CHAPTER 85: "WHAT I CAN’T CONTROL, CANNOT LIVE."

The door closed behind him like a whisper, but the weight in the room doubled.

Garos didn’t look up right away. He already knew the voice. He knew the damn chill that always followed it.

"...Eron."

His younger brother stepped forward slowly, hands in his coat pockets, sharp suit pristine like he hadn’t done a single dirty thing in years.

But Garos knew better.

Eron looked around the room briefly, taking in the floating displays, the locked-in readings, the sealed gate data. Then his eyes fell on Garos, who was still seated, back straight, fingers clenched on the edge of the desk.

Garos finally looked at him. Calm on the surface.

But his eyes burned.

"You have something to do with it?"

Eron smiled lightly, as if it was a dumb question. "With what, dear brother?"

Garos stood. Slowly. Deliberately.

His voice stayed low. "The gate. It changed mid-operation. No one could get in or out. No signal. No mana echo. That doesn’t happen unless someone forces it."

Eron raised a brow. "And you think I would do something so reckless?"

"You’ve done worse."

That wiped the smirk off his face.

Garos stepped around the desk, face close now, staring Eron in the eyes. "Why?"

Eron didn’t answer. Not right away.

Then—quietly, too calm—

"Because they scare me."

Garos froze.

"What?"

Eron stepped forward, voice hardening. "Those kids of yours. That class you’ve been protecting. They’re dangerous. They’ve grown too fast, too strong, and worst of all..." He leaned in slightly, eyes cold. "You’ve taught them to think for themselves."

Garos said nothing.

Eron’s tone sharpened. "You always did have a soft spot for lost causes."

Garos clenched his jaw. "They’re not lost."

Eron laughed once. It was cold. Hollow. "Then you’re blind. I saw it the moment they stepped into the Zenith Week last month. The way they moved. The way they looked at stronger hunters. Not with respect. Not with fear. With intent."

"They’re learning—"

"They’re outgrowing the world, Garos," Eron snapped, suddenly furious. "Outgrowing me. Do you know what that means?"

Garos stared at him. "It means the world finally has hope."

"It means I lose control!" Eron shouted, slamming his hand on the table beside them. The desk cracked. The floating screens blinked wildly. "And you know how I feel about things I can’t control."

Garos didn’t flinch. "So you trapped them in an SSS-Rank gate? Risked their lives? To make a point?"

Eron’s eyes narrowed.

"What I can’t control," he said slowly, "cannot live."

Garos shoved him back with both hands. Not hard enough to hurt. But enough to show it.

Eron didn’t move.

Didn’t even blink.

"You’re insane," Garos breathed.

"No," Eron said, brushing invisible dust from his collar. "I’m realistic. You know what they’ll become if left unchecked. You’ve seen the projections. The mana sync rates. The combat patterns. That girl’s threads, the other one’s mental field manipulation, and your favorite—"

"Don’t."

Garos’s voice cut through the air like a blade.

Eron tilted his head slightly. "Still can’t say their name, huh?"

"You stay away from them," Garos warned, voice shaking now—not from fear, but fury. "I let you be head of the Thorne family because I didn’t want blood on my hands. But if you lay a finger on them—"

"What, Garos?" Eron interrupted, stepping closer again. "What will you do? Challenge me? Raise your voice in some council meeting? Give one of your idealistic speeches?"

Garos didn’t speak.

Just stared.

So Eron kept going.

"You think being the Dean of an academy makes you untouchable? That hiding in that title makes you noble?" He smiled darkly. "You walked away from power. From me. From everything we could’ve built together. And now you want to protect kids who would gladly slit your throat the moment you become irrelevant."

"They’re nothing like you."

"They will be."

Eron leaned in again, voice dropping low.

"And when they become monsters... when they climb too high... I’ll be there to drag them down."

Garos stepped back.

His face had changed.

Not fear. Not rage.

Just heartbreak.

"You were better than this."

"No," Eron said softly. "You hoped I was."

There was silence.

Heavy. Bitter.

Then Eron turned, walking slowly toward the exit.

But before he left, he paused at the door.

"You should prepare a statement," he said. "When the gate collapses and they don’t come back, the world’s going to ask questions."

"They’re not dead," Garos said, voice raw.

"You don’t know that."

"I know you," Garos said sharply. "And I know how far you’ll go. You might kill a nation to protect your throne... but those kids? They’ll survive it. They’ll burn through it."

Eron smiled faintly, almost sad.

"That’s what scares me most."

He stepped out.

The door closed behind him.

Silence returned to the office.

But Garos didn’t sit.

Didn’t move.

He stared at the flickering gate report—still locked. Still unreadable.

His hand trembled slightly at his side.

"...Lucian," he whispered under his breath.

Then he looked down at the communicator embedded in his wristband.

Still no signal.

Still nothing from the gate.

But his eyes... they didn’t reflect doubt.

They reflected one thing only.

Time.

He knew it was running out.

And when it hit zero—when the gate cracked open—he’d be ready.

Either for a reunion.

Or a war.

The silence stretched for a long time.

Garos hadn’t moved from his spot. The flickering light of the sealed gate projection danced across his face, casting faint shadows beneath his tired eyes.

He didn’t blink.

Didn’t speak.

He was listening—for anything.

A ripple. A pulse. A signal.

But nothing came.

Just static.

Until—

Bzzt.

His wristband vibrated once.

He looked down slowly. The screen lit up, faint blue against his skin.

[ATHENA]

He accepted the call without hesitation.

"Athena," he said, his voice low, held tight like a breath he couldn’t afford to lose.

Her voice came through instantly. Calm. Firm. But behind it, a subtle relief that wasn’t there the last time they spoke.

"They’re out," she said.

Garos blinked.

"What?"

"They made it through. All of them."

His breath caught. His hand clenched slightly.

"They’re alive?"

"Yes," Athena said.

Garos sat down slowly. Shoulders sagging—not from weakness, but from the weight sliding off his back.

He let out a long breath.

"...Thank the stars."

On the other end, Athena was silent for a moment.

Then, softly, "It was him, wasn’t it?"