Proceed with caution and patience; this light has its own duty: to deliver breath.”

  Fitran nodded, observing intently. “Every particle pathway must be examined; we cannot overlook the potential impact. What is this light attempting to convey?”

  Serise fixed her gaze on Fitran, sensing a deeper bond in their mission. “Are you certain that if we understand this well, we can control the entire process? We need to explore every possible avenue.”

  “Indeed,” Fitran said, feeling the turmoil of tension and hope within himself. “Every step taken brings us closer to the answer. This is far more than mere technology; it pertains to our safety.”

  “My memories are starting to resurface...” Fitran murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as fragments of forgotten moments flickered like shadows in the recesses of his mind.