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    Chapter 43


    A Child Beyond Fate’s Design


    Looking back, I recall how displaced we felt. The


    dormitory was grand—larger than the orphanage, certainly—but it never welcomed


    us. Not truly. We were village girls adrift in a city steeped in magic, lost


    beneath the towering spires of Avinnois—the Magistrate’s capital, the heart of


    the Magical Academy.


    The air carried a weight of ink and parchment,


    laced with the lingering traces of burnt herbs, remnants of failed


    enchantments. Candlelight wavered along the stone walls, golden and soft, yet


    it cast no true shadows. There was something unnatural in its stillness,


    something unseen but deliberate.


    I had noticed it then, that quiet anomaly. And


    when I looked closer, I understood.


    The candles were more than they seemed. Their


    holders bore runes—three interwoven pentagrams bound within a single magic


    circle, etched with a precision that spoke of mastery. Holy, light, and life


    magic intertwined in delicate harmony. Subtle. Intentional. A silent testament


    to the power that wove itself into the very bones of this place.


    And yet, for all its wonder, the Academy remained


    a world apart. Enchanting, yes—but never ours.


    "I see..." the dragon murmurs, its


    voice a rolling thunder in the hush of the void. "They were warding off


    evil spirits."


    "Yes..." I reply, folding my arms.


    "A dormitory teeming with magic-infused virgins is an irresistible


    lure—prime territory for entities prowling in search of a vessel."


    A deep, resonant chuckle rumbles from the


    dragon''s chest, reverberating through the air like distant echoes in a cavern.


    "Ah... how very true."


    Our room had been small, but it was


    ours—a fragile sanctuary, if one could ignore the occasional book drifting


    weightlessly through the air or the stubborn blue flames flickering in my


    makeshift laboratory.


    I remember hunching over a cluttered table,


    fingers smudged with charcoal, tracing arcane symbols onto scraps of parchment.


    Bottles of diluted aether, enchanted quills, a rusted pocket watch—each


    artifact arranged with meticulous care, each theory scrawled in the fevered


    script of discovery.


    Selene had lain on her bed, orange hair spilling


    across the pillow, ears flicking at every sound, tail curling and uncurling in


    time with the candle’s restless flame. She had been so small then—watching,


    waiting. I often wondered if, in her quiet way, she saw me as her whole world,


    unaware of the obsession that consumed me.


    But whether she knew or not had never mattered.


    I had been determined to understand.


    It had pained me. I knew it was wrong—the memory


    of her mother, Selena, lingered in my mind, a quiet reproach. But… I had to


    know.


    I remember gritting my teeth, stealing one last


    glance at her before turning back to my notes. My clairvoyance worked on


    everyone—everyone except her. She was a void, an absence where fate should have


    been inscribed. And that terrified me.


    "Hold still," I had murmured, reaching


    for another rune-inscribed mana crystal.


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    Selene had only giggled. She would coo when I


    held her too firmly, her tiny fingers curling around mine, or sometimes


    suckling absentmindedly on my thumb. In those fragile, tranquil moments, doubt


    took root. It stayed my hand, kept me from pushing further. For a time.


    But in the end, the hunger for knowledge always


    won. The need to understand—to unravel the enigma of her existence—consumed me.


    Why did she stand outside fate’s design?


    I had to know.


    I had been ten, nearly eleven, when Selene came


    into my life—a fragile thing with sun-kissed skin and eyes far too green for a


    newborn. People whispered, their gazes edged with judgment. An orphan girl


    raising an infant? It was unnatural. Reckless. But they didn’t understand.


    I... we had no choice.


    Every orphan of the Magistrate received a strict


    allowance. Selene was too young to take the pledge, so she had none of her own.


    Mine covered room and board, my tuition, and the meals I carefully split


    between us. Childcare was a luxury I—we—couldn’t afford. And so Selene remained


    with me always, bound to my chest by an enchanted harness that made her


    weightless, as if she simply drifted before me.


    The irony was not lost on me. Fate had woven us


    together, inextricable. And yet, fate itself remained beyond my sight.


    But we were never truly alone.


    Magister Enoux—Professor Enoux to most—had been a


    High Elf of rare beauty and an even sharper mind. Where others saw burden, she


    saw potential. She understood the nature of my kind, how Wood Elves felt too


    much, too deeply. Perhaps that was why she took pity on me.


    I had worked as her scribe in the healer’s hall,


    copying records in careful strokes by candlelight while Selene slept, swaddled


    at my feet. Enoux covered my expenses, ensured we had food, a place to sleep.


    I should have been grateful. And I was. But with


    my allowance untouched, my needs already met... what was I to do with it?


    With security came obsession.


    Selene was wrong—an anomaly in a world bound by


    rules. My clairvoyance unraveled every truth but hers.


    And I would find out why.


    The aether-infused doll sat motionless on my


    desk, its porcelain face fractured from my last failed attempt. Faint lines of


    shimmering blue pulsed through the runes etched into its frame, feeding


    hungrily on the magic I had so carefully woven into it. The spell should have


    worked. It should have revealed something—anything—about Selene.


    But once again, there was nothing.


    Looking back... it had been foolish. I had


    convinced myself that by infusing the doll with aether and using a mana stone


    as a catalyst, I could grasp the very fabric of fate itself.


    All I had to show for it was the acrid scent of


    burnt parchment and a fire I had barely managed to contain.


    I remember clenching my fists, my jaw tightening


    as frustration coiled up my spine. My clairvoyance had never failed before. It


    had always whispered the secrets of the world to me—glimpses of the future,


    hidden truths woven into the present, echoes of a past long buried. Fate was


    inscribed into all things, into every reality, even those that would never come


    to pass.


    And yet, when I turned my sight toward Selene,


    there was nothing. Only emptiness. A void where answers should have been.


    "Why can''t I see her?" I murmured, my


    voice scarcely more than a breath. My hands trembled as I reached for another


    doll, pressing my magic into it, willing it to show me something—anything.


    Still, nothing.


    Selene—the great cycle bless her—fragile as she


    was, innocent as she was. She cooed softly from her place on the bed, bundled


    in the blue blanket Enoux had gifted her. Her green eyes—far too knowing for a


    newborn—watched me with quiet patience. She didn’t cry, didn’t fuss. She only


    waited, as if trusting that, in time, whatever I was doing would make sense.


    I swallowed hard, blinking against the sting of


    failure.


    It wasn’t just that I couldn’t see her.


    Selene had broken my gift.


    And if she could shatter something woven into my


    very soul... then what was she?