Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate - Chapter 367: Awakening Gift

Chapter 367: Awakening Gift

“Here, from your grandmother. It’s a gift,” Erin said quietly.

The obsidian charm in her palm glimmered with faint, liquid light—soft, slow, like a heartbeat beneath glass. The lines that coiled around its surface weren’t decorative; they shifted subtly, flowing like ink with each breath, rearranging themselves in ways that made even Vivienne blink twice before realizing what she was seeing.

Vivienne’s breath caught the moment she recognized the shifting sigils.

“Mother…”

Her voice trembled—not in fear, but in disbelief. She leaned forward slightly, eyes fixed on the charm as if seeing something both familiar and impossible.

“That’s… not just a charm, is it?”

Erin didn’t answer at once. She turned the obsidian pendant over in her palm, and the runes rippled like reflections in oil. The light in the room dimmed as though the charm itself were drinking it in, swallowing radiance and giving nothing back.

Vivienne exhaled slowly. “You made another. You do know that, they take months to complete. The core requires… part of your mana, doesn’t it?”

Erin’s eyes, half-lidded and unreadable, flickered once toward her daughter. “Not just mana,” she said. “It carries a resonance of my [Spiritual Presence]. A trace of will bound through Mystery itself.”

Vivienne’s lips tightened. She remembered the one she had received when she was fifteen—how it had pulsed in her hand like a heartbeat, how her mother had told her to never use it unless she faced something she could not defeat.

And now her son held one.

“You shouldn’t be able to make these anymore,” Vivienne murmured. “You’ve been overworked since the last Council summit. It takes so much—”

Erin’s expression didn’t change. “It takes what it must,” she said simply. “Besides…” A faint smile ghosted across her lips, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “It would be a fitting gift for my grandson.”

Vivienne fell silent. Her hand hovered near her lips, unsure whether to protest or thank her. In the end, she did neither. Words didn’t belong here—not when the air felt this thick.

Erin turned the charm once more in her hand, then extended it toward Damien. “Take it.”

He hesitated for a heartbeat before accepting it. The surface was cool—colder than stone—but it pulsed faintly, matching the rhythm of his heartbeat until the two syncopated perfectly. For a moment, the world around him dulled, like sound muffled through water.

“Let’s hope,” Erin said softly, her eyes glinting like dusk reflected on glass, “that you’ll never be forced to use it.”

She paused, studying him for a long moment before adding, “But should the day come… you should at least know what it feels like.”

Damien’s brow furrowed. “…Feels like?”

“It’s better for you to keep your composure when it happens.” Erin lifted one finger, a faint halo of shadow gathering around it. “Are you ready, Damien?”

He gave a small, crooked smile. “How can I answer to that?”

Erin’s eyes softened, almost fondly. “That is… kind of correct.”

And before he could ask more, she tapped her finger lightly against his forehead.

The effect was instantaneous.

A pulse—soundless, yet deafening—erupted behind his eyes. For a fraction of a heartbeat, his vision shattered like glass, and the world inverted.

The dining hall was gone.

Color drained out of everything, replaced by ink and ash. The air pressed down like a physical weight, and from the edges of perception, something stirred.

A massive silhouette loomed before him. Not a man. Not even a creature. A shape—grotesque, indeterminate—its form shifting between flesh and shadow, bone and storm. Its edges crawled like worms beneath skin, its surface studded with faint, flickering faces that opened and closed in silent screams.

Damien’s pupils dilated. His breath hitched.

And then—

Something moved.

The shadows writhed, and black ivy burst outward, slamming into his chest. It was not plant nor metal—something between the two, pulsing like veins, slick with something warm. It climbed him in an instant, wrapping around his arms, neck, and jaw, sealing him within a cocoon of living darkness.

He tried to gasp—but the sound caught halfway, replaced by the faint whisper of countless voices echoing inside his skull.

“…This…”

It was Erin’s voice, faint and distant, bleeding through the pressure.

“…This…” she murmured again, somewhere beyond the veil.

The air around him cracked. He felt as though he were falling without moving, sinking into something endless. For one terrifying moment, the screams of the faces within the ivy merged with his heartbeat, until he couldn’t tell which belonged to him.

And then—

He opened his eyes.

A short, sharp gasp tore from his lungs. The world snapped back. The warmth of the dining hall returned—the light, the smell of wine, the faint hum of mana-lamps.

Damien’s hand went instinctively to his chest. The charm pulsed there—black light flickering once before fading.

Across the table, Vivienne had half-risen from her chair, face pale. Dominic’s gaze was sharp, his mana subtly raised in reflex.

Erin, by contrast, stood calm. A faint tremor ran through her hand as she withdrew it, but her composure never faltered.

“That,” she said softly, “is what happens when you invoke it.”

Damien blinked, still catching his breath. “What… was that?”

“The barrier,” Erin said. “Not one of light or energy. It bends perception and matter both—devours aggression and returns it in kind. You’ll understand when it awakens for real.”

Her eyes lingered on him, unreadable. “You saw something, didn’t you?”

He hesitated. “…I did.”

Erin nodded once, as though that was answer enough. “Good.”

“When you advance further—when the blood in you begins to stir the way it’s meant to,” Erin said, her voice calm but low, “you’ll understand what that was. The barrier, the shadow, the thing that looked back at you… all of it will make sense then.”

Her gaze drifted from the charm to Damien’s eyes, and for a heartbeat, her expression softened into something rare. Pride. Quiet, measured, almost hidden—but it was there.

“Until then,” she said, straightening her sleeves with elegant precision, “consider this your first lesson in what it means to bear the Valeheart blood.”

Damien nodded, still feeling the faint, phantom pressure of that grotesque presence coiled beneath his skin. “I’ll remember.”

“I’m certain you will.”

Erin held his gaze a moment longer, then drew back, the light of the chandeliers catching faintly on the black embroidery that traced her collar.

“Well then,” she said, tone smoothing back into her usual composure, “I believe that concludes my visit.”

Vivienne blinked, startled. “You’re leaving already?”

Erin gave her daughter a small, knowing smile. “I’ve already made an exception by coming here. The Council will notice my absence if I linger too long.”

Damien leaned back slightly, offering a polite smile. “I understand. You’re a busy woman, Grandmother. I appreciate the time you’ve already given.”

That drew the faintest hum of amusement from her. “You speak like your father when you say that,” she said.

Dominic inclined his head. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Lady Valeheart.”

“It was,” Erin said simply, then turned to Vivienne. Her voice softened, just a little. “You’ve done well, my dear. Even if you question yourself—you’ve done well.”

Vivienne’s breath hitched faintly, but she stood and wrapped her arms around her mother in a brief, tight embrace. Erin returned it—not fully, not warmly, but with a steadiness that carried meaning. When they parted, Vivienne’s eyes shimmered faintly with restrained emotion.

Then Erin turned back to Damien one last time. “Congratulations again, on your Awakening. I meant what I said before—the fire you carry isn’t ordinary. Guard it well.”

He nodded once. “I will.”

And then—

The air shifted.

The temperature dropped by a degree, the faint hum of mana turning hollow. Erin raised her hand, tracing a small gesture midair. The light around her fractured, and from the edges of her form, black feathers began to peel away—raven-dark, glinting faintly with violet light.

They scattered in a slow spiral, drifting upward like smoke. Her body blurred within them, form fading as the last of her mana unraveled into the feathers’ motion.

“Do not let your future be dictated by others, Damien,” her voice echoed faintly as the last feather dissolved. “The eyes that see must doubt first—else they go blind before they go deep.”

And then—she was gone.

Only the scent of ozone and the whisper of feathers remained.

Vivienne exhaled softly, one hand brushing away a single feather that had landed on her shoulder. Dominic lowered his head in quiet respect.

Damien watched the last trace of her mana fade, the obsidian charm in his palm pulsing once in resonance, as if acknowledging her departure.

Then, quietly, he muttered under his breath—half to himself, half to the silence she’d left behind—

“Yeah, Grandmother… I’ll remember that.”

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