Work Text:
The prison was quieter than Domina remembered. Not silent, but subdued in a way that felt unnatural, as if even the walls had learned restraint.
Magic hummed faintly through the reinforced stone, old spells layered over newer ones, all of them designed to contain something that had once seemed impossible to contain at all.
Domina stood at the threshold for a long moment before stepping inside. He had imagined this visit many times. In some versions, he arrived furious. In others, triumphant. Occasionally, he said nothing at all and simply turned away.
Reality, as usual, was less dramatic.
The iron door did not creak. It should have, Domina had imagined it would, in all the years since the fall. A heavy, dramatic groan. Something fitting for the man sealed behind it. Instead, it opened with a quiet, almost polite click.
Domina paused at the threshold. For a moment, he didn’t step inside. The corridor behind him was long, sterile, and flooded with white light, too clean for a place built to contain someone like Innocent Zero.
The air hummed faintly with layered magic seals, each one carefully calibrated, overlapping like invisible chains. Domina could feel them reacting to his presence, recognizing his lineage. Recognizing whose son he was.
“Still overdoing it,” Domina muttered under his breath.
Not to the guards. Not to himself, either. To the door. To the silence. To the man waiting inside.
He stepped forward. The cell was smaller than he expected. No grand restraints. No theatrical prison apparatus. Just a single chair, a narrow bed, and walls etched with glowing sigils that pulsed faintly like a slow heartbeat.
The guards said nothing as they sealed the door behind him. They didn’t need to. Everyone knew who he was.
And who waited beyond the final barrier.
Father sat exactly as Domina had expected him to: upright, composed, hands resting loosely in his lap as though he were a guest rather than a prisoner. Time had not softened him. If anything, it had distilled him into something quieter and sharper, like a blade that no longer needed to be drawn to be dangerous.
“It’s been a while, Father.”
Father’s eyes shifted, just slightly, as Domina approached. “Domina.” No warmth. No surprise. Just recognition.
For a second, just a second, Domina felt that old pull. That old instinct to stand straighter, to prove something, to be seen. It passed.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d still be here,” Domina said, stopping a few steps away. “But I guess nowhere else would hold you.”
A faint smile touched Father’s lips. “You’ve grown.”
Domina let out a quiet breath through his nose. “Yeah. That’s what time does.”
The distance between them was only a few steps, but it felt like miles.
Domina didn’t move closer immediately. Instead, his gaze drifted, taking in the room, the seals, the faint shimmer of layered magic designed to suppress even the idea of power.
“You’re not chained.”
“There is no need,” Father replied calmly.
Domina huffed, folding his arms. “Right. Because these walls are basically screaming ‘don’t even try it.’”
A faint flicker passed through Father’s eyes. Amusement? Perhaps. “You understand them.”
“Of course I do,” Domina said. “I’m your son.”
The words came out sharper than intended. They hung there. Heavy. Unavoidable.
Father tilted his head slightly. Studying him. Not as a father would. But as a researcher might observe a subject that had changed unexpectedly.
“You did not come here to comment on architecture,” he said. Straight to the point. Of course.
Domina clicked his tongue softly. “No,” he admitted. “I didn’t.”
He finally stepped forward. Once. Twice. Until the distance between them shrank to something more human. Something measurable. Something real.
“I just…” He hesitated. That surprised him. He hadn’t expected hesitation from himself. Not after everything.
“…I figured I should visit.”
Father said nothing.
Domina continued anyway. “It’s been a few years.”
“Seven years and eleven months,” Father replied instantly.
Of course he knew. Of course he kept track.
Domina let out a short, dry laugh. “Yeah. That sounds like you.”
Silence settled again, but this time it wasn’t empty. It was testing. Like both of them were waiting to see who would define it.
Domina exhaled slowly, then ran a hand through his hair. “You know,” he said, glancing sideways, “I thought I’d have more to say when I got here.”
“And yet you do not.”
“Yeah. Thanks for pointing that out.”
A faint shift in tone, barely perceptible, but there. Not quite sarcasm. Not quite indifference. Something in between.
Domina moved to the side of the room, leaning lightly against the wall. He didn’t sit. Didn’t want to. Didn’t feel right, sitting in front of him.
“I wasn’t even sure you’d want visitors,” he said.
“In general? No.” That answer came without hesitation.
Domina smirked faintly. “Then why allow me in?”
Father’s gaze didn’t waver. “You are here, right?”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is the only one you require.”
Domina shook his head, a quiet exhale escaping him. “Still impossible.”
Another pause. Longer this time. But something had shifted. Subtly. The air wasn’t as sharp anymore. Still tense, but no longer cutting.
Domina glanced back at him. Not at the villain. Not at the man who tried to reshape the world. But at…
“You look bored,” he said suddenly.
That earned a blink. Barely noticeable. But real.
“Bored?” Father repeated.
“Yeah,” Domina said, pushing off the wall slightly. “Like, painfully bored.”
A faint crease appeared between Father’s brows. “I am not capable of boredom.”
“Sure you are,” Domina shot back. “You’re just too proud to admit it.”
“Explain.”
Domina snorted. “You’re sitting in a box where nothing changes. No variables, no experiments, no progress. Just time passing.” He gestured vaguely at the walls. “That’s basically torture for someone like you.” He thought for a moment. "Or maybe… this is that famous eternity you so desperately wanted.”
“Maybe it is,” Father said.
Domina froze. Just for a second. That wasn’t denial. That wasn’t dismissal. That was… acknowledgment. Small. Fragile. But real.
“Huh,” Domina muttered. He didn’t comment further. Didn’t push it. Didn’t want to scare it off. Instead, he shifted his weight again, crossing his arms.
“So,” he said, more casually now, “what do you even do all day?”
“I think.”
“Yeah, that tracks."
“I observe.”
Domina raised an eyebrow. “Observe what? The walls?”
“Myself.”
Domina didn’t respond immediately. “And?” he asked after a moment.
“I find the results… inconclusive.”
Domina stared at him. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed. Not loudly. Not mockingly. Just… genuinely. “Wow,” he said, shaking his head. “Didn’t expect that.”
For the first time since entering the room, the tension cracked. Just a little.
Domina exhaled slowly, the weight in his chest shifting, not gone, but… different. Manageable. “Guess we’ve both changed a bit,” he said quietly.
Father did not answer. But his gaze remained fixed on Domina. Unblinking. Unwavering. Studying. And this time, Domina didn’t look away.
“Don’t get used to this,” he added after a moment, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m not planning to make this a weekly thing or anything.”
“That is acceptable.”
“Good.”
A pause. Then, softer: “I just thought you should know I’m… still around.”
The words felt strange. Unfamiliar. But not wrong.
Father regarded him in silence. Then, slowly: “Noted.”
It wasn’t much. It wasn’t warm. It wasn’t even kind. But somehow, it was the most honest exchange they had ever had.
Domina shifted his weight again, rolling his shoulders slightly as if loosening something tight beneath his skin.
He hadn’t expected this to be easy, he wasn’t naive, but he also hadn’t expected it to feel so… strange. Not hostile. Not painful in the way he remembered. Just strange.
“Anyway,” he said, glancing off to the side before forcing himself to refocus. “I didn’t come here just to comment on your new hobby of staring at walls.”
Father said nothing, but his attention sharpened. Subtly. Precisely. Waiting. Always waiting.
Domina exhaled through his nose. “Seven years and eleven months, right?” he muttered. “A lot happens in that time.”
“I graduated,” Domina said. The words landed simply. No flourish. No dramatics. But they meant something.
“From Walkis,” Domina added, almost offhandedly.
“I expected no less.”
Of course.
Domina clicked his tongue softly. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”
He ran a hand through his hair again, pacing once across the small space before stopping near the opposite wall.
“You know what’s funny?” he continued. “Back then, everything felt like it revolved around proving something.” He glanced sideways. “To you.”
No response. But the words hung there anyway.
“I wasn’t even thinking about what came after, because there was no such a thing as ‘after’” Domina admitted. “The Divine Visionary Exam felt like the end of something. Like once I reached it, that was it.” He let out a short breath. “Turns out it’s just the beginning. Annoying, right?”
“In what way?” Father asked.
The question was immediate. Precise. Analytical.
Domina smirked faintly. “Figures that’s what you’d latch onto.”
He tilted his head back slightly, staring at the ceiling for a moment as if replaying the past few years in fragments.
“You spend your whole life climbing toward something,” he said slowly, “and then one day, nobody tells you what you’re supposed to do next.” He looked back at him. “No rankings. No exams. No one breathing down your neck telling you to get stronger… Just choices.”
Silence answered him. But it wasn’t empty. It was listening.
“So yeah,” Domina continued, shrugging lightly. “I graduated. Top tier, obviously. And I’m not going to pretend I struggled.”
A faint glint passed through Father’s eyes. “Confidence without arrogance,” he observed.
Domina raised an eyebrow. “That’s new. You giving compliments now?”
“It is an observation.”
“Sure it is.”
Domina pushed himself off the wall again, pacing slowly, not out of nervousness, but because standing still felt wrong. Too stiff. Too formal.
“I didn’t go into the Bureau,” he added.
That, finally, earned a clearer reaction. Subtle, but undeniable. “You refused?” Father asked.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
No judgment in the tone. Just curiosity. Pure, clinical curiosity.
Domina stopped walking. “Because I didn’t want to spend my life enforcing someone else’s definition of ‘order,’” he said plainly. “I’ve seen what that turns into. So I did something else. Something… less predictable.”
He hesitated, not because he was unsure, but because saying it out loud here, in this room, carried a strange kind of weight.
“I teach.”
The word lingered. Echoed faintly against the walls.
“Explain.”
Domina almost laughed. “I knew you’d say that.” He folded his arms again, leaning back slightly as he spoke. “I didn’t go full academy professor or anything,” he clarified. “It’s more… specialized.”
He gestured vaguely with one hand. “Independent training. Advanced magic control, combat application, that kind of thing. I work with students who don’t fit the standard mold.” His gaze flickered, just for a second. “The ones who’d get overlooked otherwise.”
“You prioritize inefficiencies,” Father said.
Domina frowned. “That’s one way to put it.”
“It is an inefficient allocation of your capabilities.”
“There it is,” Domina muttered. “Was wondering when that would show up.”
He straightened slightly, his expression sharpening, not defensive, but firm. “Maybe,” he said. “But it works. And I’m good at it.”
“Results?” Father asked.
Domina smirked. “Consistent.” That answer came without hesitation. Without doubt.
For a moment, just a moment, there was something almost like approval in the air. Not spoken. Not acknowledged. But present.
“I also take on field work,” Domina added, more casually now. “High-risk magic zones, containment issues, rogue anomalies.” He shrugged. “Keeps things interesting.”
“And dangerous.”
“That too.”
“Unnecessary.”
Domina tilted his head slightly. “Not really.” He looked directly at him now. Clear. Steady. “I don’t need things to be safe,” he said. “I just need them to matter.”
The room fell quiet again. But this time, it wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t tense. It was… contemplative.
“You have chosen your own path,” Father said at last. The words were neutral. But something underneath them wasn’t.
Domina let out a slow breath. “Yeah,” he said. “I did.”
And for the first time since stepping into that cell, there was no hesitation in his voice. No edge. No need to prove anything. Just certainty.
He shifted his stance again, glancing briefly toward the door before looking back. “There’s more,” he said.
Of course there was. Nearly eight years didn’t fit into a single conversation. Not even close.
But something had changed now. The distance between them wasn’t gone. It never would be. But it had narrowed. Just enough to keep talking.
Domina exhaled quietly. “You’ll probably find this part inefficient too,” he added. “I got close to someone.”
The air shifted again. Sharper this time. More focused.
Domina didn’t speak immediately after that. The words still lingered in the air, heavier than anything he had said so far. Strange, considering everything else he’d already admitted, his work, his choices, the fact that he had deliberately stepped off the path expected of him. But this? This felt… different. More personal. More dangerous, in a way that had nothing to do with magic.
Father remained perfectly still. Watching. Waiting. Calculating. “You hesitate,” he noted.
Domina exhaled through his nose. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I do. Don’t get used to it.”
Domina shifted his stance, glancing briefly toward the glowing sigils on the wall before returning his gaze forward. “You remember him,” he said. Not a question. A statement.
“Of course,” Father replied. No hesitation. No uncertainty.
Domina let out a quiet breath. “Yeah. Figured.” He ran a hand through his hair again, slower this time. Less restless. More… grounding.
“I’m talking about Mash Burnedead.”
The name settled into the room like a dropped weight. It didn’t echo. It didn’t need to.
There was a visible shift in Father’s gaze. Not surprise. Not shock. But something sharper. More focused.
“The anomaly,” he said.
Domina’s expression tightened immediately. “Don’t call him that.” The response came faster than he expected. Sharper, too.
“Mash,” Domina corrected, more evenly this time. “His name is Mash.”
“Very well,” Father said.
No resistance. No argument. Just… acceptance of the correction. That, more than anything, caught Domina off guard. He didn’t comment on it. Didn’t want to.
“We didn’t exactly start off on good terms,” Domina continued after a moment, his tone leveling out again. “You probably remember that part.”
“I do.”
“Yeah. Thought so.” A faint exhale left him. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a sigh.
“I hated him at first,” Domina admitted. The words were blunt. Unfiltered.
“I didn’t understand him. Didn’t make sense to me, someone with no magic standing in a world built entirely on it.” He shook his head slightly. “It felt… wrong.”
He glanced up again, eyes narrowing just a fraction as he searched for the right words. “Not because he was weak,” he added. “That was obvious even back then, he wasn’t. But because he didn’t fit. And I thought that made him a problem. Something that needed to be corrected. Removed. Fixed.” His jaw tightened slightly. “Sound familiar?”
For a brief moment, neither of them spoke.
“Yes,” Father said.
Domina let out a slow breath. “Yeah… but I was wrong.” The words were simple. Clear. Final. “I didn’t get it back then. I was too… stuck in it.”
He gestured vaguely, as if referring to something larger than the room, larger than either of them.
“The whole system. Strength equals value. Magic equals worth.” A faint, humorless smile tugged at his lips. “Funny thing is… he never cared about any of that. He just… kept going.”
There was something different in his voice now. Softer. Not weak, never that. But steadier. Grounded in something real.
“No matter who stood in his way. No matter what people said about him. He didn’t try to prove them wrong. He just lived like they didn’t matter.”
“Illogical,” Father observed.
Domina huffed softly. “Yeah. It is. Still worked, though. He doesn’t care about blood or power or any of the things you built your entire world around.”
His voice lowered, not in anger, but in something far more difficult to name. “And he’s still stronger than all of it.”
He pushed himself off the wall again, pacing once, not out of tension this time, but out of habit.
“I don’t know exactly when it changed,” he admitted. “There wasn’t some big moment. No dramatic turning point.”
He glanced sideways. “It was gradual. Fights. Conversations. Stupid arguments.” A faint smirk flickered across his face. “A lot of stupid arguments. And eventually, I realized something.”
He stopped walking. Turned slightly. “He wasn’t the one who didn’t fit. I was.” The words didn’t sound bitter. They didn’t sound regretful. Just… honest.
“I was the one trying to force everything into a shape that made sense to me,” he said. “Trying to measure worth the only way I knew how. And he… didn’t let me.”
“And now?” Father asked.
Domina’s expression shifted. Subtly. But unmistakably. “Now?” he repeated. A faint breath left him. “Now he’s…”
He hesitated. Not because he didn’t know. But because saying it out loud, here, carried weight.
“He’s important to me,” he said finally.
“We stayed in contact after everything, didn’t just go our separate ways.” A faint, almost amused exhale. “Not that he’d ever admit it, but he checks in. Makes sure I’m not doing anything ‘weird.’ And… I do the same.”
He looked directly at Father now. Steady. Unflinching.
“I look out for him. Not because he needs it,” Domina added. “He doesn’t.” A faint smirk. “If anything, it’s the other way around. But because I want to.”
That was the difference.
“Define ‘look out for,’” Father said.
Domina rolled his eyes slightly. “Of course you’d ask that.”
He thought for a moment. “It means I show up,” he said simply. “When it matters. And sometimes when it doesn’t.” A faint, quiet breath. “I make sure he’s not carrying everything alone.
“And…” Domina hesitated again, just briefly. “I try to be a good older brother.”
That one landed differently. The air in the room shifted. Sharper. Heavier.
“Brother,” Father repeated.
Domina didn’t back down. Didn’t soften it. Didn’t take it back. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s what he is.”
Silence followed. Longer than before. Denser. Not rejection. Not acceptance. Processing.
“At least, he shares your origin,” Father said.
“Doesn’t matter.”
That was the line. The one that separated who he had been from who he was now. There was no conflict in him as he said it. Just truth.
Father said nothing. But his gaze, for just a fraction of a second, shifted. Not calculating. Not dissecting. Something else. Something quieter. Something… uncertain.
Domina noticed. He didn’t comment on it. Didn’t push. Instead, he exhaled slowly, some of the weight in his chest easing.
“Anyway,” he said, tone lightening just slightly, “he’s doing fine.” A faint smirk. “Still weird. Still obsessed with cream puffs. But… yeah.” He glanced away briefly, then back again. “I’m glad he’s around.”
For a while, neither of them spoke. Then Domina exhaled quietly, rolling one shoulder as if easing tension he hadn’t realized was still there.
“That’s not the only thing that changed,” he said.
Father remained still, but attentive. Always attentive. “You continued forming connections,” he observed.
Domina huffed. “Yeah. You could say that. I didn’t go through Walkis alone.”
The name itself, Walkis, carried weight. Memories. Competition. Pressure. Survival.
“I told you I didn’t go into the Bureau,” Domina continued. “But that doesn’t mean I cut ties with everyone.” A small smirk flickered across his face. “Some of them wouldn’t let me, even if I tried.”
“Specify,” Father said.
Domina shook his head faintly, but there was no real irritation in it anymore. “You’d hate them,” he said. “…Actually, no. That’s not true. You wouldn’t get them.”
“Incorrect,” Father replied calmly. “I understand all variables presented to me.”
Domina snorted. “Yeah? Let’s test that.”
He shifted his stance, leaning lightly against the wall again, but this time, it felt less like keeping distance and more like settling into the conversation.
“Let’s start with Lévis.” The name came out naturally. No hesitation. No edge.
“He was exactly what you’d expect from Walkis,” Domina said. “Strong. Ruthless. Obsessed with winning. Back then, he was… intense.” That was putting it lightly.
“He pushed harder than anyone else,” Domina continued. “Didn’t matter who it was, opponent, teammate, himself.” He folded his arms. “If there was a limit, he treated it like something that needed to be broken.”
“Effective,” Father noted.
“Yeah,” Domina admitted. “It was.” He smiled. “It still is.” He glanced slightly to the side, expression shifting, just a fraction softer. “But that’s not all he is.”
“He had reasons,” Domina added. “For the way he was. You’d probably call them irrelevant.”
“In most cases, they are.”
“Yeah,” Domina said quietly. “I figured.”
“Then there’s Lovie.” The contrast was immediate, even in the way Domina said the name.
“He’s Lévis’ twin,” Domina said. “But completely different.”
A faint breath of something almost like amusement escaped him. “Calmer. Kinder. The kind of person who notices things before they become problems.”
“Inferior disposition,” Father said.
Domina’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Wrong.” The word came out firm. Not loud. Not aggressive. But final.
“It’s strength,” he continued. “Just not the kind you care about. He held things together more times than anyone realized,” Domina said.
“Especially when Lévis… couldn’t.” He didn’t elaborate. Didn’t need to.
Domina shifted again, letting the weight pass before continuing.
“Charles is next.” A faint smirk tugged at his lips.
“You’d like his magic,” Domina said. “Portals. Efficient. Precise. No wasted movement. Him, though? Not so much.”
“Inconsistent?” Father asked.
“Very.” Domina let out a quiet breath that almost turned into a laugh. “He’s capable of incredible control one second, and completely loses focus the next. Driven by emotion. Mostly centered around his mother.”
“Inherent instability,” Father concluded.
“Yeah,” Domina said. “And yet…” He shrugged slightly. “...when it matters, he shows up.”
That phrase again. Domina didn’t acknowledge the repetition.
“Galuf,” he continued, voice shifting slightly. A more grounded tone.
“He’s straightforward,” Domina said. “What you see is what you get. Loud. Aggressive. Always looking for a fight.”
“Predictable.”
“Yeah. But reliable,” Domina added. “He doesn’t overthink things, doesn’t second-guess. If he says he’s going to do something, he does it. Sometimes that’s more useful than anything else.”
“In limited scenarios,” Father replied.
Domina smirked faintly. “Sure.”
He shifted again. “Kenny.” This time, the smirk came easier.
“You wouldn’t take him seriously,” Domina said immediately.
“Explain.”
“He jokes around constantly,” Domina said. “Doesn’t act like anything matters. Most people assume that means he’s not paying attention.”
“They’re wrong. He sees more than he lets on,” Domina continued. “Chooses when to act. When to hold back.” A faint breath. “When to stop pretending.”
“Incongruent behavioral masking,” Father said.
“Or,” Domina countered, “he just doesn’t feel the need to prove himself every second.”
Domina let that sit before moving on.
“And finally, Malcolm.” His tone changed again. Not softer. Not sharper. Just… different.
“He’s probably the hardest to explain,” Domina admitted.
“In what regard?”
“He doesn’t think like most people,” Domina said. “Not in a bad way, just… differently. He sees patterns. Systems. Connections most people miss. Sometimes it’s unsettling.”
“Useful.”
“Very.”
Silence settled again. But it wasn’t empty. It was… full.
Domina pushed himself off the wall once more, taking a few slow steps across the room before stopping again, not as far this time.
“We stayed in touch,” he said. “All of us.” That, more than anything else he’d said about them, felt significant.
“Even after Walkis,” Domina continued. “Even when we went in different directions.” He shrugged slightly. “Doesn’t matter how busy things get. Someone always reaches out.” A faint, almost absent smile touched his lips. “Arguments. Training sessions. Random visits. It’s loud, it’s annoying, and… it’s good.”
The words settled into the room with quiet certainty.
Father remained silent. But his gaze wasn’t dismissive. Wasn’t uninterested. It was… fixed. Processing.
“You maintain multiple sustained interpersonal bonds,” he said at last.
Domina snorted. “That’s the most clinical way you could’ve said that… but yes,” he added simply.
“Why?” The question came without judgment. Without mockery. Just curiosity.
Domina blinked once. “Because I want to,” he said. “And because they matter.”
That answer didn’t waver. Didn’t soften. Didn’t try to justify itself further. It just… was.
And for the first time since this conversation began, there was nothing defensive in it at all. Only certainty.
Domina shifted slightly, glancing toward the door again before looking back.
“There’s one more thing,” he said. “This part…” He let out a quiet breath. “…you’re probably not going to like.”
Father didn’t react. “State it.”
Domina huffed softly. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Figured.”
For the first time since entering the room, there was the slightest hint of tension returning to his posture. Not fear. Not doubt. But something heavier. More personal.
“This part,” he said slowly, “isn’t about work. Or training. Or anything like that.”
Father remained still, his gaze fixed, unwavering. “Then it is personal,” he replied.
Domina let out a faint breath. “Yeah,” he said. “It is.”
Domina hesitated longer than a few seconds. Not because he was unsure. But because this wasn’t just information. This was something that meant something.
“It involves Lévis,” he said at last.
There it was. The name settled between them. Different this time. Heavier than before.
“I assumed continued association,” Father said.
Domina huffed quietly. “Yeah. You could call it that.”
He ran a hand through his hair again, slower this time, grounding himself. “We didn’t just stay in contact,” he continued. “We worked together for a while. Same missions. Same training circuits…” A faint smirk flickered. “…Same arguments.”
“Increased proximity often results in conflict,” Father noted.
“And sometimes something else,” Domina replied. “We got close, closer than I expected, actually.”
Father did not interrupt. Did not question. So Domina continued.
“It wasn’t immediate,” he said. “Actually… it was the opposite.” A faint, almost amused exhale. “We clashed. Constantly.”
A step. Another. Not pacing, just shifting, as if the memory itself had movement.
“Different ways of thinking. Different priorities. Different damage.” That word lingered. Unspoken context filling the space around it.
“But over time,” Domina said, quieter now, “it stopped being about winning arguments.” He glanced slightly to the side. “And started being about understanding them.”
“He’s not easy to understand, neither am I. But we didn’t walk away.”
That was the important part.
“We stayed,” he said simply.
Father’s gaze sharpened, just slightly. “Continuation despite friction,” he observed.
Domina nodded faintly. “Yes. Exactly that.”
Then he exhaled. Slow. Measured. “So… we got married.”
The words landed. No build-up. No dramatics. Just truth.
Silence followed. Longer than any before it.
For the first time, there was a delay in Father’s response. Not long. But noticeable. “Define,” he said.
Domina blinked once. Then let out a short, incredulous breath. “Seriously? You know what marriage is,” Domina said.
“I am aware of the formal construct,” Father replied. “Clarify its relevance.”
Domina stared at him for a moment. Then shook his head slightly. “Right,” he muttered. “Of course that’s your angle.” He straightened a bit, arms folding again, not defensive, just steady. “It means we chose each other,” he said. Not for power. Not for advantage. Just because we wanted to. And because… we love each other.”
That was the part Father didn’t understand.
“Inefficient,” he said at last.
Domina didn’t react immediately. Didn’t snap back. Didn’t argue. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “But it works… And it’s beautiful. To love. To be loved… in return for nothing.”
Domina took a breath. “But that’s not the part I thought you wouldn’t like,” he added.
“Continue,” Father said.
Domina’s posture changed slightly. Not tense. Not guarded. But heavier.
“We made another decision,” he said. “One that… took longer. We thought about it. A lot. We argued about it.” A faint, almost tired exhale. “More than once.”
Then, Domina looked directly at him. Clear. Steady. “We’re adopting a child.”
The words didn’t echo. They didn’t need to. They hit.
For the first time, there was a visible break in Father’s composure. Small. Subtle. But undeniable.
His gaze sharpened. Not in calculation. Not in analysis. In something else.
“Explain,” he said. But the word lacked its usual precision.
Domina didn’t hesitate this time. “There’s a kid,” he said. “No family. No support. No safe place.”
“Also, strong potential.” That part was deliberate. He knew who he was talking to. “But that’s not why,” Domina added immediately.
“We’re not doing this to create something. We’re doing it to raise someone. To give them something we didn’t have. Choice. And love. Unconditional.”
Domina’s voice lowered slightly. Not weaker. Just… more grounded. “We’re going to do it right,” he said. “Or at least… better.”
That word hung there. Sharp. Unavoidable. Better than what? No one said it. They didn’t need to.
“Define ‘right,’” Father said.
Domina held his gaze. “It means they’re not a tool. They’re not a project. They’re not something to be perfected. It means they get to be a kid. A human. Maybe a happy person someday.”
That was the line that cut deeper than anything else he’d said.
Father had no immediate response. No correction. No dismissal. No analysis. Just stillness.
Domina watched him. Didn’t speak. Didn’t push. He didn’t need to. Because this had landed exactly where it needed to.
“You believe this is an improvement,” Father said at last.
Domina didn’t hesitate. “I know it is. And I’m going to prove it.”
He exhaled slowly. “That’s my life now,” he said. “Or at least… the important parts.”
For a long time, nothing moved. No sound beyond the faint hum of the sealing magic embedded in the walls. No shift in posture. No immediate reply. Just silence.
Domina didn’t try to fill it. For once, he let it exist. Everything that needed to be said… had been said. Or at least, enough of it.
Father remained seated, hands still resting lightly on his knees, gaze fixed somewhere just past Domina, not unfocused, but distant.
“You have constructed an existence,” Father said at last. The words came measured. Carefully placed.
Domina let out a quiet breath. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess I have.”
“It deviates from optimal design,” Father continued. Of course it did.
Domina huffed softly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah,” he repeated. “You’ve made that pretty clear.”
“And yet,” Father added.
That made Domina’s expression shift. Just slightly. “And yet?” he prompted.
“It is… stable.”
Domina blinked once. That was not what he expected. A quiet exhale escaped him. “I’ll take that,” he muttered.
The faint outline of the barrier shimmered in the corner of his vision, steady and unyielding.
Time.
He’d been here longer than he planned.
“I should go,” he said. The words didn’t carry reluctance. But they weren’t empty, either.
Domina pushed himself off the wall fully this time, standing straight, not guarded, not tense, just present.
“I’m not going to make this a habit,” he added, almost casually. “Like I said earlier. Don’t expect regular visits.”
“I do not,” Father replied.
“Good… But I might come back,” Domina said. That slipped out quieter than the rest.
“I will account for that possibility.”
Domina let out a faint breath that almost resembled a laugh. “Yeah,” he said. “I figured you would.”
He turned slightly then, angling his body toward the door. Not leaving yet. But closer to it. Closer to the end of this.
“Domina…”
He stopped. That alone was unexpected. Slowly, he turned his head back. Not fully. Just enough.
“What?” he asked.
“You have altered your parameters,” Father said.
Domina frowned slightly. “That’s a weird way to put it.”
“It is accurate.”
“Yeah,” Domina admitted. “I guess I have.”
“The outcome,” Father continued slowly, “remains undetermined.”
Domina turned a little more now, enough to fully face him again. “That’s kind of the point,” he said. “You don’t get to know everything in advance. You just… live it.”
“You mentioned a child,” Father said.
“Yeah.”
“What is their designation?”
Domina blinked.
“Their name,” Father corrected.
“They don’t have one. We’re adopting a baby… and we haven’t decided yet. We’re still thinking about it.”
“Choose carefully,” Father said.
Domina frowned slightly. “That’s… surprisingly normal advice.”
“Names define expectation. You know it, right, Domina?” Father continued.
Domina stared at him for a second. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. And for some reason, he really meant it.
“Alright,” he said. “I’m really going now.”
No response.
He turned fully this time, stepping toward the door. One step. Then another. The barrier shimmered faintly as he approached, recognizing his presence. His hand lifted slightly…
“Domina…”
He stopped again. Didn’t turn this time.
“What?”
“Your conclusion,” Father said, “may be incorrect.”
Domina let out a quiet breath. “Wouldn’t be the first time,” he replied.
“But,” Father continued. That word again. That hesitation. That deviation from certainty. “…If it is not…”
Domina turned his head slightly, just enough to glance back. “Then what?” he asked.
And for the first time, Father did something truly unexpected. He did not complete the thought. He did not analyze. He did not conclude. Instead...
“Return.” The word was quiet. Unadorned. But unmistakable.
Domina froze. Not because of the command. Not because of the tone. But because that wasn’t a calculation. That wasn’t strategy. That wasn’t control. That was… request. Barely formed. Barely understood. But real.
Domina leaned back slightly, exhaling through his nose. “You know, I didn’t come here to argue, or to prove anything.”
His gaze returned to father, steady and unflinching. “I came to tell you something.”
Father watched him, silent.
Domina’s expression didn’t change, but something in it settled, like a decision finally reaching its end.
“I’m not yours anymore. I’m not your weapon. Not your experiment. Not your son in the way you meant it. I chose my own life… and it’s a good one. I learned what you didn’t teach me. I have people I care about. People who…” He stopped, searching for the right word, and almost seemed annoyed when he found it. “...who care about me.”
Silence followed. Long enough that it might have been uncomfortable, once. Not anymore.
“I see,” Father said at last. But again, he didn’t. Not fully. Maybe not ever.
Domina stood, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve. “I’ll probably come back someday,” he added. “Not for you. Not really. But to make sure this is still real.”
He turned toward the door, then paused. “Oh, and one more thing.” A brief glance over his shoulder. “I’m happy.”
This time, there was no pause in Father’s reaction. But there was something else. Something smaller. Something unfamiliar. Domina didn’t stay to figure out what it was.
The door opened. The hum of the prison swallowed him again. And for the first time, he didn’t feel like he was leaving something behind. He felt like he already had.
Without looking back again, Domina walked out of the cell. Behind him, the door closed with the same quiet click as before.
And inside, for the first time in years, Innocent Zero did not return immediately to stillness. His gaze lingered on the space where Domina had stood. Unmoving. Unresolved. And just slightly, changed.