The Poet's System Chapter 36: Aftermath

Daylan didn't say a word—he simply offered a quiet smile as the others checked on him.

Their battered appearances spoke volus; they had clearly been through hell just to reach him. So, for now, he chose silence, allowing them to rest. Maybe, once the dust settled, clarity would follow.

The air was thick with dust from the collapsed building, making the surroundings harsh and unpleasant. Nearby neighbors began to gather, drawn by the noise, their faces etched with curiosity and concern as they tried to make sense of what had happened.

Daylan and his companions couldn't afford to be seen—moreover, it was getting late.

Without wasting a mont, he urged them to teleport away.

But no matter how many tis they tried, they just couldn't teleport back ho.

"I think it's not working because of the distance... I'd suggest we go sowhere closer. Around the coffee shop might do." He muttered.

They nodded in unison.

In an instant, they appeared in a dark alley Daylan had previously used during their last encounter with the Phantoms.

Barely holding their steps, they made their way to the street and hailed a carriage to head back ho.

Daylan stared calmly at the street as the carriage rolled away, but Enzo's words echoed in his mind, quickening his heartbeat.

The entire ride ho, he remained unsettled—restlessly shaking his leg and fidgeting with his fingers.

As soon as they reached the entrance of their ho, Daylan chose to break the tension and awkward silence hanging between them.

"I never knew you guys loved that much. Thank you!" He smiled, his eyelids clung shut. "Your eyes... you haven't slept, have you?"

They both took sluggish steps toward their room. dora waved at him across her shoulder.

"Make sure not to vanish by the ti I wake up. I need to sleep!"

"I've got nowhere but here, dear Dora." He held his waist and smiled.

The mont they disappeared into their rooms, Daylan collapsed onto the sofa. He dragged his hands down his face before letting out a low, frustrated yell.

What did Enzo an by 'My daughter'? And what was the bullshit about Mother being the one behind everything?

He knew that if he took the ti to think everything through, it would all make sense. But he refused to. He didn't want to face the truth that would co with clarity—yet a part of him still longed to understand.

After a while, he got to his feet, headed to his room, and sank into a long, cold bath. His mind kept wandering, but he stubbornly refused to follow the thoughts through—dismissing them with flimsy excuses, telling himself Enzo had probably just imagined it all in a near-death haze.

He stayed there for hours, letting the chill seep into him, brushing off the thoughts again and again... until sleep finally took him.

After barely three hours of sleep, he woke up feeling as though he'd been lost in an eternal slumber. Climbing out of the bath, he dried off and made his way to the training room.

He swung his arms in a frenzy, each movent fueled by raw desperation. Sweat poured from him, splashing across the room with every strike. His mind ignored the signals of exhaustion his body scread. For hours, he remained in motion—relentless, unfeeling.

If she is the leader of Phantom, then she must die in my hands. Daylan would have co to this anyway... I must protect my loved ones, and if this is true, then Mother isn't a loved one.

No matter how many tis he tried to ignore the truth, he couldn't. If what Enzo said was true, then Zira would need his help. And while countless questions still lingered, he knew that accepting this reality—no matter how difficult—was the only choice he had.

Before he knew it, it was morning already. Astara was already awake, ready to prepare breakfast. She stepped into the training and peeked in at Daylan.

"Good morning, co help with breakfast."

Daylan turned to her. He initially wanted to refuse, but after a brief consideration, he knew helping her might help him ease his mind.

He smiled at her and gave her a thumbs-up.

They dove into the preparations. Astara was eager to learn sothing new beyond the als she already knew, so Daylan had to teach her a different dish. However, he couldn't strike any bargains this ti—with their previous deal with her still standing.

I will turn this in my favor... oh I will—he stared at Astara with a sneer.

Despite Daylan's usual reluctance toward anything that felt like a free favor, he found himself enjoying the mont—enough to forget the weight of their predicant, even if only for a little while.

Before long, the al was ready, and dora was up, wandering around the living room. They sat down for breakfast soon after, and as always, Astara didn't disappoint—the food was delicious.

"What happened? How were you arrested? We were worried sick!" dora blurted the mont they were done with breakfast.

Daylan sat on the sofa, his finger rhythmically tapping against his chin. "I don't rember much," he said. "Just collapsing on the floor—and then suddenly, I was with Enzo. I couldn't hear anything... I couldn't feel anything either."

"I think sothing happened with the orb because I started to feel tired all of a sudden... it was as if it wanted to swallow whole." He turned to them. "How many tis did you use it?"

"I don't think it was ... I used it once." Astara said, barely glancing at him—she was engrossed in her book.

dora began acting nervously, playing with her hair as she whistled.

"What about you, Dora?"

"? Uhm..."

Daylan's expression dulled. "You used it multiple tis then." He shook his head.

Daylan cleared his throat. "Enough with that for now... we must use it twice each per day."

They both gave a nod.

"Enzo told sothing before he died. He said sothing about Zira being his daughter, and he wanted to take care of her."

Astara placed her book down. "What do you an?"

"I had no idea Zara's father was Enzo but Daylan and I had our suspicions." dora hurried her words.

Daylan and Astara turned to her.

"Your father 'died' when you were five years old—aning it was fifteen years ago—but Zira is twelve... We dismissed it as her being a prodigy since children like those stay in the womb for more than a year."

She leaned forward. "But Zira had shown no trait of a prodigy."

"What do you an by no signs? How would you know if soone is a prodigy if they don't possess an ability?"

"Prodigies are rare. The Vital Five are all prodigies, but there are a few others who chose to stay out of the spotlight."

Astara continued, "Prodigies don't take the Trials by choice—the Trials call for them. Most of them pass all their Trials before they even turn ten. So might fail at least one, but even that is rare."

Daylan felt a flicker of hope at the thought that Zira might be a prodigy. But after everything Astara had said, it was clear—Zira was far from one. Which only made it more likely that Enzo was truly her father. He slapped his forehead and shook his head in disbelief.

He leaned into the sofa. "Well, according to Enzo, my mother is behind everything going on."

"What do you an?" dora asked, concerned.

"'Everything is your mother's doing... I never wanted to hurt my daughter.' That's what he said."

Daylan shook his head. "I don't get it. If she is the one behind everything, why arrest herself? What's driving her to do this to her own family?"

Every thought of his mother stirred a storm within him—sorrow weighed heavy on his heart, yet his blood boiled. He couldn't tell if it was fear, grief, rage... or the quiet, gnawing guilt of blaming himself.

"Wait... that makes sense now. Your mother was the one who told all of us about your suicide. I rember being confused—why would she tell us instead of stopping you?

But I was so heartbroken and overwheld, I didn't think much of it at the ti," dora said, tapping her bottom lip.

Daylan's expression darkened further. "Really?" he muttered, releasing a heavy sigh.

Before any of them could utter a word, Daylan rembered sothing.

"Wait, I captured the tavern keeper. He might have answers."

With just a thought, the tavern keeper appeared on the floor, clutching his coin pouch tightly. His face was pale, his body trembling as he sobbed uncontrollably.

His condition was pitiful—slim, dehydrated, with fluids dripping from his nose onto the floor as he repeatedly begged for rcy. It was as if he'd been tortured within the orb. And yet, despite it all, he refused to release his grip on the pouch of coins.

Daylan and the others exchanged glances, their faces etched with confusion.

Was the orb that dangerous?—a question that ran through their minds.