Chapter 440: Heartattack = Devestating Earthquake

In a rather large mansion on the outskirts of the main city, nestled among sprawling estates and beautiful gardens that stretched for acres, peace reigned.

The mansion had a comfortable, homely vibe to it—warm lights in the windows, well-tended flower beds, the kind of place where generations of family had gathered for holidays and celebrations.

It was far enough from the city to be quiet, close enough to be convenient, and possessed an aura of calm that had settled into its very walls over decades of existence.

But tonight, there was no peace.

Nadia paced from one side of the room to the other, her footsteps measured but restless.

She had just finished her work and returned home, but instead of doing what anyone else would do—relaxing, watching television, perhaps preparing a meal—she was consumed by something far more pressing and her face was etched with concern.

Or rather, as close to concern as Nadia’s face could get.

She had always struggled to show emotions; her features were naturally stiff, her expressions muted.

But to anyone who truly knew her—the signs were there.

Her eyes were darker than usual, shadowed with worry.

Her lips were curled at an almost imperceptible angle, a subtle downturn that spoke of deep unease.

This was all because she had been trying to reach her daughter for hours, but she got nothing in respons.

Message after message, sent into the void.

Normally, she and Astrid were locked in a kind of silent war—a stalemate of distance and unspoken grievances.

They didn’t speak casually.

When they did communicate, it was brief, functional, stripped of warmth.

But Nadia still needed to know her daughter was safe.

So she would send messages, always punctuated with emojis—her way of expressing what her face couldn’t—asking where Astrid was, if she was alright.

And Astrid would always reply. A curt "yes." A simple "no." A perfunctory "I’m alright." Enough to acknowledge, enough to reassure, but never more than that.

But tonight?

Nothing.

No replies. No acknowledgment. No sign that her daughter had even seen her messages.

Nadia checked her phone again. Nothing.

She sent another message. Waited. Nothing.

She tried a voice note. Nothing.

Her pacing grew more agitated.

It was late. Very late. Astrid always replied, even if the reply was cold.

And she always came home on time, even if she refused to speak once she arrived. This was not like her.

Nadia’s mind raced through possibilities.

She knew, logically, that her daughter was one of the most powerful beings in existence—a SSS-Class Blessed, someone who could command the elements themselves.

There was little in this world that could threaten her.

But logic had nothing to do with being a mother.

It didn’t matter that Astrid could level mountains with a flick of her tails.

It didn’t matter that she commanded armies and held authority over entire divisions.

She could be immortal, invincible, untouchable—and Nadia would still worry.

That was what mothers did.

She paused by the window, staring out into the darkness.

Should she go to the academy herself? Storm into that building and demand to see her daughter?

She had every right—she was her mother, after all.

But Astrid would hate that.

Would see it as an intrusion, a violation of the careful distance she had constructed between them.

Perhaps she should call Mika.

He would know where Astrid was. He always seemed to know these things.

But Mika wasn’t responding either.

Nadia’s hands tightened around her phone.

She was more stressed now than she had been during any diplomatic crisis, any world-shaking negotiation.

This was her daughter. Her baby. Her little fox.

But just then—

Her phone rang.

Nadia’s heart lurched. She grabbed it, nearly dropping it in her haste, and relief flooded through her when she saw the title on the screen.

♡ My Darling Fox ♡

She answered immediately, her voice coming out faster than usual, more urgent.

"Astrid? Honey, are you alright? Are you fine? Where are you? Mama’s worried, you know. She’s worried about how you are."

"Just tell me and I’ll come pick you up!"

She waited, breath held, for her daughter’s voice.

But what came instead made her blood run cold.

A voice on the other end—deep, gravelly, unfamiliar.

A voice that dripped with menace.

"I’ve got your daughter. If you want her back, come to your doorstep. Now."

Click.

The line went dead.

Nadia stood frozen, phone pressed to her ear, staring at nothing.

For one long, terrible moment, she couldn’t comprehend what she had just heard.

The words didn’t make sense. They couldn’t make sense.

Someone had her daughter.

Someone was threatening her baby.

Her little fox.

The daughter she had already lost once—had already watched disappear into a vortex, had already spent weeks searching for, had already nearly destroyed the world in her grief—

It was happening again.

And something inside her snapped.

Boom!

A silver aura exploded from her body, filling the room with blinding light.

Energy crackled through the air, raw and uncontrolled, as she channeled the very power of the world into herself.

The mansion trembled. The walls shook. The windows rattled in their frames.

Outside, the estate groaned. Trees swayed. The ground beneath her feet quivered.

Her face remained mostly expressionless—it always did—but her eyes...her eyes burned with a fury that transcended any physical expression.

They were cold and hot at once, ancient and immediate, the eyes of a mother who had been told her child was in danger.

She didn’t think.

She didn’t plan.

She didn’t consider negotiation or diplomacy or any of the measured responses that had defined her career.

She moved.

In an instant, she was out the door, streaking toward the front entrance with speed that should have been impossible.

Her hand was raised, already gathering power, already preparing to annihilate whoever dared threaten her family.

She would tear them apart. Piece by piece. She would reduce them to molecules, to atoms, to nothingness.

And if there was anyone behind them—anyone who had helped, anyone who had conspired, anyone who had even thought about hurting her daughter—she would destroy them too.

She reached the door. Threw it open with enough force to rip it from its hinges.

Her arm came down, power crackling around her fist, ready to strike—

And then she stopped.

Her hand hung in the air, frozen inches from its target.

The power around her flickered, sputtered, and died.

Her mouth fell open.

Her eyes were trembling in confusion.

All the fury, all the rage, all the terrible, consuming power—it drained away in an instant, replaced by something she couldn’t name.

Because the person standing on her doorstep was not a kidnapper.

It was...

"...Mika?"

Yes, Mika.

Her baby boy.

He stood there with a casual smile on his face, looking up at her with those knowing eyes.

And on his back, cradled against his shoulder, sleeping peacefully without a care in the world—

Was Astrid.

Completely unharmed. Perfectly safe. So relaxed that she was drooling slightly on Mika’s shirt, her tails draped around him like a blanket, her face soft and peaceful in sleep.

Nadia stared.

Mika stared back.

The silence stretched between them, filled only by the distant sound of wind through the trees.

Finally, Mika broke it.

"Wow, Nadia. I can’t believe you showed so many emotions just now. Such a range of feelings on your face."

He tilted his head, genuinely impressed.

"You must have been really pissed to hear a threat like that, huh?"

He glanced at the sleeping Astrid on his back, a fond smile crossing his face.

"Your daughter over here probably would have really appreciated how much her mother cared for her."

"To see you showing emotions like that—which are normally impossible for you to express would have meant a lot to her."

But even as he spoke casually, Nadia was still frozen.

Her mind was struggling to catch up.

One moment, she had been preparing to annihilate whoever had threatened her daughter.

The next, her son was standing on her doorstep with that daughter sleeping peacefully on his back.

It was like falling from hell to heaven in a matter of seconds.

She finally managed to find her voice.

"Mika...was it you? Are you the one who called me just now?"

Mika’s smile widened. He held up a phone—Astrid’s phone—and gave it a little shake.

"Yep. It wasn’t even that hard, really. Astrid still hasn’t changed her old password. She still keeps it as my birthday. So it was pretty easy to get in and make a call to you."

Nadia stared at the phone. At him. At her sleeping daughter.

"Why?"

The word came out before she could stop it.

"Why would you do such a thing? You know how scared I was. You know what I—what I went through before. You know what happened when—"

She couldn’t finish the sentence.

Mika’s expression softened.

"I just thought that after being stiff and not moving for so long, your facial muscles must be struggling quite a bit."

He smiled, entirely unrepentant.

"So I decided to do something that would definitely make you react. Just a prank. Sorry about that."

Nadia felt something crack inside her.

All that fear, all that panic, all that terrible, suffocating dread—and it had been a prank.

A joke. Her son playing with her emotions like they were toys.

"You—" She started, her voice tight.

But then looked at him. At his smiling face.

And the anger that had been building inside her—the desire to scold, to punish, to make him understand how terrifying that moment had been—it simply...evaporated.

Because this was Mika.

Her son.

Standing on her doorstep, in her home, after who knew how long.

He was here, carrying her daughter, looking at her with those eyes that saw too much and understood even more.

She couldn’t be angry at him.

She couldn’t be anything but grateful that he was here.

Still, she had to say something.

"Mika." She said, her voice settling into its usual flat cadence. "I also really like pranks."

He blinked, clearly not expecting that.

"When I make jokes, they never usually land. My delivery, you see is...stiff."

She gestured vaguely at her face.

"But pranks? Pranks are different. I don’t have to express myself. I don’t have to find the right tone or the right expression."

"I just have to set things in motion and watch the reactions."

A hint of something—amusement? fondness?—flickered in her eyes.

"I used to do them all the time. When I was younger, traveling with my sisters through other worlds. I’d set elaborate traps, create scenarios, watch them scramble."

Her expression shifted, turning slightly reproachful as she said,

"But what you did just now? That was not funny, Mika."

She took a step closer, her voice growing firmer.

"I almost had a heart attack and you know what happens when my heart races."

"You know the whole world matches my heartbeat. One heartbeat, one earthquake. One missed pulse, a tsunami across the ocean."

She let out a long, slow breath.

"So please, Mika. Don’t do that again."

"Not just for my own sanity, but for the safety of the rest of the world."