Chapter 138: Two Visits

When Blanche fell asleep, she never made it to the barracks. Two people were waiting for her on a beach.

A beach she knew all too well by now.

The same endless shoreline where she had first met Fenrir, the very one now illuminated each night beneath an eternal storm.

He was there, as unmistakable as ever behind his perpetual horror mask.

But he wasn't alone.

While the presence of her patron god reassured her, the power radiating from the second figure struck her head-on in crushing waves.

Greater than anyone else's.

Greater than her father's.

Greater than her grandfather's.

Even greater than Sebastian's.

A force so immense that her knees gave way beneath her.

Only then did she feel something change: the pressure suddenly eased.

"Easy there, old man. Don't break her," the wolf growled.

The old man wore long, immaculate white hair, carefully swept back, cascading in a silver waterfall to the middle of his back. Time had etched deep lines across his face, carved as much by smiles and hardship as by the passing years, yet none of them diminished the impression of quiet strength that emanated from him.

Despite his advanced age, his body remained remarkably powerful. The decades seemed to have replaced the vigor of youth with something denser, quieter—the strength of a man who had devoted his entire life to discipline and effort. His broad frame was partly concealed beneath loose-fitting garments, but one glance at his bare forearms was enough to understand that he had lost none of his vitality. Thick, corded with muscle, traced by prominent veins and still perfectly defined, they spoke of an undiminished power maintained by a discipline that had likely never left him.

He didn't look like an old man who needed to be handled with care.

He resembled one of those ancient oaks whose trunk bears the scars of time without ever bending, deeply rooted and still capable of weathering countless storms. His mere presence commanded respect without requiring him to raise his voice or stand any taller. His straight posture, calm gaze, and economical movements all spoke of someone possessing immeasurable power.

"I love all my grandchildren. In spite of their flaws. Perhaps a little too much. But call me that again, and I promise you'll receive a lesson you won't soon forget."

The god's voice—there could be no doubt about his nature, given both his connection to Fenrir and his complete lack of an aura—was deep, warm, and perfectly composed.

Fenrir's lips curled into an amused smirk.

His golden eye sparkled, while the green one remained strangely lifeless.

The stranger's eyepatch made everything click into place for Blanche.

"...Odin," she whispered, still kneeling on the ground.

"In the flesh. But you may call me Grandfather."

He moved so quickly that, in the blink of an eye, he was crouching before her.

With unexpected gentleness, he placed a hand against her cheek.

Blanche's eyes followed the movement.

Grandfather...

It was such an immense honor.

She would never dare.

But before she could dwell on it, he continued.

"He fought with all his heart and soul for you."

She blinked.

Who was he talking about?

"My grandson may never tell you he loves you..."

He smiled softly.

"...but he most certainly does."

Blanche's mouth fell open, yet no sound came out.

Odin withdrew his hand.

Finally free to move again, she looked around.

Fenrir had already disappeared.

Again.

Apparently, saying goodbye was simply too much to ask.

"What's happening?" she asked, suddenly uneasy.

"I came to offer you a respite."

He smiled.

"One night without dreams... and an answer to your questions."

She had only enough time to return his smile before everything faded away.

When she awoke in the house she shared with Sapphire, a single word still echoed through her mind.

Soon.

Her blood ran cold.

She knew exactly what it meant.

The time was drawing near.

The time to leave.

Glancing at the living room clock—the steady ticking was strangely soothing—Blanche frowned.

She felt utterly refreshed.

As though she had slept for days.

Restored.

Full of energy.

And yet...

Barely an hour had passed.

She checked her phone, which nearly blinded her with its brightness, failing to notice the silhouette seated quietly in the shadows, occupying the room's only armchair.

She stood and immediately jumped backward, slamming into the back of the sofa.

A dreadful cracking sound echoed through the room.

"Oh no... the couch!"

It was ruined.

Her newfound strength had smashed it apart.

Then she shone her phone's light toward the figure.

"Holy crap! You scared me!"

Relief washed over her at once.

Fenrir—who hadn't even bothered to say goodbye—had come back.

"So, Your Grace..." she teased with a grin. "You're in love with me after all?"

Fenrir repaired the sofa without dignifying the comment with a response.

He merely raised an eyebrow, sprang to his feet, and gave his cream-colored three-quarter-length jacket a sharp tug to straighten it.

"Don't be ridiculous."

He turned away.

"Come with me."

Still groggy from sleep, Blanche shrugged, tossed aside the blanket, and followed him.

The world tilted.

The next second, she found herself standing on a brightly lit street despite the late hour.

Warm air wrapped itself around her immediately.

Far from the northern lands, she had arrived in the south, where spring was already in full bloom.

Good thing she hadn't put her coat back on.

Why did nobody ever warn her?

Was that really so much to ask?

She wasn't exactly used to teleporting, after all!

Old-fashioned streetlamps cast a golden light of almost unreal softness. Topped with elegant hexagonal wrought-iron lanterns, they looked as though they had been lifted from another century, lining the avenue with perfect symmetry. Their warm glow shimmered across the slightly damp cobblestones, painting long shadows that only deepened the neighborhood's picturesque charm.

Blanche slowed without realizing it.

Her eyes no longer knew where to look.

On either side of the street stood magnificent homes, each entirely different from the next, as though their owners had sought to express their personalities rather than display their wealth.

Some were built from honey-colored stone overgrown with climbing roses.

Others combined glass, pale wood, and immaculate white façades in a display of understated contemporary elegance.

Everywhere she looked, meticulously maintained gardens overflowed with flowering beds, cascading wisteria, magnolias, ornamental cherry trees, and small ponds where water murmured softly.

The entire neighborhood breathed tranquility.

Refinement.

The quiet confidence of wealth that had no need to be ostentatious in order to impress.