Chapter 145: What Mireille Needs to Say

The ward’s voice arrived considerably strained, carrying the particular effort of something attempting a task it had never once practiced before.

I am relaying her words as precisely as the connection allows, it said. She cannot speak directly. Only through fragments I translate as best I understand them.

[System Log: Day 149, continued]

[MIREILLE IS ATTEMPTING DIRECT COMMUNICATION FOR THE FIRST TIME IN TWO DECADES]

[THE WARD REPORTS THE CONNECTION IS UNSTABLE AND MAY NOT HOLD LONG]

Ryuji stepped close to the circle, heart working considerably harder than the stillness of the chamber warranted.

"I’m listening," he said. "Whatever she needs to say."

She says, the ward began, careful and deliberate, "The crossing cannot proceed the way you intend it. Something in the seal’s structure changed when the sealing was first placed. If you force it open too quickly, it will not simply free us. It will fracture, and what comes through may not be whole."

Selene’s void energy sharpened immediately, protective focus replacing her earlier grief. "Explain fracture. What does that actually mean."

The ward relayed the question, and the pause that followed stretched considerably longer than Ryuji’s patience wanted to allow.

She says, the ward reported finally, "We have existed in fragments for twenty years. If the crossing happens too fast, we may arrive the same way. Pieces, rather than whole people. I would rather remain sealed another year than risk my children arriving broken."

Ryuji felt the particular cold horror of a solution threatening to become its own catastrophe.

"She called us both her children," he said quietly. "Both of us."

She did, the ward confirmed, something considerably gentle threading through its careful relay.

Kaelith, studying the unfolding crisis with ancient, focused attention, stepped forward. "Then we slow the process. Considerably more careful than our accelerated timeline allowed, but faster than the original weeks-long estimate, if possible."

"How much slower," Ryuji asked.

She suggests, the ward relayed, "three days. Enough time to stabilize the structure properly, considerably less than the weeks your household originally planned, considerably more than the reckless speed you were preparing tonight."

Ryuji felt relief and continued urgency tangled together, the particular weight of a timeline that offered hope without eliminating danger entirely.

"Three days," he said. "We can do three days."

Threnn, who’d arrived from the Sanctum given the crisis’s escalation, studied the ward’s relay with careful, scholarly focus. "I would need to understand the fracture risk more thoroughly before committing fully. What precisely changed in the seal’s structure to create this danger."

The ward relayed the question, and Mireille’s response, when it finally came, carried something considerably heavier than the practical concerns before it.

She says, the ward reported, voice carrying genuine difficulty with the translation, "The seal was never meant to hold two people. When I had my daughter here, in this half-existence, the structure began straining against weight it was never designed to carry. Twenty years of that strain has made the entire crossing considerably more fragile than anyone originally anticipated."

"A daughter," Selene said quietly. "You have a sister, Ryuji."

Ryuji felt the word land with unexpected weight, considerably different from the abstract "sibling" he’d been holding in his mind for the past day.

"A sister," he repeated. "What’s her name."

The ward relayed the question, and the response arrived with something considerably warm threading through Mireille’s fragmented communication.

She says, the ward reported, "Yui. She was three years old when the sealing began properly trapping us both. She has grown up knowing only fragments of a normal life, considerably more isolated than any child deserves."

Ryuji felt grief and protective fury both rising sharp in his chest.

"Three years old," he said. "She’s been trapped since she was three."

"Considerably longer than you have carried any knowledge of this situation," Selene said gently. "You could not have intervened sooner, Ryuji. This grief belongs to circumstance, not failure on your part."

Tetsu, quiet and steady beside him, spoke carefully. "Boss. Three days. We use every single hour of it making sure this goes right. For both of them."

"Yeah," Ryuji said, the old machinery settling into familiar, determined focus. "Three days."

They spent the remainder of the night organizing preparation with considerably more structure than the previous urgency had allowed, Kaelith and Threnn working alongside the ward itself, now genuinely collaborative rather than simply compliant, and Ryuji found himself, hours later, sitting with Selene in the cathedral’s quiet garden while the household’s preparation continued around them.

"Yui," he said, testing the name carefully. "I’ve got a little sister named Yui."

"You will meet her properly in three days," Selene said. "I imagine that feels considerably surreal."

"Considerably," Ryuji agreed. "Spent my whole life as an only child. Now I’m apparently someone’s older brother, and she’s been waiting twenty years for me to show up."

Selene reached for his hand, steady and warm. "You are allowed to feel overwhelmed by that. It is a genuinely large thing to absorb."

"Keep telling myself that," Ryuji admitted. "Doesn’t make the feeling smaller."

Wren approached, having remained close given her continued connection to the unfolding crisis, exhaustion and genuine hope both crossing her weathered features.

"I remember when Mireille learned she was carrying Yui," she said quietly. "She was terrified and delighted, considerably more of the latter by the time the child actually arrived. I did not know, until tonight, that both of them had been trapped together this entire time."

"You couldn’t have known," Ryuji said, echoing Selene’s words back toward someone who clearly needed to hear them.

Wren’s composed exterior carried something genuinely moved. "You offer grace considerably more easily than I believe I would manage, in your position."

"Learned it from watching this household do it for everyone else first," Ryuji said. "Figured it was worth extending to the people who actually deserve it too."

They continued preparation through the following three days, considerably methodical compared to the previous week’s reactive urgency, and Ryuji found himself checking in with the ward frequently, relaying small messages back and forth with Yui through the unstable but functional connection.

She asks what pancakes taste like, the ward relayed on the second day, something almost amused threading through its careful translation. She says her mother mentioned them often, considerably fondly, and she has always wondered.

Ryuji felt a genuine, warm laugh escape despite the weight of everything surrounding the exchange.

"Tell her they’re considerably better in person," he said. "Tell her I’ll make her a batch the moment she’s actually here to eat them."

The response, when it arrived, carried something Ryuji hadn’t expected to feel this deeply from a sister he’d never met.

She says, the ward relayed, "I would like that. I would like that considerably much."

Selene, listening nearby, studied Ryuji with genuine, warm affection. "You are already being an older brother to her. Before she has even arrived."

"Trying," Ryuji admitted. "Figure she’s earned someone trying, considerably more than she’s gotten so far."

By the evening of the third day, the preparations stood complete, the ward’s collaborative work alongside Kaelith and Threnn producing a ritual considerably more stable than anything their previous rushed attempt had managed, and Ryuji found himself standing at the circle’s edge, Selene close beside him, Tetsu steady on his other side, the entire household gathered in careful, hopeful silence.

I believe we are ready, the ward said. I cannot promise this proceeds without any risk. I can promise this represents the safest approach available given everything we currently understand.

"That’s enough," Ryuji said. "Do it."

The ritual began, Kaelith’s voice carrying ancient words through the chamber, the ward’s presence weaving carefully alongside her effort, and Ryuji felt the familiar pressure building, considerably more controlled than any previous activation, deliberate and patient rather than desperate.

Light gathered at the circle’s center, considerably steadier than any previous attempt, and Ryuji watched, breath held, as two shapes began resolving within it, one tall and achingly familiar, one small and considerably uncertain.

"Mom," he said, voice breaking entirely this time.

The shapes solidified further, considerably more complete than any previous glimpse, and Ryuji felt the particular overwhelming weight of twenty years finally, genuinely closing the distance between them.

Then the light flickered, violent and sudden, and a voice that wasn’t the ward’s, wasn’t Mireille’s, wasn’t anything Ryuji had ever encountered before, tore through the chamber’s stone walls with considerable, ancient fury.

You dare attempt this without proper authority.