Emperor's harem: Transmigrated with SSS mana talent
Chapter 133: [Before the Storm]

Chapter 133: [Before the Storm]

The church was quiet.

Too quiet.

Only the creak of old beams and the occasional flicker of candlelight stirred the air.

Dust danced like lazy spirits in the golden shafts of evening sun, slipping through cracked stained glass.

Kael sat sprawled across a crooked pew, legs stretched out, flipping through a half-crumpled newspaper as if nothing in the world could touch him.

Outside, chaos brewed.

Inside, he was barefoot, bored, and reading.

Across the room, Saintess Nyra moved gently through the kitchen space they’d cobbled together from broken furniture and borrowed magic.

She hummed a soft lullaby under her breath, stirring something fragrant in a copper pot.

Her hair was tied loosely.

Her robe hung open at the sleeves.

It was domestic.

Strange.

Almost peaceful.

Yue hovered above, frowning.

"You’re really not worried?" she asked.

Kael turned the page. "Nope."

"There’s a duchess out there who wants your head.

A political war inching toward bloodshed.

And you’re here reading that garbage?"

Kael licked his thumb and flipped to the next column. "Mm-hmm."

Yue sighed and folded her arms, the way ghosts do when exasperated. "You’re impossible."

"I’m improvising," Kael murmured. "Big difference."

She narrowed her eyes. "You didn’t even tell me your plan."

"That’s because I need someone alive to write the ballad when it works."

Yue blinked. "That’s the most Kael thing you’ve ever said."

"Thank you."

She groaned and floated away, muttering curses about mad nobles and ghost labor rights.

Kael kept reading.

The paper was full of nonsense.

A merchant scandal in the north.

An embellished tale of The Devil of Veilspire—his latest wanted sketch made him look ten years older and far too brooding.

A few lines on the growing unrest around Duskwither Forest.

Still nothing useful.

He yawned and tossed the paper aside.

Then he glanced toward the kitchen.

Nyra was still humming, back turned, slicing vegetables with a calm precision that didn’t quite match the sanctity of their hideout.

He watched her for a moment.

Then grinned.

He should help, right?

With zero warning, Kael strolled over and—without a sound—slid up behind her, reaching past her shoulder to grab the half-sliced carrot from the cutting board.

Nyra yelped and spun around. "Wha—Kaelion!"

He blinked at her, expression painfully innocent. "What?"

She clutched her chest. "You scared the gods out of me!"

Nyra stiffened the moment she realized just how close he was.

Kael’s presence radiating warmth like a quiet fire.

Her cheeks flushed scarlet.

Panic flickered in her eyes.

She moved to shove him away on instinct—only for Kael to catch her waist with an ease that made it worse.

Before she could react, he spun her gently, guiding her back toward the counter until she stood once again facing the half-sliced carrots.

Trapped.

Pressed.

Flustered.

"Relax," Kael murmured near her ear, voice low, amused. "I’m just helping."

"H-Helping?!" she squeaked, her voice leaping an octave.

He leaned in slightly, hands casually resting on either side of her on the counter.

"Cooking. Maybe keeping you warm. Who’s to say?"

"W-Warm?! Have you lost your mind, Kael?"

Behind her, he chuckled.

The sound rumbled against her back, too close, too casual.

She could feel his breath stir a strand of her hair.

Then—he inhaled.

"You smell nice," he said simply.

Nyra nearly dropped the knife.

Her voice came out strangled. "You—You don’t say that to people!"

"Why not?" Kael asked, utterly unbothered. "It’s true."

She turned her head halfway, face still crimson. "You’re invading my space."

"You’re making soup."

"This is not the same thing!"

"Fair enough."

She finally gathered herself, pushing him back with a frustrated glare.

"Just go.

Sit down.

Wait for dinner like a normal person."

Kael stepped back—barely.

His smirk lingered.

"Alright, alright. I’ll leave," he said, voice casual. "Just... answer one question first."

Nyra didn’t turn to look at him. "What now?"

"How many gods are there, Nyra?"

She paused, hand hovering over the pot.

The question came out of nowhere.

Completely random.

Which, knowing Kael, probably meant it wasn’t.

In truth, he just wanted her flustered brain to latch onto something other than the memory of him pressed up against her.

He could tell it was working.

She’d stopped blushing like a cherry and returned to stirring the stew, albeit with jerky, suspicious movements.

Yue floated above, arms crossed, expression somewhere between exhausted and resigned.

War drums were sounding in distant lands, armies mobilizing, assassination contracts being written in blood—and here Kael was.

Flirting with a priestess in a ruined church kitchen.

Shameless didn’t even begin to cover it.

Nyra answered without looking up, her tone brisk as if reciting doctrine.

"There are seven Greater Gods."

Kael tilted his head. "Go on."

Still chopping vegetables, she continued.

"The War God.

The Night Goddess.

The Radiant Lord of Light.

The Keeper of Time and Space.

The Lifebringer.

The Architect of Knowledge.

And the Sovereign of Death.

These seven form the Greater Pantheon, venerated across every corner of the world."

Kael nodded slowly, hands brushing against hers again as he helped her stir.

Their shoulders bumped.

She didn’t flinch this time.

But her ears went red again.

He pretended not to notice.

"And lesser deities?" he asked.

Nyra gave a small shrug.

"Those are mortals—usually humans—who ascended to Rank Nine.

In some cultures, they’re worshipped as gods.

Saints. Immortals.

Depends who you ask."

Kael’s brow furrowed slightly.

He hesitated—then asked, voice low:

"What about angels?"

That one mattered.

His system reward still loomed in his mind:

Eye of the Fallen Fate Angel.

He needed to understand what he might become.

Nyra chuckled softly.

"Angels? Myths, mostly.

Fragments of old scripture.

No temples. No prayers. No confirmed sightings.

If they ever existed... they’re long gone now."

Kael sighed, just barely.

She was comfortable now, her rhythm back.

The tension that once sparked between them now softened into something quieter.

Outside, the rain began.

It came slow at first—then harder.

Thunder rolled in the distance, distant but heavy, shaking the stained glass.

Inside the ruined church, the warmth of the kitchen fire fought against the cold.

But Kael didn’t move away from her.

He stood close, his arm brushing hers as if refusing to leave.

Nyra finally spoke, voice low.

"This... isn’t appropriate, Kael."

"I know," he murmured.

She turned her head slightly, but not fully. "Then why are you still here?"

His voice was barely a whisper now.

"Because... it’s cold.

And quiet.

And right now, I’d rather be beside you than anywhere else."