Incubus Living In A World Of Superpower Users - Chapter 380

Chapter 380: Change Isn’t Bad

“Explain,” he demanded silently, his thoughts steady, his will sharp.

[You will learn as you use it. But remember—everything has a balance. To give life, you must take it.]

The words struck deep, not just sounds in his mind but weight that settled in his chest until it felt hard to breathe.

They didn’t fade. They lingered, pressing down on him like a truth too simple to escape. His shoulders twitched faintly, a shiver running through him before he could hold it back.

Everly, light sleeper that she was, stirred against him. Her body shifted, her lips brushing the bare skin of his collarbone as she leaned closer.

Her voice slipped out low, soft enough that he almost thought he’d imagined it. “Cold?”

“Maybe a little,” Ethan said, the lie smooth and practiced, his hand giving hers a squeeze as though it was the only anchor in the room.

She didn’t question it. She just pressed tighter against him, her warmth spilling across his skin like it was her quiet answer.

On his other side, the twins moved faintly in their half-dream state, their closeness reaffirming itself, as though even in sleep they could feel the weight pressing on him and refused to leave him to carry it alone.

Ethan shut his eyes, pulling his breath into rhythm again—slow, steady, quiet. But inside, the words twisted around him. Elowen.

Nature’s authority. Healing by taking, balance through exchange. Life traded for life. He didn’t know yet what that would mean in practice or the cost when the moment finally came.

He only knew it would change him, shape him in ways he couldn’t undo.

But he couldn’t let that truth bleed out into the room. Not here. Not when their trust lay against him so openly, so solid.

So he buried it. He pushed the storm deeper, smoothing his expression, softening his touch, keeping his voice easy when it needed to be.

The lamp across the room burned low, its golden glow blurring the edges of the walls until the space felt smaller, closer, like the world beyond didn’t exist.

The only things that mattered were the warmth of their bodies, the softness of their breaths, and the gentle press of their weight that made it impossible for him to drift too far into the storm.

Time slipped, stretched, folded over itself. It was so easy to stay like this. To pretend the system wasn’t waiting just behind his thoughts.

Evelyn stirred first, her arm sliding across his stomach, her cheek pressing into his side. Her voice broke the quiet, soft but tinged with something more—hesitation, maybe.

“Do you ever feel like we’re changing too fast?” she asked. “Not just our powers. Us too.”

Ethan opened his eyes, looking down at her. His hand moved without thought, fingers combing through her hair in a slow, careful rhythm.

“Change isn’t bad,” he said, his tone lighter than what he carried inside. “You’re stronger. Smarter. And—” he pinched her side gently, pulling out a startled squeal that shattered the weight in the room, “—more stubborn than you were before.”

Her laugh came out bright and sharp, cutting through the heaviness just as he meant it to.

Everly shifted, her smile catching the faint light, quiet amusement slipping past her calm.

“And you’re not?” she teased, her tone steady but carrying warmth. “You’ve grown into someone we can lean on, Ethan. That’s a change, too.”

He tilted his head, meeting her eyes, then leaned down to brush his lips against hers. The kiss was unhurried, not about need or urgency but about grounding himself in something real.

When he pulled back, Evelyn was pouting, her lip pushed out just enough to make her look equal parts annoyed and amused.

Ethan sighed softly, leaning down to kiss her too quickly, but gently enough to erase the sulk from her face. Her giggle followed immediately, bubbling out and filling the space.

Moments like that carried more weight than most battles. They were simple, but they filled the silence with laughter and warmth, weaving threads of belonging tighter around him. He let himself breathe it in, holding onto it as if it were as precious as any victory.

The night stretched longer, their words and laughter rising and falling easily.

They traded stories from the academy—Evelyn groaning dramatically about the ache left over from the last endurance test, Everly snorting as she mocked a classmate who had nearly knocked himself out with his own weapon.

Then she added her calm observations, sharper but softened with quiet humor. Evelyn, never content to let anyone else end a story, made sure her voice carried last, her laughter tying every moment together.

Ethan listened more than he spoke, letting their voices roll over him like a tide, each sound smoothing away another sharp edge inside him.

For a little while, he let himself believe the world could stay like this—small, warm, filled only with their voices and their closeness.

The system’s weight and Nature Authority’s cost faded into the background. They would be there tomorrow, but tonight, they weren’t allowed to take center stage.

He smiled when Everly nudged him for an answer he hadn’t even caught, his voice light as he played along.

He let her tease him about his hair sticking up like he’d lost a fight with his pillow. He laughed when Evelyn poked him in the ribs just to make him grunt.

And when she sprawled across his lap, declaring herself “too tired to move another inch,” he shifted without complaint, adjusting her weight against him so she could settle.

Every one of those moments was a promise. A promise he made to himself. That no matter what new powers clawed under his skin, no matter what balance demanded in return, he wouldn’t let it steal this. Not the warmth. Not the trust. Not them.

The system stayed quiet, its silence heavy but undisturbed, like it had chosen to leave this untouched.

It didn’t press, didn’t intrude, didn’t drag him toward some unseen trial. Maybe it understood. Maybe it didn’t need to. Either way, Ethan felt the rarest thing—gratitude toward it.

By the time the lamp’s glow faded to embers of gold, the room had become little more than a shadow stitched together by their shared warmth.

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