CHAPTER 238: CHAPTER 239: RELENTLESS

The moonlight poured across their skin like softened silver, bathing the broken world around them in a moment of unbroken peace. The rain had finally ceased—soft, sputtering drops fading into a hush—and in its absence came a stillness that felt... sacred.

They remained in each other’s arms, unmoving, as if motion might shatter the illusion. Claire breathed slowly, her cheek resting against Atlas’s chest like it belonged there. His body, warm and steady beneath hers, had become a quiet haven, a pulse she could count on.

The rhythm of his heartbeat—strong but not rushed—echoed gently beneath her ear. Every thump was a reassurance, and for the first time in years, she didn’t need to be on guard. She didn’t need to protect herself, or calculate, or pretend she didn’t need anything at all.

She just... was.

Atlas exhaled, his breath a plume of warmth rising into the crisp night air. He had expected something entirely different—tears, resentment, a verbal storm or worse. A slap, maybe. Cold eyes. Distance. But she had folded into him instead. Like gravity.

Was this what forgiveness felt like? Or was it something else entirely?

He had been thinking like a man from his old world, where such truths shattered trust, where hearts demanded exclusivity like starving wolves. Here... this world operated differently. Polygamy wasn’t rare. Especially not for those of power, of divine or royal blood. And yet... honesty still held weight.

He blamed himself—not for having feelings for others—but for hiding them.

Even that act, small as it seemed, was betrayal.

A slow breath left him again. The guilt didn’t vanish, but it shifted. Became manageable. As if her presence somehow diffused its sharpness.

Above them, the clouds drifted like fading memories, and the wet grass below whispered of life renewed. The scent of rain-drenched earth mingled with the faint perfume still clinging to Claire’s skin—a hint of something floral, wild, untamed.

Then, she stirred.

Claire’s lashes fluttered as she gradually came to, blinking against the brightness of the moon. Her hand reflexively tightened against his tunic, gripping the fabric as if to ground herself.

For a moment, she didn’t speak. Her mind was too calm. Still heavy with drowsy peace.

"...It’s gone," she murmured.

"What is?" Atlas asked, voice low, afraid even to disturb the stillness around them.

"The halo." Her fingers reached up, brushing above her head instinctively, as if to confirm. "It vanished. After the second time..."

He nodded, unsure what to make of it. She had changed—once, when a dark halo had twisted her into something closer to a succubus. Then again, when a pale, radiant halo shimmered above her. A strange contradiction. Angelic and demonic—both claimed her.

From her words, it was his mother who had done something. Granted power. Changed her race. But into what? And why?

He didn’t know. Not yet.

His mind twitched toward old knowledge. Game systems. Archetypes. Evolution stages. But this wasn’t the time. This moment—this rare breath of intimacy—was hers. Entirely.

Whatever was happening to her, whatever mystery threaded through her transformation, could wait.

"...Atlas," she said softly, her voice barely louder than the breeze. She shifted again, her face turning to meet his. Her eyes glinted with mischief, but underneath... resolve. "....I want to be the second wife."

The words crashed into him like a delayed thunderclap. He blinked.

"...What?"

He sat upright slightly, confused on multiple levels. Why... second? Not first? Had she already accepted there would be more? How did she come to peace with that so quickly? Was she hurt? Settling? Or... was there more?

Claire only laughed, watching the flood of questions play across his face like an open book.

"...Hahahaha..." she giggled, the sound soft but bright. It didn’t feel forced.

"...Because," she said through her grin, "I already know the first one."

He blinked. ’...Whooo?!’ His mind ran a blank. Even he didn’t know who that might be.

"Eli...?" he guessed.

She rolled her eyes. "No, idiot... Lara. Of course."

He froze.

’Lara...?’

His mind scrambled. ’But... she’s sixteen. She’s a child.’

He sighed aloud. "...Haaa..."

"...I know she already crossed the age of fourteen, making her legal to marry, but—" he paused, uncertain.

"But?" Claire’s voice probed gently, curiously.

"...There shouldn’t need to be an explanation," he finally said. "She’s my sister. And she’s... too young."

Claire’s eyes narrowed slightly. She didn’t speak. Instead, she lifted her hand and pointed straight at his chest. Her finger hovered with clarity, not judgment.

His heart skipped a beat.

Right.

He was also sixteen. Technically.

And in this society—this strange new world—sixteen wasn’t seen as fragile. It was marriageable. Powerful. Dominant, even.

He thought of Eli. Of Claire herself. Of how both had looked at him—not as a boy—but as a man. With desire. With seriousness. With commitment.

It was strange. Uncomfortable, even. But strangely, he hadn’t questioned it much.

"Yeah..." he muttered, almost to himself. "I’m actually too young for you..."

Claire stared at him for a beat. Then slapped his shoulder.

Thwack!

"...You are already a man," she hissed. "Act like a man." Her voice burned through him, fierce and maternal and something else. "...But. Please. Do what you think is right.....Take your time... but please, take care of her."

He turned toward her, brow furrowed. "...When did you start caring for her?"

"She’s my sister. Of course I will take care of her."

Claire’s lips twitched into a smirk. "Ohh... you really don’t know?"

"...?"

"God, you are dense..."

"What are you talking about—?"

"Lara will literally kill everyone," Claire said bluntly. "Even Henry. Even me. If that’s what it takes to be with you."

Atlas froze.

Claire’s finger pressed against his chest again—this time not lightly. This time with meaning. "She’s young," Claire continued. "But she’s ferocious. Fate-bending. Like you."

A silence followed. Cold wind cut through the trees, rustling the soaked leaves.

"I don’t want to come between you both," she whispered, almost ashamed. "So second wife. I’d be satisfied with that spot."

For a long while, Atlas didn’t speak. He just looked at her—this girl who had challenged him, bled with him, loved him. The Claire who had once been a weapon, and now chose to become something else.

He placed a hand on his chin, thinking aloud. "The relentless Claire... relenting. Quite a shock, if I say."

SLAP!

Another one. Right on the same shoulder.

He winced. "Alright, alright..."

She smiled.

"...Okay," he said after a breath. "I think we should start family planning. At the palace. Let’s go."

"Wait."

He paused. Not because he was impatient—but because that name—it had returned to his thoughts.

Loki.

The guilt lingered, even now. Ghostlike. Unshaken.

"...Elizabeth," Claire said quietly. "She can only be a concubine."

A beat passed.

Atlas sighed. "...That’s not my choice to make..."

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

She attacked his shoulder again. No warning. No mercy.

Because she was Claire—the relentless.

*********

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