Chapter 6
But how could she trust a man who had ignored his former wife and child all this time, only now deciding to seek them out?
If only Ithiel was still alive, at least then Solita could’ve felt some reassurance. But to let this child go alone—no. That, she couldn’t do.
Calliope looked up at her, eyes calm and resolute in a way Solita had never seen before.
She had helped raise Calliope alongside Ithiel since the girl was young. So, it didn’t take much for Solita to understand what those eyes meant.
Her face twisted with grief, and she held her breath.
Then, in a quiet, sorrowful voice, she murmured,
“So… you’ve already made up your mind.”
It was the first time Solita had cried since Ithiel’s funeral. She had never allowed herself to cry in front of the child, believing that a grown woman’s tears would only fill Calliope with fear and uncertainty. No matter how hard things got, she had always smiled—for her.
But today, she cried for Calliope.
“You can always come back. Don’t forget that, okay?”
Calliope smiled brightly at her—just like the past—and then leaned in close to whisper so only Solita could hear:
“No.”
To her beloved Solita, the one who had cared for her with warmth and love.
“Please don’t wait for me.”
Because Calliope believed this was the only way to protect her.
She knew the storm that lay ahead—how it would shake her and break her—and she wouldn’t drag Solita into that.
“Tell Dora I said goodbye.”
With that final whisper, Calliope pulled away and turned to face Jack with a clear, untroubled expression.
“Shall we go, then? I don’t like dragging things out.”
“Very well,” Jack replied, slightly bewildered by the strange mood between the two.
Still unsure what had passed between them, he opened the carriage door. Considering how unusual the situation was, he figured it would be best to bring her directly to the Marquess.
Calliope approached the carriage with steady steps, but then suddenly turned and held out her hand to Jack.
He gave a short, dry chuckle, half-mocking—this little girl, pretending to act like a noble lady just because she’d seen one once or twice.
“Here you are, young lady.”
Jack extended his hand politely, prepared to help her aboard.
But instead, Calliope casually plucked the silver button from his sleeve with one swift tug.
“Wait—hey!”
Ignoring his bewildered face, she calmly pressed the button into Solita’s hand.
It would’ve been nicer if it were gold, but this would do.
“Let’s go now.”
Calliope stepped into the carriage without another word.
Jack glanced between the silver button in Solita’s hand and the girl now seated inside. He clicked his tongue and followed after her.
He figured the child had grown attached to the woman. But in his mind, nobles and commoners were never meant to live together.
Once the door shut behind him, Jack gave the signal, and the coachman started moving without hesitation.
The ornate interior of the carriage might have fascinated most children—but Calliope sat still, her gaze lowered, quiet as could be.
Jack watched her for a moment, then spoke.
“Once you’re formally registered into the Marquess’s household, those estates and properties will seem like nothing compared to what you’ll have access to.”
“And?”
“Pardon?”
“Will it be truly mine?”
The girl who had smiled so sweetly at the common woman now spoke in a cold, sharp voice that cut through the air.
Jack glanced toward the window, wondering if it had been left open. It suddenly felt chilly.
“Does that distinction even matter?”
“Sir Jack Beckham.”
Calliope furrowed her brow, deliberately showing her irritation.
“If I didn’t ask, I’d prefer you not speak.”
Though it was phrased as a “request,” her tone made it feel like a command. And Jack, sensing that the girl would one day be his mistress, wisely held his tongue.
There was nothing to be gained from offending her now.
He quietly reached toward his sleeve, brushing the spot where the silver button used to be.
While he mourned the loss of a button, Calliope rested her elbow on the window frame and stared outside, lost in thought.
She had to return to the household. She had to reclaim her place.
If she wanted to help Isaac—who, despite being the second son of a count, was treated worse than a bastard child—then this was the only way.
Being sent back to this point in time was a blessing.
The younger he was, the easier it would be to make sure he belonged only to her.
Calliope smiled faintly without even realizing it.
Seeing her expression, Jack instinctively flinched.
“Are you feeling unwell?”
“Not at all.”
She turned her gaze out the window once more.
“I already know how to get rid of Ditron Anastas. That part is fine. But…”
What truly worried her was how to naturally blend in with the rest of the family.
Everything she sought to accomplish through her family was nothing more than a stepping stone for a single goal: to ensure that the man who once abandoned her wouldn’t even think of doing so again in this life.
She was direct, obsessive, and foolish—but her heart was full of one determination: to take back what she had once lost.
“Mother… you told me to survive, didn’t you?”
She intended to.
But survival didn’t mean just breathing.
She had no plans to merely exist. She needed the strength to protect him—and to make sure he could never betray her again. That was her top priority now.
“Of course, the biggest problem is that damn prophecy… the one about the Hero who defeats the Demon King.”
Calliope began to organize the tangled thoughts that had filled her mind since she returned to the past. The gently rocking carriage, quiet with only the occasional creak, was perfect for reflection.
“The Demon King comes back in seven years. Isaac leaves with the Saint a year after that.”
After receiving the prophecy of the Demon King’s resurrection, the Empire’s Saint followed divine guidance, discovered a 500-year-old record, and chose three heroes. The exact details, however, were unknown.
“Only the Imperial Temple and the Saint know the full contents of that prophecy and the record.”
She tapped her chin with her finger and turned her gaze to the side.
“The Saint must’ve looked up the record after the prophecy because it lacked detail. Prophecies are usually vague anyway.”
Calliope bit the nail she’d been tapping her chin with. A faint, dull click rang out as her teeth met the nail.
“Accessing that record is impossible. Only royalty and high-ranking priests of the Imperial Temple can see it. But if I could just figure out what’s in it, maybe I could prevent Isaac from being chosen.”
Out of the three heroes who went to defeat the Demon King, only Isaac had died.
Then maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t meant to be a true hero. Maybe he died because he wasn’t.
Of course, that was only her desperate hope—closer to fantasy than reality.
After announcing the prophecy, the Saint had come straight to this kingdom and met Isaac at the welcome banquet. As far as Calliope remembered, their first meeting hadn’t been particularly remarkable.
“But that’s when the Saint began to show interest in Isaac.”
The Saint had clearly seen something in him—something that matched the signs passed down in the old records of heroes.
“If I just knew what those signs were… I might be able to keep her from noticing him.”
Even so, a bigger problem remained.
The Demon King’s return was a disaster waiting to happen. And if the Saint failed—then the world would fall.
If Isaac really was the Hero, and he wasn’t there… the world could end.
“A way to stop the Demon King. A way to save him. Can I find both?”
Calliope let out a slow breath and gently placed her bitten fingers on her lap.
“And somehow… a way for the two of us to be together again.”
But right now, she didn’t have enough information.
Once she was officially adopted into the Marquis’ family, she would settle in and begin researching the prophecy and the Demon King through imperial records.
“…I’ll never give up.”
She whispered the words softly.
Across from her, Beckham gave a dry response.
“Should I make sure the Marquis knows how very interested you are in his fortune?”
“Stay quiet, before I take anything else from you.”
“…Yes, ma’am.”
Sighing at Beckham’s sulky reply, Calliope looked out the carriage window.
The floating white clouds reminded her of him—the man who had left her and died.
She pictured his small shoulders, now likely returned to a time she didn’t know.
The man who made her who she was—and broke her just the same—had no right to be by anyone else’s side. Her red eyes flickered with a hint of blue. She whispered soundlessly:
“I turned my back on the world I hated and came back through time. So, this time, you belong to me. You have to.”
Calliope silently repeated his name, again and again, before clenching her teeth as if to crush it.
“If there’s a reason, I woke up in this life again… it must be you.”
Because surely, even a god who wasn’t on her side had answered this wretched obsession.
“So You Lived Like a Commoner, Huh?”
The carriage carrying Beckham and Calliope drew attention wherever it went. The Marquisate wasn’t the wealthiest family in the kingdom, but it was close—and their carriage gleamed, even on rainy days.
One day before arriving in the capital, they stopped in the largest town nearby. As soon as the carriage halted, Beckham leapt out like a man escaping danger. The moment his feet hit the ground, he let out a deep, dramatic sigh.
Being in that tiny space with that small girl had felt like standing in the moments right before his master exploded in anger.
In other words—it had been suffocating.
“Sir Beckham.”
Just as he finished disguising his sigh as a deep breath, Calliope stood at the carriage door and held out her hand. Beckham, confused, reached out with the hand that still had its button intact. Was she planning to rip this one off too?
Seeing the suspicion in his eyes, Calliope gave a short scoff, grabbed his hand firmly, and stepped down from the carriage. A faint blush spread across Beckham’s face.
“Well, this was my fault… I won’t say anything.”
Though she hadn’t received formal training, her noble status was undeniable. And now that she would soon be officially part of the family, it was only natural to escort her out of the carriage.
Still, when she first reached out her hand, the memory of her tearing off his button had been so vivid that it flashed through his mind before anything else.
Calliope quietly watched the faint red creeping up the tips of his ears before turning her head away.