Klaus tucked Elaria back into Elisabeth's arms as evening shadows stretched across the garden. The afternoon had passed in a blur of simple moments—feeding his sister, listening to his mother's stories about estate life during his absence, sharing quiet observations about how their family had changed and grown.

"Stay tonight," Elisabeth said. It wasn't quite a request, wasn't quite a command. "Your old room is exactly as you left it."

Klaus hesitated. The Eastern Tower had become his sanctuary, a place where his enhanced nature felt natural rather than overwhelming. But something in his mother's tone made the decision for him.

"I'd like that."

His childhood bedroom felt smaller than memory suggested, though nothing had actually changed. The same wooden desk where he'd struggled through lessons. The same narrow bed where he'd dreamed of adventures beyond estate walls. The same window that looked out over gardens where he'd first practiced sword forms with desperate determination.

Klaus ran his fingers along the desk's surface, finding grooves worn by years of frustrated studying. He'd carved most of them himself during particularly difficult magical theory sessions—tiny rebellions against lessons that never seemed to apply to his cursed mana channels.

A knock at the door interrupted his reminiscing.

"Come in."

Elisabeth entered carrying a tea service, moving with quiet grace that reminded Klaus why his father had fallen for an exiled princess. Even in simple evening clothes, she possessed elegance that spoke to nobility earned rather than inherited.

"Thought you might want something warm before sleep," she said, setting the tray on his old desk. "Chamomile and honey. You used to love this when you were small."

Klaus accepted the cup, inhaling steam that carried memories of childhood comfort. "I remember. You'd make it whenever I had nightmares about the curse."

"You don't have nightmares anymore."

It wasn't a question. Elisabeth had always been perceptive about her children's emotional states, reading subtle signs that others missed entirely.

"No," Klaus confirmed. "Different problems now, but they don't visit me in dreams."

They sat in comfortable silence, sharing tea while evening deepened outside his window. Klaus found himself studying his mother's face in lamplight, noting new lines around her eyes that spoke to stress endured during his absence.

"I'm sorry I stayed away so long," he said quietly.

"You needed time to figure out who you were. I understood that." Elisabeth sipped her tea thoughtfully. "Though I'll admit there were moments I worried you might decide you weren't our Klaus anymore."

"Never." The word came out sharper than Klaus intended, carrying conviction that surprised him with its intensity. "Whatever else I've become, I'm still your son. Still Elaria's brother. That's never changing."

Elisabeth smiled, and Klaus realized how much tension she'd been holding without showing it.

"Good," she said simply. "Because that little girl adores you already, and I refuse to explain to her why her brother decided he was too important for family visits."

Klaus laughed, feeling lightness he hadn't experienced in weeks. "Threatening me with sibling guilt? That's playing dirty."

"I'm a mother. Playing dirty is part of the job description."

They talked until Elisabeth's yawns became too frequent to ignore. Klaus walked her to the door, accepting a goodnight embrace that reminded him how much he'd missed simple physical affection uncomplicated by cosmic significance.

Alone in his childhood room, Klaus prepared for sleep with ritualistic care. He folded his clothes precisely, arranged tomorrow's outfit with deliberate attention to detail, performed evening hygiene with methodical thoroughness that had nothing to do with enhanced capabilities and everything to do with finding comfort in familiar routines.

The narrow bed accepted his transformed frame with creaking protest that made Klaus smile. His enhanced physiology could have allowed him to sleep standing up if necessary, yet lying in bed where he'd spent thousands of childhood nights felt more restorative than any supernatural recovery technique.

Sleep came easily, bringing dreams that felt genuinely his own rather than memories leaked from fabricated incarnations. He dreamed of sword practice in the garden, of sharing meals with family, of ordinary moments that had seemed mundane at the time but now felt precious beyond measure.

Klaus woke to morning sunlight and sounds of estate life beginning daily routines. Servants moved through hallways with purposeful efficiency, gardens came alive with birdsong, and somewhere in the distance he could hear workers discussing repairs to damaged sections of the main estate.

He dressed slowly, savoring process of putting on clothes in room where he'd performed same ritual countless times before transcendent power had complicated such simple acts. The familiar motions grounded him in continuity that transcended supernatural transformation.

Breakfast with Elisabeth and Elaria felt like celebration of normalcy. His mother shared estate gossip with humor that reminded Klaus how much he enjoyed her sharp observations about court politics. Elaria demonstrated new facial expressions that suggested personality already developing beyond typical infant limitations.

"She's going to be trouble," Klaus observed as his sister grabbed his finger with grip that spoke to enhanced strength inherited through bloodline.

"Good," Elisabeth replied with satisfaction. "Lionhart women are supposed to be formidable. Keeps the men in line."

Klaus spent morning exploring estate grounds he'd avoided during his confused post-transformation period. Gardens where he'd trained. Courtyards where he'd practiced magic despite his limitations. Paths he'd walked thousands of times without appreciating their simple beauty.

Everything looked different now—not because the places had changed, but because his relationship to them had evolved. These weren't just locations where a cursed child had struggled against limitations. They were foundations where Klaus Lionhart had been shaped into person capable of transcending those limitations while remaining fundamentally himself.

After lunch, Klaus found himself reluctant to leave despite knowing the Eastern Tower awaited his return. The afternoon stretched pleasantly as he helped Elisabeth with minor estate matters, played with Elaria, and simply existed as family member rather than cosmic entity bearing mysterious significance.

But eventually, duty called. Klaus had responsibilities that extended beyond personal comfort, challenges that required capabilities only his enhanced state could address. The world wouldn't pause for family visits, no matter how restorative they proved.

"I should go," Klaus said as shadows began lengthening toward evening.

Elisabeth nodded without protest. She understood that his nature demanded engagement with forces beyond domestic tranquility, just as she'd accepted that her own Beast Art heritage sometimes required responses that transcended normal human limitations.

"Come back soon," she said, embracing him with strength that reminded Klaus where his own determination had originated. "And not because cosmic forces demand it. Because we miss you."

Klaus walked toward estate's main grounds with steps that felt lighter despite unchanged gravitational forces. The time with family had restored something he hadn't realized he'd been missing—connection to essential humanity that made his enhanced capabilities meaningful rather than merely impressive.

Yet the reunion had also reminded Klaus of what he was fighting to protect. Not abstract concepts like dimensional stability or cosmic balance, but specific people whose love made existence worthwhile beyond accumulation of power. His mother's wisdom, his sister's potential, his father's quiet determination—these were treasures worth defending against any threat.

Klaus paused at the boundary between annex grounds and main estate, looking back at building that housed people who knew him simply as beloved family member. The sight strengthened his resolve while clarifying priorities that had sometimes seemed unclear amid cosmic complexities.

He had work to do. Mysteries to unravel, challenges to face, responsibilities that demanded capabilities only his transcendent state could provide. But now he remembered why such work mattered beyond personal development or universal significance.

Klaus turned toward the Eastern Tower with purpose that had been refined by reminder of what made victory worth achieving. The cosmic forces arrayed against him were formidable, the challenges ahead uncertain, but he possessed advantage they couldn't counter—genuine human connections that provided motivation transcending mere survival or dominance.

Standing in afternoon sunlight that painted estate grounds with golden warmth, Klaus felt certainty crystallize about next steps in journey toward understanding his true nature and purpose. He had power, he had knowledge, he had family worth protecting.

Now he needed ally who had been dormant too long.

"It's time to awaken an old friend," Klaus murmured, thinking of consciousness that had once resided in blade fragment, entity that had taught him techniques predating current magical understanding.

It was time to call on Greed.