"Where is he… that guy…" Marquis mutters, sitting down on a couch in an almost pristine mansion.

  The room is grand, the kind of opulence that makes it easy to forget the world outside.

  The parlor alone could rival an entire house with its vast space and luxurious decor. High, vaulted ceilings adorned with elaborate plasterwork tower above, with a grand chandelier dangling at the center, sparkling with countless crystals that catch the light and scatter it across the walls in playful patterns.

  Velvet drapes of a rich burgundy color frame tall, arched windows, casting an air of regal dignity over the room.

  The polished marble floors gleam under the sunlight that filters through the windows, and the walls are lined with finely carved wooden panels and expensive artworks, depicting scenes of historical grandeur.

  Marquis appears slightly out of place in this lavish setting, dressed in a casual, almost modern attire—sweatpants with blue stripes running from his armpit area to his feet and extending from his shoulders to his wrists.

  He holds a phone in one hand, scrolling aimlessly through some app, the light from the screen reflecting off his face, partially illuminated by the grand chandelier above.

  After a moment, he stands up, the chandelier casting a shimmering glow that dances on his attire. He strides towards a door directly in front of him, his steps echoing slightly in the spacious room. Upon reaching it, he pauses, hesitating briefly before opening it. "I don't have time to go there," he mutters under his breath, stepping through.

  "C'mon, Dad, you're not really going to seize all my games, are you? That guy Henri or whatever dealt with Ryuji…" Adad complains, his tone laced with frustration. He is sitting on the ground, hands gripping his black dreads, his body language clearly showing his annoyance.

  They are in a sprawling grassland, reminiscent of the serene landscapes similar to Anna's place, with gently swaying tall grasses bathed in the golden hues of the light.

  striking—a deep red robe adorned with intricate patterns of black and gold, flowing elegantly as he moves slightly, clearly well-crafted and regal,

  "Dad…" Adad mutters again, his voice wavering between defiance and despair.

  From the shadows of a towering ziggurat, Ashur steps forward, his presence immediately commanding respect and attention.

  His attire is nothing short of magnificent—a robe of deep crimson cascading from his broad shoulders similar to his son , the fabric shimmering in the dying light, resembling spilled wine or freshly drawn blood.

  The robe is adorned with delicate patterns in jet black and burnished gold that dance across the fabric, creating a mesmerizing display as he moves. A heavy belt of tooled leather, studded with lapis lazuli and glinting gold, cinches the robe at his waist, adding to the aura of authority that surrounds him.

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  "You ruined our reputation…" Ashur states, his voice low and powerful, each word dripping with disappointment.

  Adad looks up, the stark contrast of his father's robe—the rich reds against the black and gold—creating an almost hypnotic effect in the dying light.

  A sacred tree stands tall behind Adad, its branches reaching upward as if touching the ceilling, an emblem of divine right and heritage.

  "I mean yeah, but you have to admit, who wouldn't want to fight Ryuji?" Adad says, his voice trying to balance between justification and rebellion.

  Ashur pauses, letting the rays of light catch the intricate beadwork on his sandals. He steps closer, gently grasping Adad's dreads. "Boy, can't you hold it in for once!" he chides, giving a light tug.

  "Ouch! Okay, okay, I will," Adad responds, trying to fend off his father's grip, his voice tinged with reluctant submission.

  "Papa! My friends aren't online!" Aymara exclaims, rushing towards Luca, her small frame almost bouncing with indignation.

  Luca, distracted, tries to answer a phone call. "Okay, sweetie, wait a minute," he says, holding up a finger while fumbling with his phone.

  "Xalatl! Could you hold her for a sec? Sorry, love, I'll be back soon, I promise," Luca says as he opens a slider to step into another room.

  The house they are in reflects Renaissance-inspired architecture—high ceilings, intricate cornices, and arches that echo the grandeur of a bygone era.

  The walls are adorned with frescoes depicting mythological scenes, while richly embroidered tapestries hang from gilded rods.

  The furniture is carved from dark wood, ornate with velvet cushions and fine inlays of gold and silver, giving the space a sense of timeless luxury and artistic finesse.

  "But—" Aymara begins, her voice tinged with the stubbornness of a child on the verge of a tantrum.

  Xalatl, ever the calm presence, steps in, bowing slightly. "Sorry, madam, I was also busy… want to go to floor 760, The mall?"

  "I'm not a kid anymore," Aymara retorts, crossing her arms. But after a brief pause, she relents. "But sure…"

  Xalatl smiles, taking her hand gently. "Okay, over here," he says, guiding her to a cozy corner filled with toys and miniature tea sets, the scene brimming with the quiet charm of childhood innocence.

  "Leontis," Mei-Ling calls out softly, gazing at her reflection in the ornate mirror. She adjusts her headdress, a stunning creation of pearls and jades, intricately woven together, shimmering in the soft candlelight.

  She straightens her makeup, ensuring every detail is perfect, though her eyes betray a hint of frustration.

  "Yes," the man mutters, standing just behind her. They are in a room that embodies the elegance and grace of the Ming Dynasty.

  Rich, dark woods form the structure of the room, with intricately carved panels depicting nature and mythical creatures. Delicate screens with flowing calligraphy and detailed paintings divide the space, casting ethereal patterns of light and shadow.

  Silk lanterns hang from the ceiling, their warm glow reflecting off the polished surfaces of lacquered furniture inlaid with mother-of-pearl and gold leaf.

  "I can't fight, so you'll do it, also I don't like that Leonardo boy. How dare he come between me and my sisters," she says, her voice cracking slightly as she tries to maintain her composure.

  "He's their guide," Leontis responds quietly, his almost gold eyes fixed on the mirror, his expression stoic despite the tension in the room.

  He has removed his gauntlets, revealing muscular arms marked with faint scars, and the minor hair that covers his triceps speaks of his rugged.

  "I know, but they could have picked a better one," Mei-Ling huffs, reapplying her makeup with a delicate hand, though the tremble in her fingers shows her distress.

  "Yes?" Leontis asks, his voice a calm anchor in the storm of her emotions.

  "Just…" she pauses, staring at her reflection. "Spar with him once in a while when you see him," she says softly, her tone pleading for a sense of control.

  "Alright," Leontis agrees, closing his eyes momentarily as if gathering his resolve.