[Time]: Day 30 of Enrollment, 11:45 AM[Location]: Milan'thir · Ludwig Branch Community · Townhouse No. 107
CRACK.
Louder this time. Eggs were supposed to go ping, like a toaster announcing breakfast; this one sounded like a sniper rifle in a silent library.
Hathaway sat frozen on the Persian rug, her finger still hovering in the air where she had poked the egg. She stared at the jagged, electric-blue line running down the center of the pearlescent shell.
The line ran deep. A structural ravine, not a surface scratch.
I broke it. I touched her, and she broke.
"Wait... no..." Hathaway stammered, her voice trembling. She looked at her own hand as if it were a cursed object. "I barely touched it! I didn't use mana! I didn't use force! I just wanted a Balor!"
SNAP.
A piece of the shell flaked off and dissolved into sparkling Ice Dust before it reached the cushion, vanishing into a mist of cold mana without a sound.
The temperature in the room plummeted. The warm, artificial sunlight streaming through the windows lost its heat. In the hearth, the flames held, but they turned from a cozy orange to a ghostly, shivering blue, and the steam rising from the teacup on the table stopped in mid-air and crystallized into a sculpture of frost.
Hathaway’s brain, which had just processed advanced theological logic, tactical railgun strikes, and the socio-economics of Dyson Spheres in the A1 Exam just two hours ago, went Completely Blank.
All four threads came back with the same result at the same time: containment lost, no parenting protocol found, please reboot the daughter.
"Uh..." Hathaway made a sound like a strangled goose.
Her mind produced, in order:Is she cooked? Is she ripe? Do I peel it? Do I need duct tape?Do I call a doctor? Do I call a Necromancer? Do I call the police on myself?
I killed her. I killed the future of my family. I am a Kinslayer.
She could imagine the headlines:[Ludwig Branch Daughter Murders Unborn Sister with a Single Poke. Family Disowns Her. Sentenced to Run on the Hamster Wheel for 10,000 Years.]
"Margaret is going to laser me," Hathaway whispered, her face pale. "Anna is going to strafe me with an airstrike."
She scrambled backward on the rug, limbs flailing, and her elbow caught a crystal flower vase on the coffee table.
The water spilled out.
Hiss.
Gravity got halfway through its job before the liquid Froze in mid-air. It hit the carpet as a jagged, artistic sculpture of ice spikes.
"M-Mom?" she squeaked. Her voice was an octave higher than usual.
KRA-KOOM.
The explosion came from the Center.
A small, pale fist punched through the shell from the inside. The force was shocking. It carried the kinetic energy of a siege ram.
The shell exploded outward.
Shards of frozen calcium and mana crystals flew across the room like shrapnel. One piece grazed Hathaway’s cheek, leaving a tiny, stinging cut that felt like dry ice burn.
"MOM!! ANNA!!"
Hathaway screamed. Her hands hovered over the ruins of the egg, flapping, landing nowhere.
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"HELP! IT EXPLODED! I BROKE IT! SHE'S GONE!"
The baby, for her part, was busy. The cloud of ice dust settled.
Sitting amidst the broken pieces and the frozen Yeti fur blanket was a tiny creature. Newly hatched Witches skipped the wrinkly red potato phase entirely. She looked like a meticulously crafted porcelain doll brought to life by high-density magic, her limbs chubby and distinct, her skin as pale and smooth as freshly set milk pudding. A thin, translucent film of Pale Blue Mana Barrier enveloped her like a second skin, pulsating gently: the birthright of every Witch, factory-sealed protection for an immune system that had not finished compiling.
She had a head of soft, short Silver Fuzz, sticking up in every direction like a dandelion made of starlight.
Hathaway stopped screaming. She held her breath.
She's... whole. She's not broken.
But it was her eyes that truly silenced the room.
The baby opened her eyelids. They were Huge. They were Azure. They were Deep.
And inside the pupils, Hathaway saw it.
Fractured Ice.
Countless tiny, diamond-like shards of ice rotated within the blue iris, following a silent, arcane rhythm, a miniature galaxy made of glaciers.
The Eye of Eternal Frost. A Siren racial talent, and Hathaway was looking at it from six inches away.
Her mind flashed back to the exam hall. To the black-haired Siren Witch complaining about her mana drain. To the terrifying power of the Frozen Sun.
Siren blood? Hathaway stared in disbelief. The Ludwig gene pool really does contain everything. Fire and Ice under one roof? I asked for Fire... and the Gacha Gods gave me the Absolute Zero.
The baby blinked. The rotating ice-shards in her eyes focused. She looked past the frozen water vase. She looked past the shimmering dust.
She locked onto the hyperventilating silver-haired girl sitting on the floor.
The cold pressure in the room let go, and the frost stopped spreading.
The baby stared at Hathaway. Thirty seconds old and already running an Assessment, because a Witch is a Witch.
Then her face scrunched up and she reached out a chubby, pale hand. The menacing aura of the "Eternal Frost" went somewhere else entirely.
And she smiled.
It was a toothless, gummy, radiant smile that could melt a glacier.
"A... woo..."
Threat assessment came back in a fraction of a second. Target: sister. Threat level: zero. Status: cute, escalating to dangerously cute. Hathaway's heart, which had been running at 200 beats per minute, melted into a puddle of goo on the floor.
She crawled forward on her knees, ignoring the wet ice soaking into her stockings, and reached out one trembling finger.
The baby grabbed it.
Her grip was strong. Her skin was cool like jade, but not cold. It felt like holding a precious stone.
"Oh..." Hathaway whispered, tears pricking her eyes. "You're... you're real. I didn't break you. You just... wanted to come out."
At that moment, the kitchen door burst open.
BANG!
"HATTIE?! WE HEARD AN EXPLOSION!""COMBAT PROTOCOL OMEGA! SECTOR CLEAR!"
Margaret and Anna rushed in.
Margaret was wielding a heavy, terrifying Abyssal Staff. It was made of dark, twisted void-wood, topped with a massive, pulsating Black Gem that seemed to suck the light out of the room. Her eyes were glowing with lethal red lasers, scanning for threats.
Anna, the former Ace Pilot, didn't even touch the ground. She drifted in, hovering six inches above the floor, holding a sleek, aerodynamic Wind-Staff that hummed with the sound of a jet engine.
They were ready to fight a dragon. They were ready to intercept a missile.
"Status Report! Enemy location?!" Anna shouted, her mana flaring like afterburners.
Then they stopped, and the combat mana went out of the room like a switch.
They saw the shattered shell scattered across the rug. They saw the frozen water vase and the frost on the windows. They saw the silver-haired baby with the Siren eyes gurgling happily inside her mana barrier.
And they saw their "Genius" daughter sitting on the floor, red-eyed, clutching the baby's hand, looking like she had just survived a war.
"She... she exploded," Hathaway whispered, looking up at her mothers, her voice trembling with leftover adrenaline. "I poked her... and she exploded. And then she smiled at me."
Margaret lowered her Silver Scepter. The lethal red glow in her eyes softened into a warm, watery pink.
"Oh, my sweet mother of mana."
Anna landed softly on the floor, dismissing her Wind-Staff into a sub-space pocket. She walked over and inspected the frost on the Yeti blanket with a professional eye.
"Instant freezing upon contact with air. High-density mana shell." Anna looked at the baby, a proud grin spreading across her face. "A Siren Type. A pureblood Siren trait. And look at that... she recognizes her sister. She waited for you, Hattie."
They walked over and knelt beside the sofa. The air smelled of ozone off the ice and vanilla off Margaret.
"She needs a name," Anna whispered, stroking the baby's silver fuzz with a finger that had steered starships through asteroid fields. "A strong name. Did you think of one, Hattie? While you were screaming for help?"
Hathaway laughed.
It was a wet, teary laugh. She wiped her eyes on the sleeve of a coat that had cost more than the sofa.
She looked at the baby. The baby was still holding her finger, looking at her with those impossible, rotating blue eyes.
They shone like the first light of morning reflecting off a glacier. They were cold, yes. But they were Bright. Hopeful. Full of new beginnings.
"Aurora," Hathaway said softly. "Her name is Aurora von Ludwig."
The baby kicked her legs, sending a tiny puff of snowflakes into the air.
"A-woo!"
She seemed to agree.
Margaret sniffled, leaning her head on Anna's shoulder. "Aurora. It's perfect."