《Sole Survivor of a Generation》


 Valeryon the Second

    ¡°I. Am. Valeryon.¡± She declared, the words slicing abruptly through the silence. The harshness of her tone reverberated in her ears, and she grimaced at the unwelcome sound. Maybe a softer tone would be more fitting.


    Taking a deep breath, she tried again. ¡°You may call me Valeryon,¡± she offered, her voice carefully measured. The words fell into the stillness around her like stones dropped into a well, sinking swiftly and leaving only ripples of her unease.


    A deep furrow etched itself into her brow as her lips curled downward. ¡°Greetings, I am¡­¡± she began, but the words faltered, crumbling to dust before they could take shape. Clenching her jaw, her dark red lips pressed into a thin line. ¡°No, that¡¯s not it either,¡± she muttered.


    She reached for the water dispenser, cupping her hands under the spout. The cool liquid flowed into her palms, providing a welcome respite from the relentless heat that clung to her skin, a side effect of her accelerated metabolism from her healing abilities.


    Water droplets, sparkling like scattered jewels, traced gleaming paths down her dark skin, catching the harsh light overhead. After experiencing the oppressive darkness of the Challenge of Darkness¡ªthe final and most gruelling of the Eight Death Challenges¡ªthe brightness still felt almost blinding. Each ray pierced her retinas like a thousand needles, relentless in their intensity.


    Today was her Name Day, marking her coming of age and official acceptance into the clan after her graduation from the Trial Grounds.


    On the surface, the Trial Grounds seemed prestigious¡ªa revered place where young Valeryons refined their healing abilities. Beneath this facade lay the Death Challenge Atrium, a nightmarish arena where the Eight Death Challenges took place. These trials tested the ¡°Will to Live,¡± a unique power of the Orcus Galaxy. With death ever-present, only a relentless will could escape its grasp. A single lapse could sever the soul¡¯s ties to the mortal realm forever.


    The Eight Death Challenges were a rite of passage for the nameless Valeryon children, initially identified only by numbers. She herself had been designated Zero-Nine, the ninth child of her generation. Traditionally, Valeryon children faced all eight challenges, a practice that had historically decimated generations and weakened the clan. Six centuries ago, the elders, led by King Varic Valeryon¡ªwho had survived by abandoning the Challenges after his third¡ªreduced the requirement to just three challenges for clan membership. So, those who lived to adulthood without completing all the challenges received ¡°auspicious¡± names based on the letters they earned.


    She felt conflicted about this change. The original rules had been established for a reason. The Trial Grounds were a crucible¡ªa hellish forge meant to burn away weakness and leave only the strongest. This harsh selection process was intended to eliminate frailty from the Valeryon bloodline, preparing them for the harsh realities of their galaxy, particularly with the looming threat of Void beasts.


    A millennium ago, a Void portal had opened in their galaxy, and signs suggested it was entering its second phase, raising the risk of more dangerous creatures emerging¡ªbeasts far worse than the Floaters that had invaded during the first phase. The thought of their galaxy facing a fate like the Nihilim Galaxy, where a Void portal in its third phase had decimated over 90% of its human population, drove many in the Orcus Galaxy to flee to neighboring galaxies for safety. Yet, as a member of the ruling clan, escape was not an option for her¡ªespecially given all she had achieved.


    Having survived and conquered all eight Death Challenges, she was now Crown Princess Valeryon the Second, the first official heir in recorded history. This should have been a crown of glory, but instead, it felt like a noose tightening around her neck. The burden of her title weighed heavily on her. According to clan law, those who failed to complete all eight challenges were considered interim heirs¡ªmere placeholders until a true heir emerged. Even Queen Valeryon the Third, who had completed the highest number of challenges at six, was seen as an interim heir. This foundational law, cemented by a magical oath upon joining the clan, was unchangeable¡ªeven by the most powerful, including the Founder himself, without risking death.


    A bitter laugh escaped her lips, sharp and jagged like broken glass. Crown Princess? What a joke. It was absurd to expect a girl raised in isolation to lead, inspire, and embody the hopes of a clan that had forged her into an obedient follower¡ªespecially when her ascension would displace a democratically elected leader with exceptional public approval. If she ever did ascend to the throne, it would likely lead the clan to ruin.


    As the hour of her Naming Ceremony approached, anxiety twisted in her stomach like a serpent tightening its grip. ¡°What could possibly go wrong?¡± she muttered to herself, her mind conjuring images of her stumbling in front of the Orcus galaxy¡¯s most formidable figures¡ªthe monarchs of the ten clans, the elders, the celebrated warriors, and the influential scholars.


    No pressure. None at all.


    Her hand rested on her abdomen as she closed her eyes, channeling her healing ability to ease the persistent discomfort. Memories from the previous night flickered through her mind like a faulty hologram¡ªthe surgical procedure that had removed her reproductive organs. Her healing power had awakened her from a coma just in time to witness the healer extracting her organs, encased in glowing green cubes. She could only be grateful when she was promptly knocked out again. Nothing quite says "welcome to adulthood" like watching your organs being harvested by the first human you have ever met.


    The procedure aimed to protect the sanctity of the Valeryon bloodline, placing control of reproduction in the hands of the clan''s leaders. The harvested organs were stored in the Reproductive Archive, intended to ensure that only the strongest bloodlines would continue. This fact made her question her very existence. Inter-clan matches were forbidden by the Decennial Council Accords¡ªa law designed to maintain the delicate power dynamics among the ten ruling clans of the Orcus Galaxy. Wars had erupted over such matters before, and she would not be surprised if they flared up again at the slightest hint of discord.


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    So, what purpose did she serve?


    Her vibrant, glowing eyes¡ªone peridot green and the other cerise pink¡ªtold a story that defied the Decennial Council Accords. The green marked her as a Valeryon, the revered Keepers of the Graves, while the pink signified the Florians, the reclusive Keepers of the Gardens known for their mastery over nature. How her clan had managed to interact with the Florians long enough to obtain genetic material remained a mystery. The Florians rarely left their territory except for Decennial Council meetings, and even then they were notorious for keeping to themselves beyond the formalities.


    According to clan law, all members of her clan were expected to be veiled in public at all times. If this tradition had not originated from the Founder''s time long before the Accords were established, she might have suspected a conspiracy to dominate the galaxy through incorporating the unique abilities of other clans. However, with such measures in place, she could at least be thankful that the secret was likely to remain hidden¡ªas long as she was careful.


    As healers, the official members of the Valeryon clan were bound by their Healer¡¯s Oaths, which forbade them from causing deliberate harm to any sentient being¡ªan irony considering the premise of the Death Challenges. How they managed to uphold such a tradition without backlash was perhaps the greatest mystery of all. Regardless, with such an oath in place, her existence could not have stemmed from nefarious intentions. Could it?


    Valeryon was jolted from her thoughts by a gentle, rhythmic pulse emanating from her wrist. The pale marble stone embedded there¡ªthe Celestial Receiver¡ªglowed with a soft blue light, signalling the commencement of the Origin Inter-Galactic Training. This program, crafted by the brightest minds of the Sapientia Galaxy in collaboration with the Celestial of Genesis and the Celestial of Time, aimed to strengthen the younger generations of Origin-Dwellers in preparation for the looming existential threat posed by the Void Beasts.


    Celestials, omnipotent beings from another dimension, were known to interact with mortals who achieved extraordinary feats, exchanging power for their eternal loyalty. Originally a communication tool for the Celestials and researchers, the Celestial Receiver had become an integral part of every Origin-Dweller''s existence, as each resident was now born with one for the sake of convenience in training. The pervasive influence of this tool, revealing only a fraction of a Celestial¡¯s true power, made one wonder about the extent of their capabilities.


    The Origin Inter-Galactic Training.


    She had anticipated this day, yet the timing felt especially cruel. While the dread of her Name Day had fuelled her survival against all odds, she longed to put it behind her. Now, with the start of the Origin Training, it would hang over her like a dark cloud until her return. The Celestial of Time had adjusted the time ratio between the Origin and the Training, ensuring they would not miss a moment of their lives in the Origin. When it was all over, she would find herself back in this very moment.


    Out of the frying pan, into the fire, and back into the frying pan.


    With a deep breath, Valeryon dragged a glowing hand through her long black hair, siphoning the moisture away and depositing it into the sink with practiced ease. Liquid manipulation, initially a healing skill that she had adapted to more mundane use, had become second nature after years of practice.


    Stepping back into her room, her gaze fell upon the outfit laid out on her bed for the Name Day. The iridescent black silk gown shimmered like moonlit water as she slipped into it. The high collar and long sleeves enveloped her entirely, each stitch woven with her own hands, solidified magic crafted into the garment¡¯s very fabric. The lifelike multicoloured roses embroidered along the hemline were a testament to the ruthless magical precision she had honed over the years. This skill, taught to all Valeryon children from a young age, had been what inspired her to explore the uses of her magic beyond mere healing.


    She finished her look with matching gloves, sturdy ankle-length leather boots, and a shoulder-length black veil. The veil, made of iridescent silk, shimmered as she secured it with a plain gold circlet. It created an impenetrable barrier against prying eyes from the outside, while remaining as clear as glass from within.


    Taking one last look in the mirror, Valeryon found strange comfort in the weight of the gown and veil. They anchored her in a reality that often felt too vast to grasp.


    She tapped the Receiver, and a swirling blue portal materialised before her, rippling like disturbed water. Her heart raced as she stepped through, bracing for the disorientation she had read about from others who had traveled by portal for the first time. The transition felt like a chaotic blend of falling and spinning, until her feet finally landed on solid ground with a sharp clack.


    Opening her eyes, she was greeted by a breathtaking sight. The hall pulsed with energy¡ªreal, living beings around her, not holograms or bots. Their vibrant life forces resonated in the air, causing her magic to instinctively reach out and sense the vitality surrounding her.


    More portals flickered to life, releasing a steady stream of travellers into the already bustling space. Before she could fully take in her surroundings, someone stumbled out of the portal beside her. Instinctively, she reached out to steady them.


    "Are you alright?"


    The figure¡ªa broad-shouldered man¡ªlooked down at her with wide, startled eyes. "Yeah, I think so. Thanks."


    He towered over even her own considerable height of 190 cm. His striking amethyst eyes scanned over her veiled face briefly before accurately locking onto hers, and a smile spread across his face, revealing dimples in his freckled golden-hued cheeks. Honey-coloured hair, almost as long as hers even when tied back, framed his face with soft strands that brushed against his forehead.


    Valeryon blinked, momentarily taken aback by the contrast between his imposing figure and his warm demeanour.


    The crowd surged around them, pressing them closer together and highlighting the disparity in their sizes; the top of Valeryon¡¯s head barely reached the bottom of his chest. Taking a slight step back, the man glanced down at her, his smile apologetic. ¡°We should probably move. This is the portal drop zone¡ªit¡¯s going to get crowded fast.¡±


    ¡°That... that sounds like a good idea,¡± she stammered. He led the way, his imposing frame parting the crowd with ease. Valeryon followed, her heart pounding. The noise, the smells, and the crush of bodies were more intense than she had ever imagined. As they wove through the throng, she began to take in her surroundings.


    The grand hall was filled with an eerie, ethereal glow. Massive columns supported an expansive ceiling adorned with intricate designs that pulsed with a life of their own. The predominant hue is a deep, luminescent blue. Circular portals, their edges shimmering with energy, hovered in mid-air, suspended by an unseen force and emitting a soft, inviting hum. Each portal offered glimpses into different universes, with faint images and scenes flickering within their depths.


    The floor gleamed with a mirror-like polish, reflecting the blue glow of the portals and the dim ambient lighting. It was more magnificent than she had ever imagined. This had to be the Outer World Library¡ªan inter-dimensional hub, a gateway to countless realities. Before she could fully absorb the magnitude of it all, a large holographic projection flickered to life overhead. A woman with a manic smile and strange lilac hair appeared before them, her golden eyes sparkling with excitement as she waved at the crowd.


    "Welcome Trainees to the 200th Round of Origin Inter-Realm Training!¡±

 Outer World Library

    ¡°Welcome, Trainees, to the 200th Round of Origin Inter-Realm Training!¡±


    The announcement reverberated through the cavernous hall, silencing the hum of millions of voices. Trainees from all thirteen galaxies of the Origin stood shoulder to shoulder, anticipation crackling in the air. Valeryon, lost among the throng, tilted her head upwards, her eyes locking onto the enormous holographic figure hovering above.


    The woman¡¯s fair skin glowed as if sculpted from moonlight. Encased in a sleek golden bodysuit that accentuated her athletic build, she moved with an elegance that radiated power. Her hair, a wild array of jagged lilac spikes, crackled with arcs of lightning, forming a regal crown. Her molten gold eyes flickered with a predatory sharpness, scanning the crowd with an intensity that sent a shiver down Valeryon¡¯s spine.


    ¡°I¡¯m Agent Mel,¡± the woman announced, her voice playful yet commanding. Despite her intimidating appearance, her demeanour was light, almost teasing, as she bowed with exaggerated flair, drawing a few nervous chuckles from the audience. ¡°I¡¯ll be your guide through this training process. Let¡¯s keep this simple¡ªno need to drag things out.¡±


    With swift, precise movements, Agent Mel raised her arm, revealing a smooth, marble-like stone embedded in her wrist. The stone pulsed softly with a blue light, casting a faint glow over her hand as she tapped it lightly. ¡°First, let¡¯s talk about the Celestial Receiver.¡±


    Valeryon glanced down at her own wrist, where a similar device was seamlessly integrated into her skin. The smooth surface was cool to the touch as she mimicked Agent Mel¡¯s motion, a holographic screen burst to life before her, displaying a dizzying array of data.


    ¡°This little gem,¡± Agent Mel continued, her tone shifting to a more serious note, ¡°is your lifeline. It¡¯s your only connection to us at Mission Central while you¡¯re out exploring the Outer Worlds. Unfortunately, communication is one-way,¡± she added, a hint of apology threading through her voice. ¡°But don¡¯t worry¡ªwe¡¯ll keep you updated with everything you need to know, so make sure to check your Interface regularly.¡±


    A wave of murmurs spread through the crowd as the weight of her words sank in. Valeryon felt it too¡ªa tightening in her chest that made her shift uneasily on her feet.


    Agent Mel¡¯s voice cut through the growing tension. ¡°The current page on your Interface is set to the Outer Worlds Library tab¡ªOWL for short. Here, you can browse all the worlds available for entry. Once you¡¯ve made your choice, simply proceed to the corresponding portal and step through when you¡¯re ready.¡±


    Valeryon¡¯s eyes flicked to the holographic screen before her, where countless worlds were listed, each accompanied by a brief description. The sheer variety was staggering¡ªworlds of searing deserts and frozen tundras, cities floating among the clouds, realms where time flowed backward. These were places she had only glimpsed in fantastical holo-programs, yet now they were real, within her reach.


    Agent Mel¡¯s playful smirk returned as she snapped her fingers, a spark of electricity dancing between them. ¡°Ah, yes! One more thing. As you enter these worlds, you¡¯ll assume the identities of natives. A magical Ban will prevent you from mentioning the Origin¡ªyour past, your life here¡ªit¡¯s all off-limits. But don¡¯t worry; once you¡¯re immersed in your new role, you won¡¯t even notice the restriction. It¡¯s just a minor inconvenience, really.¡±


    The thought of stepping into a world where she could finally live out her life like everyone else was both thrilling and terrifying for Valeryon. She had spent her life observing others, analysing their interactions and emotions through screens, yet she had never participated herself. Now, she was about to assume a role she had only witnessed from afar.


    Agent Mel straightened, her holographic form shimmering as she prepared to depart. ¡°Well, that¡¯s all from us! Good luck, Trainees! May the Celestials shine upon you!¡±


    With a final, theatrical bow, Agent Mel¡¯s image dissolved into a cascade of light, leaving behind an atmosphere crackling with anticipation. The hall erupted into a whirlwind of activity. Voices rose in excitement and nervous energy as Trainees began discussing their choices.


    Valeryon remained still, feeling the enormity of the moment press down on her. Slowly, she exhaled, focusing on the Interface before her. The OWL tab displayed a seemingly endless list of worlds, each name accompanied by cryptic symbols. A red teardrop indicated bloodlines, marking worlds where her ancestors had ventured. A golden sword signified combat-focused missions, a golden pentacle suggested magic-centric missions, and a golden skull denoted death-related missions. Finally, a sparkling green tick marked worlds compatible with her abilities.


    Her finger hovered over the blood drop symbol, and an overwhelming sense of inevitability washed over her, heavy and unyielding. With a reluctant tap, she filtered the list, watching as the vast selection narrowed down to a single entry: A Sorcerer¡¯s Legacy. Beside it were a pentacle, a skull, and a green tick. The knowledge that both the Valeryons and the Florians¡ªher ancestors¡ªhad chosen this world left her feeling conflicted. Was there something unique about this place?


    As she selected the title, a detailed page expanded before her, outlining the primary missions she would undertake, paired with the life story of a native resident. The first mission: Graduate from an academy of sorcery. The second: Die of old age. The narrative was extensive, far more detailed than she had anticipated. Did she really need to read through all of this?


    ¡°Which world are you thinking of entering?¡±


    Valeryon flinched, her heart racing as she turned to face the tall man from earlier. His intense purple eyes drew her in, making everything else fade into a soft blur. With him so close, details that had slipped by her notice previously came into focus. He wore polished black leather overalls that reflected the ambient light, faint runes stitched along the seams¡ªprotective enchantments, no doubt. Underneath, a faded pink shirt bore the marks of years gone by, frayed at the edges from countless washes, hinting at a life lived with purpose, though perhaps not always in comfort.


    Valeryon¡¯s gaze drifted to his muscular arms, crisscrossed with scars that were jagged and raw¡ªnothing like the neat, surgical marks left by advanced medical procedures. In the Origin, where technology and magic had merged to create near-miraculous healing capabilities, these scars felt anachronistic. They were the kind of wounds that should have been erased by even the most basic healing technologies. Yet here they were, stubbornly etched into his skin. Had he encountered a Void beast? Those creatures left wounds that resisted even the most potent healing spells and treatments. Or was he from an underdeveloped planet where medical care was rudimentary?


    "I apologise. Is that something you wish to keep private?" he asked, his voice cutting through her thoughts. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, its crookedness hinting at yet another injury that had failed to mend properly. His voice softened, tinged with a hint of embarrassment. "I was struggling to decide which world to select and thought it wouldn¡¯t hurt to ask. There are just too many options.¡±


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    Valeryon inhaled deeply, her heart racing. Talking to real people was still a foreign experience, each word feeling like an unsteady step into unknown territory. Her life had been confined to the oppressive atmosphere of the Trial Grounds, with only holo-programs to glimpse the world beyond. She had consumed countless movies and livestreams, analysing human interactions through the filtered lens of scripted narratives. But this was different¡ªmessy, spontaneous, and overwhelmingly real.


    ¡°Have you tried filtering your options?¡± she finally asked, her voice steady and controlled, concealing the turmoil beneath.


    He chuckled, a low, self-deprecating sound. ¡°Unfortunately, I¡¯m a bit tech-illiterate when it comes to these things. If it¡¯s not too much trouble, could you help me out?¡±


    ¡°It would not be inconvenient at all,¡± she replied, surprising herself with the ease of her response.


    As she navigated the Interface, demonstrating how to apply filters and sift through the overwhelming array of worlds, Valeryon observed him closely. His large, scarred hands seemed almost clumsy against the delicate controls, as if he were trying to handle something fragile with tools meant for brute force. What kind of life had left him so out of sync with technology that was second nature to her? Even the most remote worlds had access to basic tech, making his unfamiliarity feel out of place. Perhaps he came from a planet steeped in tradition, where the old ways still held sway.


    ¡°That¡¯s incredibly useful! Thank you,¡± he said, his smile deepening the dimples in his cheeks.


    Valeryon nodded, intending to return to her own Interface, but he spoke again, halting her movements. ¡°So, what did you filter your selections by?¡±


    ¡°Ancestry.¡±


    ¡°Ancestry, I see... I think I¡¯d prefer to avoid worlds tied to that if possible.¡±


    Valeryon frowned slightly, sensing an undercurrent in his words that she couldn¡¯t quite decipher. The dimming of his smile made her uneasy. Was he merely expressing a preference, or was he asking for guidance? After a brief hesitation, she suggested, ¡°You might be able to remove those worlds by double-tapping the icon.¡±


    ¡°Really? Let me see¡­¡± His smile returned, radiant as the sun breaking through clouds. ¡°Great! It absolutely does! Thank you!¡±


    A sense of relief washed over Valeryon. ¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± she murmured, her gaze drifting back to her Interface. Yet, the image of his smiling face lingered in her mind, distracting her from fully immersing herself in her task.


    ¡°Tsk. There are still so many options left. Which world are you thinking of entering?¡±


    Valeryon hesitated, contemplating the vast array of possibilities laid out before her. The thought of following in her ancestors'' footsteps felt much more manageable than wading through the endless choices alone, only to make a decision she might regret later. Seeing how she inevitably she fell into this pattern of thinking, she wondered if all her predecessors had too.


    ¡°A Sorcerer''s Legacy,¡± she said finally.


    ¡°A Sorcerer¡¯s Legacy? Let me check¡­¡±Laurel replied, his fingers stumbling across his Interface. As he scanned the information, his expression shifted, eyes widening for a moment before a delighted smile spread across his face. ¡°Well, this is incredibly convenient.¡±


    Valeryon felt a wave of tension wash over her when he directed his gaze back toward her, his eyes now tinged with a curious warmth.


    ¡°Would you like to form a team with me?¡± he asked, his tone inviting yet casual.


    ¡°Form a team? What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Since it popped up on mine, the notification must have appeared on your Interface too. Why don¡¯t you take a look and let me know what you think?¡± He gestured encouragingly.


    Turning back to her Interface, she watched as a new window sprang to life: Increased interaction between Trainees has been noted. Would you like to invite Trainee Laurel Vesalius to form a team?


    Laurel Vesalius. She mouthed his name silently, finding it beautiful, the syllables elegant yet strong.


    ¡°What does forming a team mean in these circumstances?¡± she finally asked, her gaze shifting back to him. It felt slightly uncomfortable to keep looking up at him, given their height difference, but proper courtesy demanded eye contact. So she made the effort, even though her veil obscured her face.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± he admitted, his smile unwavering despite a hint of uncertainty flickering in his eyes. ¡°But it¡¯s an interesting option. Are you curious enough to explore it with me?¡±


    She considered carefully. Forming a team could be advantageous¡ªMission Central wouldn¡¯t include such an option without reason. Yet a sense of uncertainty lingered. What would this partnership entail? How would they work together? Stealing another glance at him, she made her decision, resolving to embrace the unknown.


    Her heart raced anew as she felt more than heard his laughter beside her.


    ¡°I look forward to working with you¡­ Valeryon.¡±


    Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the playful bow he directed toward her. It took effort to turn toward him, attempting to mirror his gesture with the formality she hoped masked her unease¡ªan open palm pressed to her chest, a gesture she had observed in the recorded rituals from the Orcus Galaxy. ¡°I look forward to working with you as well, Laurel Vesalius.¡±


    They exchanged a few more words, and ultimately decided to proceed with her choice since none of Laurel¡¯s ancestors had ventured into this world. As they prepared to step forward, Laurel paused and glanced at her thoughtfully. ¡°We should probably hold hands to make sure we don¡¯t get separated in the crowd. Would you be comfortable with that?¡±


    Valeryon blinked at the large palm extended toward her, her heart hammering in her chest as she met his gaze. It felt surreal to be offered such an intimate gesture, especially from someone she barely knew. Wordlessly, she reached out, placing her gloved hand in his.


    As their fingers intertwined, she marveled at the unexpected coolness radiating from his skin, even through the barrier of her gloves. His grip was firm yet gentle, guiding her forward with an ease that made her stomach flutter. The contrast fascinated her¡ªhis hands bore the roughness of experience, marked by scars and calluses, while hers remained untouched by such marks, a consequence of her healing abilities.


    Shaking herself out of her thoughts, she focused on the task at hand. Together, they navigated through the bustling hall, the atmosphere vibrant with a mosaic of colours and sounds that overwhelmed her senses. Each portal pulsed with energy, beckoning them to step into the adventures that lay beyond. Following the coordinates displayed on her Interface, they aimed for the 30th portal from the left and the 80th from the right.


    Finally, they reached their destination. Above them, a bright, glowing title hovered: A Sorcerer¡¯s Legacy.


    Laurel released a long sigh. ¡°Here it is.¡±


    "We should enter."


    "Yes, let''s go then."


    Valeryon took a deep breath, her chest tightening with anticipation. She shut her eyes tightly, bracing herself for the disorienting sensation of portal travel.


    However, as they stepped inside, the expected rush never came. Instead, her wrist pulsed with energy, prompting her to crack her eyes open. She frowned when she noticed they still seemed to be in the portal tunnel, surrounded by a bright, glowing blue light.


    She glanced at Laurel, who met her gaze with an expression of uncertainty.


    Suddenly, she realised she was still holding his hand. A wave of embarrassment washed over her, but she suppressed the feeling and gently withdrew her hand to access her Celestial Receiver.


    The Interface, which had previously displayed the Origin World Library tab, was replaced by three choices: Before the Narrative, During the Narrative, After the Narrative.


    Valeryon glanced at Laurel. ¡°It seems we need to decide on a time period to enter.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± he replied, his brows furrowing in thought. ¡°Which one do you think we should choose?¡±


    ¡°Did you read the Narrative?¡± she asked hopefully. With everything going on, and with how bothersome it had seemed, she hadn¡¯t gone back to thoroughly read it. All she knew was that this was a world where the natives spent a great deal of time studying at a magical academy, embarking on fantastical adventures, making friends, battling enemies, and learning lost forms of powerful ancient magic. She hadn¡¯t even paid enough attention to determine if the subject of the narrative was a boy or a girl. Had she known this would happen, she probably would have been more diligent in her reading.


    Laurel shook his head. "I was hoping that you might have."


    "I didn¡¯t either. It was too long, and I thought it would be a waste of time since we would be learning about the world by immersing ourselves in it regardless."


    Her response made Laurel burst out laughing, genuine mirth lighting up his features, and the sound surprised her. ¡°You make an excellent point. So, which one should we enter?¡±


    ¡°Before the Narrative. We would be least affected by our lack of Narrative knowledge there.¡±


    "I agree."


    With that, they proceeded to select the first option.


    A blinding flash of light enveloped them, followed by a strangely disorienting sensation that reminded her of the moment just before a fall. Then, everything went dark..

 Sorcerers Legacy

    Her consciousness drifted in limbo, a realm where the very essence of time and space held no meaning. Here, reality flickered in and out of focus, a dreamscape where past and future entwined, whispering secrets that eluded her grasp. It was an alien yet achingly familiar sanctuary, one she had brushed against countless times before each of her resurrections. This ethereal expanse cradled her in a delicate balance between life and death. However, this time, it was not death that brought her here. She was merely displaced¡ªadrift in a world between worlds, waiting for the right moment to arrive.


    The shift came without warning¡ªa tremor in the fabric of her existence. The space around her began to thrum with energy, its oppressive hold trembling before finally relinquishing its grasp. Streaks of vivid colour erupted into existence, swirling chaotically. Valeryon¡¯s thoughts struggled to navigate this tumultuous transformation, slipping away like fragments of a fading dream. The transition was not gentle; it was a raw awakening¡ªa visceral jolt that fused her consciousness with the essence of this new world, igniting the flickering embers of an infant¡¯s awareness.


    Trapped within a sleek, glass-like incubator, she was suspended in thick, viscous synthetic amniotic fluid, her fragile body cocooned in its suffocating embrace. The fluid clung to her, a weight pressing down as her tiny lungs convulsed, desperately seeking their first breath. Panic surged, a primal fear clawing at her burgeoning awareness, igniting echoes of her countless deaths¡ªmemories of agony crashing over her like a relentless tide. The desire to cry out surged within her, an instinctive urge to announce her vulnerability in this harsh new world.


    A thin, desperate wail escaped her lips, piercing the silence of the chamber. As her cry hung in the air, a figure materialised, seemingly woven from the very fabric of her imagination. The woman who appeared was clad in flowing robes adorned with shimmering threads that caught the light like the wings of a thousand butterflies. Her hair fell in waves of silver, cascading down her back like a waterfall of moonlight, shimmering with an otherworldly radiance. Warm hands enveloped her, cradling Valeryon¡¯s fragile form as though she were the most precious treasure in existence.


    There was an undeniable familiarity in the way the woman held her¡ªan echo of a dream long forgotten, perhaps a wish Valeryon had never dared to articulate. The woman¡¯s voice resonated within her, not as sound but as a soothing vibration that permeated her very essence. It was a lullaby, a melody that spoke of safety and belonging¡ªconcepts foreign to Valeryon in her previous existence. The gentle cadence of the woman¡¯s voice calmed the tempest within, her panicked cries subsiding into soft whimpers.


    A bottle of warm milk, glowing faintly from the light of large archaic runes neatly and artistically engraved on its side, was pressed to her lips. Valeryon suckled at it eagerly, driven by the reflexes instilled in her infant body. The warmth spread through her tiny form, filling her with a profound sense of contentment. As she fed, Valeryon¡¯s gaze locked onto the woman¡¯s¡ªa pair of pale grey eyes framed by delicate silver lashes, stormy and deep, reflecting a maelstrom of feelings that danced just beyond her understanding.


    The woman¡¯s grip was secure, one hand supporting Valeryon¡¯s head while the other cradled her against the warmth of her chest. The slick moisture clinging to her newborn skin gradually yielded to the comforting heat radiating from the woman¡¯s body. A soft, involuntary coo escaped Valeryon¡¯s lips, a feeble attempt at communication thwarted by the limitations of her new form. Frustration bubbled within her as she tried again, her tiny mouth pressing together in concentration, but the words she longed to speak remained locked within the confines of her infant mind.


    ¡°Such a serious frown,¡± the woman murmured, her voice a soothing balm against Valeryon¡¯s upset. ¡°My dear princess, what troubles you so? You have not soiled yourself, and I have already fed you¡­ Ah, perhaps you suffer from the cold? Of course, I knew I forgot something. Allow me to remedy that, Your Highness.¡±


    Princess. Now that was a title she was bitterly familiar with. Was it too much for her to hope that it was merely an affectionate endearment? Was it too much to hope that this life would be one free of such burdens?


    With the limited attention span of a newborn, Valeryon¡¯s focus waned, her worries fading into the background as something more captivating caught her eye. She watched in awe as the woman conjured a stack of small, pastel-coloured blankets from thin air. The magic was effortless, no visible residue or flare of power¡ªjust the sudden appearance of the blankets, as though they had always existed in the space beside them, waiting to be called upon. The blankets floated gracefully in the air, responding purely to the woman¡¯s will. She selected a few and carefully swaddled Valeryon¡¯s shivering body, tucking the soft fabric around her with a clumsy tenderness that spoke of inexperience.


    ¡°Is that better, princess?¡± The rhythmic heartbeat beneath Valeryon¡¯s ear and the soft fabric cocooning her lulled her into a state of drowsy contentment. Valeryon responded with a soft coo, her earlier frustration melting away in the warmth and comfort of her care. The cloth did not remain on her for long, however.


    The woman carried her to a nearby basin filled with warm, scented water. The basin itself was a marvel, carved from a single piece of translucent crystal that glowed faintly in the dim light. As the woman lowered Valeryon into the water, she felt the soothing warmth seep into her skin, washing away the remnants of the artificial amniotic fluid that clung to her freshly birthed body. The water rippled with every movement, shifting shimmering reflections across the walls of the chamber, which were adorned with murals depicting serene landscapes and mythical creatures that seemed to come alive under the flickering light.


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    The scent of the water was calming, a blend of floral and herbal notes that lingered in the air, wrapping around Valeryon and infusing her tensed muscles with relaxation. Valeryon¡¯s heavy eyelids drooped as exhaustion began to overtake her, but she fought against it, unwilling to let go of this brief time with the woman who treated her with such unconditional affection.


    ¡°Oh, princess, are you sleepy?¡± the woman asked, her voice a soft murmur. ¡°Fret not, dear one; your body will be safe with me. You can rest now.¡±


    Reluctantly, Valeryon gave in, allowing the comforting darkness of sleep to wash over her.


    The first few months of her new life were a bewildering tangle of sensations, each one sharper and more immediate than anything Valeryon had ever experienced. Encased within the fragile shell of an infant, her once keen and calculating mind was now confined, her perceptions clouded and fragmented. The world around her was vast and incomprehensible¡ªa cacophony of light, sound, and emotion that her infant mind could scarcely process. Every sensation, every emotion, was raw and unfiltered, overwhelming her in ways she had never known.


    Valeryon often found herself crying out in distress, her tiny body trembling with the shock of existence. The air itself seemed too cold, the light too bright, the very act of breathing a struggle. Each day brought new challenges, and every moment was filled with an intensity that left her reeling, vulnerable in a way she had never been before. Yet amidst the chaos, there was a single constant¡ªa presence that offered her a semblance of stability in this terrifying new world.


    It wasn¡¯t the tender embrace of a mother that calmed her, but the steady, unwavering care of a guardian. This woman, neither mother nor kin, was a sentinel in the storm, a figure whose touch was firm, whose voice was calm, and whose actions were deliberate. The guardian was assigned to watch over her, a role that seemed to blend duty with a form of affection that was alien to Valeryon. She clung to this woman, desperate for the comfort of the one stable presence in her new reality. The mere thought of her absence filled Valeryon with a primal terror, a fear so deep it reduced her to helpless wailing until the guardian returned.


    Though not a mother, the guardian was everything Valeryon could have asked for in a protector. She was meticulous, anticipating Valeryon¡¯s every need with an uncanny precision. To be separated from her, even for a second, was unthinkable. Valeryon¡¯s rational mind rebelled against the dependency, yet the instincts of her infant body clung to it with a desperation she could not deny. The guardian indulged her every need, carrying Valeryon¡¯s often sleeping form swaddled against her chest as she went about her duties within the sprawling castle that was their home.


    The castle was a place of wonders, though Valeryon could only grasp fragments of its grandeur. They would pass through grand halls adorned with tapestries that told stories of ancient battles and forgotten legends, their colours vibrant even in the dim light. Towering windows let in shafts of sunlight that illuminated the intricate carvings on the stone walls, each one a testament to the artistry of the castle¡¯s builders. The scent of ancient wood, beeswax, and faint traces of herbs lingered in the air, a mixture that was both comforting and strange to her. But all of this remained on the periphery of her awareness, distant and hazy, for most of her time was spent nestled in her guardian¡¯s arms, the world beyond her embrace a blur of impressions.


    Then, abruptly, everything changed.


    One day, as Valeryon was drifting into a contented sleep, her guardian¡¯s sudden cry of distress jolted her awake. ¡°Oh no, the baby¡¯s coming.¡± The words sent a jolt of panic through Valeryon¡¯s tiny body, banishing all traces of sleep.


    The baby¡¯s coming? Whose?


    What followed was a sequence of events that felt more horrifying than any of the death and torture she had endured in the Trial Grounds. Valeryon, despite her tiny size and helplessness, refused to leave her guardian¡¯s arms as the woman laboured to bring a life into the world. Her face was contorted with pain and effort, her breaths coming in ragged gasps as she pushed through the ordeal. Valeryon watched, wide-eyed, as the scene unfolded before her, the rawness of it all too much for her young mind to fully process.


    But it wasn¡¯t the graphic details of the birth that disturbed her¡ªshe had seen her own body mutilated too many times to be shocked by blood and pain. No, what unsettled her was the slow, creeping realisation that her relationship with this woman would be irreversibly altered after this. The bond they shared, forged in the vulnerability of her new life, would no longer be exclusive. The guardian, once solely hers, would now have another to care for, another to protect.


    All thoughts were momentarily pushed aside, however, when the swaddled infant opened his eyes. Those eyes¡ªpurple, and far too familiar¡ªstared back at her.


    His name¡­ What was his name? It had been months since she had met him, but he had left quite an impression on her, so it came back to her soon.


    Laurel Vesalius.


    Her guardian, utterly exhausted from the ordeal and having to care for two infants, collapsed onto the bed in a deep sleep, her body limp and drained. As she rested, Valeryon took advantage of her unconscious state. Summoning what little energy her infant body could bear, she extended her tiny hands, which began to glow with the familiar green light of her healing ability, allowing the power to flow from her to the woman. It was a delicate process, scanning her guardian¡¯s body for damage and mending the strain of childbirth while doing peripheral diagnostics to ensure that everything else was in order within her body as well.


    Though it wasn¡¯t difficult for Valeryon, the act drained her completely due to this body being unaccustomed to and unable to bear the power within her. She could feel her consciousness slipping away, her vision darkening as she blacked out in her guardian¡¯s arms.


    When she awoke, the world had shifted. The purple-eyed baby, whom Valeryon had yet to confirm as Laurel, was a strangely calm child. He spent his days either sleeping or silently observing his surroundings, his demeanour unnervingly composed for an infant. Unlike Valeryon, who cried when separated from their guardian, this child made no such demands. He didn¡¯t even vocalize his needs; he simply waited, silent and still, until their caretaker noticed and cared for him.


    So, this was either Laurel, another Trainee who reincarnated with the same eye colour as Laurel¡ªor just a mild-tempered child native to this world.


    While Valeryon saw no issue with such behaviour, the stark difference between herself and the other baby concerned their guardian, who began paying more attention to the boy to ensure all his needs were met. Valeryon watched with growing resentment as her guardian¡¯s attentions shifted.

 SL: Ancestral Hall

    Valeryon¡¯s infant body was cradled in the arms of her guardian, as they moved through the labyrinthine corridors of the castle. Each step echoed softly against the cool marble floors, reverberating through the quiet, expansive halls. Though limited by her body, Valeryon¡¯s mind, sharp and aware, took in every detail.


    The castle was an ancient structure, its walls adorned with tapestries that depicted the long history of the Valeryon clan. These tapestries were more than mere decoration; they were records of the clan¡¯s achievements, meticulously woven with scenes of healing, creation, and battle. Valeryon¡¯s gaze lingered on them, trying to piece together the history of this world from the fragments she could perceive.


    As they moved deeper into the castle, the polished marble floors gradually gave way to rougher stone. The air grew cooler, the walls darker and more austere, signalling their approach to an older section of the castle. Valeryon noticed certain doors emanated a faint, almost imperceptible barrier¡ªa gentle push against her presence. These were the age-restricted areas her guardian had warned her about, accessible only when one reached the required milestone.


    Eventually, they arrived at a set of large, imposing doors made from dark, aged wood. The handles were crafted into the shape of golden phoenixes with peridot eyes, their wings spread wide, each holding a branch of asphodel in full bloom¡ªan unmistakable symbol of the Valeryon clan. This was the entrance to the Ancestral Hall.


    Her guardian paused before the doors, carefully setting Valeryon down on a small bench outside. She took a moment to remove her shoes. With a sense of ritualistic precision, she removed her shoes, placing them neatly beside the bench. Valeryon observed the moment with a quiet understanding. This act was one of respect, an acknowledgment of the significance of what was about to happen.


    Once barefoot she lifted Valeryon back into her arms and pushed open the doors. The Ancestral Hall was vast, its high ceiling supported by heavy wooden beams intricately carved with symbols. The polished wooden floor reflected the soft, flickering light of chandeliers that hung above, casting a warm glow throughout the room. The air was cool, carrying with it the faint scent of incense, and the atmosphere was one of solemnity.


    At the far end of the hall, dominating the space, was a massive tapestry. Its design was simple yet powerful¡ªa golden circle composed of concentric rings, each ring meticulously detailed with names. This was the genealogical record of the Valeryon bloodline, an unbroken chain stretching back to their origin in this world.


    Her guardian approached the tapestry, her footsteps barely making a sound on the polished wood. Valeryon¡¯s gaze was fixed on the tapestry as they neared it. At the centre of the circle was the name of Valeryon the First, the founder of their clan in this world. Each ring spiralled outward, representing a new generation, with names meticulously woven into the fabric. The further out the rings extended, the fewer names there were¡ªa stark reminder of the clan¡¯s dwindling numbers.


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    As they reached the tapestry, the woman gently adjusted Valeryon in her arms so that she could see the outermost ring better. There, at the very edge, was her name: ¡°Valeryon II.¡± The date beneath it marked the year of her birth in this world¡ª1824. The sight of her name, standing alone in that final ring, filled Valeryon with an uneasy sense of foreboding. The previous generations, even in their decline, were still packed with names, but hers was solitary.


    Her guardian¡¯s voice broke the silence, soft and reverent. ¡°Valeryon the Second,¡± she murmured, her tone filled with awe. ¡°What an incredible honour to be bestowed the name of King Valeryon himself as none before you ever have, your highness. Lady Daphne Vesalius greets Her Highness, Crown Princess Valeryon the Second.¡±


    Valeryon felt a weight settle on her small shoulders¡ªa weight she had known in her past life but was now more tangible. The name, the lineage, the expectations¡ªthey all pressed down on her, a burden she had no choice but to bear. She was the last of her line, the sole heir to a legacy that was both a blessing and a curse.


    As Daphne continued to speak, Valeryon¡¯s thoughts drifted to the other infant who had been a constant presence in her life since her arrival in this world. Laurel, as she had come to think of him, though his appearance was different in this life, was always near, his purple eyes watching her with an intensity that belied his infant form. His demeanour had changed as well, from the radiant happiness she remembered to a more somber, reserved temperament. However, she still believed that this was indeed Laurel Vesalius, her teammate, reborn into this world alongside her.


    The days that followed were a blur of learning and adaptation. Valeryon struggled to master the limitations of her infant body, practicing the formation of words and trying to make sense of her surroundings. Her adult mind, sharp and frustrated, battled against the constraints of her physical form. It was during one of these frustrating days that she decided to test her theory about Laurel.


    They were in their playroom, a place filled with toys and soft furnishings which went wasted on the two of them who preferred to simply lay on the soft carpet and sleep. Laurel was lying beside her doing just that, his eyes half-closed as he drifted off. Summoning all her strength, Valeryon whispered his name, ¡°Laurel?¡±


    His response was immediate. His eyes flew open, and she saw the recognition in his gaze. ¡°Val?¡± he whispered back, his voice small and tentative.


    Valeryon nodded, feeling a strange mix of relief and anxiety. It was him. Somehow, Laurel had been brought into this world right beside her from the very beginning. Was this the result of them choosing to form a team prior to their entry into this world? Was being born in close proximity to teammates part of the deal?


    Laurel reached out and took her hand, just as he had done back in the OWL. His touch was warm, grounding her.


    Daphne¡¯s gentle laugh broke the moment, drawing their attention. ¡°Look at the two of you, already so close,¡± she said, her voice filled with warmth.


    Valeryon felt a surge of emotion¡ªrelief, gratitude, and a deep-seated resolve. She was not alone in this strange, ancient world. With Laurel by her side, she felt the strength to face whatever challenges lay ahead, even the weight of her lineage and the expectations that came with it.


    The Ancestral Hall had confirmed her place in this world, and though the burden was heavy, Valeryon was determined to carry it with dignity. She was Valeryon the Second, the sole survivor of her generation, and she would not falter.

 SL: Library Access

    Valeryon dressed with deliberate care, selecting each piece of her outfit with precision. She chose a long-sleeved dress that fell just above her knees, crafted from a breathable fabric in a deep pink hue. The material was woven to adapt to the castle''s fluctuating temperatures, providing comfort whether she wandered through the cool stone corridors or ventured into the sun-drenched courtyards.


    Layering over the dress, she added an ankle-length overskirt of delicate black lace. The intricate rose patterns cast subtle shadows against the vibrant pink beneath, creating a striking visual contrast. The elegant yet practical boots on her feet were a gift from Laurel for her recent sixth birthday; soft leather moulded perfectly to her feet, reinforced for durability during her explorations around the castle grounds.


    To cinch her waist, Valeryon fastened a thick belt made of interlinked rows of tiny black crystals that sparkled faintly in the morning light. This, too, was a gift from Laurel, reflecting his growing passion for craftsmanship. She topped off her outfit with a wide-brimmed, pointed black hat, its sleek design complementing her ensemble. The opaque black silk veil attached to it draped gracefully over her shoulders, providing a sense of relief as it obscured her face.


    Each piece of clothing had been crafted by her own hands in the Weaving Room, a space she had frequented since its opening a year ago. The room replicated the one she had used in the Trial Grounds, where she first learned to refine her skills. Watching Laurel busy himself in the Crafting Hall¡ªa sprawling complex where artisans practiced their trades¡ªhad inspired her to hone her own.


    Valeryon adjusted her outfit one last time before slipping on her silk gloves. Satisfied with her appearance, she stepped out of her room, the door closing quietly behind her. The corridor was bathed in soft light, and her footsteps echoed faintly as she made her way toward the docks. Today¡¯s destination was the library¡ªthe most recent area to have its restrictions lifted.


    The library stood alone on a small island within the castle grounds, separated from the main structure by a serene lake. The only way to reach the island was by a small wooden boat with glowing runes etched into the hull, allowing it to glide effortlessly across the water.


    As she approached the docks, Valeryon passed several knights stationed along the way. Their armour gleamed in the sunlight, each breastplate bearing the Valeryon sigil¡ªa phoenix in flight, clutching a branch of asphodel in full bloom. The knights stood at attention, offering respectful salutes as she walked by.


    One knight, taller and older than the rest, stepped forward as she reached the dock. His grizzled hair peeked out from beneath his helmet, and his roughened hands gently assisted her onto the boat. ¡°Wishing you a pleasant day, your highness,¡± he murmured, his voice warm despite his stern exterior.


    ¡°Thank you, Sir,¡± Valeryon replied.


    The ride across the lake was serene. The water, like glass, reflected the clear sky above. Willow trees lined the shore, their long branches dipping into the water, creating delicate ripples. Valeryon took in the beauty around her¡ªthe gentle lapping of water against the boat, the distant chirping of birds, and the whispering leaves of the willows¡ªmomentarily quieting her restless thoughts.


    Upon reaching the library island, she was greeted by a group of younger knights, their polished armour and eager, slightly nervous movements betraying their inexperience. They saluted her as she stepped off the boat, and she acknowledged them with a nod before following the cobblestone path that crunched softly beneath her feet.


    The library loomed ahead, a majestic structure with three stories crowned by a domed roof, flanked by turrets. Dark stone walls and tall arched windows created an imposing yet inviting presence. Entering the main hall, Valeryon''s eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering through the high windows. The air was rich with the scent of aged parchment and leather-bound tomes¡ªa fragrance that felt oddly comforting.


    Scholars and visitors moved quietly among the towering bookshelves, their hushed voices blending with the soft rustle of pages. Above them, floating orbs of soft light hovered, casting a warm glow over the tables and plush couches scattered throughout the hall. As she navigated the library, heads turned in her direction; the occupants recognised her presence and stood to offer respectful bows, murmuring greetings before returning to their studies. Valeryon appreciated their discretion.


    Her destination was the section dedicated to the history of the Valeryon clan specifically the shelves containing journals warded to only be accessed by the ruling family due to the sensitive nature of its information. Approaching the shelves, her fingers grazed the spines of ancient volumes, their worn leather covers whispering tales of generations past. Each book bore witness to rulers, master sorcerers, scholars, and artists whose influence had shaped not just their territory but the world beyond.


    The Valeryon Archipelago, a collection of islands off the southern coast of Fiore, was more than just a territory; it was a marvel of magical expertise and power. Vesperia, the largest island, stood as the heart of their monarchy. The grand citadel crowned its highest peak, overseeing the capital city of Vinora like a silent guardian. This island was the first of its kind, created during the Sorcerer¡¯s Hunt, a dark era when those with magic were persecuted by the non-magical majority. The Founder envisioned Vesperia as a sanctuary, a place where magic could thrive without fear of persecution.


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    Over time, Vesperia became a beacon for those seeking refuge, though entry came at a steep cost¡ªan Oath of Fealty. This binding magical contract demanded absolute loyalty to the Valeryon clan. Twelve families were the first to swear fealty, forming the Twelve Vassal Houses that supported the monarchy. Each house played a specific role, from agriculture to military defence, ensuring the Valeryons could rule without compromising their Healer¡¯s Oaths, which forbade certain actions necessary for the kingdom¡¯s continuation. The Vassal Houses bore these burdens, allowing the Valeryons to maintain their sovereignty without backlash.


    Valeryon selected a book from the lowest shelf, its spine frayed from centuries of use. She settled onto a nearby couch, the plush cushions sinking slightly under her weight as she opened the fragile tome. Her eyes scanned the pages, absorbing the knowledge within until she paused at a name that had become all too familiar¡ªLunarys.


    Her initial encounter with the name had been during her research on the Twelve Vassal Houses. At first, she had dismissed the Lunarys family as just another loyal house. But further reading revealed a deeper connection that troubled her. The Lunarys of the Archipelago and the Lunarys of the Origin shared the same lycan heritage, capable of shifting between human and wolf forms. It seemed improbable that a ruling clan from the Orcus Galaxy would submit to another without resistance, even under the Oath of Fealty. Yet, historical records showed no signs of rebellion; if anything, the Lunarys were among the most dedicated and loyal, fiercely guarding the Archipelago¡¯s borders.


    Could the Lunarys of the Archipelago be a native variant of their Origin counterparts? If any of them were Trainees from the Origin like herself, it could be disastrous. Valeryon pushed these thoughts aside, reminding herself that her coronation was still two decades away. She had time to navigate these murky waters.


    A sigh escaped Valeryon¡¯s lips as she turned her attention back to the journal of Queen Vera Valeryon. The more she read, the more convinced she became that Queen Vera was no ordinary ruler; she was a hidden mastermind operating beneath a veil of controversy. Boldly defying the Council of Vassals, Queen Vera had aligned herself with the Furian Revolutionaries to establish the first government of magical Fiore, a daring act during a time when the Furian aristocracy vehemently opposed magical governance. In a striking move, she signed the Unity Accords, transforming the Valeryon Archipelago from an independent nation into an autonomous region of Fiore¡ªan action that earned them a hereditary seat in the House of Lords, the governing body of magical Fiore. While many criticised Queen Vera¡¯s decisions as foolishly benevolent, Valeryon sensed a shrewdness beneath the surface.


    She believed that the ulterior motives behind these decisions were anything but benevolent. The Accords¡¯ stipulation that the Archipelago would pay taxes to the Furian government while maintaining its own Constitution and legal system seemed too calculated to be merely a concession. She suspected that Queen Vera¡¯s long-term goal was to assimilate Fiore into the Archipelago by infiltrating it from within. It was an ambitious strategy that could ultimately strengthen their clan while circumventing the backlash of the Healer¡¯s Oath by straddling the lines of ethical beneficence. However, Valeryon could not confirm her suspicions; Queen Vera had died before her vision could be realised, and her successor, King Vilram Valeryon, had focused primarily on internal development during his reign.


    As she mulled over these thoughts, the approaching sound of approaching footsteps broke her concentration. She looked up just in time to see Laurel Vesalius drop into the seat beside her.


    "Good morning, Val. You look lovely as always,¡± he said, his bright purple eyes sparkling with mischief.


    Laurel''s dimple-cheeked smile was reassuring, though Valeryon still felt a slight tension in her body when he shuffled closer. His wavy, snow-white hair was neatly tied back with a black ribbon, and he wore a dark pink robe over a pale pink high-collared shirt adorned with intricate pearlescent buttons, paired with charcoal grey trousers. The outfit had been Laurel¡¯s idea after Valeryon offered to make him a set of clothes. It suited him well. Their outfits were quite complimentary as her dress had been made from the left over fabric of his robe.


    ¡°Good morning,¡± Valeryon managed, the words feeling clumsy on her tongue as she belatedly responded to his greeting.


    Laurel leaned in, the familiar lavender scent of his presence enveloping her. ¡°Are you excited for today?¡± he asked, his tone light and teasing.


    Valeryon nodded slowly, but Laurel nudged her side playfully, his laughter brightening the air around them. ¡°Words, Val.¡±


    "Yes, Laurel. I am excited for today," she replied obediently.


    Laurel raised an eyebrow, a grin spreading across his face. ¡°Really? You sure don¡¯t sound it.¡±


    Valeryon pursed her lips, struggling to articulate her feelings. ¡°Well, that¡¯s¡­,¡± she began, trailing off as she searched for the right words.


    ¡°I¡¯m just teasing you, Val. You sound fine. You don¡¯t always have to take me so seriously,¡± he said, lightly tugging a lock of her hair and twisting it around his finger.


    ¡°I see. I apologise,¡± she said, a hint of warmth creeping into her cheeks.


    Laurel sighed, though fondness laced his exasperation. ¡°Val, what are you apologising for?¡±


    ¡°For¡­ taking your teasing seriously?¡± she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, uncertain if her response was appropriate.


    He sighed again, shaking his head, a smile tugging at his lips. ¡°You really don¡¯t need to. But whatever, I¡¯m just here to take a nap. Could you wake me up when it¡¯s time to go?¡±


    Valeryon almost nodded again but caught herself in time. ¡°Okay,¡± she said instead.


    The other boy leaned back against the plush cushions, shutting his eyes with a relaxed expression. His hand released its grip on Valeryon¡¯s hair and instead lightly grasped the lace hem of her dress.


    Laurel leaned back against the plush cushions, shutting his eyes with a relaxed expression. His hand released its grip on Valeryon¡¯s hair and instead lightly grasped the lace hem of her dress. Valeryon returned her attention to the book in her hands, a small smile playing on her lips as she continued reading.

 SL: Governess Sachar

    As Lady Gracelynn Sachar stepped into the grand entrance hall of the castle, the sharp click of her heels echoed against the gleaming marble floors. The expansive space exuded majesty, with towering arched ceilings that seemed to stretch toward the heavens. Sunlight streamed through tall stained-glass windows, casting intricate patterns of colour across the floor. The cool air carried the subtle scent of fresh blooms from the nearby gardens, adding a touch of natural elegance to the hall¡¯s grandeur.


    Lady Sachar moved with purpose and authority, a commanding presence that left no room for nonsense. Her stern expression and immaculate appearance underscored her disciplined nature. The sharp arch of her eyebrows above almond-shaped eyes gave her an air of keen perception, as if nothing could escape her scrutiny. Her bold red lipstick contrasted sharply with her tightly pulled-back brown hair, and the dark red hat perched atop her head matched her long-sleeved, floor-length sheath dress, which was elegantly tailored to flatter her slim figure. A golden belt cinched her waist, adding a touch of sophistication, while large gold chandelier earrings swayed lightly with each step, catching the sunlight and sparkling. The crowning piece of her outfit was the large golden sun pendant that hung from a thick chain around her neck, the proud symbol of her esteemed family.


    The Sachar family, one of the Twelve Vassal Houses of the Archipelago, was renowned for their unwavering commitment to preserving history and fostering knowledge. As educators, historians, and archivists, their influence was deeply woven into the fabric of society. They played a crucial role in shaping future leaders, ensuring that the lessons of the past were not lost to time. Their public libraries throughout the Archipelago overflowed with ancient texts, scrolls, and artefacts, making knowledge accessible to the general public¡ªa rare and valuable resource in a world where information was often a privilege of the elite. Despite their invaluable contributions, the Sachars were often under-appreciated, with some viewing their dedication to tradition as a hindrance to progress.


    As Lady Sachar approached, her gaze settled on Valeryon and Laurel, who were waiting for her arrival. Valeryon stood straight and poised, her figure framed by a shoulder-length iridescent black veil that draped gracefully around her. The veil, a symbol of her royal status, fluttered slightly in the gentle breeze that wafted through the hall. From her peripheral vision, she could see Laurel shifting from foot to foot, his usual playfulness subdued in the presence of the imposing governess.


    ¡°Lady Gracelynn Sachar greets Her Highness, Crown Princess Valeryon the Second,¡± Lady Sachar announced, executing a deep precise bow. Her dark red hat tilted slightly as she bowed, a small but calculated movement that did not disturb the perfect alignment of her attire.


    ¡°Well met, Lady Sachar,¡± Valeryon replied, her tone steady and imbued with the authority expected of her station. Valeryon made a mental note to thank Lady Daphne later for her persistence in making sure that Valeryon had at least this aspect of courtesy mastered.


    Lady Sachar straightened, her eyes shifting to Laurel, who stood a step behind Valeryon. He returned her gaze with a perfunctory smile and a bow so sloppy it bordered on offensive. Valeryon, however, thought he did a great job, considering he probably had never been required to follow such etiquette before. To her, Laurel was simply adjusting to the customs of this new world, and she admired his efforts.


    Silence hung in the air for a brief moment, a pause that was usually filled with a verbal greeting. But when none came from Laurel, Lady Sachar proceeded as if nothing was amiss.


    ¡°Well met, heir Laurel Vesalius. Her Highness and yourself may address me as Governess Sachar,¡± Lady Sachar stated, her tone firm yet cordial. ¡°I will be responsible for your education in the subjects of etiquette, dance, art, music, and history. We will delve beyond this scope if necessary, but these will be our focus for now.¡±


    ¡°Of course, Governess Sachar,¡± Valeryon replied, suppressing a sigh.


    Valeryon felt apprehensive about starting her lessons again. Memories of the agonizing education she endured in the Trial Grounds haunted her¡ªeach recollection a ghostly echo of pain and torment. After six long years away from that relentless environment, the prospect of returning to structured learning felt suffocating. Nevertheless, she was determined to learn and excel in her studies as mastering these subjects would better prepare her for her future responsibilities. The Trial Grounds had taught her resilience, but this world required more than just survival skills.


    She glanced at Laurel, subconsciously seeking reassurance in his familiar presence. She found comfort in his proximity, in the warmth of the bright smile he directed her way when he noticed her attention on him. She exhaled slowly, the breath she hadn¡¯t realised she was holding escaping in a rush.


    In the weeks that followed, Valeryon found her lessons with Governess Sachar to be a breath of fresh air, a welcome change from the stifling atmosphere of the Trial Grounds. Where once she had faced the sterile coldness of endless drills and the gnawing fear of failure, now she was embraced by a structured yet flowing curriculum that encouraged discussion and exploration. This new approach was a radical departure from the rote memorisation and solitary learning she had come to know. It felt almost revolutionary.


    Governess Sachar was a refreshing presence, instilling a sense of curiosity that Valeryon had thought long lost. The lessons were interactive, fostering a spirit of inquiry rather than one of obedience. To Valeryon¡¯s surprise, breaks were an integral part of the schedule¡ªtwenty minutes of respite for every hour of study. This newfound freedom felt luxurious. Laurel took full advantage of these breaks, darting off for a quick drink or a brief walk down the hallway. ¡°Five minutes,¡± he would call back to her, flashing a reassuring grin that made her feel as if her well-being was his highest priority. And just as he said, right as the last minute was about to end, he would return to his seat beside her and spend the rest of the break taking a nap with his legs up on the table and leaning back on his chair.


    Despite her growing comfort with the lessons, Valeryon often remained seated, lost in her notes out of sheer habit, still haunted by the rhythm of her old routine. Governess Sachar noticed her hesitance and would gently nudge her, urging, ¡°Take a moment to enjoy the gardens.¡± At first, Valeryon resisted, feeling awkward about stepping away from her work, but Laurel¡¯s presence beside her made it easier, his cool hand gripping hers securely and pulling her along to show her his favourite spots to stroll through or relax in. With each passing day, she found herself appreciating these interludes¡ªthe vibrant colours of the flowers, the soothing sound of water gently lapping against the lake¡¯s edge, and the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze.


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    The pacing of her studies was equally refreshing. Weeks stretched between lessons and assessments, granting Valeryon ample time to absorb and consolidate what she had learned. Gone were the fears of death and humiliation that had shadowed her in the Trial Grounds. Here, she felt secure enough to truly explore her thoughts and feelings without the threat of violence or failure looming over her.


    As Valeryon reclined beneath the sprawling branches of a massive weeping willow, the gentle sway of the leaves created a serene backdrop for her conversation with Laurel. He sprawled comfortably on the grass, his head nestled in her lap, eyes squinting against the sun''s rays filtering through the foliage. Today, his playful demeanour felt subdued, casting a shadow over his usually bright face.


    ¡°She¡¯s awful, Val!¡± he exclaimed, his voice breaking the tranquil air. ¡°I just don¡¯t understand. Why, in the Void, do we need to waste time learning irrelevant things that have nothing to do with our missions? I¡¯m sick and tired of waking up so early to attend class!¡± His dramatic flair made Valeryon stifle a laugh, though she felt a pang of empathy for his frustrations.


    ¡°Laurel, I think your dislike for Governess Sachar is a bit misguided. She¡¯s just doing her job. These lessons will help us adapt to our life here. One of our missions requires us to survive in this world until old age, so learning the information we need to navigate our roles is advantageous.¡±


    ¡°And in what world have you heard about picking the right salad fork saving anyone¡¯s life?¡± He scoffed, folding his arms dramatically. Then, his expression softened. ¡°I see your point, my dear Val. As usual, you¡¯re right.¡± A playful glimmer returned to his eyes as he poked her cheek through her veil. ¡°You must really like Governess Sachar if you¡¯re defending her. This is the most I¡¯ve heard you speak, and it¡¯s for someone else. It makes me a little upset, Val.¡±


    ¡°Stop teasing,¡± she huffed, swatting his hand away.


    ¡°Val, I¡¯m not teasing! It¡¯s genuinely upsetting. Who wants to hear their dearest defending the person they detest?¡± he countered, pretending to clutch his heart in mock pain.


    ¡°Do you really detest Governess Sachar?¡± Valeryon asked, genuinely curious.


    Laurel sighed, accurately reaching to pinch the tip of her nose. ¡°Did you even listen to what I said?¡ªNever mind, I can wait.¡ª You¡¯re right. I might be directing my frustrations at the wrong person. I¡¯m just tired of being treated like a child. Regardless of how I look, I am a tw¡ª¡± He coughed, clutching at his throat. ¡°Damn, I hate that thing. Fine! I am ¡®mature¡¯ for my age.¡±


    ¡°I understand,¡± Valeryon replied, her tone steady and soothing. ¡°But given how long it¡¯s been, the adjustment period will likely end when we begin our magical education.¡±


    ¡°You think it¡¯ll take that long? That¡¯s another six years away!¡± His eyes widened with disbelief, reflecting a mixture of annoyance and apprehension.


    Valeryon placed her hand over his, rubbing her thumb gently across his knuckles. They both felt the weight of the magical ban that limited their discussions about their pasts. The oppressive atmosphere seemed to linger, a constant reminder of the barriers in their lives. He interlocked their fingers, clutching them close to his chest, frustration etching lines on his freckled face. ¡°It¡¯s so frustrating not knowing what we¡¯re supposed to be doing here, Val. The Celestial Receiver is inactive, and what even is an ¡®adjustment period¡¯? Why weren¡¯t we told about it before we came here? How long is it supposed to last? They told us to check for updates regularly, but how can we do that if we can¡¯t even turn it on? Honestly, at least Mission Central could give us a timeline!¡±


    ¡°I agree,¡± Valeryon replied, her voice steady as she continued to offer him comfort. ¡°But if I¡¯m right, there must be a reason for this long adjustment period. We should take advantage of our time to learn as much as we can. The main missions require us to graduate from school and live to old age, but at the end of the day, they must be main missions for a reason. I don¡¯t think this world is as simple as it seems.¡±


    Laurel pursed his lips, contemplating her words. ¡°I never thought of it that way. That¡¯s an excellent point, Val. If those are the main missions, there¡¯s no way it¡¯ll be easy to complete.


    As they spoke, Valeryon reached into her pocket, retrieving her treasured pocket watch¡ªa stunning gold piece engraved with the Valeryon coat of arms. The phoenix in mid-flight, clutching a branch of blooming asphodel, glimmered in the sunlight, its craftsmanship a testament to Laurel''s skill. He had created it for her fifth birthday after noticing her frustration with the castle''s lack of portable timekeeping. She cherished not only the beauty of the watch but also the engraved message inside: ¡°To my dearest Val, made with the utmost care and love, Laurel.¡±


    Realising their break was nearing its end, Valeryon nudged Laurel gently. ¡°We should head back,¡± she said, a hint of reluctance in her voice. They stood and made their way back to the classroom, where Governess Sachar awaited them.


    The lesson unfolded as usual, but at its conclusion, Governess Sachar asked them to stay a little longer. ¡°Your Highness, and heir Vesalius, I have been your teacher for three months now, and I have made some observations. However, before I share my thoughts, I want to hear your opinion first. Have you found my lessons boring or not challenging enough?¡±


    ¡°Yes! The lessons are incredibly boring!¡± Laurel¡¯s candidness surprised Valeryon, yet Governess Sachar only nodded thoughtfully, her expression unperturbed.


    ¡°Then I believe joining the Academy of Standardised Education would benefit you greatly. It will provide you with the opportunity to socialise with others your age and learn a wider range of subjects. Once you start attending, we can schedule our lessons around your academy schedule.¡±


    As the governess continued, Valeryon noticed a change in Laurel¡¯s demeanour. His smile faded, morphing into an expression that looked simultaneously horrified and regretful frown of regret. Unable to contain herself, she huffed in amusement.


    Laurel turned sharply to her, his frown deepening. ¡°You¡¯re laughing at me,¡± he accused in a whispered hiss.


    ¡°No,¡± she replied, though the corners of her lips were already curving up, betraying her amusement.


    ¡°Yes, you definitely are, you liar. Whatever, laugh it up. I should have kept my mouth shut. I can¡¯t believe I got us signed up for even more lessons!¡±


    ¡°Even if you hadn¡¯t, I probably would have said something similar. But Governess Sachar likely had already made up her mind. Given our young age, it¡¯s unlikely she would take our words seriously if they contradicted her observations.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but that doesn¡¯t make me feel any better,¡± he grumbled, his shoulders slumping slightly.


    ¡°Heir Vesalius, was there something you wished to share with me?¡± Governess Sachar¡¯s sharp voice sliced through their lighthearted banter, instantly straightening their postures.


    ¡°No, Governess Sachar,¡± Laurel replied quickly.


    ¡°I see. Well, that is all I wished to say; you may leave. I will discuss this matter further with Lady Vesalius and determine the best date to enrol you in the Academy.¡±


    At those words, Laurel sprang to his feet, pulling Valeryon up beside him. ¡°Come on, Val. Let¡¯s go!¡±


    Valeryon sighed in resignation, realising her hopes of spending the afternoon in the library with a book were dashed. As they walked away, she braced herself for the long rant she knew would follow.

 SL: School of Standardised Education

    The sun rose over the Archipelago, casting golden rays onto the shimmering waters that surrounded the islands. A new day was dawning, and for Valeryon, it marked the beginning of another chapter in her life: her first day at the Academy of Standardised Education, affectionately known by the locals as the Junior Academy.


    Situated in the heart of downtown Vinora, the Junior Academy was an architectural marvel. Its dome-shaped structure, composed of hexagonal glass panels, resembled a giant honeycomb¡ªa tribute to the transparency of the education system envisioned by King Vilram Valeryon. His reforms had transformed the lives of countless children, offering opportunities for early learning that were previously unavailable.


    The Junior Academy provided a strong foundation in basic education and rudimentary magic control, though it was not a traditional magical institution. That title belonged to academies like the prestigious Forester Academy of Sorcery in Norden, Fiore, where Valeryon and other children from the Archipelago would go when they turned thirteen. It was one of the world¡¯s fifteen official magical institutions.


    As the carriage approached the academy, Valeryon''s thoughts wandered to the struggles of her ancestors in establishing a formal magical school. Queen Vera Valeryon¡¯s frustration with Mission Central¡¯s restrictions was well-documented in the journals Valeryon had spent hours reading. The Queen had dreamed of creating a school within the Archipelago but was thwarted by Mission Central, which claimed that a magical institution under Trainees'' control would undermine its mission. One entry in particular lingered in Valeryon¡¯s mind: ¡°What if the academy was not built by us?What if we just happened to¡­rule own the land it was built on?¡±


    When the carriage rolled to a stop, Valeryon took a deep breath, steeling herself for the day ahead. Dame Fray, a plainclothes knight assigned to protect her, stepped forward to open the door.


    ¡°Thank you, Dame Fray,¡± Valeryon said softly as the knight helped her down from the carriage. The knight responded with a nod and a small, reassuring smile.


    Inside the academy, the vast, airy space was filled with gleaming white marble floors that shone under the soft morning light. The walls were lined with display cases showcasing past students¡¯ achievements¡ªtrophies, art projects, and even glowing orbs of magic. It was fascinating to see, but today, Valeryon could not appreciate it. The transparent walls, designed to symbolise openness, felt like a cage, and she could almost feel the curious eyes of strangers scrutinising her every move, both inside and out.


    In the main foyer, their instructor, Marius Willowbank, awaited them. His thick, gold-framed glasses magnified his eyes to an unsettling degree, giving him a curious yet slightly disconcerting appearance. ¡°Welcome to the Junior Academy, Your Highness, Heir Vesalius. It¡¯s a bit of a walk to the classroom. If you will allow me, Your Highness,¡± he said, extending a hand toward Valeryon.


    She hesitated, uncertainty swirling in her mind about what was expected of her. The idea of holding a stranger¡¯s hand did not appeal to her. Just as her hand twitched with indecision, another hand grasped hers tightly.


    ¡°Do not concern yourself with such things. Just lead the way,¡± Laurel interjected, his tone resolute. The smile on his face didn¡¯t quite reach his eyes, and concern washed over Valeryon. She brushed her thumb over the back of his hand, offering silent reassurance. His gaze softened, and his smile transformed into something genuine.


    Mister Willowbank blinked, momentarily taken aback, but quickly regained his composure. ¡°Yes, of course. Your Highness, Heir Vesalius, please follow me.¡±


    As they walked through the bustling halls, Laurel¡¯s grip remained firm around Valeryon¡¯s hand, a silent barrier against the overwhelming sea of unfamiliar faces. Children scurried past them, their laughter ringing in the air, but Valeryon felt as if she were walking through a dream, disconnected from the lively scene.


    When they reached their classroom, Valeryon took her seat at a long, polished table with Laurel naturally sitting beside her. The room buzzed with energy as classmates introduced themselves, exchanging stories and sharing jokes. Valeryon offered polite smiles but struggled to contribute. Her peers chattered eagerly, their voices high-pitched and animated, while she remained on the outskirts, observing and absorbing the lively dynamics.


    Laurel, on the other hand, was in his element. He easily engaged with the other children, his charm drawing them in. ¡°You¡¯ve got to see the trick I can do with my magic!¡± he exclaimed, demonstrating a small, colourful illusion that sparked laughter and admiration. However, whenever he was invited to join their games, he flatly rejected their invitations, refusing to leave Valeryon alone for even a moment.


    At first, no one had an issue, but as such behaviour persisted, it began to draw attention. Whispers spread among the children. ¡°Why does he never want to hang out with us?¡± one girl asked, casting a glance at them. ¡°Isn¡¯t it weird how they stick together all the time?¡± another chimed in.


    Valeryon sensed the growing scrutiny, and her heart sank. She didn¡¯t understand why the others seemed to view their closeness as unusual¡ªweren¡¯t they also close with their friends? During lunch, the cafeteria buzzed with gossip, and Valeryon caught snippets of conversations about ¡°the evil princess¡± and ¡°the slave boy.¡±


    She dismissed it at first, chalking it up to the peculiar obsession children often had with strange new fairytales. But as days turned into weeks, the tension thickened around her like an oppressive fog. Valeryon noticed teachers exchanging meaningful glances, their expressions shifting from curiosity to disapproval. ¡°What¡¯s with them?¡± she overheard one teacher murmur to another. ¡°I¡¯m not sure, but this has gone on for far too long,¡± came the reply.


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    It eventually dawned on her that the murmurs were about her relationship with Laurel. Valeryon couldn¡¯t grasp the problem. Laurel was a Vesalius, conceived with the specific purpose of being her lifelong companion. Their closeness was not only natural; it was a duty. And as Trainees from the Origin, they were meant to collaborate closely to complete their missions in this world. To Valeryon, their bond was inevitable. Yet it was clear the staff and students saw it differently.


    As the weeks blended into months, the atmosphere at the Junior Academy grew increasingly stifling for Valeryon. Teachers, perhaps under some misguided notion of promoting independence, insisted that she and Laurel work separately during lessons. Laurel protested vehemently, but his words fell on deaf ears. His face flushed with frustration as they exited yet another tense meeting with Mister Willowbank.


    ¡°They¡¯re just being ridiculous and unreasonable, Val,¡± Laurel grumbled, his voice laced with irritation. ¡°We should just ignore them.¡±


    For a while, they tried. They continued to sit together during classes and worked together, but the persistent scrutiny wore on Valeryon. Despite Laurel¡¯s protests, she quietly accepted the new arrangement, hoping to avoid further attention.


    But the change only fuelled the gossip. Whispers spread through the academy like wildfire¡ªspeculations about a falling out between them. The more Valeryon tried to blend in, the more she stood out. She often found herself working alone, while the other students paired off, their conversations flowing effortlessly around her. A part of her was relieved to avoid the awkward social interactions, but the isolation gnawed at her. Laurel, on the other hand, seemed to fit in with ease, his playful demeanour earning him smiles and invitations that were never extended to her.


    It puzzled her. Why was Laurel embraced while she faced cautious glances and outright hostility? The question lingered in her mind, growing more pressing with each passing day. Why was she treated like something that shouldn¡¯t exist?


    Curiosity gnawed at her, prompting Valeryon to start keeping a journal. Her first entry posed the question that haunted her: What is it about me that makes others treat me like the villain of some story? She was the Crown Princess of the Archipelago, the future ruler to whom they would one day swear their loyalty. It wasn¡¯t conceit, just a fact of her existence. Yet even the teachers, who should have known better, treated her with thinly veiled disdain. She had seen the way they scoffed and rolled their eyes when they thought she wasn¡¯t looking. As for the other children, their behavior might be excused as the fickleness of youth, but what was the source of this animosity that greeted her from the moment she stepped into the academy?


    Her suspicions grew when she overheard some older students referring to her as the "evil princess¡± as she passed by. The nickname had floated around since her first day at the Junior Academy, but now it piqued her curiosity. Was there some resemblance she bore to a villain from a story? Or was this label born of something more sinister?


    Determined to uncover the truth, Valeryon requested that the palace staff gather popular fairy tales from across the Archipelago. She took a night off studying just to comb through them for any clue that might explain the hostility she faced. The answer appeared sooner than expected, nestled within the fourth book she opened.


    The Golden Girl and the Evil Princess.


    The title seemed innocuous enough, but the story was damning. Published just six months ago by an author under the pseudonym "Golden Goose," the tale was part of a series that had taken the Archipelago by storm. As Valeryon read the summary, and flipped through the illustrated pages she could not help but gape.


    In the world of Lumina, a radiant heroine known as the Golden Girl embarks on a series of adventures, her shimmering golden hair and skin bringing light and hope wherever she goes. Her adversary is the Evil Princess, a shadowy figure cloaked in a black veil and dress, who seeks to plunge the world into darkness. By her side is the Slave Boy, a silver coloured youth bound to the princess by a ¡®dark spell¡¯. Together, they antagonised the Golden Girl, setting the stage for a battle between light and darkness.


    It didn¡¯t take much to see the parallels. The Evil Princess and the Slave Boy were clearly modelled after Valeryon and Laurel. The resemblance was too uncanny to be a coincidence, down to the iridescent sheen of the veil and gloves she wore.


    Valeryon found herself laughing at the absurdity of it all. The art was striking, the narrative compelling, so it wasn¡¯t hard to see why the story had become so popular. What puzzled her, though, was the clear dissonance between the characters¡¯ roles and their actions. The Golden Girl, despite her outwardly benevolent appearance, was depicted as selfish and short-sighted, often causing more harm than good. The Evil Princess, on the other hand, was portrayed as a misunderstood figure, working in the shadows to undo the damage caused by the Golden Girl¡¯s well-meaning but disastrous interventions.


    In one tale, the Golden Girl "cured" a forest of its strange, foul-smelling dark flowers, believing she was doing the nearby town a favour¡ªdespite no one asking for her help. In her ignorance, she disrupted the natural balance, leading to a drought that threatened the entire kingdom. The Evil Princess, aware of the delicate equilibrium the flowers maintained, sought to restore them, even as the townspeople vilified her for it. Her attempts to have the Golden Girl arrested for destroying a protected species only increased their hatred. The perception of the Slave Boy was also interesting. The Golden Girl was offended by the idea of someone being bound to the Evil Princess, clearly unaware of the history they shared. The story made it clear that the Slave Boy had taken his oath willingly after growing up with the Evil Princess, knowing her better than anyone. Additionally, it wasn¡¯t like Evil Princess was shown to have suddenly changed, she was called Evil Princess from birth and everyone considered her to be such from the very beginning as well.


    It was fascinating, really. The influence of a simple children¡¯s tale had shaped an entire community¡¯s perception of her.


    But now that she understood, Valeryon¡¯s curiosity was satisfied. She turned her attention back to her studies with renewed focus. Each day after school, she spent hours poring over textbooks and practicing the rudimentary magic skills taught at the academy. Her diligence paid off. By the end of the month, Valeryon excelled in the mid-year skill assessment, impressing her instructors enough to allow her to skip grades and move on to more advanced classes.


    As she walked home that day, hand in hand with Laurel, a sense of determination washed over her. If she continued at this pace, she would graduate early and leave this absurd chapter of her life behind. The experience had been unnecessary, a pointless ordeal that only strained her bond with Laurel. Valeryon couldn¡¯t help but understand, at least a little, why Laurel harboured such disdain for Lady Sachar. The Governess had insisted they attend the Junior Academy, despite being fully capable of teaching them herself. It was irrational, perhaps, but the resentment felt good, so Valeryon embraced it fully.

 SL: Academy Letter

    After graduating early from the Junior Academy, Valeryon retreated to the familiar safety of her clan''s castle. Outside, the world seemed sharp and hostile. Every time she ventured into the city, stares and whispers followed her, amplifying the feeling that she didn¡¯t belong. Casual conversations, which others breezed through effortlessly, left her mentally exhausted and confused. Social cues like small talk and laughter were alien to her, turning interactions into a chore. Inside the castle, however, she could breathe again. The empty, quiet halls gave her the peace she craved. There was no need to pretend or decipher the hidden meanings behind words or glances. Here, she could simply exist, uninterrupted.


    Back at the castle, Valeryon dove into her studies with a focus she had not felt before. Books, magic, and weaving became her sanctuary, her world. Unlike people, these things followed rules she understood. Magic was a structured force, bending to logic and intent. Weaving was rhythmic, a comforting series of patterns. Everything within these pursuits was clear, free from the confusing chaos of human interaction.


    But everything changed on her eighth birthday. For the first time, the long-forbidden Music Hall was opened to her. Stepping into the space felt like entering a new realm. The room glowed with the presence of Immortal Wisps, spiritual echoes of ancestors who had mastered their crafts in life. These spirits floated, waiting to be awakened. Whenever Valeryon picked up an instrument, a Wisp would appear, offering guidance without the burden of expectations. Here, mistakes were not judged; they were steps in a journey of exploration. It was in this hall that Valeryon found something rare¡ªa kind of freedom she had never known. She wasn¡¯t learning out of duty but out of genuine curiosity. Music became her escape, a place where she could express herself without the fear of getting it wrong.


    Eager to share this newfound joy, Valeryon invited Laurel to join her in the Music Hall. True to his lively nature, Laurel embraced the Music Hall with his usual enthusiasm, and together they explored its many instruments. Valeryon fell in love with the pedal harp, its gentle plucking of strings reminiscent of weaving fabrics on a loom. Laurel gravitated toward the violin, its rich, resonant tones perfectly complementing Valeryon¡¯s harp melodies. Their shared sessions filled the once-empty halls with music, bringing warmth and vitality to the castle that neither had experienced before.


    When not immersed in music, Valeryon found peace in the Weaving Room. The rhythmic clatter of the loom, the texture of fabric sliding through her fingers, and the vibrant colours surrounding her created a meditative escape. Weaving became a powerful form of expression, allowing her to convey emotions she often struggled to articulate. Each movement of her hands breathed life into raw materials, transforming them into exquisite textiles imbued with subtle magical properties. Over time, through experimentation, she discovered that her woven creations could resist temperature changes, repel dust, and withstand wear. More than just practical, the fabric responded to her intent; if she wished it to tear, it would, and if she desired it to remain whole, it would become impenetrable. This newfound ability significantly changed her life, especially with her veil. She no longer had to awkwardly manoeuvre it while eating; the fabric effortlessly allowed food to pass through while maintaining its opaque appearance


    To test the extent of her magic, Valeryon asked Laurel for help. Together, they experimented to see if anyone else could control her woven creations. The answer was clear¡ªher magic was unique to her. This discovery empowered Valeryon, giving her control over something tangible in a world where so much felt out of reach.


    Her exploration did not conclude with weaving. Inspired by the connection between her emotional intent and her craft, Valeryon began to wonder whether the same principles applied to music. The idea of channeling her emotions through melodies and having an effect on the listener intrigued her. She found herself experimenting, letting her magic flow through her fingers as she played the harp, subtly infusing the notes with her intent. The result was a deeply personal experience, the music reflecting her innermost feelings and in turn creates a feedback loop that influenced her while she in turn influenced it. It was only because of how in tune with her own magic that she was that she could sense its work on her psych as she played.


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    Eager to test the theory further, Valeryon turned once again to Laurel. Together, they designed an experiment, bypassing complex statistical analysis which seemed unable to capture the complexity of the data they would be handling in favour of Laurel¡¯s self-reporting on how he felt during each performance. They spent hours in the Music Hall, with Valeryon playing while Laurel provided feedback, comparing her emotions with the ones he experienced. The results were fascinating¡ªher magic had a clear impact on his mood, shifting in response to her emotional state.


    As time passed, Valeryon¡¯s focus on her projects grew, so much so that Laurel¡¯s absence became a mere footnote in her days. He had traveled to the island of Adhe with his mother, Daphne, to attend a family celebration. Adhe, an island in the Archipelago, governed by the seraph Sil-Adhe Vassal Family was celebrating a special holiday meant to strengthen familial bonds and connection to the air of the seraphs and those with seraph blood. While Valeryon missed Laurel, she found that her productivity soared in his absence, giving her time to focus on creating a special birthday gift for him.


    However, when Laurel returned, Valeryon¡¯s hyper-focus on her work began to take its toll on their friendship. As she became more engrossed in her weaving, she inadvertently pushed him away, something she barely noticed until Laurel proposed a new exploration¡ªan inverse of the emotional study to investigate whether Laurel¡¯s emotional translated through music. His suggestion reignited her excitement, and she quickly set aside her other projects to focus on their new endeavour.


    But as the days passed and their study progressed, Valeryon began to notice subtle changes in Laurel. He often seemed tired, his usually bright demeanour clouded by dark circles under his eyes. At first, she brushed it off, assuming it was a result of his travels. But as time went on, the signs became harder to ignore.


    Still, time slipped by unnoticed as Valeryon became engrossed in her work. Thus, when her thirteenth birthday arrived, it caught her completely off guard. The day slipped past her until Daphne guided her to a previously unexplored section of the castle¡ªthe Brewing Room. This cozy space was lined with shelves of glass vials and ingredients. Daphne explained its significance, revealing that this room would hold greater meaning once Valeryon acquired the knowledge of potion brewing.


    Grabbing a fundamentals book from one of the book shelves, Valeryon settled herself in one of the leather couches beneath the ancient style open window and found herself captivated by a book on the history of potion-making. As she lost herself in its pages, she absentmindedly stroked the silky strands of Laurel''s hair. She did not know when he had gotten here as she had not realised him coming into the room at all, but it must have been a while considering how deeply he was sleeping. Laurel had dozed off with his head resting on her lap, his soft snores providing a comforting backdrop that even made herself feel a bit drowsy despite having had an ample amount of sleep.


    But then, as Laurel shifted slightly, her attention was drawn to the dark circles under his eyes¡ªa stark contrast against his pale complexion. Worry crept in as she pondered how someone as seemingly well-adjusted as Laurel could be struggling with sleep. She had always viewed his daytime naps as mere preferences for comfort, but now doubt consumed her. What if he was struggling with insomnia?


    After thirteen years living together Valeryon thought she knew Laurel relatively well, but Valeryon felt a sudden disconnect. How could she have overlooked such concerning signs? A wave of regret washed over her as she considered how little she truly knew about her only friend. Despite the magical ban that restricted certain topics, there were still countless other subjects they could have discussed without crossing boundaries. As the weight of regret settled heavily on her shoulders and Valeryon was about to spiral into self-blame, a sudden bright glow caught her attention, accompanied by a delicate fluttering sound.


    She glanced up to see a shimmering envelope gliding toward her on iridescent wings. It hovered momentarily before the wings dissipated, leaving the envelope gently resting in her hands. Her name¡ªPrincess Valeryon II¡ªwas emblazoned on it, alongside a glowing red stamp from the Archipelago''s Post Office, assuring her that its contents had been tested for safety.


    With bated breath, she opened the letter, and a gasp escaped her lips. It was her acceptance letter to the Forester Academy. In that instant, the long-dormant Celestial Receiver on her wrist illuminated with a vibrant blue glow, radiating warmth that coursed through her.


    After thirteen long years, the wait was finally over. It was time for the main mission to begin.

 SL: Vinora Plaza

    [The Adjustment period has officially concluded. We hope all Trainees utilised this time to acclimate themselves to their respective worlds. Optional side quests are now accessible on the Map tab. Individual character profiles and ability assessments have also been generated for all Trainees, which can be accessed in the Profile and Abilities tabs. Please note that all information presented is based on the data gathered during the Adjustment Period. Therefore, details will be subject to change as Trainees progress in their journeys. Finally, we would like to congratulate the seven Trainees who have succeeded in contracting a Celestial during the Adjustment period; rewards for your accomplishments have been sent to your Inventories. Trainees, we wish you all the best of luck in your missions and hope you achieve remarkable feats in the worlds you have chosen. May the Celestials shine brightly upon you.


    -Mission Central.]


    Valeryon carefully examined the message displayed on the notification tab to ensure she fully absorbed all its contents. Once she was confident that she grasped its essence, her gaze traveled down the neatly organised tabs on the left side of the screen. There were a total of seven tabs: Notifications, Tasks, Map, Profile, Abilities, Inventory, and Celestials. The tabs were distinct in colour¡ªNotifications, Tasks, and Inventory gleamed in calming blue; Map, Profile, and Abilities shone with a bold red glow; and the Celestials tab, in dull grey


    She was currently reading the message from Mission Central on the Notifications tab at the top, so she decided to continue her exploration by selecting the next tab below it; Tasks. Under a section labelled Active Tasks, the two main missions were displayed on screen: graduating from a magical school and dying of old age.


    Next, she selected to the Map tab and its colour shifted from red to blue. The map on screen had a limited scope, only showing the castle where she lived, the school she attended, and the sections of the city she traversed while commuting between the two locations by carriage. At the top of it was an exploration percentage which currently rested at a minuscule 0.0015%. At the bottom of the map was a legend explaining the various quests that could emerge upon interacting with the world. However, no side quests were available for her to reference at this time, so Valeryon did not feel an immediate need to examine it in detail.


    Afterwards, Valeryon selected the Profile tab and noticed that, just like the Map tab, its colour changed from red to blue. With some experimentation Valeryon deduced that red indicated the presence of new information in the tab, while blue denoted the standard colour for the tabs. For comparison, she selected the unremarkable grey Celestials tab at the bottom but soon realised that it was not accessible. Hence, the grey colour had to indicate the inaccessibility of a tab. With her curiosity sated, Valeryon returned to the Profile tab to scrutinise its contents.


    Identity: Princess Valeryon II. Future monarch of the Valeryon Archipelago.


    Age: 13


    Observations: Antisocial, strong attachment to clan identity, diligent, dutiful, scholarly


    The profile was less detailed than Valeryon had anticipated, given that it was meant to encompass 13 years'' worth of information collected on her. While she agreed with most of the content written about her, she did feel that being labelled as antisocial was too extreme. Nevertheless, Valeryon recognised that her own viewpoint carried little significance in this regard, as the profile was constructed based on others'' perceptions of her rather than her own self-perception.


    Moving on to the Abilities section, she discovered two categories: physical capability and magical capabilities. Each aspect within these sections has been assigned a letter grade, which indicates an individual''s proficiency in harnessing their respective powers. The grading scale ranges from the lowest grade of F to the highest level of S.


    Physical Capability:


    Constitution: Body''s ability to resist, heal and recover from illness and injury


    Grade: S


    Strength: Body''s physical prowess


    Grade: F


    Dexterity: Body''s sense of balance, precision and agility


    Grade: F


    Magical Capability:


    Resurrection: Ability to tether soul to the moral plain


    Grade: Unknown


    *Note: The usage of this ability will result in the failure of a main mission


    Regeneration: Ability to heal oneself


    Grade: Unknown


    Healing: Ability to heal others


    Grade: Unknown


    Aquakinesis: Ability to manipulate water


    Grade: F


    Chlorokinesis: Ability to manipulate nature


    Grade: Unknown


    String Creation: Ability to create string out of magic


    Grade: F


    Harmonic Influence: Ability to influence emotions through music


    Grade: F


    Valeryon felt her heart thud in her chest as she scrolled down the list, her fingers trembling ever so slightly. It was accurate¡ªeerily so. She had never even openly used some of the abilities listed, yet Mission Central seemed to know them all. A wave of unease washed over her. How closely was Mission Central monitoring them? Their knowledge of the intricacies of the Orcus Galaxy was unsettling, especially considering her existence was forbidden. Surely, there had to be Confidentiality Oaths in place to protect individuals like her. Surely, there was no way that-


    A cold hand grasped hers, jolting her from her spiralling thoughts.


    ¡°Val, are you okay?¡± Laurel¡¯s voice broke through the fog in her mind. ¡°Your hands are shaking.¡±


    She took a deep, shuddering breath and closed her eyes tightly, trying to steady her racing heart. ¡°I¡¯m alright. I was just feeling a bit cold.¡±


    ¡°Cold? Really? Your hand¡¯s usually warm enough to start a fire, but if you insist¡ªmay I?¡± He teased, but his eyes were full of concern.


    She opened her eyes slowly, glancing down at him. He was still lounging with his head in her lap, a playful smile lighting up his face. ¡°Okay,¡± she replied hesitantly.


    With a gentle touch, Laurel peeled off her gloves and took her trembling hands into his icy ones, rubbing them in a futile attempt to warm them up.


    ¡°I see your Celestial Receiver has activated,¡± he said, casually gliding a finger over its smooth, luminous blue surface. A shiver raced up Valeryon¡¯s spine at the unexpected contact. Although the Receiver not being a physical extension of their bodies¡ªlacking nerves and sensation¡ªthe touch felt startlingly intimate.


    ¡°Val?¡± Laurel¡¯s voice was soft, bringing her back to the moment.


    ¡°Hm? Yes. It seems we were right about it activating closer to the main mission. Yours should activate around your birthday as well.¡±


    ¡°You mean you were right. I wasn¡¯t the one who suggested it,¡± he corrected her, a teasing glint in his eyes. ¡°And look, mine activated today. It¡¯s what woke me up.¡±


    Valeryon frowned, scrutinising the radiant blue glow of Laurel¡¯s Celestial Receiver, snugly nestled on his wrist. ¡°How? You haven¡¯t received your letter yet, so what could have triggered it?¡±


    Laurel shrugged, his fingers still absently playing with hers. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s our partnership?¡±


    That seemed plausible. Valeryon nodded slowly. ¡°Most likely.¡±


    Laurel¡¯s fingers curled through hers. ¡°Now, will you tell me what had you so upset before?¡±


    Her body tensed. Of course, Laurel would see through her. He always did. She had been foolish to think her lie about the cold would fool him.


    ¡°You saw something on there, didn¡¯t you? Something that upset you.¡± His gaze was steady, probing.


    Valeryon''s grip on Laurel''s hands tightened unintentionally.


    Laurel¡¯s smile faded slightly, ¡°Is there anything I can do to help you feel better?¡±


    Valeryon shook her head, feeling the weight of his gaze.


    Seeing the frown appear on his face, she hurriedly explained, ¡°You don¡¯t need to. I feel better now.¡±


    Laurel clearly wasn¡¯t fully convinced, but he flashed her a reassuring smile. ¡°Alright. But let¡¯s close that window, yeah? There¡¯s no sense in starting the day by stressing yourself out.¡±


    Valeryon obediently tapped on her Receiver to close the window and then handed Laurel the piece of parchment that had been resting beside her.


    The paper crinkled in his hands as he pushed himself upright, shuffling to sit beside her. Once settled, he scanned the letter with a serious expression. ¡°Did you see the items list at the back?¡± he asked, his brow furrowed in concentration.


    ¡°No,¡± Valeryon admitted. She had been too eager to access her Celestial Receiver, tossing the letter aside once she grasped the gist of its contents.


    "I''ll let someone know to pick the things up for us then."


    Valeryon shook her head. "That will not be necessary. I would like to shop for them myself."


    Laurel¡¯s head shot up, his eyes wide. ¡°You want to go out? As in, into the city?¡±


    She nodded firmly. ¡°Yes.¡± Valeryon longed to expand her map¡¯s range and improve her odds of unlocking side quests. The precise requirements for triggering these quests remained unclear, but exploring new areas seemed promising considering they were found in the Map tab of the interface. Side quests were optional but completing them would enhance her final evaluation, and Valeryon was determined to attempt at least a few while she had the chance.


    ¡°Then I¡¯m coming with you,¡± Laurel said, his excitement barely contained. ¡°Even if I don¡¯t have my letter yet, I¡¯ll still need the same supplies.¡±


    Valeryon felt a wave of relief. The idea of venturing out alone was daunting, but with Laurel by her side, it didn¡¯t seem as overwhelming. ¡°Okay,¡± she agreed, her heart racing with anticipation.


    Their plan was interrupted when Lady Daphne, Laurel¡¯s mother, appeared at the doorway. Her wavy white hair was pinned up elegantly, though a few strands fell around her face. ¡°I heard you two talking about going into the city,¡± she said with a soft smile. ¡°I¡¯ll arrange for some guards to accompany you.¡±


    Before Valeryon could respond, Laurel stood up quickly. ¡°Mother, that won¡¯t be necessary. I know the city well, and Val would prefer it if we didn¡¯t make a big scene. We don¡¯t want to draw too much attention.¡±


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    Valeryon hadn¡¯t even considered that aspect. She was grateful for Laurel¡¯s thoughtfulness in handling the situation.


    Lady Daphne, however, wasn¡¯t convinced. She narrowed her eyes slightly at her son. ¡°Laurel, please be mindful of how you address Her Highness. It¡¯s inappropriate to speak so casually in public settings.¡±


    Laurel sighed, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. ¡°Mother, Val¡¯s fine with how I speak to her.¡±


    Daphne sighed, gently pushing aside a few stray strands of her white hair that had fallen onto her face. As she frowned, her youthful countenance revealed the slightest hint of wrinkles. "My darling son, while Her Highness may have no issue regarding your casual address, others may not see it that way. They may either think you are too audacious or look down on Het Highness for allowing such disrespect. Regardless, it does not reflect well on either of you to be heard speaking so informally in public settings. Do you understand?"


    Laurel clenched his jaw but nodded. ¡°Yes, Mother.¡±


    ¡°Good boy.¡± Lady Daphne leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to Laurel¡¯s forehead. Valeryon turned her gaze away and pursed her lips.


    ¡°Regarding your preference, I shall refrain from accompanying you, Your Highness,¡± Lady Daphne continued, her tone shifting. ¡°Nevertheless, I suggest you take at least two guards with you for ease of transport and safety. Would that be acceptable?¡±


    Valeryon inclined her head in agreement. ¡°I understand. Please arrange for two guards to accompany us tomorrow morning, Lady Daphne.¡±


    ¡°As you wish, Your Highness,¡± she replied, her expression softening.


    The journey to the Plaza felt like a nostalgic return to the past for Valeryon, echoing the countless trips she had taken to the Academy years ago. As the carriage rolled along, the air was rich with the scent of blooming flowers, mingling harmoniously with the distant calls of birds flitting through the trees. Outside her window, the landscape unfolded like a vivid painting brought to life, captivating her senses anew with its vibrancy.


    Lush forests stretched toward the horizon, their emerald canopies shimmering under the gentle morning sun. Sunbeams danced playfully through the leaves, casting intricate patterns of light and shadow on the forest floor. Fields of wildflowers erupted in a riot of colours¡ªbrilliant blues, soft pinks, and sunny yellows¡ªswaying gently in the breeze. In the distance, a grand lake mirrored the azure sky, its surface glistening like a polished sapphire, while quaint houses dotted the landscape, smoke curling lazily from their chimneys. Each home hinted at warmth and life within, creating an idyllic scene that felt almost surreal, like a moment plucked from a historical holo-movie capturing a bygone era.


    However, as they approached the heart of Vinora, the tranquil countryside gave way to a bustling city alive with the sounds of commerce and vibrant life. The streets became a tapestry woven with merchants enthusiastically hawking their wares, children laughing and playing, and the rhythmic clip-clop of hooves against cobblestones creating a lively symphony. The buildings, crafted from sturdy brick and smooth stone, exuded timeless elegance, each adorned with intricate carvings and ornamental details that spoke of the city¡¯s rich culture and craftsmanship.


    Their carriage, a simple black vehicle devoid of royal insignia, glided through the streets almost unnoticed. She wore the plainest robes from her closet, but they still held the iridescent sheen of her magic-infused silk garments. Though she would have preferred to wear something less conspicuous, ordinary clothing, even when woven with protective runes, could not provide the same sense of security as her clan attire.


    Laurel dozed lightly against her shoulder.His snow-white hair, usually tied back with a black ribbon, had loosened slightly, framing his face with a softness that contrasted with the dark circles under his eyes. Today, he wore the beautiful iridescent rose-colored robes that Valeryon had crafted for him for the Ostara spring festival a few weeks prior. She had been surprised to see him dressed so boldly for their outing, especially when he had insisted on helping her avoid attention just the day before. Valeryon suspected that he had chosen such bright attire intentionally to draw the gaze away from her. Regardless, the robes looked lovely on him.


    Across from them sat Sir Lowell and Dame Fray, two of the royal knights chosen to accompany them. Valeryon recognised their faces from her days at the Junior Academy. They had always preferred to blend into the background, maintaining a low profile unless directly engaged. Their quiet demeanour had provided her with a sense of comfort, deftly helping her navigate the social labyrinth of her school days. Even now, years later, their presence offered reassurance as they sat before her, a protective barrier against the world beyond.


    As the carriage rolled deeper into the city, Valeryon felt the familiar twinge of anxiety that accompanied crowded places. Social interactions had never been her strong suit; the noise and bustle around her were overwhelming. Yet, Laurel¡¯s gentle presence beside her eased her nerves, grounding her amidst the chaos.


    Vinora Plaza was more than just a marketplace; it was the heart and soul of Vesperia, a vibrant hub drawing visitors from every corner of the Archipelago and beyond. As the crown jewel of the island, it was a lively blend of culture, commerce, and community.


    In the early morning hours, the Plaza exuded a serene charm. Locals ambled along winding pathways, cradling steaming mugs of aromatic drinks from the quaint caf¨¦s scattered about. The sweet scent of freshly baked pastries mingled with rich coffee, creating an inviting atmosphere. During these tranquil moments, Vinora Plaza was a haven for its residents. They greeted one another with warm nods and genuine smiles, their laughter softly echoing through the quiet air.


    As midday approached, the Plaza transformed dramatically. The serene atmosphere gave way to a lively buzz, with merchants vocally beckoning passersby to explore their wares. The air thickened with the delightful scents of sizzling street food, while people strolled leisurely, drawn to the myriad of sights and sounds. Some sought rare enchanted items, others hunted for unique luxury goods that could only be found in the Archipelago, and many simply came to bask in the beauty of their surroundings. Every corner of the Plaza offered a new delight¡ªhandmade jewellery, novelty potions, and vibrant textiles.


    Amidst this vibrant chaos towered the Eternal Rosette Blooms, majestic trees adorned with radiant pink petals that glowed softly in the daylight. Originally hailing from Fiore, these magnificent trees had become synonymous with Vinora Plaza, their ethereal beauty casting a gentle, magical light over the bustling scene.


    Among the throng of people, Valeryon walked closely behind her friend Laurel, her dark veil fluttering lightly in the breeze. ¡°This way,¡± he urged, pointing toward an impressive building at the heart of the Plaza. Its polished stone fa?ade and towering arches gleamed in the sunlight, inviting them inside. ¡°The best shops are in there.¡±


    As they entered, Valeryon took in the sights, feeling a strange nostalgia. ¡°It looks like an old mall,¡± she mused, recalling holo-programs she''d seen depicting ancient 21st-century shopping centres.


    Laurel chuckled. ¡°It does. I thought the same when I first saw it.¡±


    Inside, the Plaza was alive with energy. Customers drifted from shop to shop, their footsteps echoing off polished marble floors. As they wandered, Laurel often paused to point out items he thought Valeryon might like, and she was often pleasantly surprised by his choices. Shiny feather quills, shimmering bottles of ink, leather-bound journals studded with crystals¡ªValeryon found herself getting fixated, drawn to every brightly coloured and sparkly trinket and knickknack she encountered.


    Laurel, then gently steered her toward more practical items, ensuring they also purchased standard supplies for their studies. "Just in case," he reminded her with a warm smile, "our future instructors might not share your love for pretty stationery.¡±


    As the day wore on, the plaza became increasingly crowded. Whispers began to follow Valeryon as people took notice of her presence. Valeryon¡¯s dark veil and the unmistakable plain-clothed knights trailing behind her gave her identity away easily. Shoppers would glance her way, but no one dared approach. The royal knights, ever watchful, held their staves close, their intimidating presence keeping any curiosity at bay.


    Vinora Plaza enforced strict regulations regarding weapons, particularly magical ones. Security personnel patrolled diligently, their detection devices ensuring that no one broke the rules. The consequences for smuggling in illegal items were severe¡ªsteep fines or imprisonment. However the royal knights, with their special permits, were exempt from this rule.


    Among the many shops in the Plaza, Valeryon¡¯s favourite was the Crystal Emporium. It sold everything from raw magical ores to enchanted jewellery. Valeryon admired crystals, not just for their magical properties but for their sheer beauty. She lingered by a display of sparkling earrings, her fingers brushing lightly against the gems.


    Laurel leaned in closer, noticing her interest. ¡°I could make you something even better,¡± he whispered with a teasing grin.


    She hesitated for a moment, but then allowed him to steer her away from the jewellery section and back toward the practical crystals she needed for her studies.


    As they navigated through the vibrant Plaza, Valeryon couldn¡¯t help but reflect on the prosperity enveloping her. The Archipelago, and by extension the larger realm of Fiore, thrived largely due to the wealth generated by Varic Island¡ªa stunning landmass forged by the magical prowess of her ancestor, King Varic Valeryon.


    King Varic hadn¡¯t merely conjured an island from the earth; he had engineered an entire economy. His mastery of magic created an endless source of mineral wealth, with mines brimming with rare metals and exquisite crystals. This bounty fuelled the Archipelago¡¯s economy for generations, establishing its significance in the broader political landscape of Fiore.


    However, this prosperity was born from a complex history of conflict and rivalry. The origins of the tension lay between the Arthas family of the Archipelago and the Asztalos family of the Mainland, who controlled the world¡¯s magical banks. The enmity sprouted when Lord Arthas Asztalos chose to sever ties with his lineage, pledging loyalty to Valeryon the First. Over the centuries, the feud intensified, leading the Arthas family to establish their banking institutions as a means to break the Asztalos¡¯ stranglehold on the Archipelago¡¯s economy.


    King Varic¡¯s creation of Varic Island had altered the balance of power permanently. The abundant resources allowed the Arthas family to flood the market with high-quality magical crystals, diminishing the Asztalos family''s dominance. In retaliation, the Asztalos family resorted to deceit, exploiting legal loopholes to ensnare their rivals in financial traps and shady contracts. Though Valeryon¡¯s predecessors had navigated these treacherous waters with remarkable cunning, the growing ruthlessness of the Asztalos family loomed like a dark cloud over the Valeryon lineage.


    Despite their schemes failing repeatedly, the Asztalos family grew bolder, eventually resorting to violent measures. Abductions and even murders marked their desperate attempts to destabilise the Valeryon lineage, all while crafting elaborate alibis that shielded them from accountability. Their wealth and influence made it easy for them to evade justice, leaving behind a trail of fear and suspicion.


    Eventually, the Asztalos family abandoned subterfuge and boldly declared an official Blood Feud against the Valeryon lineage, a declaration that deepened the chasm between the two factions. In the midst of this turmoil, Valeryon found herself unwittingly thrust into the role of heir to the blood feud. Though she had yet to take the clan¡¯s sacred Oath of Healing, the burden of her ancestors¡¯ choices weighed heavily on her.


    The Valeryon clan prided itself on its restraint, choosing not to retaliate against their enemies even when provoked. Valeryon was determined to uphold this legacy, even without the Oath binding her to it. However, the threat posed by the Asztalos family weighed heavily on her mind. She feared how their machinations could hinder her efforts to fulfil her missions, especially her second mission: to live until old age. Though she possessed the rare ability of Resurrection, a powerful skill ensuring her survival after death, using it would mean failing her mission.


    Lost in these thoughts, Valeryon nearly missed Laurel¡¯s concerned voice breaking through her reverie. ¡°Your Highness, you¡¯ve been quiet for a while,¡± he said, his brow furrowed with worry. Cold fingers brushed against the back of her hand, ¡°Are you alright, Val?¡±


    ¡°Hm? What is it?¡± Valeryon blinked, realising she had been lost in thought for quite some time.


    "You''ve been unresponsive for a good ten minutes,¡± Laurel said softly. ¡°Should we head back home?¡±


    Valeryon adjusted her veil, pushing aside her troubling thoughts. ¡°I¡¯m fine, just thinking. We still have a few more things to get, don¡¯t we?"


    Laurel hesitated, his expression shifting to something more serious. ¡°Yes, but there¡¯s a slight problem.¡± He handed her a parchment¡ªa formal letter from Forester Academy. ¡°Look at this. They¡¯re telling us where we need to purchase our uniforms and staves, but the store is on the Mainland.¡±


    Valeryon frowned as she glanced at the letter. ¡°Why can¡¯t we just buy everything here?¡±


    ¡°I thought the same thing, but I haven¡¯t seen any stores selling what we need. It¡¯s strange, really.¡± He gestured toward the two guards standing watch behind them. ¡°Are there really no stores that sell these things here or anywhere else in the Archipelago?¡±


    Dame Fray, the more outspoken of the two guards, placed a hand over her chest in a gesture of respect. "Permission to speak, heir Vesalius."


    "Granted," Laurel replied, nodding for her to continue.


    "The items you seek are not sold in the Archipelago due to strict regulations and licensing imposed by the Mainland," Dame Fray explained, her voice steady.


    Valeryon¡¯s frown deepened. ¡°So no one in the Archipelago has managed to get a license?¡±


    "I agree. It is quite strange for these services not to be provided here," Laurel said, crossing his arms. "Even if regulating the sale of staves makes some sense, what¡¯s the point of doing so with the academy uniforms?¡±


    Dame Fray nodded, maintaining her professionalism. "Many believe the regulations are designed to limit the Archipelago''s ability to compete with the Mainland. Some suspect that by enforcing these rules, the Mainland draws talent and resources away from us and back to their cities. It also forces residents to travel to the Mainland, increasing their spending there. In short, it¡¯s an economic strategy¡ªone that ensures we remain dependent on their goods and services."


    Laurel scoffed, a his lips curling in a sardonic smile. "They¡¯re afraid of competition. They know there would be no chance for them otherwise.¡± He turned back to Valeryon, his tone shifting to seriousness. "So, Your Highness, what¡¯s the plan? Do we head to the Mainland today to finish our shopping, or should we leave it for another time?¡±


    "I would prefer if we could get our shopping done today," Valeryon replied. The afternoon sun still hung high in the sky, and she still had not managed to trigger any quests. So it was worth a try expanding her scope.


    "Great. Let''s get going then."

 SL: City of Endless Winters

    The coastal town of Vir¨¦ basked in the golden glow of the afternoon sun, its cobblestone streets gleaming. Situated on the southernmost tip of Vesperia, the largest isle in the Valeryon Archipelago, Vir¨¦ was more than a simple town. It was a vibrant maritime hub, a convergence point for cultures and traditions from all corners of the known world.


    Its harbour stretched far beyond the natural coastline, its sprawling docks and piers jutting into the crystalline waters of the Aerwynian Sea. Ships of all shapes and sizes bobbed lazily on the gentle waves, their colourful sails adorned with intricate patterns and exotic crests that marked their origins from lands distant and nearby. Merchants, sailors, and dockworkers bustled about, calling out to one another as they unloaded crates brimming with goods from across the seas¡ªrich silks and fragrant spices from Ebren, and unique jewellery and household items that glittered faintly with subtle enchantments from Simran.


    In the streets, a heady mix of aromas filled the air¡ªroasting meats, spiced pastries, and the unmistakable tang of sea salt carried on the breeze. Stalls overflowed with an eclectic array of goods, from brightly coloured fabrics to rare herbs and gemstones, each more tempting than the last. Laughter echoed from every corner, children darting between the legs of travellers and locals alike as they played, their energy a sharp contrast to the more composed adults navigating the marketplace. Blacksmiths worked tirelessly in their forges, the rhythmic clang of hammer against metal underscoring the industrious nature of the town. Craftsmen shaped tools and intricate trinkets with steady hands, while street performers juggled or played lively tunes, adding to the cacophony of life that flowed through Vir¨¦.


    Banners fluttered overhead, each bearing the sigil of one of the archipelago¡¯s noble houses, but none commanded more attention than the black banner of the Valeryon royal family that hung above all, proudly displayed the golden phoenix in flight, clutching a branch of asphodel in its talons.


    Among the crowd, a black cloak caught the sunlight, shimmering with an iridescent sheen, drawing gazes from onlookers. It was embroidered with the unmistakable royal sigil, and the black fabric billowed gracefully as Crown Princess Valeryon the Second made her way through the crowded street. Beside her was Laurel Vesalius, his snow-white hair peeking out from under the hood of his own cloak, which proudly displayed the silver key-and-wings insignia of his house.


    ¡°I always hated traveling to Asua,¡± Laurel murmured, leaning closer to her. ¡°But with you to keep me warm, I might actually enjoy it this time.¡±


    Valeryon cast him a sidelong glance, her lips tightening slightly. Without a word, she quickened her pace, leaving him a step behind.


    Laurel chuckled softly, effortlessly catching up and linking his arm through hers. ¡°How could you leave me? What if I get lost? My sense of direction is terrible, you know.¡±


    ¡°Convenient,¡± Valeryon replied, her tone dry. ¡°Considering you had no trouble finding your way around the Plaza earlier.¡±


    Laurel¡¯s grin widened, his dimples deepening as he leaned in, his cheek brushing against her shoulder. ¡°Your words are sharper than any blade, Val.¡±


    She sighed, lifting a gloved finger to gently tap his forehead, pushing him back slightly. ¡°Behave. We are in public.¡±


    ¡°Tsk. You make it sound like I¡¯m doing something scandalous,¡± he grumbled. Then, with a dramatic sigh, he released his grip and stepped back with an exaggerated bow. ¡°As you command, my princess.¡±


    Valeryon shook her head, a subtle smile tugging at the corners of her mouth beneath her veil.


    Behind them, the metallic clinking of armour announced the presence of Dame Frey and Sir Lowell, the royal knights who followed at a discreet distance. Their ceremonial armor gleamed under the sun, the royal insignia etched proudly into their chest plates. They moved with the discipline of seasoned warriors, their eyes scanning the crowd for any hint of danger.


    As protocol dictated, just as Valeryon and Laurel had donned their ceremonial capes for easy identification, the knights had dressed in formal attire in preparation for escorting the Crown Princess beyond the Archipelago.


    Their destination loomed ahead¡ªthe Terminal, a grand structure standing at the edge of the harbour. It was an imposing building, the primary transportation hub for travellers connecting Vesperia to the other islands of the archipelago. The Terminal was more than just a place of travel¡ªit was a monument to Vesperia¡¯s history. Two massive statues stood guard at its entrance. The first depicted a man with the head of a wolf, his amber eyes seemingly alive as they scrutinised the approaching visitors. He represented the Lunarys Vassal House, the ancient protectors of the land. The second statue portrayed a woman with the tail of a fish, her aquamarine gaze fixed eternally on the horizon, a trident raised triumphantly toward the heavens. She was a tribute to the Aerwyna Vassal House, the guardians of the seas. Together, these statues stood as watchful protectors of the Archipelago.


    As they neared its entrance, they were greeted by an attendant, impeccably dressed in a finely tailored uniform. The attendant bowed deeply, his movements smooth and practiced. ¡°Your Highness, Heir Vesalius, this way, please,¡± he instructed, his voice steady and reassuring. He led them through the bustling terminal.


    Inside, the atmosphere shifted to one of regal splendour. The high ceilings were adorned with exquisite crystal chandeliers, their light casting a warm, shimmering glow across the polished marble floors. Intricate engravings of swirling constellations and celestial navigation lined the walls, chronicling the vast routes that connected the islands of the Archipelago.


    Behind a reinforced glass wall, wide circular openings faced the ocean, each one labeled with the name of a distant isle. Travellers who had passed the security clearance and paid for their fares queued patiently before the openings, awaiting the moment when a shimmering, transparent sphere¡ªan Etheric Sphere¡ªwould form around them and carry them to their destination.


    As they continued deeper into the Terminal, leaving the bustling crowds behind, the noise faded, replaced by the soft echo of their footsteps on polished marble as they ascended a private stairwell. The corridor opened into a luxurious lounge, its pristine ivory walls adorned with intricate gold filigree that glimmered under the warm glow of strategically placed lights. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed breathtaking views of the endless ocean, the afternoon sun casting golden rays across the water. Below, the Etheric Spheres floated gracefully like bubbles, their luminescence dancing above the waves as they ferried passengers between the islands of the Archipelago.


    As they entered, a line of attendants bowed in perfect synchrony, their flowing garments whispering against the polished marble floors. With a flourish, they unveiled a lavish spread of exotic fruits, freshly baked pastries, and crystal pitchers filled with colourful liquid. The sweet and tangy scents wafting through the air ignited Valeryon¡¯s hunger¡ªa constant, insatiable sensation that she had grown accustomed to feeling due to her body¡¯s accelerated metabolism, a side effect of her passive healing abilities.


    ¡°Please, make yourselves comfortable, Your Highness,¡± one of the attendants said, her voice smooth and melodic. She gestured toward the sumptuous feast laid out on the low mahogany table. ¡°If you require anything, simply activate the rune on the table.¡± With that, the attendants filed out in a neat line, the ornate doors shutting behind them with a soft click that resonated in the now hushed room.


    Valeryon moved to the window, settling onto a plush cushion. She gazed out over the vast sea, mesmerised by the rhythmic ebb and flow of the waves. Laurel, her friend, moved a cushion closer and seated himself beside her. His purple eyes scanned the table, slightly narrowing as they settled on the pastries. His fingers drummed a soft rhythm on the polished wood, a habit that did not go unnoticed by the ever-watchful knights, Sir Lowell and Dame Frey, who exchanged subtle glances. Their postures tightened as they surveyed the lounge with heightened vigilance.


    ¡°Not hungry?¡± Valeryon asked, her brow furrowing slightly as she noted the contemplative look on Laurel¡¯s face.


    His expression transformed instantly, as he leaned back into the cushions. ¡°I was just waiting for you to feed me,¡± he replied with a lazy grin.


    Without hesitation, Valeryon picked up a small slice of vibrant dragon fruit, its pink skin and speckled flesh looking incredibly appetising.


    Laurel blinked, his expression faltering momentarily as a rosy flush crept up his cheeks. ¡°For me?¡± he asked, his voice softer now, as if the weight of her gesture carried a deeper meaning.


    ¡°For you,¡± she confirmed, feeling warmth rise to her own cheeks as she extended the slice toward him, her hand steady despite the flutter of nerves in her stomach.


    As Laurel brushed his long strands of hair from his face, he leaned forward, accepting the fruit from her gloved fingers with a gentle brush of his lips. Time seemed to suspend momentarily, an unspoken tension hanging thick in the air.


    However, the moment passed unacknowledged as the ornate doors to the lounge swung open. Two figures entered, their presence immediately commanding attention.


    The boy, slightly taller, led the way his amber eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity. His deep navy coat flared as he walked, revealing sturdy boots made for harsh winters. His high collar framed his sharp features, adding to the air of authority he exuded.


    Beside him stood a girl. She wore a rich burgundy coat dress that hugged her figure, flaring into a flowing skirt that danced around her knee-high leather boots. A friendly smile illuminated her face, and her fur-lined beanie bobbed lightly as she moved. Upon a closer look, she bore identical features to the boy, and had the same glossy black hair and dark brown skin. However what truly set her apart were her glowing peridot-green eyes, identical to Valeryon¡¯s own¡ªa detail that sent a chill down Valeryon¡¯s spine.


    As the twins stepped further into the lounge, Sir Lowell and Dame Frey stepped forward, their hands tightening around their staves, forming a protective barrier between Valeryon and the newcomers. Beside her, Laurel shifted, his playful demeanour replaced by an almost predatory vigilance as he studied the twins, his lavender eyes narrowing in wary appraisal. His fingers tapped a steady rhythm on the table, echoing the tension in the air.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Sir Lowell and Dame Frey relaxed slightly, lowering their staves just a fraction, but the silence remained thick and heavy, wrapping around them like a shroud. The only sound was the soft shuffle of fabric and the barely audible breath of the room, interrupted by the hurried approach of a staff member. He bowed deeply, visibly flustered.


    ¡°Our most sincere apologies, Your Highness. We did not anticipate the Heirs Lunarys¡ª¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s alright; mistakes happen. Now leave.¡± Valeryon interrupted, raising a hand dismissively.


    The boy¡¯s glare was sharp enough to cut steel, his mouth opening as if to challenge her. But before he could speak, the girl laid a hand on his arm, her smile soft and disarming. With a nod, they turned and left, the staff member dabbing at the sweat on his face and rushing after them once more, the doors closing behind them with a soft thud.


    Valeryon exhaled a breath she had not realised she was holding, her heart still racing. Questions swirled in her mind like leaves caught in a tempest.


    The boy¡¯s amber eyes were unmistakable¡ªtell-tale signs of the Lunarys bloodline. But the girl¡¯s eyes¡ªidentical to Valeryon¡¯s own¡ªraised far more unsettling questions. The Valeryon bloodline was strictly controlled and its genealogy meticulously recorded¡ªboth in the Origin and in this world. Yet here was someone bearing the same mark, with no trace of her in the Ancestral Hall.


    What was going on?


    Valeryon¡¯s mind buzzed with possibilities, each more improbable than the last. She needed answers, and the only place she could start looking was the library. A journal, a record¡ªanything written by the Founder or a predecessor might shed light on this anomaly. The thought consumed her until she felt a gentle, cold touch against her trembling hands.


    Laurel¡¯s ice-cold grasp grounded her, his concern evident as he knelt before her. ¡°Val, are you alright?¡± he asked softly.


    Valeryon opened her mouth to answer, but her voice failed her. Her throat felt tight, as if the words were locked away. Instead, she focused on her breathing, the steady rise and fall of her chest a reminder that she was here, in this moment. Once she gathered herself, she gave a small nod, squeezing Laurel¡¯s hands in response.


    Laurel¡¯s gaze softened, and he didn¡¯t press her further, instead holding her hands securely as they waited in silence.


    The silence of the lounge was soon broken by the heavy swing of the doors. Valeryon tensed, half-expecting another unwelcome interruption, her heart racing at the thought of more uninvited guests. But it was only an attendant, stepping in with a respectful bow.


    ¡°Your Highness, everything is prepared for your departure,¡± he announced.


    Rising from her seat, she felt a familiar presence beside her as Laurel fell into step. As they walked, his hand found hers, fingers threading together in a grip that was gentle yet firm.


    They strolled down a long, dimly lit hallway, the soft echo of their footsteps accompanied them as the polished floors gleaming beneath their feet. The faint flicker of the wall sconces that cast long shadows on the ornate walls, each etched with delicate patterns of vines and flowers that seemed to dance in the dim light.


    At the end of the hallway, a grand door swung open, spilling forth bright sunlight that washed over Valeryon like a warm embrace. She shielded her eyes for a moment, blinking against the brilliance, as they stepped out onto a magnificent spiral staircase. The staircase wound downwards, each step leading to a pristine beach where the sea lapped softly against the shore.


    At the foot of the staircase stood the Etheric Arch, a stone structure etched with intricate dimly lit runes.


    ¡°Follow me, Your Highness,¡± the attendant urged, guiding them toward the Arch.


    As they stepped beneath the towering structure, the runes flared to life, illuminating the space around them in vibrant hues. An iridescent sphere of magic materialised, enveloping them in a shimmering embrace. It lifted them gently off the ground and began moving, weightless and gliding over the turquoise waters below.


    The sensation was surreal, akin to flying in a dream. Below them, the crystal-clear waters revealed vibrant coral reefs, teeming with life. Schools of fish darted between the corals, their movements synchronised in mesmerising patterns.


    In the distance, other Etheric spheres floated lazily over the sea, each carrying travellers between the islands of the Archipelago. Valeryon¡¯s gaze wandered, taking in the breathtaking sights. Eventually she caught her first glimpse of Viridia, the breadbasket of the Archipelago. The island stretched before them, a tapestry of lush green fields rolling endlessly beneath the golden sun.


    Farmhouses dotted the landscape, each surrounded by silver irrigation channels that sparkled like veins of light. Viridia¡¯s fertile lands were renowned, feeding not only the Archipelago but also regions of the Mainland. But it was not merely an agricultural hub; it housed the Nexus Gate, the only portal connecting the Archipelago to the outside world, a critical artery for trade and diplomacy.


    As their Etheric sphere drifted closer to the beach, the magic began to dissolve, releasing them in a shower of glittering particles as they touched the sand. An attendant awaited them, bowing low. ¡°Your Highness, a carriage has been prepared to take you to the Nexus Gate.¡±


    Following the attendant, Dame Frey moved to the front of the group, while Sir Lowell guarded the rear. Once they arrived at the carriage, Laurel¡¯s hand tightened briefly around hers before he let go to help her inside. He smiled up at her warmly, but Valeryon could not shake the feeling that something was amiss.


    She noticed the furtive looks Laurel exchanged with the knights when he thought she was not watching. Their postures were tense, shoulders squared. Their eyes scanned their surroundings more purposefully than before.


    Laurel seated himself beside her, his foot tapping restlessly against the wooden floor of the carriage. Following him the knights relaxed slightly into their seats across from them.


    The carriage rumbled along the dirt road, the wheels kicking up small clouds of dust as they passed through Viridia¡¯s idyllic countryside. Tall stalks of golden grain swayed in the breeze, and the occasional farmhouse appeared, plumes of smoke spiralling lazily from chimneys. The pastoral beauty of the land did little to soothe Valeryon¡¯s growing concern.


    As they drew closer to their destination, the Nexus Gate loomed ahead, a monolithic structure that dwarfed the landscape. Its imposing presence dominated the horizon, far more significant than the smaller Etheric Arch they had previously passed through. The Gate''s stone surface covered in layers of intricate runes, each one more complex than the last, shimmering with a pulsing energy that resonated in the air. Valeryon could feel the weight of its magic, heavy and almost suffocating, as if the very atmosphere was charged with it.


    As the carriage came to a halt at the base of the Gate, Valeryon took a deep breath, her heart racing. Outside, attendants dressed in dark robes stood waiting, their heads bowed in respect as the carriage door swung open. One stepped forward, a graceful figure amidst the looming stone, and gestured toward the massive staircase that led up to the platform of the Gate.


    ¡°Your Highness, please follow me,¡± the attendant said


    As they ascended the stone stairs, the runes on the Gate flared to life, glowing brighter with each step they took. The air hummed with energy, vibrating through the very stones beneath them.


    ¡°Step through when ready, Your Highness,¡± the attendant instructed, gesturing toward the shimmering threshold that pulsed with an otherworldly light.


    Valeryon hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward, Laurel by her side, her knights close behind.


    The moment they crossed the threshold, the magic enveloped them, and the world shifted. It felt as though they were being pulled through a veil, the sensation both disorienting and exhilarating.


    When Valeryon and Laurel emerged onto the Nexus platform, an icy gust slammed into them, the cold wind striking like a solid wall. It was a jarring contrast to the warm, temperate air of the Archipelago they had just left behind. Valeryon instinctively braced herself against the unforgiving chill, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders. She glanced back at the Nexus Gate, its magical glow fading into the distance, leaving only the bleak expanse of Asua before them.


    Asua, the "City of Endless Winters," lived up to its reputation in every sense. . Snowflakes drifted lazily from a slate-grey sky, blanketing the ancient cobblestone streets in a thin layer of white. The air was crisp and biting, each breath a cloud of condensation that hung in the cold. Dark stone buildings loomed around them, their facades blackened and weathered by centuries of relentless winters. The city felt as if it breathed despair; sagging rooftops bore the weight of countless storms, their once-grand designs obscured by grime and soot.


    Laurel exhaled sharply, and his breath formed a small cloud that dissipated quickly. ¡°Just as miserable as I remember,¡± he muttered, his keen eyes scanning the cityscape.


    ¡°It certainly has¡­ character,¡± Valeryon offered, struggling to find a more positive description of the bleakness around her.


    Laurel chuckled softly. ¡°Character is one way to put it. This place has been swallowed whole by the cold. There¡¯s no warmth here, Val. Not even for its people.¡± He gestured to a pair of townsfolk trudging below, their faces hidden beneath heavy hoods, shoulders hunched against the icy wind.


    Wrapping his cloak tighter around his slim frame, Laurel leaned closer to Valeryon, likely hoping to benefit from excess heat radiating from her body. Valeryon, sensing his intention, instinctively hooked her arm through his and pulled him closer. Laurel looked at her in surprise, but a delighted smile quickly overtook his face. ¡°Tsk. What were you getting all huffy at me about before if you were going to do as I said anyway?¡± he said, feigning a snooty tone before bursting into laughter.


    Valeryon ignored his teasing and let her gaze sweep across the grimness of Asua. For a place heralded as the capital of Mainland Fiore, it fell far short of the vibrant, thriving metropolis she had envisioned. Instead, the city appeared weary, as though it had long since surrendered to the elements. Each building seemed to tell a story of resilience, yet collectively, they felt more like monuments to despair.


    The soft clinking of armour drew Valeryon¡¯s attention. A small contingent of knights ascended the stairs toward the Nexus platform, their polished armour gleaming faintly against the drab winter backdrop. At their head walked Lady Daphne, her white hair pulled back into a sleek bun, and her silver eyes sharp as they scanned the area. The black, ankle-length coat she wore billowed in the wind, cutting an imposing figure against the grey skyline.


    ¡°Greetings, Your Highness,¡± Lady Daphne said, bowing deeply as she reached Valeryon. Her voice, though formal, carried an underlying warmth. ¡°I trust your journey was uneventful?¡±


    ¡°It was,¡± Valeryon replied, her tone betraying none of the uncertainty she felt. The air around them seemed thick with unspoken tension, a sense of unease that had shadowed them since their departure from the Vir¨¦ Terminal. Something felt wrong, though no one had articulated it. Laurel, usually quick to respond on Valeryon¡¯s behalf, remained pointedly silent at the question, heightening her suspicions. His previous carefree demeanour had been replaced by a quiet vigilance, making her acutely aware of his tension, even as he tried to mask it.


    Lady Daphne''s lips pressed into a thin line as she glanced at the armoured knights, who had formed a protective circle around them. ¡°We are here to ensure your safe return from Asua,¡± she explained, her voice calm but laced with urgency.


    ¡°Immediate return?¡± Laurel interjected, his tone sharper as he tightened his grip on Valeryon¡¯s arm. He began tapping his foot rhythmically against the stone platform, the sound echoing in the stillness.


    ¡°Not immediate,¡± Lady Daphne replied, hesitating momentarily¡ªan unusual gesture for her. A faint line appeared between her brows, betraying her unease. ¡°You may acquire what you came for, but we must expedite Her Highness¡¯s return afterward.¡±


    Laurel¡¯s response was curt, his gaze piercing. ¡°Just the uniform and the staves, then.¡±


    Valeryon remained quiet, observing the exchange between them without pressing for more details. Whatever had prompted the increased security, she expected that Lady Daphne and the knights could handle it without her involvement.


    Daphne¡¯s eyes softened slightly as she turned her focus back to Valeryon. ¡°I apologise for arriving unannounced, Your Highness. I know you wished to remain discreet today.¡±


    ¡°There is no need to apologise. I trust your judgment, Lady Daphne.¡±


    A flicker of relief crossed Lady Daphne¡¯s features, her rigid posture relaxing ever so slightly. ¡°It honours me to have your trust, Your Highness. I promise you, we will keep you safe.¡±


    The conversation lulled for a moment, the cold wind filling the silence. Then Lady Daphne turned to Laurel, ¡°Keep her close, my son,¡± she said, her voice low but firm.


    ¡°Always, Mother,¡± Laurel replied, pulling Valeryon closer pointedly, barely suppressing a laugh at the immediate scowl that appeared on Lady Daphne¡¯s face as she seemed to finally realise their proximity. However, for once, she did not immediately launch into a lecture about propriety. Instead, she simply nodded, gesturing for the knights to prepare to depart.

 SL: Split-Part Resonance

    The narrow, winding streets of Asua stretched ahead like a frozen labyrinth. Bitter winds howled through the alleys, biting at the exposed skin of Valeryon''s face as her iridescent black veil fluttered in the gusts. Each step sent a soft crunch through the snow beneath her boots.Laurel, shivering beside her, pressed closer to her significantly warmer body, seeking some relief from the relentless cold.


    Around them, the city loomed¡ªa skeletal remnant of its past grandeur. From afar, the towering stone buildings still carried an air of stateliness, but up close, the decay was unmistakable. Cracked facades and deep fissures marred the once-proud stonework. Shattered windows with jagged edges glimmered faintly like ice shards in the dim light. Where glass still clung to the frames, it was sealed behind rotting wooden planks, sagging under the weight of time and neglect.


    Shadows flitted at the edges of the streets¡ªhunched figures draped in dark cloaks, slipping silently between alleyways. Valeryon couldn''t tell whether they were fleeing the cold or something more sinister, but the weight of their retreating gazes lingered in her chest, heavy and unsettling.


    Ahead, a fountain stood frozen in mid-motion, a grim relic of the city''s past glory. What might have once been a graceful cascade of water was now a jagged pillar of ice, grime-streaked and frozen solid. "It feels... abandoned," Valeryon murmured, her voice nearly lost to the wind.


    Laurel pressed closer, his breath misting in the frigid air. "If only," he sighed. "It sure would''ve spared us the misery of being here."


    The knights flanked them in a tight formation, their eyes vigilant as they swept every street and alley. Silent and efficient, they were a steadfast shield, allowing Valeryon to move through Asua''s decaying grandeur with a semblance of ease.


    After what seemed like an eternity of trudging through the icy streets, a small, unassuming shop came into view. Nestled between two towering buildings, its wooden sign swayed with the wind, creaking like old bones. A warm, golden light spilled from its windows¡ªa rare beacon of life amidst the bleak, frozen landscape.


    The knights stopped at the shop''s entrance, forming a protective perimeter. Lady Daphne gave Valeryon a nod, a small smile softening her expression. "We''ll stay here, Your Highness. My son can assist you with the rest."


    Laurel held the door open for Valeryon, and the soft chime of a bell above the entrance was almost swallowed by the gust of wind that followed them inside. As the door closed, warmth immediately enveloped them. The air inside was rich with the comforting scent of cinnamon and amber. Bolts of vibrant fabric lined the walls, and mannequins displayed finely crafted garments, each meticulously arranged to draw the eye.


    "Ah, customers!" called an elderly woman from behind the counter. Her silver hair was neatly pinned into a bun, and her sharp brown eyes, magnified by thin spectacles, flicked between Valeryon and Laurel. "How may I assist you today?"


    "We''re here for our Forester Academy uniforms," Laurel replied pulling his acceptance letter out of his pocket and waving it.


    The woman''s thin lips curled into a smile, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "Of course, dears. This way." She gestured for them to follow.


    They walked deeper into the shop, arriving at a fitting area where two mannequins displayed the pristine uniforms of the Forester Academy. The girls'' uniform was a double-breasted coat dress, lined with gold buttons and cinched at the waist, flaring into a voluminous skirt that reached the ankle length. The boys'' version featured a trench coat with matching gold buttons and tailored trousers. Both uniforms bore the Academy''s emblem: a golden hand with a silver spark hovering above it, embroidered boldly on the back.


    Valeryon''s eyes lingered on the white fabric. In the Orcus Galaxy, white was a statement of power. Such clothing was a declaration of the wearer''s strength, their confidence in their ability to face danger and emerge unscathed¡ªunstained.


    Usually she would not dare to wear such a bold colour, but she supposed this was Fiore, not the Orcus Galaxy, the significance was not the same.


    "Step up here, dear," the woman said kindly, motioning to a raised platform.


    Valeryon hesitated, then obeyed, standing rigid as the woman measured her¡ªacross her shoulders, down her waist, along her arms. Each touch made her skin prickle, and she had to resist the urge to pull away.


    When the measurements were done, the woman handed Valeryon a uniform to try on. She slipped behind a curtained area, feeling the fabric cool against her skin before it warmed and moulded to her shape. Emerging from behind the curtain, her veil once more draped around her shoulders, she found Laurel already dressed in his uniform, inspecting himself in the mirror with a slight frown.


    "Is something wrong?"


    "Laurel faced her with a teasing smile and leaned in to whisper, ''Plenty, but mostly just thinking that you''ve ruined me for all other clothes. After all these years in yours, nothing else compares.''"


    Valeryon felt her face heat up. Unsure how to respond, she opted for a safer route. "What else is on your mind? Y-you said there was plenty."


    Laurel chuckled softly and stepped back, adjusting the lapels of his coat as he looked in the mirror. "How do I look?" he asked, his gaze meeting hers through the reflection.


    Valeryon hesitated, taken aback by the question. "Presentable," she replied cautiously.


    Laurel''s expression faltered momentarily before he masked it with a half-smile. "So, awful?"


    Valeryon frowned, realising her response had missed the mark as usual. Taking a deep breath, she tried again. "You look... beautiful, Laurel," she said earnestly.


    Laurel blinked, visibly surprised, a flush creeping into his cheeks. Valeryon, puzzled by his reaction, wondered if she had said the wrong thing again.


    "Val," Laurel murmured, his voice softer now.


    "Yes?" she replied, her heart racing.


    The tension broke as Laurel''s grin returned. "You think I''m pretty?" He asked, fluttering his eyelashes at her.


    Valeryon sighed in relief, a smile forming on her lips. "Yes," she confirmed. "Very pretty."


    The tailor clapped her hands, drawing their attention back to her. "You both look wonderful. I think we''ve found the perfect fit," she said, with a smile. "Now, about the payment¡­"


    Laurel pulled a golden cheque from his uniform pocket and held it out to her. "Here," he said.


    The tailor''s eyes widened as she took it, glancing at its contents before quickly tucking it into her apron. Clearing her throat, she continued, "Thank you, dear. Your uniforms will be ready in ten days, complete with the usual runes¡ªresizing, preservation, dirt resistance, and, of course, colour change."


    "Runes for colour change?" Valeryon asked, intrigued.


    "Yes, dear. Once you select your magical pathway of study, the uniform will adapt to reflect that," the tailor explained. "We also accept requests for additional runes like dimension expansion for the pockets or heating and cooling runes for the fabric. That usually incurs extra costs, but your payment covers it, so just let me know if you would like further customisation for you uniforms."


    Laurel tapped at his pocket and looked to Valeryon for confirmation. She gave a slight nod. "Yes. I think, we would like the dimension expansion runes on the pockets."


    "Wonderful. Will you be picking it up in person, or would you prefer delivery?"


    "Delivery," Laurel said, handing the tailor an embossed card with all the relevant details.


    The tailor beamed. "Thank you, dears. I''ll be sure to send word if anything arises."


    With everything settled, they changed back into their original clothes and stepped out of the shop. The bell chimed softly behind them as they returned to the snow-laden streets. Lady Daphne and the knights greeted them at the door, and together, they resumed their walk through Asua.


    Lady Daphne, her silver hair gleaming softly in the muted light, walked ahead with purpose, guiding them toward their next destination. Beside Valeryon, Laurel hummed a lighthearted tune, a small smile tugging at his lips as he gently swung their linked hands. The earlier gloom that had weighed him down seemed to have completely lifted.


    "Happy?" Valeryon asked, her gaze sliding toward him.


    Laurel''s dimples became more prominent as his smile widened, his lavender eyes sparkling. "Yes. We''re on the brink of something life-changing, Val."


    "Life-changing?" Valeryon echoed, her brow furrowing slightly.


    "In a good way. I''m not sure what exactly, but I''ve got this prem¡ª" Laurel''s voice faltered, and he coughed, his hand instinctively rising to his throat as the Ban flared, cutting him off mid-sentence.


    Without hesitation, Valeryon''s thumb traced the back of his hand in a soothing gesture. Her brows drew together as she discreetly channeled a thread of magic, its faint green glow hidden beneath her gloves. Running diagnostics had become second nature to her¡ªnot out of necessity, but for her own reassurance. The Ban had never truly harmed them, but it didn''t hurt to be certain.


    "A feeling," Laurel managed, his grin turning crooked once the cough subsided. "I just have a feeling."


    Before Valeryon could respond, Lady Daphne halted in front of a modest yet elegantly crafted storefront. The name Starlit Staff-works shimmered above the door in delicate silver script. "The finest Valerite staff-makers in Asua," she announced with a small smile. "You''re in good hands here, Your Highness."


    This time, Lady Daphne entered the shop with them, gently pushing open the door as warmth and soft light spilled out from within.


    Inside, the shop was far larger than its modest exterior suggested. Valeryon''s eyes swept over the room, taking in the rows of staves displayed along the walls. Polished woods gleamed alongside smooth metals, while crystals shimmered, catching the soft light that filtered through the windows and hanging lanterns. The air was thick with the scent of cedar and resin, mingling with the faint aroma of burning sage from an incense burner tucked away in the corner. Workbenches cluttered with an array of materials¡ªboth familiar and strange¡ªwere scattered throughout the space, creating a sense of organised chaos.


    As they ventured deeper, two figures emerged from the back.


    The first was a tall Seraph woman of captivating beauty. Her long silver hair cascaded down her back in a neat braid, shimmering like moonlight. Her molten silver eyes sparkled with an otherworldly light, and her pale skin appeared almost flawless under the soft glow of the lanterns. Her large feathered wings fluttered softly for a moment before folding gracefully behind her. Valeryon could not help but notice the striking resemblance she shared with Lady Daphne, their features and colouring nearly identical.


    Beside the Seraph woman stood a shorter Davi woman, even smaller than Valeryon''s thirteen-year-old frame. Her cropped copper hair framed her freckled face, and her muscular arms were adorned with vibrant, shifting magical tattoos¡ªdragons coiled around her biceps, phoenixes flaring across her forearms, and unicorns galloping along her wrists. A mischievous grin tugged at her lips as they approached, her blue eyes sparkling with warmth despite her fierce appearance.


    "Welcome to Starlit Staff-works, Your Highness," the Seraph woman said, her voice as smooth as a soft breeze. She gave a graceful curtsey. "I am Eilie Lin-Adhe, and this is my wife, Sala Silvers."


    Sala stepped forward, skipping the usual formalities to extend her hand. After a moment''s hesitation, Valeryon accepted it. Sala''s hands were smaller than hers but surprisingly firm, the callouses on her palms hinting at years of dedication to her craft. "It''s a pleasure to have you here, Your Highness. It''s been quite some time since a royal heir visited us," Sala said, a chuckle escaping her lips.


    Valeryon blinked, slightly taken aback by the implication. "Yes, it must have been some time. Two hundred years, to be exact."


    Sala''s blue eyes widened as she exchanged a quick glance with her wife. "Only two hundred? That must be some kind of record, right?"


    Eilie smiled softly, nodding in agreement. "Indeed. The gap between Queen Vera''s generation and King Vilram''s was even longer¡ªabout four hundred years. And between Queen Vera and King Varic before her? Five hundred, if I recall correctly."


    Sala let out a hearty laugh, shaking her head. "You Valeryons really put us Davi to shame! My mother''s been on my case for being three hundred and still childless, but you all make it seem like we''re the ones rushing things!"


    Eilie placed a hand on her wife''s shoulder. "Sala, dear, let''s not overwhelm our guest with your chatter. Her Highness is here for a purpose, after all."


    "Of course, darling," Sala replied, taking Eilie''s hand and pressing a quick kiss to its back. "Why don''t you go relax over there with Daphne while I take care of things here? I know you''ve been wanting to catch up with her for ages."


    Eilie hesitated. "Are you certain?"


    "Absolutely." Sala redirected her attention to Valeryon, gesturing toward the workbench nearby. "Alright, let''s get down to business. You''re here for a custom staff, yes?"


    Valeryon nodded and stepped closer, her gaze sweeping over the array of materials laid out neatly on the bench¡ªpolished woods, smooth metals, and gleaming crystals, all cut evenly into small samples and arranged for easy selection.


    Sala leaned back on her heels, arms crossed, her grin widening. "Here''s how it works, Your Highness. You just need to pick two materials¡ªone for the staff body and one for the focus. Don''t stress about which is which; that''s our job. If nothing feels right, that''s perfectly fine. We''ll move on to the next set until something resonates with you. Sound good?"


    "Yes," Valeryon replied.


    "Perfect. Now, extend your hand and let your magic do its thing. Trust me, you''ll know when you know."


    Following Sala''s direction, Valeryon hovered her hand over the materials. Glowing green threads of her magic extended from her fingers, probing each option with careful intent. One by one, the materials resisted her, their rejection almost palpable. She closed her eyes, a frown creasing her brow as she continued to sift through the remaining choices.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Then, amid the cacophony of discordant notes, she suddenly sensed it¡ªa harmonisation, a resonance that tugged at her with an insistent, undeniable pull. Just as she began to delve deeper into that sensation, striving to uncover its source, the loud creak of the shop door opening shattered her concentration.


    Two figures stepped inside, their presence unmistakable and familiar.


    The Lunarys heirs.


    The heiress, with those inexplicable glowing peridot-green eyes, stepped forward first, a warm smile illuminating her features. Behind her stood the heir, his amber eyes fierce and unwavering, locked onto Valeryon with an intensity that felt suffocating. His jaw was clenched tight, muscles shifting as he ground his teeth, radiating tension like a storm poised to unleash its fury. His glare conveyed a thousand unspoken words.


    "Apologies for intruding once more, Your Highness," the heiress said with a light laugh. "We truly didn''t expect to run into you here. Well, we did notice all your knights standing outside. But considering the weather, we thought it better to impose for¡ªoh, please, where are my manners. Allow us to formally introduce ourselves. Heiress Jurien Lunarys of House Lunarys greets Her Highness, Crown Princess Valeryon the Second," Lady Sachar announced, executing a respectful bow the fur lined beanie on her head bobbing slightly as she did so in a charming manner.


    "Well met, Heiress Lunarys," Valeryon replied, her tone polite but her gaze lingering on the heir, who remained silent, seething in silent fury, his eyes locked on Valeryon as if she''d personally wronged him.


    The heiress reached out, placing a gentle hand on her brother''s arm¡ªa subtle but firm gesture.


    "Is something wrong?" Valeryon asked, her voice carefully neutral. Truthfully, she wanted them gone, especially with the oppressive hostility emanating from the boy. Yet, sending them back into the biting cold they sought to escape felt like the wrong move if she hoped for a cordial relationship with the Vassal Houses she would inevitably associate with in the future.


    The boy remained silent, his glare unwavering. His sister shot him a sharp look before turning back to Valeryon. "Not at all, Your Highness," she said, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. "Please don''t take offence. My brother had a¡­ traumatic experience that has made him wary of¡­ strangers. Um, let me introduce him properly. Heir Jorah Lunarys of House Lunarys."


    Valeryon might have believed her if it weren''t for the massive eye roll Heir Lunarys had given just out of Jurien''s line of sight. Still, Valeryon noted how Jorah''s expression softened slightly as he regarded his sister, not contradicting her words. As a result, Heir Lunarys no longer glared at Valeryon; instead, he turned his head, deliberately refusing to face her altogether.


    Valeryon honestly could not fathom what she had done to provoke such hatred; the look in his amber gaze felt all too personal, as if an old wound festered between them¡ªone she was somehow at fault for.


    Sala, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the room, beamed as she spread her arms wide. "Welcome, welcome! Quite the crowd we''ve got today! Lunarys, you say? Ah, yes, I see the resemblance¡ªwait." She stepped closer, squinting at Jurien with narrowed eyes. "Hmm, but those green eyes¡­ Oh!" A smirk crept across Sala''s face. "Ah, I get it! Another Vassal House tangled up with the Amoryons."


    Amoryon¡ªadored child.


    Valeryon¡ªvaliant child.


    The family name, clearly well-known judging by Sala''s comments, bore an uncanny resemblance to Valeryon''s own.


    Coincidence? Unlikely.


    Sala continued with a laugh, "Even the Lunarys couldn''t resist their charm, huh? Can''t say I blame them; those Amoryons are quite¡ª"


    "Sala!" Eilie''s voice cut through the air from where she sat at a nearby table with Lady Daphne. She sighed, covering her face with one hand, clearly exasperated. "Please, not in front of the guests."


    Sala winced, raising her hands in surrender. "Sorry, love. You know I didn''t mean anything by it."


    Eilie shifted in her seat, her wings ruffling as she adjusted her position to face the newcomers better. She offered the twins a warm smile. "Please, take a seat," she said, gesturing to the empty chairs nearby. "I am Eilie Lin Adhe, and that over there is my wife, Sala Silvers. Once Her Highness and my nephew have made their selections, my partner will assist you."


    Valeryon felt a flicker of embarrassment for not noticing the connection sooner¡ªthe family resemblance between Eilie and Lady Daphne was undeniable. But... Laurel is their nephew? She glanced between the two women, confusion settling in.


    Eilie Lin Adhe, with an unmistakable Seraph surname, was clearly a full-blooded Seraph, wings and all. But Lady Daphne was not. The differences went deeper than that. Sitting side by side, Lady Daphne looked significantly older than Eilie, though she had just turned thirty-four. Eilie, on the other hand, had to be over two centuries old, given her ties to King Vilram''s generation of Valeryons. Half-sisters, maybe? Valeryon decided to ask Laurel about it later, saving herself the headache of trying to piece it together now.


    As the twins settled at a nearby table, Valeryon set her thoughts aside and focused on the materials before her. The soft hum of magic beckoned, and she extended her energy toward the table. This time, the response was immediate. Something clicked into place, like the final piece of a puzzle sliding perfectly into alignment. Two clear crystals rose from the table, floating gently in the air before coming to a stop in front of her.


    "Pure diamond for both the body and the focus," Sala whistled softly, leaning in for a closer look. "That''s rare. Most staves combine different materials¡ªcrystal for the focus and wood or metal for the body. Having both made from the same material indicates an extraordinary level of character consistency, Your Highness."


    Jurien, who had been paying attention, leaned forward in her seat, her glowing peridot eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Does the choice of material carry deeper meaning beyond just resonance?"


    Eilie paused her conversation with Lady Daphne, turning her attention to the heiress with a gentle smile. "Indeed, it does, Heiress Lunarys. A staff''s material isn''t just for channeling magic; it reflects the wielder''s essence¡ªtheir core traits."


    Jurien''s eyes brightened. "Fascinating."


    Laurel moved to stand beside Valeryon, his gaze fixed on the floating diamonds. "Diamond is the hardest substance on earth formed deep within the ground under unimaginable pressure." He turned to Valeryon, his voice dropping to a whisper. "There''s no material more coveted."


    Valeryon felt a sudden heat rise in her cheeks. He was simply stating facts, so why did it feel so...


    "Well, well!" Sala exclaimed, her blue eyes sparkling with amusement as she darted glances between them. "Looks like all those hours in the Crafting Hall paid off, nephew. You''ve got quite the eye for... ''things.''" Her smile widened knowingly.


    Laurel flushed, waving her hand dismissively, which only made Sala laugh harder.


    She gestured to the materials scattered across the table. "Now that Her Highness has made her selections, let''s get you started. Eilie has been waiting for this moment longer than you''d believe. She nearly commissioned a painter to capture it, but I convinced her that memory cards would suffice."


    Laurel grumbled as he approached the table. "Wow, lucky me."


    "Yes, lucky you! Now smile, unless you want to look like a complete grouch in the memory cards,"Sala said, tapping the corner of her right eye with a snicker.


    Laurel rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Just... don''t send a copy to my mother."


    Sala smirked, crossing her arms. "No promises. You do realise the only reason we''re not the ones spreading this at the next Ostara Gathering is that we''re still uninvited, right? Honestly, it''s been a century, and they''re still upset about us eloping¡ªprobably taking that grudge to the grave. So, handing over this prime material to safe hands is the next best thing. I''m sure Daphne will make us proud by ensuring everyone in the family sees just how adorable our little baby nephew looks during his material selection."


    "This is exactly why I wanted to buy our staffs somewhere else," Laurel muttered under his breath.


    "What was that, dear nephew of mine?"


    "Nothing, Aunt Sala." Laurel shook his head, exhaling in resignation as he stepped closer to the table, extending his hands over it.


    Valeryon watched as Laurel''s magic¡ªsubtle and invisible, unlike her own¡ªbegan to stir the materials before them. Much faster than it had for her, a dark alloy¡ªDraconic Steel¡ªrose from the pile, its gleaming surface catching the light. Valeryon recognised it immediately, recalling how often Laurel had extolled its virtues while showcasing his completed projects to her.


    Then, something unexpected happened. One of the diamonds Valeryon had bonded with earlier quivered before splitting cleanly in two. One half hovered beside her, while the other drifted toward Laurel. The sensation was powerful and indescribable, like a taut thread linking them, yet even that failed to capture the depth of the experience.


    Sala gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "A Split-Part Resonance! I never thought I''d witness one in my lifetime!"


    Even Eilie rose from her seat, moving closer to stand beside Sala. "It really is a Split-Part Resonance. How remarkable," she said, her sharp gaze fixed on the floating halves.


    Laurel frowned in confusion, but after a few moments, realisation dawned, and the tension in his face eased. An incredulous look crossed his features. "So that''s what I¡­"


    "What does a Split-Part Resonance mean, exactly?" Valeryon asked.


    Sala''s excitement spilled out in rushed words. "It means this diamond recognises both of you as its rightful wielders. Instead of choosing one, it split¡ªacknowledging both of your resonance! I''ve only read about this in ancient texts. It''s said that¡ª"


    Before she could finish, the second diamond hovering near Valeryon split as well. One half remained with her, while the other drifted toward the wide-eyed Jurien Lunarys.


    Sala staggered, eyes wide in disbelief. "This... this is impossible. Two split-part resonances? Across both aspects? Am I dreaming?"


    Eilie moved quickly, her wings flaring as she caught Sala before she collided with a nearby bench. "Breathe, love," she urged. "Breathe, love," she urged. "You''re not dreaming. I wish I had a better explanation, but Sala, listen¡­"


    A faint tingling sensation crept across Valeryon''s skin as a ward shimmered to life around the two staff makers. Within the glowing barrier, the pair could be seen conversing animatedly, though their words were completely inaudible to those standing outside. The air grew thick with anticipation as everyone waited in silence for the barrier to drop.


    At last, the barrier faded, and the couple turned to face the group, their expressions resolute.


    "We are standing at the edge of something unprecedented," Sala declared, her gaze steady as it shifted between Valeryon, Laurel, and Jurien. "This isn''t just a rare phenomenon¡ªit could reshape everything we know about magic. But to truly unlock its potential, we need your help."


    Eilie continued, "That''s why we would like to invite you to participate in this research. Would you be interested?"


    As the offer lingered in the air, a soft golden glow caught Valeryon''s attention. Her Celestial Receiver flickered to life, and a notification screen materialised above her wrist.


    Side-Quest: Investigate the Phenomenon of Split-Part Resonance.


    Assist Eilie Lin-Adhe and Sala Silvers in researching split-part resonance as participants.


    Rewards: Build rapport with Eilie Lin-Adhe and Sala Silvers. Insight into split-part resonance.


    Accept ¡ª Reject


    A surge of triumph coursed through Valeryon as she stared at the screen. Finally, a side quest had triggered¡ªthe moment she''d been waiting for. She glanced at Laurel, wondering if he had received the notification too. It was hard to tell, though, as his crossed arms obscured his Receiver, while his focus seemed fixed on frowning at the screen hovering over Valeryon''s wrist.


    "What''s wrong?" she asked quietly.


    Laurel shook his head, muttering. "What does ''build rapport'' even mean? They''re already my aunts."


    "The rewards are personalised. What''s listed for me might not be the same for you. You''ll know for sure once you check," Valeryon suggested.


    Laurel grimaced. "Better not. My Observing Agent is... a bit eccentric."


    "Why do you say that?"


    A faint flush crept up Laurel''s face as he rubbed a hand over his eyes, mumbling something indistinct. "Just... the insinuations they make... awkward."


    "Insinuations? Were they inappropriate?" Valeryon''s brows furrowed.


    Laurel''s face turned bright red. "No! Not like that! They''re just really invested in my lov... situation."


    Valeryon''s confusion deepened. "Invested?"


    Laurel met her gaze with a sigh. "Yeah. It''s like having an overenthusiastic fan who knows way too much about your personal life."


    "I see." Valeryon nodded slowly, starting to grasp the issue. "People dislike having their privacy invaded."


    Laurel arched a brow. "You make it sound like it doesn''t bother you."


    "I''m used to it," Valeryon replied vaguely, avoiding details that might trigger the Ban. For most of her life, she''d been under constant surveillance¡ªthe Trial Grounds had been littered with cameras feeding data to unknown sources. "Regardless," she continued, "whether you participate or not is your decision. But I will be accepting this quest. For Split-Part Resonance to be both the quest and the reward, there must be value in understanding it."


    Laurel straightened, his uncertainty fading as a smile crept in. "Then we''ll do it together. Besides, if we didn''t, you''d probably try to conduct the research on your own."


    Valeryon frowned slightly. "And is there something wrong with that?"


    He chuckled, draping an arm around her shoulders. "Nothing¡ªjust think some things are best left to the professionals, Val."


    She nodded. "You''re right."


    Both of them selected "accept" on their screens.


    Before they could say anything further, Jurien spoke up hesitantly, "Um, we''re only thirteen. Don''t we need a guardian''s permission for this?"


    Eilie smiled kindly. "Of course. No research can proceed without a guardian''s consent. We just wanted to gauge your interest before submitting the proposal to the Staff-Maker Association."


    Laurel took the moment to inform his aunts of their decision. "We''re interested," he said.


    Sala''s face lit up, clapping her hands in delight. "Marvellous! We''ll be in touch once everything''s sorted. And as for your staves, you''ll have them within the week."


    With everything settled, they didn''t linger. Daphne swiftly handled the payment, and after a warm farewell between the relatives, they stepped back into the unforgiving cold.


    The knights flanked them in perfect formation, their staves pulsing with dormant magic. Their silver armour gleamed faintly in the dim light, reflecting the flicker of the city''s lamps. The rhythmic clink of their armour was the only sound to break the stillness.


    A thick fog blanketed the narrow streets, shrouding Asua''s scars in an eerie calm. In the distance, the Nexus Gate loomed¡ªa towering silhouette barely visible through the mist. Its obsidian surface, etched with faintly glowing runes, was dusted with snow. Yet, no matter how long they walked, the gate seemed to remain just as distant.


    Not a soul wandered the streets now.


    As unease began to gnaw at Valeryon, she felt a sudden, urgent grip on her hand¡ªLaurel''s cold fingers tightening around hers. Startled, she turned to him. His expression had grown tense, purple eyes narrowing as they scanned the fog-filled alleyways with unnerving sharpness.


    "Something''s coming," Laurel whispered, his gaze settling on the shadows, his body coiled, ready to spring.


    Then, a sound pierced the silence¡ªa low, guttural growl echoed through the streets, reverberating off the stone buildings and closing in from all sides. Valeryon''s skin prickled, every hair on her body standing on end.


    The knights'' staves flared to life, casting a pale light against the creeping fog. Nearby, an Abjurer knight muttered a swift incantation, her staff pulsing with a steady silver glow. A shimmering barrier sprang into existence around Valeryon, Laurel, and Lady Daphne¡ªa translucent dome of protection that pulsed faintly, its surface flickering like a heartbeat.


    As the fog shifted, shadows began to take shape within it. At first, they were indistinct¡ªblurry figures moving through the mist, hulking forms that melted in and out of the whiteness. But as the mist parted, the creatures emerged with chilling clarity. Massive beasts loomed, their elongated limbs thick with muscle, fur matted with grime and slick with ice. Sickly yellow eyes glowed from deep within their grotesque faces, gnarled mouths hanging open, saliva dripping onto the cobblestones with a sickening hiss as it met the icy surface. Their claws scraped against the ground, the grating sound cutting through the air like nails on slate.


    "Werewolves," one of the knights spat, disdain thick in his voice. "Impervious to magic. Hold them off as long as you can!"


    At once, the knights fell into formation. Kinaesthetic knights surged forward, moving with inhuman speed, their staves swinging in powerful arcs. The lead knight¡ªa fierce, battle-hardened warrior with braided hair and eyes like steel¡ªbrought his stave crashing down on the nearest creature with a force that should have shattered bones. But the beast barely flinched. Its thick hide absorbed the blow, and with a single swipe of its massive claws, the knight was sent sprawling into the snow, his body limp and lifeless before he even hit the ground.


    Valeryon''s heart raced, her breath coming fast and shallow. She could feel the weight of Laurel''s gaze on her, the protective stance he took as his body moved in front of hers.


    The creatures pressed forward, undeterred by the magic flaring around them. The street lit up with bursts of elemental power¡ªflashes of lightning, jets of flame, and shards of ice hurled toward the oncoming beasts. But the werewolves tore through it all, unaffected, their claws slicing through the magic as if it were mere smoke. One by one, the knights fell, their armour no match for the monstrous claws that easily ripped through them.


    Lady Daphne''s voice rang out amidst the chaos, her hands glowing with a soft green light as her magic flowed outward in waves, revitalising the injured knights. Despite her calm demeanour, Valeryon could see the strain in her movements; the creatures were too strong, their relentless advance overwhelming.


    Valeryon''s gaze snapped to the largest of the beasts as it broke through the knights'' formation and charged forward, its maw wide and dripping with blood and saliva. The Abjurer knight''s barrier flickered, a crack appearing in its shimmering surface as the creature''s claws raked against it. With fierce determination, the beast began to ram itself against the barrier, each impact widening the cracks, threatening to break through.


    Then, with a sickening crack, the barrier shattered.


    "No! Not my children, you foul beast!"


    In a sudden, unexpected move, Lady Daphne hurled herself in front of the creature. A surge of green light erupted from her, blinding in its intensity.


    Time slowed as the creature''s claws tore through Daphne''s body, sending her crumpling to the ground. Her blood soaked the snow beneath her, vivid and violent against the white canvas of the street. The metallic scent filled the air, mingling with the acrid smell of burnt fur and ash.


    Recovering from Lady Daphne''s last area-wide healing spell, the Abjurer knight regained her footing and raised another barrier just in time to block a vicious strike from the beast, which attacked with renewed ferocity.


    Valeryon stared at Daphne''s lifeless body, blood pooling beneath her and staining the snow. Laurel''s arm tightened around her, pulling her closer, but she felt nothing. Numbness spread through her as the sounds of battle faded into the background, leaving only the hollow rasp of her own breath.


    The remaining knights regrouped, their faces grim and their formation faltering. The werewolves pressed forward, undeterred, their monstrous forms towering over the scattered bodies of the fallen.


    Then, something changed. The creatures shuddered, their hulking forms rippling as if gripped by an invisible force. Slowly, they began to shrink, their elongated limbs contorting, fur melting away to reveal pale human skin. One by one, they collapsed onto the cobblestones, unconscious and harmless, their monstrous forms dissipating.


    Silence enveloped the streets once more, save for the ragged breaths of the survivors. The knights, bloodied and battered, knelt in a solemn circle around Valeryon, their staves laid at her feet. Their heads bowed low, silent in their grief.

 SL: Selecting a Successor

    The soft hues of pastel pinks and blues danced at the edges of Valeryon''s vision, blending with the faint scent of warm milk and freshly baked bread that wafted through the air. A gentle touch grazed her cheek, warm and comforting.


    "There you are, my darling princess," a voice cooed, dripping with affection.


    "It''s alright, sweet princess," the voice urged, as smooth as honey. "You can do this."


    "If there is only one thing you will remember of this time in your life, Your Highness, I hope it is that you were loved dearly."


    Then, as quickly as the warmth came, it was torn away, leaving only bitter cold.


    "No! Not my children, you foul beast!"came a scream, an echo of despair reverberating in her mind.


    The cold was merciless, all-consuming.


    Blood pooled against a backdrop of pure white snow. Lifeless grey eyes. The gashes across a torso jagged and deep.


    Valeryon woke abruptly to the warmth of morning light spilling through her window. She blinked, her cerise and peridot eyes adjusting to the familiar surroundings of her room as she lay in the softness of her bed. She took in the sight of the elegant canopy above her bed, the silk curtains billowing gently in the breeze that cape through the open window. Sitting up slowly, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her bare feet sinking into the plush carpet below.


    With a practiced ease, Valeryon stripped off her nightgown, her movements slow and deliberate. She crossed the room to the adjoining bath chamber, where a large tub awaited her, already filled with steaming water. The castle''s intricate autonomous rune system ensured her needs were always met.Steam rose from the lavender-scented water, curling enticingly into the cool air. As she stepped in, the heat enveloped her, soothing her tense muscles as she sank beneath the surface.


    For a brief moment, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax, to indulge in the fleeting comfort of the bath, before she mechanically went about cleaning herself.


    Once finished, she emerged from the bath, her hands glowing faintly green as she used her powers to pull the water from her skin and hair. The water twisted and shimmered, condensing into droplets that she directed back into the tub. The runes embedded in the stone walls glowed briefly before dimming again, cleansing the space of any evidence of her bathing.


    Valeryon returned to her room and slipped into a flowing black gown with long sleeves. The gown''s fabric shimmered with iridescence. Around her waist, she secured a diamond-encrusted belt. She then draped the iridescent black veil over her head, fastening it with a golden circlet intricately designed to resemble twisting vines and diamond asphodel blossoms.


    A soft knock at the door interrupted her quiet preparation.


    For a fleeting moment, she thought of Lady Daphne, the only person with the authority to move freely in this part of the castle.


    However that was impossible.


    Valeryon stared at the door, her hand hovering inches from the handle. Who could possibly be knocking?


    Taking a steadying breath, she opened the door.


    Relief flooded her as she saw Laurel''s familiar face, but that comfort quickly turned into concern. He looked pale, gaunt even. The usual dark circles beneath his eyes were even more prominent now, like bruises smeared with ash. He swayed on his feet as if a gust of wind could topple him.


    "Laurel¡­"


    He didn''t say anything, simply stepping inside as Valeryon reached out to support him guided him to her bed. Laurel collapsed onto the mattress, his body limp and cold to the touch. Valeryon hurried to cover him with the thick quilt, activating the seldom-used heating rune embedded in the headboard. The room was kept cool to combat Valeryon''s excessive body heat, but Laurel''s body had insufficient thermoregulation and she knew how much he hated the cold so appropriate measures must be taken to ensure his comfort.


    He lay there, his eyes half-closed but still focused on her. His hand reached out, gripping her bare hand gently in an icy grip.


    "The funeral¡­" Laurel''s voice was hoarse, breaking the silence between them.


    Valeryon pursed her lips. She had not attended.


    "They were all talking, Val," he continued, bitterness lacing his words. "They think you don''t care. That you didn''t even¡ª" His frustration boiled over, but exhaustion pulled him back down. "How dare they! They have no idea!"


    She remained silent uncertain how to respond, opting instead to rub the back of his hand gently with her thumb. As his breathing slowed, the weight of exhaustion finally claimed him, drawing him into sleep.


    Valeryon had anticipated such a reaction when she sent her letter declining the invitation to Daphne''s funeral, but she could not afford to let public opinion dictate her choices.


    Her decision to not attend the funeral had not been made lightly.


    The laws of the Valeryon clan were clear: no royal heir could come into contact with the leader of a Vassal House before their fifteenth birthday.


    Attending would have barred Daphne''s mother from participating in her own daughter''s funeral and would prevent any other Vassal House leader from paying their respects as well.


    Thus, Valeryon had penned a polite letter of rejection to the Vesalius family and instructed the castle''s accounting department to cover the funeral costs on behalf of the royal family.


    Valeryon glanced at Laurel''s face, softened by sleep. She leaned down, pulling the thick quilt over him to ensure he was fully covered.


    She grabbed the Valeryon insignia engraved pocket watch Laurel had gifted her from the bedside table and did a quick check of the time. It was still early, but not so early that she could afford to linger here.


    Moving quietly, she fetched a clean glass and filled it with conjured water, the liquid shimmering as it filled the crystal-clear vessel. After placing it gently on the bedside table, she retrieved a small piece of parchment from her desk. Pausing momentarily, she unstoppered the purple lavender-scented ink, inhaling its calming aroma. Dipping her golden quill, she penned a brief note in neat, flowing script:


    ''At a meeting. Remember to eat something.''


    She placed the note above the lip of the glass on the bedside table, the lavender scent lingering faintly in the air. With a final glance at Laurel, she pulled on her boots and gloves, her fingers adjusting the fabric with meticulous care. The door closed with a soft click behind her as she stepped into the quiet corridors of the Castle.


    The hallways of the castle were quiet this morning, the silence broken only by the rhythmic echo of her boots against the polished stone floors. She passed under towering arches where vines, enchanted to remain ever-blooming, twined along the walls, their blossoms perfuming the air with a soft, sweet fragrance. The intricate mosaics lining the corridors between glittered in the soft morning light, reflecting stories of her predecessors, scenes that she had stopped to reflect on countless times throughout the years.


    As Valeryon approached the castle''s grand dining hall, the knights, posted at intervals, stood at attention as she passed.


    The doors to the dining hall swung open as she approached, revealing golden filigree running like veins through the walls, catching and refracting the sunlight that poured through the arched windows. A lavish spread covered nearly the entire length of the long, mahogany table at the centre, burdened by an array of food. Platters of roasted meats, bowls brimming with spiced stews, baskets of freshly baked bread, and intricately arranged towers of fruits and pastries covered every inch of the table. It was an absurd amount for a single person.


    Valeryon took her seat at the head of the table, the action itself triggering a swift and silent flurry of movement from the servers. hey placed dishes before her without a word, their faces expressionless, their movements as smooth as water flowing over stones. The first course was light¡ªdelicate slivers of fruit, cheeses that melted on the tongue, pastries so fine they crumbled at a mere touch.


    Each movement was deliberate, her posture impeccable as she ate. The servers efficiently cleared away empty dishes, seamlessly moving new ones closer as she continued her meal.


    As the courses piled on, a faint cramp began to form in her stomach, but she pushed through it. The discomfort was nothing new. The excessive calories were necessary to sustain her body''s unusual metabolism, which burned energy at an alarming rate. Still, the pain sharpened with each bite, her stomach protesting the amount of food it was being forced to contain.


    Fork after forkful disappeared in methodical rhythm. By the time she finished the last dish, her body felt heavy, weighed down by the meal, but she showed no sign of it as she wiped her mouth delicately with the embroidered cloth napkin folding it neatly and setting it aside.


    Valeryon stood, pushing her chair back gently as she made her way out of the hall.


    As Valeryon stepped into the hallway, her eyes instinctively fell on the imposing figure of Lady Ophelia Vesalius, or rather, the marble sculpture that now bore her likeness. The marble statue, carved with stunning precision, captured every detail of the late Chamberlain''s presence: the flowing robes, the intricate arrangement of her hair, and the composed serenity in her expression.


    Yet this was no ordinary sculpture. As Valeryon approached, the marble softened into motion; the serene features shifted into a gentle smile, before Ophelia''s lips parted to speak. "Good morning, Your Highness, Crown Princess Valeryon. I trust you found your breakfast agreeable?"


    Valeryon inclined her head, as if her stomach did not currently ache unbearably from the ordeal. "It was sufficient, thank you."


    "Then we should proceed," Ophelia said, her arm sweeping gracefully as she motioned for Valeryon to follow.


    As they walked, Ophelia''s movements were fluid, betraying none of the rigidity expected from a figure once cast in stone.


    Ophelia was an Immortal Remnant, a construct imbued with the magic, memories, and essence of the late Lady Ophelia Vesalius, once the Chamberlain to King Vilram. Now, after the sudden passing of Lady Daphne, Ophelia had been activated to temporarily fulfil the role of Chamberlain until a successor was officially appointed.


    "You''re quiet today, Your Highness," Ophelia observed as they descended the wide stone staircase. "Has something been weighing on your mind?"


    Valeryon considered her response for a moment before answering. "The matter of selecting a new Chamberlain."


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Ophelia slowed her pace as they neared the Chamberlain''s office, the emblem of a winged key etched into the wooden door before them. "That is understandable, Your Highness. May I offer some advice?"


    "Certainly."


    "No candidate is without their flaws. You must decide which strengths are most essential and which weaknesses can be addressed over time. There''s no perfect choice¡ªonly the best available one."


    As Valeryon ruminated on her words, Ophelia pushed the door open, revealing a room thick with the smell of parchment and ink. The space was lined with shelves overflowing with ancient books and scrolls, evidence of the Vesalius family''s long history of record-keeping within this space.


    Valeryon seated herself behind the grand desk, its polished oak surface reflecting the soft, filtered light from the tall windows. In front of her lay a folder embossed with the Vesalius sigil, filled with documents she had studied meticulously over the past week. Each profile detailed the strengths, weaknesses, and histories of the Chamberlain candidates. She had approached this responsibility with the same rigour that she did with any of her studies¡ªbut knowing the theory did not lessen the burden of making the right decision.


    "All the candidates should have arrived now, Your Highness," Ophelia announced. "Shall we begin?"


    Valeryon took a breath and nodded. "Yes. Please send in the first candidate."


    The door swung open with a low creak, revealing a tall, striking woman. Her raven-black hair was pulled into a severe bun, each strand meticulously in place, framing her sharp, aristocratic features¡ªhigh cheekbones, a straight nose, and thin lips set in a firm line. Her porcelain skin contrasted sharply with a deep midnight blue sheath dress, cinched at the waist by a simple silver belt. A matching pointed hat completed her austere ensemble.


    This was Lady Daphne''s elder sister.


    "Heiress Evelina Vesalius greets Her Highness, Crown Princess Valeryon the Second," Evelina announced, her voice clipped and formal. She offered a shallow bow, her indifferent silver eyes flicking over Valeryon before settling on Ophelia, the Immortal Remnant of her venerated ancestor. This time, she bowed deeper, a gesture of reverence that Valeryon chose to overlook for the moment.


    "Please, take a seat," Valeryon said, gesturing toward the chair across from her.


    Evelina glided into the chair with poised grace, her back perfectly straight. "Under my leadership, the Vesalius estates across the Archipelago have thrived. I have overseen assets totalling four hundred thousand gold annually, with a 15% increase in productivity in the last quarter alone. We''ve optimised operations across the board¡ª"


    Valeryon raised her hand, interrupting her. "Your accomplishments are well-documented, Heiress Evelina, and I am familiar with them. What I wish to understand is your philosophy regarding the handling of the people behind those numbers. How do you approach staff management?"


    Evelina spoke without hesitation, her tone cool and confident. "Efficiency is paramount. If individuals cannot keep pace, it is essential to replace them with those who can. A streamlined operation maximises profitability and minimises waste, Your Highness."


    "And what about loyalty and morale?" Valeryon pressed, recalling the late Lady Daphne''s emphasis on these aspects during her tenure as Chamberlain. "How do you inspire unity among your staff with such a philosophy?"


    Evelina''s silver eyes narrowed slightly, and a furrow appeared between her meticulously manicured brows. "Competency drives success, not camaraderie, Your Highness. If the staff understands that their positions depend on their performance, they will be motivated to excel. A productive workforce is inherently loyal, provided their interests align with the objectives of the estate."


    Valeryon considered this, her brow furrowing slightly. "Surely, fostering a sense of community can enhance performance, too."


    Evelina inclined her head. "In theory, Your Highness, but emotional ties can lead to complacency. While fostering a collegial atmosphere has its merits, it can distract from the primary goal: efficiency. I have witnessed systems far too many systems falter due to misplaced priorities. My approach ensures alignment with our objectives at all times."


    Valeryon frowned. "Does that not risk a high turnover rate? The constant pressure might lead to burnout, which ultimately affects productivity."


    Evelina''s gaze was steady, but her lips tightened. "A higher turnover rate can be a sign of a competitive environment. Those who cannot meet the demands are simply making way for those who can. It cultivates resilience and adaptability among the workforce. If they are invested in the goals of the estate, they will see this as an opportunity for growth."


    Valeryon leaned back in her chair, considering Evelina''s words. "Thank you, for sharing your perspective Heiress Evelina, that will be all," Valeryon said, dismissing her with a nod.


    Evelina rose from her seat with practiced elegance, bowing once more¡ªthis time a touch deeper than before. Ophelia, who had remained silent throughout the exchange, stepped forward to escort her out. Valeryon watched them leave with a frown.


    Next came Lady Daphne''s younger brother. His resemblance to his sister was unmistakable: white hair falling in soft waves to his shoulders, silver eyes, and elegant features. His entrance was accompanied by an air of casual arrogance. His posture was relaxed, almost too relaxed for the gravity of the situation.


    "Heir Silas Vesalius of House Vesalius greets Her Highness, Crown Princess Valeryon the Second," he announced with a flourishing bowing so dramatic it bordered on mockery.


    Valeryon resisted the urge to sigh. "Please, begin."


    Silas grinned. "I must say, Your Highness, you look much younger in person," he remarked with a wink. "Height-wise, that is. Not that I can see your face to determine your age with that veil on, of course!" He laughed, as though his comment were the pinnacle of wit.


    "Your qualifications, Heir Silas?"


    Heir Silas leaned back, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he launched into a lengthy account of his travels across the magical world. Recounting how he had "rubbed elbows" with influential merchants and noble families, collected rare artefacts, and made "valuable connections."


    When there seemed to be no sign of him stopping, Valeryon cut him off. "And how does that translate to managing the castle staff and operations?"


    Silas waved a hand as though the question was inconsequential. "Connections, Your Highness. It''s all about who you know. The Chamberlain needs to be someone who can negotiate the best deals, secure rare resources¡ª"


    "Thank you, Heir Silas," Valeryon interrupted, her voice curt. "Ophelia will see you out."


    Silas''s grin faltered slightly, but he left without protest.


    The endless parade of candidates that followed blurred into a dreary procession of mediocrity, each more underwhelming than the last. Valeryon shifted in her chair, exhaustion pressing down on her like a physical weight.


    The door creaked open once more. Valeryon glanced up, suppressing a sigh. "Last one," she muttered, relieved the ordeal was almost over.


    A woman stepped in¡ªentirely unremarkable at first glance. Short brown hair, silver eyes, and a surprisingly ordinary face. Valeryon skimmed the notes before her: youngest sibling of Lady Daphne, recent graduate of Forester Academy, no notable achievements or prior work experience.


    Elora hesitated in the doorway, her eyes scanning the room nervously, but she eventually stepped inside and gave an awkward bow. "H-Heiress Elora V-Vesalius of House Vesalius greets Her H-Highness, Crown P-Princess Valeryon the Second."


    "Sit," Valeryon instructed, gesturing to the chair opposite her.


    Elora obeyed, perching on the edge of the seat, hands clasped tightly in her lap, her knuckles pale with tension.


    Valeryon studied her briefly, then spoke. "What''s your approach to staff management?"


    "Staff are... the backbone of any estate, Your Highness," Elora began.


    Valeryon''s fingers tapped lightly on the armrest. "Go on."


    Taking a steadying breath, Elora continued. "Constantly replacing staff is costly. Recruitment, retraining, and adjustment periods strain resources. It''s far more beneficial to invest in current staff¡ªdevelop their skills, support their growth, and create a stable environment."


    Valeryon''s fingers stilled. "How would you suggest implementing that?"


    "By introducing regular training programs for all staff," Elora explained, her voice gaining strength as she spoke. "For example, Mediator-psychics could lead workshops on stress management, communication, and teamwork. It wouldn''t just improve staff efficiency under pressure, but it would also foster an environment where staff are equipped to grow into more complex roles. This way, the need for replacements is reduced, and long-term stability of the royal estate is maintained."


    Valeryon considered this. "And how would you handle underperforming staff?"


    Elora paused, carefully choosing her words. "Dismissal should be a last resort, reserved for cases of misconduct or irreparable failure. If someone is underperforming, the first step should be identifying the cause. It could be a lack of training, unclear expectations, or personal struggles. Addressing the root of the issue would not only help that individual but would also inform systemic improvements to prevent similar problems in the future."


    Valeryon studied her for a moment. "You''ve never managed staff before. Why are you confident this approach would work?"


    Elora straightened, her posture more assured. "While I don''t have direct experience, Your Highness, I''ve had the opportunity to observe and hear about the management methods used by my House closely over the years. The management style I have often witnessed is rigid, prioritising control over development. I have seen firsthand how this leads to high turnover and dissatisfied staff. My approach builds a system that adapts to changing circumstances and gives people the tools to succeed. It''s less about immediate results and more about long-term sustainability."


    There was merit in her approach. Rather than relying on a constant cycle of hiring and firing, addressing inefficiencies at the source could lead to a more stable system.


    "That will be all," Valeryon said finally, nodding curtly. "Thank you for your time, Heiress Elora."


    Elora rose quickly, bowing once more before Ophelia escorted her out, the door closing softly behind them.


    Left alone, Valeryon flipped through the candidate profiles. Evelina Vesalius, Elora''s oldest sister, had been the obvious choice. A seasoned professional with a clear-cut approach: remove under-performers, recruit competent talent, and maintain a seamless operation. It was a straightforward, efficient strategy.


    Yet Evelina''s approach, though practical, overlooked a crucial issue. The talent pool was not infinite. Eventually, constant recruitment would drain available resources, and the estate would be left with a declining quality of staff. Elora''s suggestion to invest in current personnel and address systemic problems at their source was potentially much more sustainable.


    Ophelia re-entered the room, a soft smile on her lips. "It seems Heiress Elora made quite the impression on Your Highness."


    Valeryon glanced up from the notes. "She is inexperienced."


    "Inexperience can be remedied with time and proper guidance," Ophelia replied gently. "There''s no need to rush her official appointment. We could extend her training until she''s fully prepared."


    Valeryon frowned. "If I delay her appointment, her competence will be questioned."


    Ophelia nodded thoughtfully. "There will always be doubt, no matter who you choose. The real question is whether you believe she can grow into the role. Capability silences doubts¡ªnot haste."


    "How long before you go dormant again, Ophelia?"


    "I will remain active until the new Chamberlain is officially appointed, Your Highness."


    "So that''s why you suggested delaying it," Valeryon murmured.


    "Yes, Your Highness."


    Valeryon let out a long breath. "What if she proves completely unsuitable?"


    Ophelia''s smile deepened with a touch of amusement. "There''s always a risk of failure, even with the most experienced candidates."


    Valeryon closed her eyes, her mind working through the implications. Elora was a gamble, and Valeryon despised gambling. Yet there was something about her that appealed to Valeryon more than any other candidate had. A system that adapted, evolved, and nurtured its components rather than discarding them recklessly¡ªit was a risk worth considering.


    "Very well," she said at last, her decision made.


    Valeryon rose, feeling the stiffness in her limbs from sitting too long. She resisted the urge to stretch. It would not do to appear undignified in front of Ophelia. Together, they left the chamber, their footsteps echoing through the grand marble hallways. The faint murmur of voices from the waiting room grew louder as they approached. When Ophelia quietly pulled the door open, their presence went completely unnoticed.


    "I''m telling you, it''s between me and Evelina," Silas declared, his tone dripping with arrogance. "We''re the only ones qualified for this role. What about Elora? Please. She''s no sister of mine¡ªjust a charity case. Look at her! Does she even resemble a Vesalius? Mother wouldn''t trust her with a shack, let alone an estate. The idea of her as Chamberlain is utterly ridiculous."


    A few relatives, lounged lazily on nearby velvet-cushioned benches, chuckled in agreement. "Honestly, what does she think she''s doing here?" one sneered, flicking a hand dismissively. "This is a position meant for true Vesalius heir, not commoners masquerading as one of us."


    Evelina, seated slightly apart from the group, remained quiet, her gaze flicking between her relatives and Elora. A slight smirk briefly touched her lips, only to be quickly masked with a facade of disinterest.


    Elora, seated at the far end of the room, calmly flipping through a book. If she heard their taunts, she gave no sign.


    Ophelia''s voice cut through the chatter like a blade. "The Crown Princess has arrived."


    All the candidates scrambled to their feet, bowing hastily. Silas''s bravado vanished, his face flushing a deep crimson.


    "I... I was just joking," he stammered, forcing a laugh. "Sibling banter, you know?"


    No one else joined him this time.


    Evelina stepped forward. "I apologise on behalf of my family, Your Highness. They are still young and have much to learn."


    Her words, though sweet on the surface, were barbed, and Valeryon saw the way Silas and the other candidates stiffened under the implicit attack to their credibility. Yet, none of it mattered to Valeryon. The decision had already been made, and these petty squabbles were of little consequence to her.


    "The successor for the next Chamberlain has been chosen," Ophelia announced, turning to Valeryon with a respectful bow. "If you will, Your Highness."


    Valeryon stepped forward, her gaze sweeping over the candidates who straightened up expectantly. "Heiress Elora Vesalius."


    The silence that filled the room following her announcement was deafening. Many smug smiles evaporated, replaced by expressions of disbelief as they exchanged shocked glances.


    Heiress Elora herself looked taken aback, but she seemed to have los a lot of the nerves from before and composed herself quickly, bowing deeply to Valeryon.


    "Thank you, Your Highness Crown Princess Valeryon. I will work hard to ensure that you will not regret your choice."


    Valeryon nodded, "See that you do."

 SL: Sweet Crystals

    Valeryon sat alone in the Music Hall, her fingers hovering above the strings of the grand harp. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of polished wood, and the fading daylight filtered through the tall, arched windows, casting long shadows across the polished marble floor. A soft, dusky glow filled the space, bathing everything in a warm, muted light.


    She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting her fingers glide over the strings. The first note rang out, a mournful, resonant sound that lingered in the quiet hall. One by one, more notes followed, cascading into a melancholic melody.


    Gradually, the music shifted, giving way to a brighter, livelier tune. Her fingers moved with increasing confidence, the green glow at her fingertips intensified, casting a soft light as she played. Her breathing steadied, and with each note, the tension in her chest began to ease. She exhaled softly, a sigh of relief as the worries that had clung to her slowly faded.


    A familiar fluttering sound broke the spell. Valeryon opened her eyes to see a shimmering envelope with delicate, holographic wings drifting toward her. It hovered momentarily before settling in her open palm. The red seal marked it as an official delivery from the Archipelago''s Post Office, a guarantee that it had been inspected and verified as safe.


    Valeryon carefully broke the seal and unfolded the letter. The words, penned in elegant, flowing script, read:


    Your Highness, Crown Princess Valeryon the Second,


    We wish to extend our heartfelt condolences on the loss of our dearest Daphne. Her passing has left a deep void in all our lives, and we share in your grief during this difficult time. Please know that our thoughts are with you.


    We also regret the delay in delivering your staff. It is now prepared and ready for use, and we trust it will serve you well.


    With deepest respect and sympathy,


    Eilie Lin Adhe and Sala Silvers


    P.S. We kindly remind you to exercise caution when practicing magic with the staff for the first time. Avoid proximity to anything you may later regret losing.


    Valeryon turned the letter over, her eyes catching on two glowing runes etched into the parchment. She reached for the first, and as her fingers brushed against it, they phased through the surface. Reaching in, her hand felt the weight of a staff settle into her grasp, and she smoothly drew it out.


    The staff towered over her thirteen-year-old frame, standing nearly two meters tall. Its shaft, sculpted from pure diamond, shimmered in the dim light. Intricately carved thorny vines spiralled up its length, and roses blossomed from them, their petals so detailed that Valeryon half-expected to feel their softness beneath her fingertips. At the top, a large, spherical diamond crowned the staff, refracting the light into rainbow hues that danced across the room.


    Her gaze shifted to the second rune. She reached in and pulled out a small envelope. Inside were several memory cards from her time at Starlit Staffworks. She slid one out and watched as a brief five-second snapshot of her selecting materials for the staff. In the background, two silver-haired women stood, one of whom caught Valeryon''s attention. Her gaze was filled with a deep affection and pride¡ªa look etched into so many of Valeryon''s childhood memories in this world which had grown unfamiliar since their relationship had grown distant.


    A tightness formed in her chest as she ran her thumb over the image, a strange and unnameable emotion swelling within her, making her feel lightheaded. She swallowed hard, forcing the feeling down and taking a slow, steadying breath.


    Valeryon carefully slid the memory card back into the envelope and returned both the staff and envelope to their storage runes. She folded the letter neatly and placed it back into its envelope.


    Rising from her seat, Valeryon reflected on the advice she''d received about practicing magic with caution. Her mind wandered to a secluded courtyard she and Laurel had discovered years ago during one of their explorations. Hidden on the far edge of the castle grounds, the courtyard was walled in and overtaken by nature. Its isolation and disrepair made it the ideal place to practice without risking damage to anything important.


    As Valeryon left the Music Hall, she found Laurel waiting just outside, leaning casually against his staff. The staff, forged from draconic steel, gleamed with a deep purple sheen, its surface intricately carved to resemble dragon scales. At its top sat a diamond focus¡ªnearly identical to hers¡ªthat glowed faintly in the dimming light, emitting a soft, resonant hum that vibrated in sync with her own¡ªthe split-part resonance.


    Laurel''s complexion, though still burdened with dark circles from sleepless nights, had a healthier tint than she had seen in a while. A grin spread across his face, revealing deep dimples. "Courtyard?" he asked.


    "Yes," she replied.


    Laurel''s grin grew wider. "Great, let''s go."


    As they moved through the winding corridors of the castle, the cool evening air settled around them, carrying the scent of blooms and the sounds of birds and cicadas beginning their evening song. Wall-mounted sconces cast warm pools of light, their glow mingling with the fading dusk and stretching long shadows across the polished stone floors.


    As Valeryon and Laurel moved through the passageways, their conversation about the day''s activities turning toward Valeryon''s recent decision to appoint Laurel''s youngest aunt, Elora, as the next Chamberlain.


    "I get that you have your reasons, Val," Laurel began, his tone cautious. "But Aunt Elora? For as long as I''ve known her, she''s barely managed to string two words together when I''m around, and when she does, she looks like she''s about to pass out. Honestly, I thought you''d pick Aunt Evelina or even Uncle Silas¡ªanyone except her, really."


    Valeryon paused, recalling her first meeting with Elora. The young woman had been visibly anxious, her eyes flicking nervously around the room, hands twisting in her lap. She could hardly hold Valeryon''s gaze for more than a fleeting moment. It was true that Elora''s social anxiety was a concern, but Valeryon saw it as a minor flaw compared to her remarkable intellect and attention to detail.


    However, social competence was crucial for a Chamberlain. To address this, Valeryon had enlisted Ophelia to place Elora in an intensive training program under Governess Sachar, designed to elevate her professional conduct to the required standard.


    The results had been promising. In addition to her lessons, Elora shadowed Ophelia daily, absorbing the nuances of the role she would soon assume. Valeryon received nightly reports from both Governess Sachar and Ophelia, and each painted a picture of steady progress. Ophelia even noted that, had she not known Elora''s history, she would have assumed the young woman had been groomed for this role her entire life. These updates only solidified Valeryon''s confidence in her choice, despite the mounting criticism she faced.


    Almost daily, letters arrived from House Vesalius questioning Valeryon''s judgment. They cited Elora''s youth and lack of experience as evidence of her unsuitability for such a critical role. Valeryon didn''t bother responding. If these were legitimate concerns, why had Elora¡ªand others like her¡ªbeen included in the list of vetted candidates they had sent her?


    Rather than respond, she used their letters as kindling for her fireplace, watching as the parchment blackened and crumbled in the flames.


    Did House Vesalius believe Valeryon''s youth made her decisions mere suggestions or her authority fragile?


    Laurel, however, wasn''t challenging her. His tone was curious, not critical. He was genuinely trying to reconcile his perception of his aunt with Valeryon''s confidence in her. He didn''t have the insight Valeryon did¡ªnor could he see the circumstances that had led her to choose Elora. Yet, Valeryon struggled to put her reasoning into words. A simple, "Your aunt is a genius," felt insufficient.


    Only time would reveal whether Valeryon''s decision was the right one.


    As they approached the entrance of the courtyard, Valeryon gestured for Laurel to go ahead. She paused at the threshold, watching as he stepped into the centre of the overgrown space.


    The courtyard, once a sanctuary of beauty, had long fallen into decay. Crumbling stone pillars, remnants of its grand architecture, lay scattered across the pathways, now tangled with wild, overgrown vegetation. Vines crept up the walls, suffocating the intricate carvings and obscuring the stonework that hinted at the courtyard''s past splendour. The ground, cracked and uneven, was blanketed with moss and creeping ivy, their lush green contrasting with the weathered grey stone.


    Laurel''s expression remained focused as he spun his staff, the polished metal whistling through the air in fluid, precise arcs. With a swift motion, he swung it wide, unleashing a massive wave of flames that roared to life. The fire surged, illuminating the courtyard in a fierce blaze, the heat so intense that Valeryon''s robes barely shielded her from the searing onslaught. For a moment, memories from the fifth Death Challenge¡ªthe Challenge of Fire Hall¡ªflooded her mind. She could almost feel the flames licking at her skin, the agony as they seared through flesh and nerves.


    Laurel''s eyes widened seeing the flames spiral beyond his control. He quickly dispelled the magic, extinguishing the fire just before it could reach her. Panting heavily, he rushed to Valeryon''s side, his features tight with fear.


    "Val, are you okay? I''m so sorry!" he exclaimed, his voice laced with panic.


    Valeryon, drenched in sweat but otherwise unharmed, nodded. "I am fine."


    Laurel let out a long sigh of relief, his shoulders sagging as he leaned against her. "I only meant to create a small flame, but it looks like they weren''t exaggerating when they said this staff amplifies magic. Thank the stars you''re not hurt." He laughed, a mix of relief and lingering disbelief.


    Valeryon''s lips twitched slightly. "It seems so." She then tilted her head thoughtfully. "I think I''d like to give it a try now."


    Laurel blinked, taken aback. "What? Val, that''s¡ªare you sure? That flame nearly burned you. What if¡ª"


    "I won''t use offensive magic," she assured him. "I just want to test something."


    Laurel hesitated, his concern evident, but he eventually stepped back, giving her space.


    She opened the envelope in her hands to pull out the staff from the storage rune, Laurel let out a low whistle as he took in its appearance for the first time.


    "Now, that''s stunning," he murmured.


    Valeryon rarely accessed the Florian side of her heritage, preferring to hone the abilities rooted in her Valeryon bloodline. However, she had learned what she could of Florian magic through her own research, relying on the limited data and conjecture available about the reclusive clan''s powers on the Inter-Galactic Origin Network.


    Taking a deep breath, she extended her hand, and the entirety of her staff glowed with a soft, pink light. A gentle pink wave of magic radiated from her, spreading across the courtyard. Slowly, vibrant plants and trees sprouted from the cracked earth, emerging from decayed remnants buried beneath long ago. Leaves unfurled, and flowers bloomed, their colours vivid against the grey stone ruins. The arrangement was chaotic, a testament to her lack of gardening acuity, but it achieved its purpose. Valeryon felt a slight drain on her energy, though it was far less than she anticipated. In the past, such a feat would have left her bedridden for days, but now, she barely felt a flicker of fatigue.


    Laurel, who had been watching intently, broke into enthusiastic applause. "Val, that was incredible! You''re amazing!"


    Valeryon cleared her throat, fighting the heat creeping up her face. "It''s just basic magic."


    Laurel''s grin only widened. "If that''s basic for you, I can''t imagine what you consider advanced."


    Before she could respond, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the courtyard''s cobbled paths. Elora and Ophelia appeared, flanked by a squad of knights clad in gleaming armour, their polished helmets reflecting the last light of the day. Elora''s shoulders relaxed as she exhaled in visible relief. "Your Highness, Nephew, you''re safe."


    Valeryon''s eyes narrowed, sensing the tension in the air. "What''s going on?"


    Ophelia stepped forward, her expression serious, her brows furrowed. "There was a disturbance in the wards, Your Highness. We suspected intruders and came to investigate."


    Laurel rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "Sorry about that. It was probably my fault."


    Ophelia''s frown deepened, her eyes scrutinising. "And what exactly were you doing that triggered the wards so intensely?"


    Laurel began explaining, his tone light as he tried to diffuse the situation. Eventually, he turned to Elora with a curious look. As he finished, he turned to Elora with a curious look. "Aunt Elora, where''s your staff? Did you really think it was a good idea to investigate a possible break-in unarmed?"


    Elora''s face paled for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure, a testament to her training under Governess Sachar. She managed a polite smile, lifting her sleeve to reveal a faintly glowing runic tattoo etched into her skin. "I have a friend¡ªa skilled tattoo artist who specialises in magical runes. This one allows me to summon and store my staff when needed." With a graceful flick of her wrist, the rune brightened, and a staff materialised in her hand, only to vanish again with another quick movement. "It''s convenient for keeping my hands free." She paused before adding, "If you''re interested, I could invite him. I''m sure he''d be thrilled to craft one for you."


    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    Valeryon''s interest was piqued, but she hesitated. Her passive healing ability might reject foreign markings or substances, making the rune useless for her.


    "Val, what do you think about tattoos?" Laurel asked, glancing sideways at her, a light flush creeping over his cheeks. "Do you like them on other people, or¡­?"


    Caught off guard by the unexpected question, Valeryon took a moment to process his words. After a beat, she replied in what she hoped would sound reassuring. "I think they''re fine. Even if it doesn''t look great, it serves a purpose beyond aesthetics."


    Laurel''s expression flickered through several emotions before he let out a dramatic sigh, covering his face with his hands. Elora''s lips twitched, and Valeryon could have sworn she heard a stifled laugh before Elora masked it with a cough.


    Valeryon pressed her lips together. She had clearly missed something again¡ªsome unspoken cue. Embarrassed but unwilling to ask, she let it go, sensing that no one was eager to enlighten her.


    Regardless, Elora took their interest in the tattoo seriously, and promptly arranged for her friend to come to the castle that very evening.


    Less than an hour later, Elora''s friend arrived. They organised the meeting in one of the smaller lounges, furnished with plush seating and warm lighting to create a comfortable atmosphere for the procedure.


    The man was an eccentric figure, draped flowing robes of deep indigo, adorned with mystical symbols and tiny charms that jingled softly with every movement. His long, braided hair, interwoven with small trinkets and beads, framed his angular face, and his light brown eyes sparkled with excitement¡ªone eye secured behind a gold monocle that caught the last rays of the setting sun. He bowed dramatically, a grin on his face. "Greetings, Your Highness, Heir Vesalius. I am Arion. What an unexpected honour it is to offer my humble services to such esteemed clients!"


    Setting down his bag, he revealed a collection of enchanted tools and scrolls, each meticulously marked with intricate runes that pulsed faintly with magic. Unfurling a scroll, Arion began to explain his craft with enthusiasm, gesturing animatedly as he spoke. "Runes, when etched along key meridian points of the body, maximise their effectiveness. For example, the wrists are ideal for summoning spells, the collarbone for defensive wards, and the spine for enhancing physical abilities like speed and strength." He paused, his eyes twinkling. "But today, I understand you are interested in the staff-holstering rune, correct? Who would like to go first¡ªYour Highness, or Heir Vesalius?"


    Laurel stepped forward first and took the seat on the plush couch Arion had gestured toward, rolling up his sleeve to expose his forearm. Arion''s face lit up, and he set to work with precision. As the enchanted needle touched Laurel''s skin, it released a faint hum, resonating with the energy in the room. The rune glowed a bright blue as Arion meticulously etched it, the magical ink seeping into Laurel''s skin and sending shimmering sparks along his arm. The light danced along the rune, leaving a glowing trail as it melded into his flesh. Laurel winced, feeling the heat and the slight sting, but he remained still, eyes fixed on the tattoo as it shifted and settled, the glow dimming to a faint blue hue.


    With Laurel''s approval, Arion added a secondary rune at the base of his staff, binding it to the storage rune. "This will ensure that even if you forget to place it in the holster, you can still summon your staff from anywhere," he explained. As he completed the last stroke, the staff pulsed in response.


    Laurel grinned, watching as it disappeared and reappeared in his hand with a mere thought. "It''s incredible," he murmured, flexing his fingers around the staff only to return it again into the holster rune.


    Next, it was Valeryon''s turn. Taking her seat, she extended the arm bare of her Celestial Receiver. She watched Arion intently, admiring the precision and mastery required for the procedure. As he began to work, the same bright blue glow enveloped her skin, a subtle hum of energy coursing through her veins. Arion worked meticulously, his hands steady as the rune gradually bound itself to her. A warm sensation spread through her arm as the magic integrated with her own energy, settling into her skin as if it had always belonged there.


    Her initial concerns faded away as she sensed her passive healing ability welcoming the rune seamlessly. It felt as if her body recognised the tattoo as neither invasion nor injury, but as a natural extension of herself.


    Once Arion had completed the necessary procedures and gathered his enchanted tools, he bowed respectfully before taking his leave, pocketing the generous payment Valeryon had arranged for his prompt in-person services. Left with much to ponder, Valeryon summoned the Knight Commander and requested Elora and Ophelia to join her in her study for an urgent meeting.


    Valeryon had recently decided to select a study following Ophelia''s suggestion, a move prompted by her increasing responsibilities after the passing of Lady Daphne. In the vast expanse of the castle, she had several options for her study, but the proximity of her chosen room to the Chamberlain''s Office had been a decisive factor in her choice. This arrangement would facilitate more efficient coordination, allowing her to manage her duties with greater ease.


    The decor of the study suggested it had once belonged to a royal heir from the time of Queen Vera Valeryon¡ªor perhaps even to Queen Vera herself. Ornate shelves lined the walls, filled with ancient tomes and meticulously detailed maps that depicted the vast territories of the Valeryon Archipelago, the expansive mainland of Fiore, and neighbouring nations such as Ebren and Simran. Each map bore strategic annotations, hinting at the far-reaching ambitions of its past occupant. This only reinforced Valeryon''s growing conspiracy theory that Queen Vera had been a master tactician, harbouring clandestine plans for territorial expansion.


    Despite his visible exhaustion, Laurel insisted on accompanying them, and as usual, Valeryon found herself unable to refuse his request. Now, he lay asleep on a nearby leather couch, his usually lively features softened in slumber. His chest rose and fell steadily, the rhythm a comforting presence in the otherwise tense atmosphere. Valeryon stole a brief glance at him, finding reassurance in his calm demeanour before shifting her focus back to the task at hand.


    She had invited three key figures for this discussion: Heiress Elora Vesalius, Ophelia, and Knight Commander Marcellus. As she reviewed the rune descriptions Arion had left behind, detailing various types and their applications, she turned her attention to Elora. "Heiress Elora, tell me more about these rune tattoos. Have they been tested for combat effectiveness? How reliable are they in high-stress scenarios?"


    Elora straightened, her expression serious. "The runes are a recent innovation, Your Highness," she began, her voice steady. "They''ve undergone rigorous testing by Fiore''s Department of Arcane Phenomena over the last five years and have received the highest certification¡ªthe Gold Veracity Seal. Regardless of their intended function, these runes are designed to endure both physical and magical stress. In controlled trials, they have proven highly effective even under extreme conditions. I attended some of these trials as an observer, thanks to my friendship with Arion, and can confirm that the runes performed exactly as specified, with no adverse side effects."


    Valeryon nodded thoughtfully. "So, they truly have the potential to enhance our defensive capabilities or augment physical strength. They could be a valuable addition to our forces." She then shifted her attention to Knight Commander Marcellus. "What are your thoughts, Commander?"


    Marcellus, a tall and imposing figure with a chiseled jawline and piercing steel-grey eyes, leaned forward to inspect the rune descriptions laid out on the table. His armour, adorned with the emblem of the Valeryon clan, glinted under the candlelight. "The concept is promising, Your Highness. If these runes work as intended, it could revolutionise our combat. The ability to summon weapons instantly or enhance physical abilities would provide a crucial advantage in battle, especially against magically resistant enemies like the lycanthropes." He paused, his tone cautious. "However, I advise a careful integration phase. Our knights will need time to adapt, ensuring they can use the runes effectively without compromising their combat readiness or safety."


    Elora took a deep breath and nodded. "I agree. Perhaps we could start by deploying a small task force to field-test these runes. A limited rollout would allow us to gather data and refine our approach. If successful, we could expand their use to other units."


    Valeryon considered their suggestions as she dipped her quill in ink and began outlining the specifics of the plan. The quill moved swiftly across the parchment as she detailed the implementation steps, training regimens, and phased testing approach. Once she completed the document, she dripped wax onto the paper, reached for the seal, and prepared to imprint her insignia while the wax was still warm.


    Just as she was about to press her seal into the molten wax, a knock echoed through the study''s grand double doors. The doors swung open, and a knight stepped inside, bowing deeply. "Your Highness, Heir Vesalius, the Enforcers have arrived. They request an audience regarding the recent werewolf attack in Asua."


    Valeryon''s lips thinned as she carefully pressed her seal, watching as the wax solidified into the mark of the Valeryon sigil¡ªa phoenix clutching a branch of asphodel. With a soft sigh, she turned her gaze to Laurel, who had stirred from his previous slumber on the couch. His earlier drowsiness had vanished, replaced by an alertness as he stared warily at the doors.


    Rolling up the document, Valeryon handed it to Elora and concluded the meeting.


    The Knight Commander, Elora, and Ophelia bowed in unison before making their exit. Valeryon watched the doors close behind them before turning her attention back to the knight standing at the threshold, awaiting her response.


    "Bring them in," she commanded.


    In this world, Enforcers serve as the primary law enforcement agency, responsible for overseeing the enforcement of laws and maintaining order. Within this organisation exists a specialised group known as the Investigative Enforcers, or simply Investigators. These individuals operate much like detectives, dedicated to uncovering the truth behind crimes. Their main responsibility is to gather evidence, interview witnesses, and solve complex cases.


    The brutal werewolf attack in Asua, prompted the Archipelago''s Enforcers to mobilise and investigate the incident as mandated by protocol.


    This decision, however, ignited significant resistance among the residents of the Mainland. Many viewed such behaviour as an overreach of its authority, the Archipelago''s efforts to extend its influence beyond its region.


    However, the Accords¡ªa treaty signed by Chancellor Alphonso Bianchi, the first leader of magical Fiore, and Queen Vera Valeryon¡ªthe Archipelago retained jurisdiction over its citizens regardless of location. This agreement stipulates that in matters concerning its own citizens, the laws of the Archipelago take precedence over those of Fiore. As a result, the Archipelago''s Enforcers were legally permitted to operate within the Mainland, a reality that the Mainland''s residents were forced to accept after their own Enforcers and the Chancellor confirmed the legitimacy of the Archipelago''s actions.


    Currently, the werewolves responsible for the recent attacks are detained by the Archipelago''s Enforcer Department, specifically within the Lycan Unit. This specialised team comprises Lycans, humans who have genetically evolved the ability to transform into wolves at will while maintaining their rationality. They are the only group equipped to suppress, restrain, and, if necessary, eliminate transformed werewolves.


    Understanding the distinction between Lycans and lycanthropes is essential for navigating the complexities of magical society. Lycans are a distinct race of humans who inherit their transformative abilities through genetics. This genetic legacy grants them complete control over their transformations, enabling them to shift seamlessly between human and wolf forms without succumbing to the primal urges that often accompany such changes.


    In stark contrast, werewolves are tragic victims of a virulent curse transmitted through the bite of another werewolf. Those unfortunate enough survive such an attack undergo a painful transformation, becoming grotesque caricatures of true Lycans. Cursed to transform primarily during the full moon, these individuals are driven by an insatiable bloodlust and an unquenchable hunger for flesh. This bloodlust is not merely a consequence of their new form; it consumes their very essence, compelling them to commit heinous acts against their will.


    While transformations in werewolves typically occur during the full moon, they can also happen outside this period, albeit rarely. These irregular transformations add an element of unpredictability, making werewolves even more dangerous within magical society. Since no one has yet discovered the triggers for these unexpected changes, the threat they pose remains a constant source of tension and fear.


    Valeryon settled onto the leather couch beside Laurel, adjusting her iridescent black veil so it draped neatly across her shoulders. Laurel, seated next to her, seemed relaxed at first glance, but Valeryon could sense the subtle tension in his posture. His shoulder-length snow-white hair was tied loosely back, with a few strands framing his face. His fingers tapped rhythmically on the armrest, betraying his inner restlessness.


    Across from them, the Investigators sat ready with quills poised, observing them closely. The lead Investigator, a tall woman with neatly tied blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, leaned forward. "You were present during the attack. Can you describe any significant events leading up to it? What happened before the werewolves appeared?"


    Laurel crossed one leg over the other, his lavender eyes flicking briefly to Valeryon before focusing on the Investigator. "The pastries," he said casually.


    "The pastries?" echoed the other Investigator, a shorter man with a shrewd expression. "What about them?"


    Laurel sighed. "The sugar on them wasn''t sugar. It was Sweet Crystals."


    A heavy silence followed, and Valeryon felt her pulse quicken.


    Sweet Crystals¡ªan illegal and highly addictive substance¡ªwas notorious for its compounding toxicity. Each dose was a step closer to a long drawn out agonising death.


    "Where were these pastries served?" the lead Investigator pressed, her eyes narrowing.


    "At Vesperia Terminal in Vir¨¦," Laurel replied calmly. "They were part of the refreshments provided."


    The shorter Investigator''s quill scratched across his notepad. "And how did you recognise it?"


    Laurel tapped his nose with a faint smile. "Training. As a member of House Vesalius and future Aide to the Crown Princess, I''m trained to detect substances that could pose a danger to Her Highness. Sweet Crystals have a distinct scent."


    Valeryon''s mind raced, recalling Laurel''s behaviour at the Terminal lounge. She had dismissed his hesitation around the food, even offering him some herself, unaware of the threat. Though only the pastries were tainted, she felt a surge of frustration at her carelessness. Laurel didn''t possess her ability to revive¡ªone mistake, and it could have been the end for him in this world.


    Laurel continued, "I informed the knights, and they alerted Knight Commander Marcellus. That''s why there were additional knights when we arrived in Asua. My mother, Lady Daphne, was with them, standing in for the healer-knights quarantined due to the snuffle fever outbreak." He scoffed lightly. "I think my mother just couldn''t stand idle knowing the danger Her Highness and I might face."


    The lead Investigator nodded. "And this communication took place when?"


    "Right before we left Vesperia Terminal," Laurel explained. "The knights were already preparing while we boarded."


    Valeryon felt a knot tighten in her stomach. So much had been set in motion without her noticing. How had Laurel managed to communicate so discreetly without her noticing when he had been by her side the entire time? Had she truly missed such a significant exchange?


    "Anything else?" the Investigator asked.


    "When we were heading back to the Nexus Gate in Asua after our shopping, I suspect we were caught inside a confounding magical ward," Laurel said, lowering his voice. "It was subtle, but once inside its radius, I realised that no matter how far we walked, we weren''t making any progress."


    Valeryon vaguely remembered the sensation of not getting anywhere, but she hadn''t realised it was due to magic. The ward was cleverly designed to be undetectable unless one knew exactly what to look for¡ªa cunning and insidious trap.


    The Investigators exchanged glances. The taller one jotted something down, the quill''s scratching the only sound in the room. "A magical ward?"


    "Yes," Laurel confirmed. "It also blocked sound from outside its perimeter. By the time I heard the werewolves, they were already upon us. We had no choice but to confront them directly."


    The shorter Investigator leaned forward, eyes alight with interest. "We discovered traces of a rune circle at the scene¡ªhastily erased, but still partially intact. Your theory may hold merit. We will investigate this matter further, Heir Vesalius."


    Laurel''s expression turned serious. "The Sweet Crystals, the ward, the werewolves transforming on a moonless night¡ªit was coordinated. This was a deliberate attempt to harm Her Highness. The Oath of Fealty prevents any resident from plotting such an attack. For someone to know our itinerary so precisely¡­ Outsiders must have infiltrated the Archipelago, possibly posing as residents and even securing positions among the castle staff."


    Valeryon''s hands clenched as the implications settled in. The Oath of Fealty¡ªa powerful magical vow binding the Archipelago''s citizens¡ªwould neutralise anyone with malicious intent against herself as a member of the royal family. For someone to bypass such security and orchestrate a scheme of this complexity¡­


    They didn''t just want her dead; they wanted her to suffer. The use of Sweet Crystals was proof of that.


    Only one family had both the motive and the means to execute such an elaborate attack.


    For centuries, they had upheld a blood feud against the Valeryon lineage, constantly seeking to undermine their authority and destroy their legacy. Despite their transgressions, they had evaded justice through influence and cunning, always managing to keep their hands clean.


    The House of Asztalos.

 SL: Home Away from Home

    Valeryon stood in her study, the scent of parchment mingling with the aromatic flowers in full bloom from the garden below carried by the breeze drifting through the open window. The morning sunlight streamed through the thin, gossamer curtains, casting a dappled glow that played across the organised chaos within. Books, neatly stacked in towering piles, formed small fortresses alongside polished crystals, pristine uniforms, cauldrons, ladles and vials of rare herbs¡ªeach item meticulously sorted in preparation for her upcoming departure to Forester Academy. The study had become a makeshift storage space to keep her bedroom uncluttered amid the whirlwind of preparations.


    Laurel was currently at the Crafting Hall working on his final project and spending time with friends, making the most of the last few months before their Main Mission officially began. His absence felt more palpable than she expected. She was used to the quiet rustle of his clothing, the way his lavender scent lingered in the air, and the teasing quips that pulled her from her reverie when she became too absorbed in her tasks. Without him, the room felt simultaneously unsettling and soothing.


    An unfamiliar quiet that wrapped around her like a familiar shroud, as she reviewed the final item on her checklist, quill poised to mark it off.


    A series of firm knocks echoed through the chamber, piercing the tranquil atmosphere. Valeryon''s grip tightened on the quill, the ink bleeding across the parchment in a messy streak. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she cast a sharp glance at the double doors. With a deliberate breath, she let the tension slip from her shoulders before speaking. "Enter."


    The heavy double doors swung open with a soft creak, and Heiress Elora Vesalius stepped inside.


    Her plain features were elevated by the elegance of her attire. The high-collared tunic of deep midnight blue silk, with sleeves that flared elegantly at the wrists, was cinched at her waist by a braided silver belt. A matching skirt brushed the tops of her polished boots, and a beaded silver hairband kept her short brown hair neatly in place. Her ears bore two small silver bead studs. The ensemble was a noticeable departure from the utilitarian garb Elora had favoured when they first met.


    Elora bowed, the motion fluid and practiced, lacking the stiffness of before. "Greetings, Your Highness."


    "Heiress Elora," Valeryon greeted, setting her ink-stained parchment aside. "I wasn''t expecting you today. Isn''t this your designated rest day?"


    Elora''s fingers tightened around the handle of the briefcase she carried, her knuckles paling against the dark leather. "It is, Your Highness. However, I deemed it wise to use my time to familiarise myself further with the Chamberlain''s Office and begin reorganising the records." She paused, as if choosing her words carefully. "Idle hours are opportunities wasted."


    Valeryon''s eyes narrowed. "Indeed." Her gaze shifted to the briefcase in Elora''s grip. "And the briefcase?"


    Elora''s posture straightened. "It is a personal project¡ªa portable living space. I anticipated the task might extend into the night, and I prepared for the possibility of remaining on site." She hesitated, the silence hanging briefly between them before she added, "If Your Highness permits, I could demonstrate its features."


    Valeryon inclined her head slightly. "Very well. Proceed."


    Elora moved with practiced efficiency, setting the briefcase down with a soft thud. She knelt beside it, her fingers brushing over the worn leather. The case was dark and weathered, polished to a subtle sheen. Steel-reinforced corners bore the marks of frequent use, and Elora''s name was engraved in delicate script beneath the large Vesalius crest¡ªa winged key¡ªembossed at the centre. As she pressed a raised symbol resembling a quill, the latches clicked open. The lid lifted, releasing a soft, pulsating glow from within.


    Elora rose, a tenuous smile crossing her face as she gestured. "As you can see, it serves as more than just storage space. Initially, it was meant for study, but I''ve since expanded its capabilities. It now includes a living area, a workshop, and a small kitchen. It allows me to work and rest comfortably, regardless of location."


    Valeryon stepped closer, the glow making the iridescent black fabric of her veil shimmer brighter. She studied the briefcase''s interior before giving a curt nod."Show me."


    Elora nodded, her posture upright as she extended her hand. "If you would, Your Highness."


    Valeryon hesitated briefly before taking it, feeling the warmth of Elora''s touch. The moment she stepped into the glow, a wave of disorientation surged through her¡ªlike falling from a great height. When her feet touched solid ground again, the vertigo faded, and her surroundings sharpened into focus.


    The space was vast, with towering shelves stretching from floor to ceiling, each crammed with ancient tomes, scrolls, and artefacts. The air was heavy with the scent of sandalwood, mingling with the familiar aroma of ink and parchment. Enchanted candles floated above, their soft, honeyed glow casting shadows that danced along the polished wooden floors. At the center of the room stood an imposing desk made of dark mahogany, its surface covered with a controlled chaos of quills, ink pots, and open books filled with neat, precise writing that Valeryon instantly recognised as Elora''s.


    "This is the first compartment¡ªmy personal study," Elora explained. "I use it for record-keeping, drafting reports, and research."


    Valeryon''s eyes¡ªone peridot green, the other cerise pink¡ªmethodically swept the room. Her gaze lingered on the spines of the books, most focused on runic and dimensional magic, subjects perfectly aligned with Elora''s known specialisations. She then noted the runic arrays carved along the edges of the shelves, their glowing lines intertwining like vines weaving through wood.


    Elora moved toward a door and gestured to a small panel etched with raised symbols: a hammer, a bed, and a key. "This panel controls access between compartments. The key symbol exits the briefcase." She pressed the bed symbol, and the door shimmered, the runes lighting up in delicate spirals before the wood slid aside to reveal the next compartment.


    The living quarters were modest yet inviting. A narrow bed, draped in a deep green quilt, was tucked against the wall, its headboard carved with intricate floral patterns that seemed to shift and bloom beneath the soft, amber glow of a brass oil lamp. A small wardrobe stood to one side, and on the opposite wall, a cozy reading nook filled with plush cushions beckoned. Above the bed hung a woven tapestry depicting a forest, its leaves shimmering in emerald and gold threads as they caught the light. In one corner, an ensuite bathroom gleamed with polished brass fixtures, and the porcelain basin beneath an elegantly curved tap glinted in the candlelight.


    "It''s small but functional," Elora said, a faint flush creeping across her cheeks under Valeryon''s scrutiny. "I designed it with minimalism in mind¡ªit was all I could manage while I was a student at Forester Academy. Especially since most of my budget went into the study and the workshop."


    There were two doors in the bedroom. The first was the one they originally came through and the second led to the kitchen, a compact yet meticulously organised space. An iron stove dominated one wall, and beside it, a small hearth crackled beneath a blackened kettle. Wooden shelves lined the walls, filled with jars of herbs and spices, each labeled in Elora''s neat handwriting. Copper pots and pans hung from hooks above a sturdy wooden table, and a large stone basin with a hand-pump faucet occupied the island at the centre of the room. A translucent blue box etched with intricate runes emitted a faint hum in the corner.


    "Since an ice house is impractical in this space, I created a smaller, portable version," Elora explained, tapping the device. "I call it the cooling box. It preserves perishables and saves me the trouble of frequent restocking."


    The concept of cool storage technology was still in its infancy in this world, so Valeryon found it interesting to see an earlier derivative of it being developed


    The third and final compartment was accessed by Elora tapping the hammer symbol on the panel, revealing her workshop. Fold-out workbenches lined the walls, and enchanted, transparent drawers glowed softly, showcasing tools and materials: crystal vials filled with alchemical reagents, and neatly arranged chisels for rune carving. Blueprints covered the far wall, detailing various inventions including but not limited to briefcases and cooling boxes, alongside intricate rune sequences, each carefully annotated. In the centre of the room, a massive half-finished rune array sprawled across a large worktable.


    "This is where I work on my projects and rune experiments," Elora said, her eyes bright with enthusiasm as she gestured around. "It''s where I refine my craft."


    Valeryon''s gaze lingered on the blueprints. "Is this briefcase the only one of its kind, or have you made others?"


    Elora hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "I''ve crafted a few¡ªmostly for close friends upon request." Her voice softened, a hint of vulnerability creeping in. "If Your Highness is interested, I would be honoured to create one for you."


    Valeryon tilted her head slightly, considering the offer. "How long would it take?"


    Elora tapped lightly against the edge of the workbench, thoughtful. "A standard model takes about two weeks, but a customised version¡ªone with all the specifications you might want¡ªcould take a few months, depending on the complexity."


    Valeryon''s brow furrowed. Beltane was beginning, and her studies wouldn''t start until Mabon¡ªthree months away. "That should suffice. I will commission one."


    Elora''s shoulders relaxed, and a rare bright smile broke across her face. "I promise it will be my best work yet, Your Highness."


    Elora''s excitement was palpable as she eagerly cleared a space on the workbench, inviting Valeryon to sit beside her. They began drafting the briefcase''s specifications. Elora''s pencil moved with deft precision as she sketched, keeping pace with Valeryon''s increasingly elaborate requests.


    Valeryon''s list was ambitious: she wanted a study and living space, a greenhouse with climate control, an alchemy lab with proper ventilation, a temperature-controlled pool, and a loom and a harp within the greenhouse, along with ample storage.


    Elora paused when Valeryon mentioned what she wanted within the greenhouse, her pencil hovering mid-air as she glanced up. "Your Highness, for full disclosure, I must admit, some of these features are¡­ outside my usual expertise. But I''m confident I can make them work."


    Valeryon''s lips curled slightly. "I would not ask if I did not think you were capable of doing so. I trust you have had the foresight to patent your creations, Heiress Elora? It would be a disservice to your talent otherwise."


    Elora straightened, "Yes, of course. Thank you for your high regard, Your Highness."


    "You will have access to the Royal treasury for any necessary funds," Valeryon continued. "Commission the furnishings from the Crafting Hall. The colour scheme should be light¡ªnothing overly bold. Elegance and comfort are my only requirements. Beyond that, you have free rein."


    "I won''t disappoint, Your Highness," Elora replied, earnest.


    Once they finalised the details, they exited the briefcase. Elora closed it and secured its latches with a click. "I shall take my leave then, to get started on the project immediately. Wishing you a productive day, Your Highness." She bowed and stepped through the study''s double doors.


    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    Valeryon watched her go, her expression thoughtful. She realised she hadn''t quite gotten the full reason for Elora''s visit; they had been sidetracked by the briefcase almost immediately. But if it had been urgent, Elora would have insisted on addressing it¡ªValeryon was certain of that. From what she had observed, Elora was not one to overlook important matters.


    Now alone, Valeryon decided to postpone sorting her study materials until the new briefcase was ready. Instead, she headed to the abandoned courtyard. Due to her previous handiwork, the place was now overgrown with vines and wild greenery; a tangled mess. Staff in hand, she prepared to reshape the chaos into something presentable.


    As summer waned and Lammas came to a close, the briefcase was finally complete¡ªthree months after the project''s start.


    Valeryon sat in her study, flipping through a textbook on magical theory. Laurel lay beside her on the leather couch, his head resting on her lap as she absentmindedly ran her fingers through his hair. His steady breathing filled the room as he dozed.


    A soft knock broke the silence. Valeryon''s eyes lifted from the pages. "Enter."


    Elora stepped in, briefcase in hand, and bowed. Valeryon nudged Laurel awake. He groaned, rubbing his eyes before sitting up, his gaze sharp as it landed on Elora. Valeryon stood, and Laurel, still grumbling, stretched and rose following behind her.


    "Couldn''t you have waited a few more minutes?" he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.


    Elora arched an eyebrow. "And keep Her Highness waiting? I think not, dear nephew." She set the briefcase on the desk, her thin lips curling. "Punctuality is a virtue."


    Laurel rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "Yeah, well, your ''virtue'' can go¡ª"


    Valeryon tuned out the bickering, her attention drawn to the briefcase resting on the table.


    Elora''s craftsmanship was truly exceptional. The polished black leather was framed by steel-reinforced corners and intricate gold filigree that traced delicate, swirling patterns around the edges. Dominating the surface was the Valeryon sigil¡ªa majestic phoenix in flight, clutching an asphodel branch. Tiny diamonds embedded in the design brought it to life: clear ones for the blossoms, brown for the branch, black for the claws, and vibrant shades of orange, yellow, and red for the fiery plumage of the phoenix. Valeryon''s name, ''Valeryon II'' was engraved in gold below it.


    Above the sigil, a row of diamond icons marked each compartment: a quill for the study, a house for living quarters, a droplet for the pool, a rose for the greenhouse, and a star for the alchemy laboratory. Valeryon ran a gloved finger over each symbol, feeling the textured surface.


    Suddenly, the Celestial Receiver on Valeryon''s wrist flared to life, glowing a vibrant purple. A small holographic window appeared, hovering just above her wrist:


    Special Item Acquired: ''Home Away from Home.''


    Bind this item to your Inventory?


    Accept ¡ª Reject


    Valeryon frowned. The purple glow was usually reserved for Hidden Quests, but the lack of quest-related details was glaring. Was there another meaning for this colour when it came to items?


    Valeryon''s gaze returned to the briefcase on her desk. It was finely crafted, no doubt, but what made Mission Central classify it as a ''special item''?


    She sighed. Speculating would be a fruitless endeavour without more information. With a decisive tap, she pressed ''Accept''. The screen flickered, then vanished, the receiver''s light dimming back to blue.


    Nothing happened.


    The briefcase remained exactly where it was, undisturbed.


    As Valeryon reached for her Celestial Interface to check for any updates, the sound of footsteps announced the arrival of Laurel and Elora. Their earlier squabble seemed resolved, though Laurel''s lingering sulk was evident as he brushed past Elora and wrapped his arms around Valeryon''s waist, resting his head on her shoulder.


    "Val," he whined, voice dripping with faux despair. "Aunt Elora bullied me! Comfort me!"


    Elora halted mid-step, almost rolling her eyes but stopping herself just in time. "What do you think, Your Highness?" she asked, folding her hands behind her back. "Shall we take a look inside?"


    Caught between the two, Valeryon uncertainly patted Laurel''s back hoping it was the right response. Then she turned to Elora. "Yes. Let''s proceed," she replied.


    Laurel lingered a moment longer before reluctantly pulling away. He let out a heavy sigh."I don''t feel comforted at all," he grumbled, but the grin tugging at his lips betrayed his true feelings.


    Valeryon huffed, unable to hide her amusement.


    "Tsk. Laughing at me, are you?" Laurel feigned indignation, leaning in to pinch Valeryon''s cheek through her veil. "Just wait until Aunt Elora starts bullying you. Then we''ll see who you come running to for comfort." He paused for a beat, his smile faltering ever so slightly before returning with renewed vigour. "And just so we''re clear, that better be me, Val."


    Elora shook her head as she picked up the briefcase from the desk and set it on the ground, unlatched it with a soft click releasing a warm glow that illuminated the study.


    With a flourish, Laurel extended his hand to Valeryon, guiding her toward the briefcase. As she stepped inside, Valeryon felt the familiar sensation of weightlessness envelop her, as if she were suspended in air. When her feet found solid ground again, the disorientation faded, revealing the elegant interior of a study.


    High, bare bookshelves lined the walls. In the centre stood a grand desk, flanked by plush velvet armchairs in a soft cream hue. Sconces emitted a gentle golden light, creating a cozy ambiance.


    After taking in the study, Valeryon turned to the panel of icons at the door. With a touch, it slid open, revealing the next compartment leading to her living quarters. This expansive area comprised a bedroom, bathroom, lounge, and kitchen.


    The bedroom was dominated by an expansive canopy bed. The canopy, made from fine gossamer, drapes elegantly from the frame and cascades smoothly to the floor, forming soft folds. The bed is meticulously arranged with layers of rich fabrics¡ªluxurious linen sheets beneath thick comforters, all tucked to precision. Atop them, a mountain of pillows is stacked in an orderly fashion, each in varying sizes but arranged symmetrically. The colour palette is subtle but refined¡ªcreamy whites, muted pastels, and gentle blush tones.


    Adjoining the bedroom was a walk-in closet, each wall fitted with custom-built shelving, drawers, and compartments. Rows of hanging rods are evenly spaced, allowing garments to drape without wrinkles. Built-in drawers are deep, while the open shelves are perfectly sized for shoes, bags, or folded clothing. The layout is optimised to accommodate a vast wardrobe, providing ample room for all attire and accessories in an organised, easily accessible manner.


    The ensuite bathroom is equally impressive, with walls adorned in intricate geometric tile-work that covers every surface. In one corner, a deep soaking tub carved from a single block of polished crystal dominates the space, its surface smooth and cool to the touch. Behind the tub, a feature wall of veined marble creates a striking contrast with the geometric tile-work. On the opposite wall, a long marble counter stretched across the room, equipped with a deep-set sink. Above it, a large mirror framed in ornate detail covers the length of the wall.


    Exiting the bedroom through the door without selecting an icon from the panel led to a lounge area. Here, plush cream-coloured couches formed a welcoming circle around a low, polished table.


    The kitchen, while similar in layout to Elora''s, was significantly larger and equipped with state-of-the-art appliances. Valeryon was unfamiliar with many of the tools, but they appeared intuitive, a testament to the straightforward nature of technology in this era.


    Satisfied with the state of things, Valeryon returned to the door and pressed the water drop icon on the panel. The door slid open, revealing an expansive pool area.


    Framed by towering columns of white marble, each intricately carved with depictions of magical beasts, the space was both imposing and enchanting. Majestic griffins with outstretched wings, serpentine dragons coiling around their bases, and regal phoenixes poised as if ready to take flight adorned the columns. Water flowed gracefully from their mouths, cascading into elaborately designed basins below.


    The floor, composed of large, polished marble tiles sparkled with fine streaks of gold veining that glistened in the light. At the centre of the room lay a shimmering pool, its surface reflecting hues of gold. Wide steps descended into the water, flanked by elegant railings on all sides, inviting visitors to immerse themselves in its crystalline depths.


    "What do you think so far, Your Highness?" Elora asked, glancing at Valeryon with an expectant smile.


    "You have certainly exceeded my expectations, Heiress Elora," she replied, genuinely impressed.


    Elora looked quite pleased with the feedback. "I must confess, Your Highness, almost all the furnishings you have seen so far were created by your hus¡ª" She paused, clearing her throat. "I mean my nephew. He insisted on making everything himself when I submitted my request at the Crafting Hall, and he refused any payment for his efforts."


    Valeryon turned to Laurel, who stood nearby with his arms crossed, a flush creeping up to the roots of his hair. "Aunt Elora, I thought we agreed not to speak of it," he said through gritted teeth.


    Elora raised an eyebrow. "I agreed to no such thing, dearest nephew."


    Recalling their previous discussions regarding payment over the years, Valeryon held back the instinct to offer Laurel any. The last time she had tried, he had been genuinely upset, and her attempts to smooth things over had only earned her a very memorable scolding which she had no desire to repeat.


    Instead, she extended her hands toward him, their fingers intertwining naturally. "Thank you, Laurel."


    His expression softened as he leaned closer, pressing his forehead against hers. "It was my absolute pleasure, Val."


    In that moment, Valeryon noticed how much Laurel had grown; he was slightly taller than her now. She remembered his towering form back in the Origin. If he continued to grow, he would certainly dominate the stature of anyone else in this era, where the average height for men was around 5''7". Thankfully, the grand architecture of this time period would accommodate him even at his original height.


    Clearing her throat, Elora redirected their attention. "Shall we continue?"


    They entered the alchemy laboratory next. There was not much to see here. Just walls lined with shelves filled with empty vials and jars, while brass instruments and glassware were neatly arranged on a side counter. A series of benches with different equipment ran across the space.


    There next destination was the final compartment; the greenhouse. The ceiling arched high above, creating an airy atmosphere. Though no plants adorned the beds yet, but each plot was meticulously prepared for future flora. In the centre, a graceful fountain trickled gently, the sound fostering a serene ambiance. Adjacent to the fountain, a loom stood on one side, while a harp rested on the opposite side, just as Valeryon had requested. Further into the greenhouse, a cozy seating area adorned with delicate cushions invited relaxation.


    Having seen everything, they exited the briefcase and returned to the castle study.


    Valeryon settled into her high-backed chair in the study, Elora standing across from her, hands folded behind her back. On the desk lay a meticulously itemised expenditure report, each line accounting for precise amounts withdrawn, complete with detailed explanations for each expense. Valeryon knew that if she compared it with the treasury records, she would not find a single discrepancy.


    Without a word, Valeryon drew a golden cheque from her desk drawer, writing an amount four times greater than Elora''s documented expenses.


    Elora''s eyes widened as she read the figure. "Your Highness, this is far too much," she said, her voice almost a whisper. "My salary is already more than enough. Serving you is my highest honour; I couldn''t accept this."


    Valeryon remained undeterred. "Your salary covers your official duties. This" ¡ªshe extended the cheque toward Elora¡ª"is for the additional responsibilities you have undertaken."


    Elora looked down, her expression unreadable. After a pause, her hands moved toward the cheque with reluctant acceptance, her fingers shaking slightly as she took it. "Thank you, Your Highness," she murmured, bowing deeply. "With your permission, I''ll take my leave now."


    Valeryon nodded. "Certainly."


    Elora straightened. "Have a blessed day, Your Highness." She withdrew, closing the doors behind her.


    Valeryon sighed softly, her gaze drifting to the piles of supplies that awaited sorting. Laurel who had been absent for the discussion between Valeryon and his aunt was already immersed in the task, sifting through stacks of items. She rose from her seat and approached him.


    "Looks like we have our work cut out for us," he said, glancing up as she neared. His dimples deepened when he picked up a stack of notebooks and slid them neatly into the glowing opening of her briefcase. All items would stack into a temporary storage unit within the corresponding compartment for later sorting.


    Valeryon smiled faintly. "Yes," she replied, and they set to work, methodically moving all items into the briefcase, and ensuring that they entered the correct compartment.


    Once they had packed everything up, Valeryon and Laurel stepped into the briefcase to sort through the items properly. Books found their place on the study shelves, while equipment, crystals, and ingredients were arranged in the alchemy lab. Spare uniforms were hung neatly in the closet.


    With Laurel''s presence, the process felt effortless, and they finished much quicker than expected.


    As they wrapped up, Valeryon''s thoughts shifted to her next challenge: managing the demands of her hyper-metabolism. The thought of the looming, oversized meal was like a weight pressing on her shoulders. She took a steadying breath and extended her hand toward Laurel.


    He took it without hesitation, his fingers cool against hers. Stepping closer, he stumbled, instinctively wrapping an arm around her for balance. His chin brushed her shoulder, and her pulse quickened at the unexpected closeness.


    "Time for lunch?" he murmured.


    Warmth crept into her cheeks. They had shared moments like this before¡ªrecently even, in front of Heiress Elora¡ªbut the quiet intimacy of their surroundings made this encounter feel¡­ different.


    "Val?" he prompted gently, pulling her from her thoughts.


    "Hm? Yes. They should be ready to serve now," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.


    "Then we should go, yes?" He smiled into her shoulder, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver through her.


    "Yes," she managed, surprised by the steadiness of her voice.


    "Good." He smiled into her shoulder, his breath warm on her skin, sending a shiver through her. "Can''t have my favourite person starving, can I?" He playfully pinched her nose, his lavender eyes crinkling as he laughed. "Let''s go."


    Valeryon nodded, her heart lifting as she grasped the handle of her briefcase with her other hand. Leading the way to the dining hall, she felt a lightness fill her chest, buoyed by Laurel''s presence. With Laurel beside her, everything felt less daunting. And as they walked, she felt once again the quiet gratitude for the risk she''d taken in trusting him all those years ago.

 SL: Valeryon Essence

    Valeryon awoke abruptly, her heart racing, unsure what had disrupted her sleep. She glanced out the window; it was still dark, likely just past midnight. Taking a deep breath, she focused on the rhythmic ticking of her pocket watch on the bedside table. Just as she was about to drift off again, a gentle knock at her door pulled her fully awake.


    "Your Highness?" a voice called softly.


    Recognising the voice, Valeryon reached for her iridescent black veil on the bedside table. She slipped it over her head, feeling the smooth fabric cascade around her before securing it with a simple silver circlet. After straightening her nightgown, she crossed the room, the soft fabric rustling as she approached the door and opened it.


    Ophelia stood outside, holding a lantern that cast a warm glow across her solemn marble-carved features. She dipped into a respectful bow. "Greetings, Your Highness. The auspicious time approaches. We must make haste to honour it."


    "Are you certain?"


    Ophelia inclined her head. "I would not have disturbed your rest otherwise, Your Highness. Today''s alignment is rare¡ªthe Celestial Union of Mortalis and Ferox. It marks the moment when the two guardian stars cross. Their union is said to purify the spirit, washing away burdens before new beginnings. There is no better time for the rites to be observed."


    Valeryon nodded, slipping into her soft leather flats before following Ophelia through the dim corridors. Their footsteps echoed softly as they descended, the lantern''s flickering light casting long shadows along the cold stone walls.


    They eventually came to a stop before the towering doors of the Ancestral Hall. Valeryon had entered this sacred space only a handful of times, the last being months ago after her unexpected encounter with Heiress Jurien Lunarys. Jurien''s peridot-green eyes¡ªtraits Valeryon had believed unique to her clan¡ªhad drawn her back in search of answers.


    Through hours spent studying the genealogical tapestry and reviewing library records, Valeryon uncovered some intriguing details about Jurien''s maternal lineage, the Amoryons. This minor noble family from Ebren had immigrated to the Archipelago during Queen Vera''s reign, though their motives for leaving were unclear. Unlike many established families, the Amoryons lacked a distinct magical affinity and showed little interest in healing or related fields, complicating any speculation about their bloodline abilities.


    What was intriguing, however, was that the Amoryons, unlike many other minor noble houses of foreign origin, were well-regarded among the twelve Vassal Houses. They had successfully married into several prominent families, the most recent being House Lunarys. Despite their high status in society, Valeryon found no substantial documentation linking the Amoryons to the royal family, either before or after their settlement. There wasn''t even speculation about any possible connection between them.


    This left Valeryon with two possibilities: either the Amoryons had diverged from the Valeryon bloodline generations before the Founder, King Valeryon the First, or they were a completely separate lineage whose resemblance to her clan was merely coincidental.


    Valeryon exhaled slowly, setting her thoughts aside to concentrate on the task ahead. She slipped off her shoes and placed them by a low bench before stepping barefoot onto the cool stone. As the doors opened, the warm scent of freshly lit incense surrounded her.


    Her gaze went to the far wall, where the vast genealogical tapestry dominated the room. Golden concentric rings marked each generation of her bloodline, gleaming softly in the dim light. However it did not hold her attention for long.


    The Shrouded, clad in flowing black silk gowns, stood in rows along the length of the hall, their forms blending with the shadows. Each figure''s face was concealed by veils embroidered with glowing silver glyphs.


    Bound to the Valeryon bloodline through ancient rites. Sightless and speechless, the Shrouded existed solely for the service of the royal family.


    As Valeryon approached, they inclined their heads in unison, extending their hands with palms upturned in a gesture of deep reverence.


    She hadn''t seen the Shrouded since childhood, when Lady Daphne had first introduced her to their presence and purpose. Back then, she had recoiled at the notion of their service, uncomfortable with the idea of being attended to with such subservience.


    So, why were they here?


    "Is this truly necessary?" she murmured, glancing at Ophelia.


    "Yes, Your Highness," Ophelia replied. "The Shrouded are bound by duty to assist you. Only they are qualified to perform the next rite." With a respectful bow, she stepped back into the shadows, leaving Valeryon alone.


    Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Valeryon stepped forward. The Shrouded closed in around her, their voices rising in a low, sonorous hum. The melody, ancient and haunting, reverberated through her bones, settling deep into the recesses of her mind, stirring something primal within her.


    In perfect synchrony, they began to move, slow and deliberate, their silk gowns trailing across the polished floor as they danced in concentric circles around her. Their hands traced intricate patterns in the air, each movement heavy with meaning. She felt herself surrendering to their rhythm as they guided her toward a shadowed doorway concealed behind the genealogical tapestry.


    The door itself was stark and unadorned, a simple slab of dark wood with a faded symbol etched into its centre¡ªa remnant of another era, its meaning lost to all but the Shrouded. One of them stepped forward, pressing her hand to the symbol, her hum rising in pitch. The door responded with a soft hiss, yielding to the touch and swinging open.


    Valeryon stepped through, into a chamber bathed in the dim glow of candlelight. Dozens of flickering flames cast shadows that seemed to dance to the steady pulse of the Shrouded''s chant. At the room''s centre, a shallow basin filled with fragrant, warm water beckoned. Jasmine petals, slivers of sandalwood, and rare spices floated across its surface, filling the air with a heady aroma that blurred the edges of her thoughts, casting a tranquil haze over her mind.


    The Shrouded moved around her, their hands undoing the fastenings of her attire with practiced precision. Her circlet was lifted, her veil slid from her shoulders, pooling softly at her feet. As they stripped away each layer, a prickling discomfort settled under her skin, but she forced herself to breathe through it.


    Guided by their silent gestures, Valeryon approached the edge of the basin. The steam rose, fragrant and thick, curling around her as if drawing her in. She took a steadying breath before lowering herself into the bath, the hot water enveloping her, loosening the knots of tension that had clung to her muscles. For a few precious moments, she allowed herself to relax, but her reprieve was brief.


    The Shrouded began to methodically scrub her arms, shoulders, back, and legs. Each stroke was relentless, starting as a discomfort that quickly escalated to searing pain. Valeryon clenched her jaw, her muscles taut, as coarse cloth dragged across her skin, peeling away layers of both dead and living skin.


    She closed her eyes, taking measured breaths, forcing herself to yield, to endure.


    Eventually, the harsh scrubbing ceased, leaving her skin raw, red, and throbbing. For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to exhale, thinking that perhaps it was over. Then she saw one of the Shrouded step forward, a blade gleaming in her hand.


    Her pulse quickened, fingers digging into her thighs as the instinct to flee tugged at her. The blade''s cool edge touched her scalp, sending a chill racing down her spine, goosebumps rising in its wake. Dark strands of hair tumbled down with each careful pass, momentarily drifting through the air before being incinerated in a quick burst of flame. The acrid scent of burnt hair filled the chamber, sharp and nauseating, twisting her stomach into knots.


    Afterwards, the Shrouded approached Valeryon bearing earthen jars. Their surfaces were rough and textured, etched with glowing symbols that pulsed softly like the heartbeat. Each jar upon unstoppering was revealed to contain a different oil, thick and fragrant, suffused with the rich aromas of lavender, cedar, and frankincense. One by one, the Shrouded dipped their fingers into the oils and massaged the golden liquid into her skin with unexpected gentleness.


    Once their task was complete, the Shrouded retreated in unison. They bowed deeply, marking the end of their participation in the ritual, and then melted into the darkness, disappearing.


    At the edge of the chamber, a presence stirred. Ophelia emerged from the shadows, stepping forward into the flickering light. Finding Valeryon''s attention on her, the Immortal Remnant spoke. "Follow me, Your Highness."


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    Rising from the basin, Valeryon felt droplets cascade down her skin, pooling onto the smooth stone floor at her feet.


    Taking a deep breath, Valeryon followed Ophelia out of the bathing chamber and into a dim corridor lined with faintly glowing torches. With each step, the air grew heavier with humidity, causing beads of sweat to form and trickle down her bare skin. It wasn''t long before the source of the heat revealed itself.


    At the end of the corridor, a cavernous chamber yawned open before them, revealing a vast bubbling pool of luminescent water that dominated the space. Heavy steam billowed upward, swirling in thick clouds that obscured her vision and enveloped the room in a stifling humidity. Breathing felt like a laborious task, the warm, moist air invading her lungs with an oppressive weight.


    "This is the Pool of Resolve," Ophelia announced. "Your Highness must soak within it until the rite is complete."


    Valeryon turned to Ophelia, her brow furrowed. "How will I know when the rite is completed?"


    "You will know, Your Highness, of that I assure you."


    The oppressive heat radiating from the pool was suffocating even at this distance, if she was to submerge in it¡­ Valeryon clenched her fists, her nails biting into the tender flesh of her palms.


    She stepped forward. As she advanced, the steam thickened around her, wrapping her in a suffocating shroud. The warmth clawed at her skin, initially pricking with discomfort before morphing into a feverish sting that spread across her body.


    One step at a time, her heart hammering in her chest, she lowered herself into the water. The heat enveloping her more fiercely with each inch she submerged. Still, she pressed forward, plunging herself beneath the surface until the water lapped at her jaw.


    The pain was all-consuming¡ªa furnace of raw agony. A hiss escaped her clenched teeth, her instinct screaming at her to flee, to claw her way out of the water and find relief. Yet she forced herself to remain, to endure.


    The Pool of Resolve lived up to its name; there was no mercy here.


    The heat peeling away Valeryon''s carefully constructed mental defenses, exposing her bare, unguarded memories. Painful recollections surged through her mind: the gruelling Death Challenges, her life scraped from the jaws of defeat over and over and over again.


    Time twisted and warped as the relentless burn seared through her flesh. Her healing ability strained under the onslaught, knitting tissue only to watch it slough away again. Her strength began to wane, her mind slipping toward the hazy edge of unconsciousness, but something within her held firm. She forced herself to keep breathing, to endure, to remain.


    Then, gradually, so gradually that she barely noticed it happening at first, the water cooled, shifting to a gentle warmth.


    That had to be her cue.


    Valeryon''s breath was ragged as she dragged herself out of the pool, water streaming from her raw, bruised skin, each droplet catching the torchlight before splattering onto the cold stone beneath her.


    Ophelia was waiting at the edge, her gaze inscrutable. "Your Highness," she greeted, her voice neutral, neither softened with sympathy nor laced with praise.


    Valryon''s voice emerged as a hoarse rasp. "How many more?"


    "Two more, Your Highness," Ophelia responded.


    Valeryon''s skin still shimmered with faint, green luminescence as her healing magic flared, tendrils of light tracing the lines of her wounds. Blistered and burnt flesh knitted together in painstaking slow layers, nerves reforming with agonising precision. Each moment felt like fire streaking through her limbs, a gruelling ordeal that drained her magical reserves to the brink.


    Keeping her breath steady and controlled, she finally nodded. "Let''s continue."


    Without another word, Ophelia turned and led Valeryon down another narrow corridor. They moved deeper, each step pulling them farther from warmth and light. The corridor walls seemed to close in, pressing until they left barely enough space to pass. The air grew colder, sharp as needles, and Valeryon''s breath became a fog of condensed mist in the chilled air. Valeryon wrapped her arms around herself as the numbing cold crept into her muscles, clenching her jaw to stave off shivers.


    At last, they arrived at another vast chamber. In the centre lay a pool, darker than ink, the surface a flawless mirror. Tendrils of silver mist coiled above the water, twisting through the cold, their faint luminescence casting a haunting glow over the pool''s obsidian depths.


    "This is the Pool of Clarity," Ophelia revealed. She offered no further guidance, her silhouette fading into the shadows as Valeryon approached the pool''s edge, left to face the ritual alone.


    Valeryon stood at the pool''s edge, steadying herself as she peered into its ink-black depths. Her reflection looked back at her¡ªone eye a vibrant green, the other a cerise pink, both glowing against the dark. She exhaled slowly, her breath misting before her, then lowered herself to kneel. With a final, resolute inhale, she slipped into the icy depths.


    The cold was instant and brutal, sinking into her skin like shards of broken glass, piercing through flesh and bone. Every inch of her body cried out in agony, muscles locked in pain as she fought the instinct to thrash against the freezing pressure. She forced herself to relax, slowing her breaths into shallow, steady inhales, surrendering to the biting cold that clawed at her with relentless persistence. Frostbite curled up her fingers and toes, darkening her skin to a sickly hue.


    Inhale.


    Exhale.


    This was not the worst she had endured. Pain was nothing new to her, just another threshold to cross.


    As she drifted in the pool, her consciousness wavered on the edge between awareness and numbness. The sensation of freezing became a dull ache, and she reached within herself, seeking the remnants of her magic. It flickered weakly, a fragile light barely there, but it was enough. The light flared beneath her skin again, radiating warmth through her battered muscles and bruised skin, shedding and repairing frostbitten flesh cell by cell. Slowly, the searing chill receded, giving way to an almost meditative calm.


    Hours passed in silence, the water''s chill persisting, but no longer unmanageable. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears, a steady drum that guided her through the calm. Eventually, the water''s temperature began to gradually shift. The heat was subtle at first, a faint warmth threading through her limbs, melting the cold from her bones. Her muscles relaxed, the tension slowly ebbing away. It felt like the first dawn after a long, dark night¡ªa gentle warmth that made her ache with relief.


    Taking this as her signal, Valeryon planted her numb fingers on the pool''s edge, summoning every ounce of remaining strength to pull herself up. Her arms trembled as she heaved her body onto the stone floor, collapsing onto its unforgiving surface. She lay there, gasping as her blood surged back into her extremities in sharp, burning waves. Every finger, every toe pulsed with fresh, fiery pain as the sensation returned. She gasped, her vision flickering from the strain, dark spots dancing at the edges as she struggled to stay conscious.


    When her vision cleared, and Valeryon became aware of Ophelia standing silently above her. They exchanged no words; none were needed. Valeryon rose slowly, her muscles screaming in protest, her body quaking with the effort. She squared her shoulders, straightening despite the bone-deep ache. Then she followed Ophelia down to the final hall, ready to face the final rite awaiting her.


    They emerged into an austere chamber, its vaulted ceiling drawing the eye upwards. Polished marble floors gleamed beneath Valeryon''s bare feet. Streams of pale light filtering through the high lancet windows. The air was rich with the fragrant scent of incense, wafting from bronze burners that released gentle curls of smoke into the air.


    Valeryon squinted as she adjusted to the brightness. Fatigue weighed heavily on her limbs, her eyes bloodshot and blurred at the edges from a sleepless night and the excessive use of magic.


    At the chamber''s heart loomed an obsidian throne¡ªa monolithic structure hewn from a solid slab of dark stone. It drank in the light around it, casting a long, ominous shadow across the marble floor.


    At the base of the throne, upon a dark velvet cushion, lay two ornate anklets. Each anklet was thick and broad, intricately woven with tiny polished diamonds that caught the light, their edges lined with what looked like small transparent bells.


    Ophelia gestured towards the throne with a slight bow. "If you will, Your Highness."


    Valeryon felt her heart hammering in her chest as she ascended the stone steps. When she settled onto the obsidian seat, an unforgiving chill prickled her exposed arms and legs, making her shiver involuntarily.


    Kneeling at her feet, Ophelia reached for the anklets. The faint chime of the bells followed her movements as she lifted one anklet with deliberate care. "Extend your leg, Your Highness," she instructed.


    Valeryon complied, holding her breath as Ophelia began to fasten the first anklet. The metal was icy, but Valeryon barely registered the chill before the anklet clasped shut with a resounding click. Sharp spikes embedded themselves into her flesh, tearing through her skin with brutal precision.


    Inhaling sharply, Valeryon gripped the throne''s arms, her knuckles turning white as agony shot up her leg. Blood welled around the edges of the anklet, trickling down her skin in vivid crimson rivulets that pooled at her feet, staining the polished stone below.


    Ophelia secured the second anklet with the same surgical precision. Fresh waves of pain surged through Valeryon''s leg as the spikes sank deep, each one perfectly positioned to pierce without mercy. Her pulse roared in her ears, and her vision swam as the shock took hold. She felt each pulse of blood, the hot liquid dripping from her ankles creating a sinister melody, the rhythmic patter echoing in the silence of the chamber.


    As the pain coursed through her, Valeryon reflected on the thirteen years of her life in this world¡ªyears spent in relative safety, shielded from true suffering, untouched by anything more than fleeting discomforts. This false sense of security had dulled her senses, making her forget what it meant to be a Valeryon, to bear the weight of a bloodline built on endurance and sacrifice.


    With a subtle gesture, Ophelia summoned the Shrouded¡ªattendants who emerged from the shadows like spectres. They began to hum once more, a low, resonant sound that reverberated through the chamber. The hum grew, swelling and subsiding like the pull of tides, each note amplifying the raw pain from her ankles. It vibrated within her, turning the experience into something ritualistic and purposeful.


    As the hum reached its crescendo, Valeryon braced herself, fingers gripping the throne tightly. She rose, the bells on her ankles chiming softly with her movement. The sound harmonised with the humming of the Shrouded, creating a haunting symphony of agony. Each step she descended down felt like torture, the spikes in the anklets tearing at her flesh anew, leaving fresh trails of blood to stain her path.


    Then her magic, whatever was left of it, surged¡ªa vibrant green glow enveloped her ankles, knitting her wounds as quickly as they were torn open. It staunched the blood even as the pain remained unrelenting. A strange paradox of mercy; her magic preserved both her body and her suffering.


    At last, she reached the base of the steps, the final note of the Shrouded''s hum fading into silence as she came to a stop before them. In perfect unison, they knelt, pressing their foreheads to the ground, their reverence a silent offering. Ophelia, the Immortal Remnant also knelt among them.


    A faint shiver ran down Valeryon''s spine as she gazed at the prostrated forms at her feet. It was difficult to articulate the tumult of emotions swirling within her. The feeling was new, strange, and impossible to describe, yet it was not unwelcome.


    Suddenly, a wave of dizziness washed over her, and the world around her blurred before she lost consciousness.

 SL: Chamberlain Elora Vesalius

    Valeryon woke to the sharp sound of knuckles rapping against the door.


    Her eyelids fluttered open, the dim light bleeding through gauzy curtains needling her retinas. She squinted, blinking rapidly to dispel the sting as involuntary tears traced hot paths down her feverish cheeks.


    A trembling hand dragged across her face, wiping away moisture and the crusted remnants of sleep.


    Her tongue darted out to moisten cracked lips, but it was a futile effort¡ªher mouth was too dry, and her lips remained parched.


    Hunger gnawed at her insides, a ravenous beast clawing at her stomach walls. Her stomach twisted and churned, convulsing against its emptiness.


    The clinging dampness of her nightgown only added to her discomfort, the fabric soaked with cold sweat. Beads of it trickled down her neck to mingle with the slickness staining the sheets beneath her. The rancid stench of unwashed skin and stale sweat curled in the air, thick and nauseating.


    She let out a ragged breath, trembling fingers gripping the sweat-soaked sheets as she began trying to sit up. The soft chime of bells accompanied her every movement as she tried to push herself up.


    She froze, her breath caught, when searing pain lanced through her ankles.


    She fell back against the mattress, eyes squeezed shut as she endured the wave of agony.


    When the pain finally ebbed, Valeryon gritted her teeth and tried again.


    Inhale.


    Exhale.


    Steadying herself, she gripped the sheets again, taking her time with it this time.


    Sweat dripped from her brow and burned her eyes as she finally pushed herself upright. She swiped the moisture away with an shaky hand as her gaze focused on the source of her greatest pain.


    The anklets¡ªexquisite cuffs of gold encrusted with diamonds and lined with tiny, transparent bells¡ªglistened faintly in the morning light. Beneath the intricate filigree her skin was raw and inflamed, torn where spikes attached to the cuffs pierced her flesh. Fresh blood oozed from the wounds in rivulets that mingled with the crusted remnants already staining her feet and further stained the sheets by adding to the dark smears.


    Taking a shaky breath, Valeryon called on her magic, a faint green glow enveloping her ankles. The action coaxed the torn flesh and skin to knit together. The embedded spikes prevented full healing, but she was able to remove the worst of the damage, leaving behind only a dull ache. The glow briefly to her lips, soothing their cracked, bloodied surface before she let the magic dissipate.


    Cupping her hands, Valeryon conjured a small sphere of water. The urge to gulp it down was overwhelming, but experience tempered her desperation. She sipped slowly, the cool liquid soothed her parched throat. When the immediate burn of thirst subsided, she used the remaining water to rinse her face, savouring the fleeting reprieve of the coolness against her fevered skin. A flick of her wrist vaporised the remaining droplets.


    Feeling marginally better, she sighed and leaned back against the headboard. Her fingers brushed the Celestial Receiver embedded in her wrist. A translucent screen flickered to life before her eyes. Her gaze swept across the Mission page, pausing when she found what she was looking for.


    Main Mission II: Die of Old Age


    Mission Status: Ongoing


    She closed her eyes briefly, her head tipping back against the wood. Thank the stars.


    Unfortunately, the relief was fleeting. A new concern gnawed at her thoughts: How long had she been unconscious?


    Hours?


    Days?


    The gnawing ache of hunger, the stiffness in her joints, and the rancid odour clinging to her skin suggested far longer.


    Her gaze fell to her hands, which she flexed experimentally.


    They appeared thinner than she remembered, the skin stretched taut over her knuckles, tendons sharply pronounced.


    A cursory inspection of her body revealed the same trend. However, much to her relief, while her frame was leaner, she was not emaciated. Years of hard work had padded her frame with enough fat reserves to keep her from wasting away completely this time.


    Her bloodline¡¯s healing magic, for all its remarkable capabilities, had its¡­limitations.


    In its passive state, Valeryon¡¯s regenerative ability worked in harmony with the body¡¯s natural processes rather than defying them outright. Without Valeryon¡¯s active intervention, passive regenerative magic could not create energy or matter from nothing. Instead, it optimised the body¡¯s existing biological functions, accelerating repair mechanisms to mend injuries.


    This acceleration came at a cost.


    Rapid regeneration demanded an extraordinary intake of calories and nutrients to fuel the heightened biological activity it induced. In the absence of sufficient sustenance to meet its energy requirements, especially during unconsciousness, the body would begin cannibalising itself, consuming fat and muscle tissue to to extract the energy required.


    It was a brutal cycle, akin to a starving beast devouring its own flesh to survive.


    In the Trial Grounds, hunger had been just as lethal as the Death Challenges, if not more so.


    Time and again, she had revived as little more than a skeletal husk, her fat reserves depleted by the agonising cycle of death and resurrection. Each time her magic worked to heal her, it consumed every scrap of stored energy, leaving her fragile, vulnerable¡ªand sometimes dead before she could even make an attempt to recover.


    It was a cruel irony: her body¡¯s attempts to save her often drove her closer to the brink of death.


    It was to counter this outcome, that Valeryons had learned to eat voraciously, as building fat reserves was extremely difficult due to her body¡¯s naturally high metabolism.


    Even as Crown Princess in this world, an identity for the most part sheltered from most immediate dangers to her life, Valeryon adhered to this practice because in her mind, survival remained rooted in a simple, unyielding rule: consume or be consumed.


    And as seen by today¡¯s outcome, her caution had clearly paid off.


    A second knock, sharper than the first, echoed through the room, startling Valeryon. She had been so lost in thought that she had forgotten what had initially woken her.


    Grimacing, Valeryon straightened up. The anklet¡¯s bells chimed again, cruel and melodic, as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her bare feet met the soft carpeted floor, yet with her current condition the soft fibres might as well have been shards of glass.


    Pain flared anew as blood seeped from reopened wounds, staining the pristine material beneath her. Jaw clenched, she braced herself against the agony and pushed to stand.


    A wave of dizziness crashing over her the moment she straightened.


    The room tilted precariously, her vision swimming in and out of focus. Stumbling, she caught the bedpost, her fingers tightening around the smooth, cool wood as she steadied herself. Her gaze fell on the veil and circlet resting on the bedside table.


    Her hands trembled as she reached for the iridescent black fabric, draping it carefully over her head and secured it with the circlet. The fabric¡¯s familiar weight settled over her shoulders, offering a small semblance of solace.


    Inhale.


    Exhale.


    She continued.


    Every step toward the door became a gruelling battle of will, her breath hitching with each strained movement. Her legs trembled beneath her, threatening to give way, and the edges of her vision began to darken, but she pressed on, dragging herself forward, one step at a time.


    At last, her fingers found the cold, unyielding metal of the door handle. She gripped it tightly, her knuckles blanching as she leaned her weight into the frame, momentarily easing the pressure on her ankles. After a moment, she took a step back. Then, with a sharp tug, the door creaked open.


    On the other side stood Ophelia, flanked by a row of Shrouded.


    Being an Immortal Remnant, Ophelia appeared unchanged¡ªexcept perhaps, upon a closer look, her marble surface seemed a touch brighter and more polished than before.


    In contrast, the Shrouded¡¯s chosen attire for the day was quite resplendent, in stark contrast to their previous somber garb. Black robes lined with exquisite gold embroidery, and intricate veils of golden lace, scattered with tiny diamonds which made the fabric shimmer like dew-laden spiderwebs under the morning light.


    However more than their attire, what drew Valeryon¡¯s attention was what they carried. Each attendant bore a velvet cushion laden with an array of items: bottles of perfumed oils, polished grooming tools, flowing garments of iridescent fabric, gleaming jewellery, and exquisitely crafted shoes.


    A sigh escaped her.


    Well, that confirmed the length of time she had been unconscious for.


    Ophelia stepped forward and bowed, her right hand pressed over her chest. ¡°Your Highness, forgive the intrusion. It pains me to disturb your rest, but time is of the essence. Preparations must commence immediately if the ceremony is to proceed as scheduled.¡± Her tone was steady, but beneath the calm veneer was an unmistakable urgency.


    The persistent ache coursing through her body dulled her thoughts, rendering speech an insurmountable effort. So rather than forcing herself to speak, Valeryon nodded and stepped aside, granting them entry.


    As they made their way in, two of the Shrouded broke away from the rest and gently took Valeryon¡¯s arms, perceptive of her weakened state.


    With their assistance, Valeryon made her way to the adjoining bathing chamber. As always, the tub awaited her, brimming with steaming water. Delicate tendrils of steam curled upward, carrying the soothing scent of lavender. Normally, such a sight would soothe her, but drenched in sweat and overheated as she was, Valeryon craved the sharp chill of ice instead.


    One of the Shrouded holding her carefully removed her circlet and the veil. Then the other began attending to her garments, easing the sweat-soaked fabric from her frame.


    Stripped bare, Valeryon allowed herself to be guided into the bath.


    As she sank in, the water¡¯s heat wrapped around her body like a balm, seeping into her aching muscles and dulling the constant discomfort that plagued her. Even the sharp bite of the metal digging into her flesh was momentarily eased by the warmth.


    When the Shrouded approached with cloths in hand, Valeryon felt her muscles tense. They worked methodically, scrubbing away the layers of sweat and grime with gentle consideration. Particular care was given to her feet and ankles, where blood¡ªboth fresh and crusted¡ªhad collected around the gold cuffs. Their deft fingers cleaned the raw, tender flesh without aggravating it further.


    Once her skin was cleansed, an attendant activated a rune to drain the tub''s water, then dried her with soft towels. A vial of oil was brought out, the aroma of bergamot and cedar spilling into the air as the liquid was warmed between an attendant''a palms. Starting at her shoulders, they began a slow massage, starting at her shoulders and working downward. The skilled pressure unraveled knots of tension Valeryon hadn¡¯t even realised were there, drawing an involuntary sigh from her lips.


    Valeryon allowed the Shrouded to guide her into her rarely used dressing chamber. The circular room was lined with seamless floor-to-ceiling mirrors, reflecting her from every angle. At its centre stood a small raised platform, its cushioned surface soft under her bare feet as she stepped onto it with the Shrouded''s assistance.


    Her gaze briefly lingered on her reflection, drawn to the shadow of regrowth across her scalp. It was a novel sight but evoked no strong feelings¡ªneither attachment nor aversion. Her hair would grow back soon enough.


    One of the Shrouded approached, bearing a deep crimson velvet cushion with a pair of golden court shoes atop it. Kneeling, the attendant lifted Valeryon¡¯s feet one by one to slip the shoes on. The motion was seamless, the touch delicate, ensuring no strain or discomfort. The shoes themselves were mercifully practical, with modest heels and cushioned insoles. So at least she would not be burdened by painful footwear on what was certain to be a gruelling day.


    Next came the ceremonial gown. Crafted from iridescent azure brocade silk, the gown featured a high collar and sheer, wrist-length translucent sleeves adorned with a gradient of pearls. The beads were sparse at the shoulders, growing denser toward the cuffs. The A-line skirt lined with voluminous folds similarly adorned with pearls that grew more concentrated towards the hem.


    According to her intent, the fabric moulded to her body¡¯s current measurements when Valeryon slipped into the gown. A Shrouded deftly fastened the delicate row of pearlescent buttons down her back, from the nape of her neck to the base of her spine. A narrow gold belt, adorned with intricate gold beadwork, was then wrapped around her waist, cinching the gown to provide a touch of added definition.


    The attendants then began to adorn her with carefully chosen accessories. They draped a series of golden chains around her neck, each beaded and of varying lengths, cascading in graceful arcs that shimmered as they caught the light. Translucent ivory gloves were slid over her hands, followed by a selection of slender gold rings. These rings were connected by fine gold chains that ran up her fingers to gold cuffs at her wrists, which secured the sleeves of her gown.


    The ceremonial jewellery prominently featured the crests of the Twelve Vassal Houses, displayed on her rings and necklace pendants: ten on her hands and two on her necklaces. Understandably, the crests worn on the neck were considered to hold a position of honour.


    Predictably, the Vesalius crest, representing the royal family''s steadfast guardians and aides, claimed one spot. The second, however, much to Valeryon¡¯s surprise, depicted the crescent moon and howling wolf silhouette of the Lunarys crest.She had assumed the Sachar family¡ªlongstanding royal educators and close companions to heirs¡ªwould hold this honour.


    So she had looked into it.


    In her research she discovered that the current configuration of crest reflected the preferences of the Founder, Valeryon the First.


    These positions, however, were not fixed. Once Valeryon ascended the throne, she would have the authority to revise the crests based on her own relationships with the Houses. Until then, the jewellery would adhere to the Founder''s precedent by default.


    Her musings were interrupted as a veil was draped over her head, obscuring her features completely in the reflection. It was secured in place with a crown of asphodels, each flower intricately carved from diamond.


    The final touch to her ensemble was a cape, fastened at her shoulders with gold brooches. Its back displayed the Valeryon sigil: a phoenix in flight clutching a blooming asphodel branch, emblazoned in radiant gold thread.


    Their work complete, the Shrouded bowed deeply. Then, like wraiths, they dissolved into the periphery of the room.


    Left alone on the elevated platform, Valeryon felt the ceremonial attire weigh heavily upon her frail frame. Her legs wavered, the faint trembling betraying the fragility of her body.


    Before Valeryon could embarrass herself, Ophelia, who had been silently supervising the situation, intervened. The Immortal Remnant¡¯s cool, marble-carved hands steadied Valeryon as she guided her down from the platform, offering much-needed relief.


    Pain stabbed through her with every step, her vision wavering as beads of sweat gathered on her brow. Nausea churned within her, but Valeryon gritted her teeth and forced herself upright. She could not falter¡ªnot now, not when the day had barely begun.


    Ophelia stayed close, her presence allowing Valeryon preserve an illusion of dignity without the risk of her falling flat on her face as they left the chambers. At some point, the Shrouded had rejoined them along the way, their distinct gait unmistakable. Their synchronised footsteps created a rhythm on the polished marble floors, blending with the faint rustle of Valeryon¡¯s cape, stirred by a passing breeze. Above, soaring arches entwined with enchanted flowering vines released a delicate fragrance. While usually a source of tranquility, the demands of the occasion left no room for such indulgences today.


    Their procession diverged from the grand corridor, slipping into a lesser-used passageway. The air grew cooler and path narrowed, illuminated only by sporadic sconces that cast flickering light upon the stone walls. This route carved through the mountain''s heart, bypassed the sprawling, labyrinthine halls which they would have otherwise had to navigate. At the passage¡¯s end loomed a weathered door. Its iron hinges groaned with the weight of years as Ophelia pushed it open, flooding the corridor with bright sunlight.


    Momentarily dazzled by the brilliance, Valeryon blinked as her vision adjusted.


    Before her stretched a vast stone platform carved into the mountainside, its railings entwined with ivy and punctuated by golden-hued lanterns framing a breathtaking panorama.


    The capital city of Vinora sprawled below like a living painting, nestled amid lush forests and coastal waters. Its skyline, dominated by elegant spires and domed rooftops, stood in sharp contrast to the bustling streets and vibrant market squares teeming with life. Even from her elevated vantage point, Valeryon could still hear the faint hum of the city below.


    At the city''s heart lay Vinora Plaza, the crown jewel of the capital. Cobblestone paths crisscrossed the lively square, where Eternal Rosette blooms adorned every corner in vibrant pink cascades. Their luminescent petals glowed in the sunlight, embodying Fiore¡¯s sovereignty over the Archipelago, which, despite its autonomy, had become a subordinate region rather than an independent nation.


    Nearby, the Junior Academy gleamed under the sun. Its honeycomb-patterned glass dome scattered prisms of light across its surroundings. Relative to the more period-appropriate traditional architecture that surrounded it, its contemporary design stood out.


    Valeryon had yet to visit many of the city''s prominent landmarks, aside from the plaza and the academy. While she looked forward to experiencing their grandeur up close one day, she lacked the motivation and courage to venture out without good cause. With the threat against her still unresolved, and the investigation still ongoing, it felt foolish to risk her life just to increase her exploration percentage on the Map tab, which had barely risen from the minuscule 0.0015% it had last sat at. The possibility of failing a Main Mission in favour of increasing a statistic with no clear outcome or reward made the idea even less appealing.


    So for now, she could only enjoy the view she could get from here.


    Dominating the southern skyline, Vinora¡¯s renowned sports stadium loomed. Its arched entryways were adorned with banners in a kaleidoscope of colours heralding an upcoming game. During professional matches, the energy within the stadium became electric, the roar of the crowd so powerful Valeryon could sometimes feel its vibrations from within the castle itself. When not hosting competitions, the stadium served as a recreational hub for the public. Its grounds were open free of charge, with a small fee for equipment rentals, making it a welcoming space for all. Popular pastimes like One-Touch Ball and Majesty¡¯s Court drew the youth of the Archipelago in droves to congregate and enjoy.


    Further along, the Sachar Public Library loomed like a fortress, its central tower soaring above the landscape. At its peak sat an oxidised copper dome, aged to a soft green patina, a testament to the structure¡¯s enduring presence. Renowned throughout the Archipelago and beyond, the library housed one of the most extensive collections of magical and non-magical texts in the known world, drawing seekers of wisdom from far and wide. Its imposing stone facade was adorned with intricate carvings of mythical creatures and ancient glyphs, their glowing forms alive with magic visible even from the terrace. Despite the passage of time, the glyphs retained their magical potency, their power undiminished by millennia. Yet their meanings remained an enigma; much of the knowledge of glyphic magic had been closely guarded by ancient experts and was lost during the turbulent eras that followed. While many believed that texts containing this knowledge might still exist, none had yet been uncovered. Modern runic magic, while widely practiced, was understood to be a derivative of glyphic magic, simplified and adapted over generations to meet the needs of contemporary mages.


    Near Vinora Plaza, the Archipelago¡¯s main post office stood out with its whimsical design, resembling a parcel with iridescent glass wings extending outward. These wings housed offices offering some of the best views in Vinora. All incoming and outgoing mail was inspected here for threats. To ensure safety, each delivery was stamped with a glowing red seal, indicating the contents were safe to open. Though some protested this measure as an invasion of privacy when King Varic first implemented it, it had since thwarted numerous threats to the monarchy and the Archipelago, proving its necessity. The system also protected citizens from harassing, harmful or cursed post sent due to personal or petty grudges, enabling authorities to intervene early, inform recipients, and assist in legal actions if needed.


    Beside the post office stood the controversial Arthas Bank. The controversy stemming from its existence being one of the contributing factors which led to the blood feud between the Asztalos and the Valeryon lineages. The building shimmered with unapologetic opulence. Its fa?ade of polished obsidian glinted in the sunlight, veins of gold accentuating its monolithic form. The arched doorways sparkled with gemstones, among the first ever mined from Varic. The Arthas Bank''s vaults were legendary, rumoured to be among the most secure in the world. Beneath the polished obsidian floors, hidden deep within the bowels of the structure, lay an intricate system of vaults designed to protect the vast wealth stored inside. The vaults were said to be impenetrable, built with reinforced alloy, capable of withstanding the most determined of assaults. Wards was woven into their very structure by the best Abjurers in the world, making them resistant to magic that could otherwise bypass physical security.


    Beyond the city¡¯s boundary, the ocean stretched endlessly, a shimmering expanse of azure waves. The water danced with sunlight, the surface alive with a myriad of sparkling reflections. The horizon blurred where sea met sky, both boundless and infinite. Above it all, the sky framed the scene in perfect clarity, its pristine blue canvas painted with wisps of clouds, an ideal backdrop for the significance of the occasion.


    Valeryon had not realised how engrossed she had been in the view until her reverie was interrupted by Ophelia''s gentle nudge. She glanced at her companion, nodding faintly before they stepped forward onto the terrace proper.


    Awaiting them was the herald, resplendent in dark-toned ceremonial garb, his ornate staff gleaming in the sunlight. With a sharp tap of the staff against the stone floor, he commanded the gathering¡¯s full attention.


    ¡°Presenting, Her Highness Crown Princess Valeryon the Second, of House Valeryon,¡± he declared, his voice projecting across the terrace.


    Valeryon¡¯s gaze swept over the terrace¡¯s occupants¡ªthe representatives of the Twelve Vassal Houses. Each House had sent two delegates to act as Witnesses for the day¡¯s proceedings. Their formal attire reflecting their heritage and rank. Richly embroidered fabrics in a myriad of colours, intricate crests, and jewelled insignias marked their lineage.


    The weight of their scrutiny pressed down on her, but she straightened her posture, forcing herself to press forward despite the sharp pain radiating from her ankles, where spikes bit cruelly into her flesh. A faint jingle punctuated each step. Her empty stomach twisted in protest, and her vision began to waver again, but she forced herself to endure it with whatever dignity she could muster.


    Among the Witnesses, one figure stood out unmistakably: Laurel Vesalius. His long snow-white hair had been meticulously braided and adorned with a garland of vibrant red roses. The vivid red blooms stood out starkly against his attire¡ªa high-collared, knee-length tunic and trousers of pristine white, embellished with delicate silver filigree and clusters of pearls.


    As Valeryon approached, Laurel¡¯s expression softened into his characteristic dimpled smile, that made Valeryon¡¯s own lips curl slightly at the corners without her awareness. But just as she was about to to pass him, his demeanour shifted abruptly. His nostrils flared, his brows knit into a sharp furrow, and his hands clenched tightly at his sides. His body tensed in preparation to move, but before Laurel could, a steady hand rested firmly on his shoulder, halting him mid-motion.


    The hand belonged to Archduke Consort Eilian Lin Adhe, Laurel''s grandfather. Valeryon had heard countless stories about him, both from Laurel and the late Lady Daphne, over the years, but this was her first time seeing him in person. The elder¡¯s calm but commanding expression conveyed a silent order for restraint. Laurel hesitated, his frustration etched itself onto his features, his jaw tightening, but eventually yielded and reluctantly stepped back. His gaze returned to Valeryon, this unease etched starkly across his features.


    Valeryon¡¯s brows furrowed at Laurel''s reaction, wondering what had provoked such a response, but knew this was neither the time nor place to address it. Already, Ophelia was gently guiding her forward, leading her toward the stone dais that dominated the edge of the terrace.


    The dais itself was a sight to behold. Its surface, worn by centuries of history, was etched with intricate glyphs that seemed to grow brighter as Valeryon neared. Garlands of ivy and asphodel intertwined around the base, their verdant leaves and pale blossoms adding a touch of natural beauty to the austere stone.


    As Ophelia assisted her up the steps, a collective hush fell over the crowd. Each movement sent fresh waves of pain coursing through her body. Her breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, sweat trickling down her temples. The spikes embedded in her anklets bit deeper into her flesh with every step, and the chiming of the bells that followed felt almost mocking.


    Upon reaching the platform, Valeryon paused briefly to steady herself, her weight shifting carefully as she fought to keep her balance. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest, and for a moment, she closed her eyes, drawing in a shaky but deliberate breath. When she opened them again, her gaze met Ophelia¡¯s, and she gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.


    Taking the cue, Ophelia stepped back, leaving Valeryon alone to face the expectant eyes of the Twelve Houses. The weight of their scrutiny pressed heavily on her as she straightened her posture, paying no mind to the fresh surge of pain that lanced through her body.


    Across the dais stood Elora Vesalius, poised and radiant in a tailored sky-blue dress with its sleeves and hems lined with gold brocade. Her short brown hair was styled neatly, and atop her head rested a gold-beaded headband that complemented her chandelier earrings¡ªa departure from her usual understated studs. Draped over her shoulders was a matching sky-blue cape fastened with ornate gold pins, prominently displaying the Valeryon sigil intricately woven in shimmering gold thread.


    The cape was not simply ornamental; it was a declaration.


    Today, by donning the Valeryon sigil and standing before the assembled Witnesses of the twelve Vassal Houses, Elora would sever all formal ties to House Vesalius. In doing so, she would irrevocably pledge herself to the royal family.


    Ophelia, standing to one side, checked the timepiece in her hand. She seemed to waiting for something, perhaps the auspicious time, before stepping forward. Moving to the centre of the dais, she positioned herself between Elora and Valeryon.


    Her voice, resonant and clear, carried across the terrace.


    ¡°Heiress Elora Vesalius,¡± Ophelia began, each word measured and imbued with ceremonial gravity, ¡°You stand here before the Witnesses of all twelve Vassal Houses to renounce all ties of kinship, duty, and allegiance to the House of your birth. Do you, of your own free will, pledge unyielding fealty to the Valeryon bloodline? Do you swear to serve Her Highness Valeryon the Second, loyal above all others, bound by honour and duty, until your final breath?¡±


    Elora raised her chin, her voice unwavering. ¡°I swear it.¡±


    Ophelia inclined her head, her expression solemn as she continued. ¡°Then let this token, seal your commitment. May it remind you, in times of doubt, that loyalty is your strength, and service is your enduring legacy.¡±


    A Shrouded stepped forward from the edge of the dais, where they had positioned themselves, bearing a velvet cushion. Upon it rested a ceremonial choker, crafted with an intricate gold latticework wrought with exquisite craftsmanship.


    Valeryon reached out and carefully lifted the choker from its resting place. As she approached, Elora bowed deeply, both in deference and to accommodate for their height difference. Valeryon secured the choker around Elora¡¯s neck, the clasp snapping into place with a resolute click. A soft golden light briefly radiated from the choker before fading.


    ¡°Next,¡± Ophelia intoned, ¡°the Mark of Fealty. It shall bear witness to your devotion, your allegiance, and the burden of duty you now shoulder. Where shall this mark reside?¡±


    Elora¡¯s expression hardened with resolve. ¡°My forehead,¡± she declared without hesitation.


    A second Shrouded figure stepped forward, holding a ceremonial brand, its ethereal blue flame dancing around its design¡ªa replica of the Valeryon sigil.


    In an unexpected and bold gesture, Elora dropped to her knees before Valeryon, bowing her head. A wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd.


    Valeryon herself was momentarily taken aback by the depth of the gesture. While it was common for individuals to bow as a sign of respect during ceremonies, few would kneel. Sorcerers, prideful creatures by nature, often resisted submission. Evidenced by how even at their most desperate times during the Sorcerer¡¯s Hunt, many chose not to take the Oath of Fealty to the Founder in exchange for safety and instead moved on to seek safety elsewhere rather than surrender their autonomy.


    The terrace fell into a tense silence as Valeryon took the glowing brand from the attendant. With deliberate care, she pressed it to Elora¡¯s forehead. A sharp sizzle filled the air, followed by the acrid smell of burning flesh. As sigil seared into Elora¡¯s skin, the brand¡¯s blue flames flared, causing the air around them to shimmer with heat and energy.


    Elora¡¯s face flushed under the intense heat, sweat beading on her brow. Though her face contorted with pain, she bore the agony in silence, her fists clenched tightly where they rested on her thighs as she exhaled shallow, measured breaths.


    When Valeryon finally removed the brand, a glowing blue sigil was left behind¡ªa permanent symbol of loyalty that would endure as long as Elora¡¯s loyalty remained true.


    Ophelia¡¯s voice cut through the ensuing heavy silence. "Now, your Oath."


    Elora lifted her head, her expression resolute as she gazed up at Valeryon. Her voice carried over the terrace, each word infused with magic¡ªan Unbreakable Vow. ¡°By the stars above that bind us, I pledge my life, my spirit, and my body to Her Highness Valeryon the Second. I forsake all other bonds and renounce all other ties. My loyalty shall be unwavering, and my devotion solely to her, above all others, in this life¡­ and the next.¡±


    As Elora completed her vow, a surge of golden light enveloped her, entering on the chocker and Mark of Fealty, the light cascading through the terrace like a wave, sealing the magical bond between them. The light swirled and dissipated, sealing the magical bond between them, marking the ceremony¡¯s completion.


    Valeryon¡¯s eyes widened. To swear such a pledge in the form of an Unbreakable Vow was no ordinary promise. It was a bond that transcended mortality, one that would persist beyond the confines of this lifetime, whatever form their souls might take. Magic would ensure it.


    First the kneeling, now the Oath.


    Valeryon could not help but wonder what it was that Elora saw in her: what greatness did Elora believe lay within Valeryon, for such a profound pledge of devotion to be made?The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Valeryon''s thoughts abruptly stalled as something caught her attention. She turned sharply to Ophelia, who had remained steadfast throughout the event. Noticing Valeryon¡¯s gaze, Ophelia smiled and offered a final, deep bow. ¡°It has been an honour, Your Highness.¡± Straightening, she paused, as though weighing her next words. ¡°You resemble your brother¡ªmy King greatly, Your Highness. May your path be... smoother than his.¡±


    Valeryon¡¯s eyes narrowed. Brother?


    By every record and rite in this world, Valeryon should be recognised as the late King Vilram Valeryon¡¯s daughter, not his sister.


    Ophelia was never one to misspeak.


    If she said brother, she meant brother, but how could that be?


    Valeryon was the sole survivor of her generation in both the Origin and Sorcerer''s Legacy. Although Vilram Valeryon was the previous monarch in the current timeline, it was difficult to determine how many generations he was born before Valeryon in the Origin as the Ban prevented them from sharing any details about their lives in the Origin while residing in the Outer Worlds.


    Perhaps, Ophelia just said that because she was familiar with the royal family¡¯s reproductive practices? Maybe biologically, Valaryon shared a genetic donor with the previous king? Such a scenario would technically make them siblings rather than father and daughter.


    Valeryon wanted to Ophelia to elaborate on her words, but it was too late.


    The Immortal Remnant moved to the dais''s edge, right at the ivy clad railing, between two golden glowing lanterns.


    With her role as the interim Chamberlain done, the magic that animated the Immortal Remnant dissipated, she returned to her dormant state, a statue once more. The vibrant life that had once animated her faded leaving Ophelia¡¯s marble form standing in eternal vigil at the edge of the terrace for generations to come until duty called her forth once more, as it had following Lady Daphne¡¯s death.


    Valeryon¡¯s chest tightened as she watched the transformation. Though she had known this outcome was inevitable¡ªOphelia had explained from the start that her presence was only temporary¡ªthe sight of the Immortal Remnant returning to lifeless stone left behind an ache within her that Valeryon had not anticipated.


    During her brief time with them, Ophelia had been a guiding presence, offering wisdom and stability during the turbulent months following Lady Daphne¡¯s death. Now, that presence was gone.


    Drawing a steadying breath, Valeryon composed herself. She shifted her focus back to Elora, who remained patiently kneeling before her. ¡°Rise, Chamberlain Elora of House Valeryon,¡± Valeryon commanded, sounding a lot steadier than she felt.


    Elora obeyed, her gaze filled with solemn pride, her lips pursed as she blinked away tears. Ophelia''s departure had clearly impacted her, having grown close during the months of training for the responsibilities she was now bound to uphold.


    The asphodel garlands adorning the dais swayed gently in the growing breeze, their soft fragrance mingling with the briny tang of the sea air. Valeryon cast a glance at Laurel who stood below among the Witnesses.


    His posture was rigid and his expression looked troubled, his grandfather¡¯s hand firmly on his shoulder, keeping him in check. Yet, despite his evident discomfort, he managed a small, reassuring smile when he sensed her attention.


    Soon, she promised herself. She would speak with him soon.


    For now, however, duty called once more. The ceremony had reached its midpoint, and the next portion was about to begin.


    Steeling herself, Valeryon turned to face the gathered representatives. The terrace buzzed with an undercurrent of expectation, however the muted rustle of fine fabrics and soft murmur of conversations silenced as the Herald stepped forward. His ceremonial staff struck the marble floor in a crisp rhythm, each echo resonating through the air like the tolling of a bell.


    ¡°By the grace of Her Highness, Crown Princess Valeryon the Second,¡± the Herald began, his voice carrying effortlessly across the terrace, ¡°the noble houses of the realm may now extend their greetings.¡±


    The assembly stirred as the first delegation approached. Leading them was Archduke Consort Eilian Lin Adhe of House Vesalius, his noble bearing amplified by his serene expression and the enormous white feathered wings folded neatly behind him, their pale edges glinting in the sunlight.


    Laurel followed a half-step behind, his gait respectful yet tinged with a quiet defiance that made Valeryon¡¯s brows furrow. Behind Laurel, a pair of attendants trailed, bearing items veiled in exquisite coverings.


    As the Archduke Consort ascended the dais, he swept into a low bow, his wings extending in a graceful arc that cast long shadows, creating an imposing silhouette. ¡°Archduke Consort Eilian Lin Adhe of House Vesalius greets Her Highness, Crown Princess Valeryon the Second.¡±


    Valeryon inclined her head, her iridescent azure veil and diamond asphodel crown shimmering as it caught the light. ¡°Well met, Archduke Consort Eilian Lin Adhe.¡±


    As the Archduke Consort straightened, Valeryon¡¯s gaze lingered on his features. Up close, the resemblance to his late daughter, Lady Daphne, was even more uncanny¡ªthe same high cheekbones and piercing silver eyes, though age had lent his face a harsher, more angular quality. Only his gender and wings¡ªa trait of the Seraphic lineage that had completely bypassed Lady Daphne¡ªset him apart from his late daughter.


    Valeryon realised she had been holding her breath when her lungs began to ache. She exhaled sharply, refocusing on the present. Thankfully, no one had noticed her distraction, as rather than continuing the conversation, the Archduke Consort had shifted his attention to Elora, his youngest child and adopted daughter.


    The Archduke Consort¡¯s tone when speaking to his daughter carried an undercurrent of indifference that made Valeryon¡¯s eyebrow raise. ¡°Chamberlain Elora,¡± he began formally, ¡°on behalf of House Vesalius, I extend our congratulations on your appointment. It is a testament to your¡­ luck, perseverance, and¡±¡ªhe paused briefly, lips tightened into a faint grimace¡ª¡°capability to serve directly under Her Highness. Truly, you honour our House with your¡­accomplishment.¡±


    Being no longer obliged to bow to any except Valeryon, Elora inclined her head. ¡°Thank you, Your Grace,¡± she replied, her voice clear and composed. ¡°I am deeply honoured by House Vesalius¡¯¡ª¡± her lips curled up slightly, humourlessly, ¡°¡­support, without which I certainly would not have the opportunity to be here.¡±


    For a fleeting moment, the Archduke Consort¡¯s mask of polite indifference faltered. A flicker of disapproval crossed his face before he smoothed it away, but Valeryon caught it.


    Interesting.


    However, the tension eased with a gesture from the Archduke, as one of the attendants stepped forward to unveil one of the items they brought with a flourish.


    The gift, presented to Valeryon was an exquisite hand-held harp. Its frame, carved from polished wood with a glossy ebony finish, shimmered like liquid night. Intricate rose motifs made of sparkling diamonds adorned its edges, each petal catching the light like stars. Golden strings stretch gracefully across the harp¡¯s small, curved frame.


    ¡°This harp,¡± the Archduke Consort elaborated, ¡°was commissioned twenty years ago on the advice of a Diviner who foresaw the birth of a royal heir of exceptional destiny. It is our hope, Your Highness, that it serves you well.¡± His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning.


    Valeryon inclined her head. ¡°I am certain it will,¡± she replied evenly, her voice devoid of inflection but polite enough to pass as gratitude.


    Divination might have weight in certain circles, but Valeryon had always viewed it with scepticism.


    It was not that Valeryon considered foresight fraudulent, just unreliable. Much like how natives of the Orcus Galaxy, including Valeryon, wield the Will to Live to revive from death, or how those from the Sapientia Galaxy possess perfect memory and comprehension which allowed for their researchers to establish the Origin Inter-Galactic Training, inhabitants of the Fortuna Galaxy have the innate ability to manipulate probability¡ªor luck. This constant alteration of probabilities has left the Origin''s future in perpetual flux, making prophecies or divinations, no matter how genuine, often nullified before they could even be spoken.


    So, Valeryon did not particularly give weight to it, nor what it said about her.


    However, foresight or not, the item before her was crafted to suit her tastes perfectly.


    Unable to help herself, Valeryon reached out to pluck a string, and a sonorous note filled the air, its resonance sending a shiver down her spine. At that precise moment, the Celestial Receiver on her wrist flared to life, emitting a golden glow that she had last seen when the side-quest had triggered at Starlit Staffworks.


    A small holographic window appeared, hovering just above her wrist:


    Unique Item Acquired: Harmonic Harp


    Bind this item to your Inventory?


    [Accept] ¡ª [Reject]


    Her brows furrowed as she studied the notification.


    Gold rather than purple. And ¡®Unique¡¯ instead of ¡®special¡¯.


    It seemed that this ¡®Harmonic Harp¡¯ was of a separate category to ¡®Home Away from Home¡¯, although Valeryon did not yet understand why.


    She selected accept with a subtle flick of her fingers and directed her attention back to the present. Seeing that everyone¡¯s attention was on her, she forced herself to speak a few words.


    ¡°It is beautiful.¡±


    The Archduke Consort bowed once more, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. ¡°I am honoured that it meets your preference, Your Highness.¡±


    Valeryon barely suppressed a sigh of relief as she was saved from having to speak more when a Shrouded stepped forward to receive the gift on Valeryon¡¯s behalf.


    Then it was time to present Elora¡¯s gift. Murmurs of the assembled nobles grew louder as the attendant unveiled a second item. Resting on a velvet cushion was an ornate hourglass suspended from a gold chain. Crafted from crystal and bound in a golden framework etched with glowing glyphs. The sand within shimmered like stardust, changing colours as it moved.


    Even without the attendant''s announcement, Valeryon recognised the artefact immediately: the Chronos Hourglass. She had seen its illustrations of it many times before in books buried in the depths of the library¡¯s first floor, regarding the most sought after artefacts in the magical world.


    An invention of the Mainland¡¯s renown Department of Arcane Phenomena, the Chronos Hourglass remains shrouded in secrecy. Only ten were known to exist, each capable of glimpsing fragments of time¡ªpast or future¡ªat the wielder¡¯s discretion.


    The Decennial Auction was the only place where artefacts of such calibre changed hands. So upon their revelation, they had been auctioned off¡ªas the Department of Arcane Phenomena often liked to to do with some of their more experimental items. The buyers were anonymous, their identities protected by ironclad secrecy, as all client identities were in the Decennial Auction. So, their whereabouts had always been a matter of conjecture and speculation; and the odd time one did get discovered or revealed, it often heralded calamity for its owner.


    Valeryon¡¯s lips pressed into a thin line and her gaze directed to Elora.


    Elora¡¯s face looked bloodless, but her expression remained carefully composed. ¡°Thank you, Archduke Consort,¡± she said, her voice steady. Valeryon would have thought her unaffected if not for the slight tremor in her hands, which Elora concealed behind her back¡ªsomething Valeryon only noticed due to their proximity. ¡°I will strive to be worthy of this honour and use it wisely in service of the Crown.¡±


    Why would House Vesalius do this? Had the Vesalius family considered the implications? The hourglass was a prize coveted by scholars, sorcerers, and power-hungry opportunists alike. To give it to Elora so openly was akin to painting a target on her back.


    Whether intentional or not, the consequences were clear.


    Mind racing, Valeron stepped forward, silencing the growing murmurs and reached for the hourglass. She lifted it from its velvet cushion, turning it over in her hands. The craftsmanship was extraordinary, the artefact humming faintly with latent magic. Valeryon¡¯s gaze shifted to Elora and she stepped towards her.


    ¡°Lower yourself,¡± she requested softly.


    Elora hesitated only briefly before obeying. Not, bowing as Valeryon had expected, but kneeling before Valeryon one more. The sight of such complete submission stirred the same indescribable emotion Valeryon had felt when Ophelia and the Shrouded had done the same after the preparation ritual she had undertaken in preparation for today¡¯s ceremony. Taking a deep breath, savouring every second of the moment, Valeryon draped the chain around her Chamberlain¡¯s neck, where it settled below the golden lattice choker Valeryon had placed earlier.


    ¡°Rise,¡± she murmured and once Elora was on her feet once more, she turned her attention to the Archduke Consort.


    Valeryon spoke, her voice ringing out like steel wrapped in velvet. ¡°House Vesalius has shown extraordinary generosity. Rest assured, Chamberlain Elora will be afforded every protection under the Crown¡¯s authority.¡±


    The Archduke Consort inclined his head, his expression unreadable. ¡°Of course, Your Highness. The Crown¡¯s consideration is a great honour,¡± he said, his voice smooth yet faintly clipped. ¡°We trust Chamberlain Elora will wield her newfound responsibilities¡ªand gifts¡ªwith due caution and wisdom.¡±


    There was nothing more that could be said after that.


    From the moment the Vesalius delegation stepped onto the dais Valeryon¡¯s gaze periodically flickered to Laurel, her concern growing. Valeryon, ever attuned to his presence, noted the storm brewing within him. His agitation was evident in his restless movements¡ªfingers flexing, weight shifting from foot to foot, as if he was gearing up for something. Valeryon longed to hear what he seemed to want to say, but¡ª


    Valeryon¡¯s attention snapped back to the Archduke Consort as his hand clamped firmly onto Laurel¡¯s shoulder, halting the younger man¡¯s restless fidgeting. Laurel¡¯s body stilled under the elder¡¯s grip, but the tension roiling beneath became almost palpable¡ªa bowstring drawn taut, ready to snap.


    ¡°Ah yes¡± the Archduke Consort began, his voice quiet and grave, ¡°I had almost forgotten.¡± His sharp silver eyes landed squarely on Valeryon.¡°Your Highness, my family owes you a debt of gratitude for the care and consideration you have shown my grandson during these turbulent times. It is a kindness our House shall not forget. However,¡±¡ªhis gaze flicked meaningfully to Laurel before returning to her, like a blade poised to strike¡ª¡°it is our belief that the current arrangement, with the two of you residing in such close quarters at this age, regardless of the innocence of the circumstances, invites unwarranted speculation. For the sake of propriety, and to preserve the reputation of all involved, my wife and I have concluded that it is best for my grandson to reside in the Vesalius Estate for the foreseeable future.¡±


    The implication struck Valeryon with the force of a physical blow. She stiffened, her mind scrambling to find a response. The Archduke Consort¡¯s reasoning was irrefutable within the rigid framework of this time period¡¯s strict societal norms. To challenge him was to invite scandal, tarnishing not only her reputation but Laurel¡¯s as well.


    She glanced at Laurel. His lavender eyes were wide and imploring, silently begging her to intervene. There was a raw vulnerability there that made her heart twist, but what could she do? Any protest she might voice would be viewed as unbecoming, a mark against her character, a criticism of her judgement that would be held against her indefinitely. A lump formed in her throat, guilt weighing heavily on her as she lowered her gaze. She felt the sharp sting of inadequacy, a sensation all too familiar and a reminiscent of her younger years at the Junior Academy.


    Drawing a deep breath, she managed a curt nod. ¡°Understood.¡±


    The words tasted like defeat.


    Laurel''s disappointment was clear, his expression falling and Valeryon found herself unable to meet his eyes.


    With the agreement, the delegation¡¯s farewells came swiftly, and though she responded with the appropriate words and gestures, her mind was elsewhere. Her heart felt heavy with bitterness, and her hands clenched into fists, nails digging into the flesh of her palms through the fabric of her gloves.


    The Vesalius delegation had nearly reached the edge of the dais when Laurel suddenly broke rank. He pivoted sharply, his lavender eyes alight with a familiar mischief. A dimpled grin lit up his face, and before anyone could stop him, he called out, ¡°I will see you soon, my dearest Val!¡±


    The crowd¡¯s reaction was instantaneous. Gasps rippled through the Witnesses like a sudden gust of wind. The scandalised whispers had barely begun when Laurel added to the spectacle. Clutching his chest like a lovelorn hero from a romance play, he added theatrically, ¡°I will miss you every second, minute and day we shall be apart, looking forward to the moment we will be together once more!¡± His dramatic declaration ended with an exaggerated wink and a kiss blown her way.


    The Archduke Consort¡¯s expression darkened with fury, and he spun Laurel around with an unyielding grip, dragging him away before he could cause further commotion. Laurel made no effort to resist, his unrepentant grin firmly in place as he allowed himself to be marched off.


    Valeryon stood rooted to the spot, her face aflame, her heart pounding erratically. At her side, Elora let out a faint cough, though the corners of her lips twitched with barely suppressed amusement. It was a subtle yet familiar habit¡ªElora¡¯s way of concealing her laughter when decorum demanded restraint.


    ¡°Whoever said romance was dead?¡± Elora said softly. Her words made Valeryon¡¯s face burn hotter.


    Valeryon could not bring herself to respond. Perhaps in misguided attempt to change the outcome, Laurel had not only undone her efforts to avoid scandal but had also fuelled the very rumours the Archduke Consort had sought to avoid.


    Despite the inconvenience his actions caused, a large part of Valeryon found delight in his defiance. For his courage in doing what Valeryon was too cowardly to do, and his refusal to let their closeness be so easily dismissed, even if it meant leaning into the very rumours that society sought to separate them with.


    However, after the initial stir settled, Valeryon had little time to dwell on the incident. The herald¡¯s call resounded through the terrace once more, and one by one, the representatives of the Vassal Houses continued their approach with greetings and gifts.


    The air in the chamber still buzzed with the echoes of Laurel¡¯s antics, whispers and sidelong glances following her every move. Despite the mounting pressure, Valeryon drew upon the lessons drilled into her. Every greeting, every polite exchange, and every carefully chosen word became a performance, a shield against the scrutiny surrounding her.


    In the midst of it all, Valeryon felt gratitude for Governess Sachar. Etiquette had been only the one aspect of her teachings; far more valuable was the exhaustive education on the intricate web of alliances, feuds, and bloodlines that bound the Archipelago''s Vassal Houses. Without that foundation, Valeryon knew she would be drowning in the subtle undercurrents of the gathering¡ªevery glance, every word a potential minefield.


    The Vassal Houses, though their roles and responsibilities had evolved over time, could still be categorised into four broad blocs based on their traditional duties. While their traditional roles were no longer rigidly enforced as much as they used to be, the four bloc categorisation still provided a helpful framework for understanding the political landscape of the Archipelago.


    Diplomacy and Internal Affairs were dominated by the Vesalius and Sil Adhe Houses who often found themselves in the thick of negotiations and governance.


    Defense and Security was a formidable coalition comprising of the Lunarys (land borders), Aerwyna (sea borders), Warrington (military), and Gyrfalcon (law enforcement) whose collective strength ensured the Archipelago¡¯s safety from external and internal threats alike.


    Trade and Finance fell under the Arthas (banks), Golde (mines), and Newmans (Agriculture) who formed the economic backbone of the Archipelago and ensured the Archipelago¡¯s prosperity.


    Research and Innovation was championed by Hawthorn, Sachar, and Serpens, propelling the Archipelago¡¯s progress through magical and technological advancements.


    For Valeryon, most interactions with these Houses were mercifully brief. Protocol dictated a simple exchange: greetings, a presentation of gifts, and polite pleasantries.  Any further engagement required a formal appointment¡ªone she could easily decline given her impending departure for Forester Academy. Once the main doors to the terrace closed behind the final group of representatives, Valeryon exhaled softly.


    It had been an eventful day, but at least the most challenging part of it was now over.


    Elora checked her pocket watch before glancing at Valeryon. "It''s nearly time for your meeting with the Knight Commander, Your Highness,¡± she said. She extended her arm in a gesture reminiscent of Ophelia¡¯s earlier escort.


    Valeryon felt a pang of discomfort in her chest. She swallowed hard, unable to bring herself to look behind herself and take in the dormant husk left of Ophelia as she wished to do.


    Taking a deep breath, she accepted Elora¡¯s arm gratefully, relieved to shift some weight off her aching feet.


    The Shrouded moved in silent procession behind them, trailing like shadows as they made their way back to the castle. They bore an array of gifts¡ªlavish, intricate, and precious¡ªbut none captured Valeryon¡¯s attention like the Harmonic Harp, which she looked forward to playing once freed from her current obligations.


    As they neared the Main Entrance, the Shrouded seemed to dissolve into the shadows, disappearing soundlessly. Valeryon assumed they had gone to secure the gifts somewhere convenient for later perusal.


    The next time she saw them, the Shrouded stood outside Valeryon¡¯s study, each balancing platters stacked high with food, beside a slightly bewildered Knight Commander.


    As if on cue, Valeryon¡¯s stomach growled loudly. Valeryon tried to reassure herself that it was a natural reaction considering the circumstances, but she could not prevent the warmth spreading through her cheeks.


    Perhaps no one had heard?


    Her hope was short-lived.


    ¡°Your Highness, I hadn¡¯t realised¡ªyou must be starving,¡± Elora said, dismayed. ¡°Please forgive me, Your Highness.¡±


    Valeryon dismissed her concern with a wave of her hand. ¡°No need." But inwardly, she thought starving was an understatement. It had been days since her last meal.


    "Greetings, Your Highness," the Knight Commander said with a respectful bow before opening the door for her. Valeryon responded with a faint nod as she entered.


    Inside the study, Valeryon sank into her chair, the wood cool against her overheated skin, exhaustion settling over her like a heavy cloak. The Shrouded cleared the table and arranged the platters¡ªsimple soups, steamed grains, and soft bread¡ªfar lighter than the rich, decadent meals she was accustomed to. She wondered who had decided on the meal, grateful for their consideration.


    As Valeryon ate, her focus shifted to the rhythmic motion of her hands lifting the food, though each movement felt laborious. Her stomach, somewhat unused to such sustenance, protested with every bite, the feeling of fullness overwhelming in the most uncomfortable way. Her belt pressed tight against her waist, and she shifted in her seat, trying to ignore the discomfort.


    Finally, after what felt like eternity, Valeryon finished the meal. The Shrouded quietly removed the platters and returned the items they had removed from the desk to their original meticulous arrangement, leaving the study as undisturbed as it had been when they arrived. The door clicked softly shut behind them, leaving Valeryon alone with Elora and the Knight Commander.


    Valeryon shifted her focus to Knight Commander Marcellus, who stood rigidly to Elora¡¯s left, arms crossed and posture rigid. His grey eyes¡ªthough sharp and focused¡ªhad a distant, faraway look. There were shadows beneath his eyes that suggested sleepless nights and the furrows between his brows seemed deeper than Valeryon last remembered.


    ¡°Knight Commander Marcellus,¡± Valeryon said, her voice firm. ¡°What is the status of our Knight Squadrons? How is the current progress of your previous assignment?¡±


    Marcellus straightened, arms clasped behind back. ¡°Your Highness, the incorporation of the runic tattoos within the Knight Squadrons is proceeding smoothly. The evaluation of its performance with the sample unit was successful. We have now begun to expand its incorporation into other units. However, progress has been slower than anticipated.¡±


    Valeryon¡¯s brow furrowed as she considered his words. ¡°What is causing the delay?¡±


    ¡°Master Inscriber Arion is performing the tattooing himself. He is the only one able to do it.¡± Marcellus explained. ¡°The complexity of the runes is such that only he can replicate them perfectly. With lives on the line, we thought it best to not take a risk with anyone else. To help speed up the progress, Master Inscriber Arion has taken a month-long leave from his other duties, but still, there is only so much progress that can be made with only one person.¡±


    ¡°I see. And where is Master Inscriber Arion residing during this time?¡±


    ¡°Currently, he is in the Knights Barracks, Your Highness.¡± Marcellus replied. ¡°I assure you, we are ensuring that Master Inscriber Arion is adequately cared for and compensated for his time and efforts.¡±


    ¡°Very well,¡± Valeryon said. ¡°Now, what are the results of the investigations?¡±


    The atmosphere shifted, the weight of the question hanging heavily in the air. Marcellus¡¯ expression became grave.


    ¡°Your Highness,¡± Marcellus said carefully, ¡°the findings are¡­ concerning. These infiltrators have assumed identities with such precision that detecting them without creating mass panic is¡ªchallenging.¡±


    A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaped Valeryon¡¯s lips. She had expected this, though it did little to soften the reality of the situation.


    She reached into the desk and activated a rune, opening a hidden drawer. From it, she withdrew a neatly rolled parchment, which she held out to Marcellus. He accepted it, unrolling the paper with an almost reverent caution.


    Valeryon had prepared it with extensive research and Ophelia''s help; as a former Chamberlain, Ophelia''s expertise ensured the document was magically binding, designed to expose anyone with treasonous intentions or a false identity.


    ¡°Commander,¡± Valeryon intoned, her voice as smooth and sharp as glass. ¡°I trust this requires no further explanation.¡±


    Marcellus¡¯s brows rose as he quickly read over the contract. The Knight Commander cleared his throat, gathering his magic, and pressed his hand to the document. A faint gold light flashed over the page and the paper disintegrated.


    Marcellus was cleared.


    A knock sounded at the door.


    Valeryon glanced at Elora who checked her pocket watch and nodded.


    Right on time.


    When Valeryon inclined her head, Elora briefly used a handkerchief to wipe the sheen of perspiration from her brow, then she went to open the doors.


    When she returned, she was accompanied by a group of people. The group shuffled in, their anxiety palpable as they came to stand before Valeryon, who laid out more copies of the contract, evenly spread across the table, awaiting their magical signatures.


    ¡°Sign it,¡± she demanded curtly.


    The Staff Department Heads exchanged glances and Valeryon watched their interactions closely.


    The Head Groundskeeper, an older Davi gentleman who had been managing the palace since Queen Vera¡¯s reign stepped forward first, barely scanning the text before pressing his magic to the contract. A flash of gold, and he was cleared.


    He stepped back, visibly relieved.


    One by one, the others followed suit: the Head Housekeeper, the Head Healer, the Head Librarian, the Head Stable Master, and the Head Treasurer¡ªall cleared.


    Finally, only the Head Chef remained. Valeryon¡¯s gaze sharpened as she took in the man¡¯s trembling hands, his pale complexion, the sheen of sweat that clung to his face and neck.


    The Head Chef closed his eyes, muttering something under his breath, a prayer or perhaps a plea, before stepping to the table. He raised a shaking hand and touched the paper.


    Nothing happened.


    No flash. No shimmer. Nothing.


    The silence was deafening.


    Elora¡¯s face turned ashen, her hands clenched at her sides. Even Marcellus, who had stood stoic through the proceedings, stiffened. His eyes darted quickly to Valeryon, who nodded, a grim understanding forming. He gave a sharp whistle. Not a second later, a series of armoured footsteps echoed outside for a moment before two knights barged into the study and seized the Head Chef by the arms.


    How had this happened?


    Valeryon pressed her temples, a headache forming. How had Lady Daphne missed this? From the Knight Commander¡¯s previous report on the Staff Department Heads, Valeryon knew that the recruitment and promotion of the Head Chef had fallen under Lady Daphne''s oversight. As Chamberlain, Lady Daphne was responsible for all staff appointments and, by law, required to witness each staff member reaffirm their Oaths of Fealty to the royal family.


    "Take him," Valeryon ordered.


    Marcellus whistled sharply, and armoured footsteps echoed briefly before two knights stormed in, seizing the Head Chef and dragging him out.


    Valeryon turned to the remaining department heads, nodding at Marcellus. "Them too."


    She did not believe for a second that these people, having worked together for so long, were unaware of the situation. Marcellus gave a sharp whistle in a different sequence, and more knights entered, ushering the remaining department heads out.


    As the doors shut, Knight Commander Marcellus released a stream of colourful language under his breath, then stopped abruptly, his face flushed as he realised his blunder. ¡°My apologies, Your Highness,¡± he stammered, clearing his throat. ¡°The words I used... such language should never be repeated.¡±


    Despite herself, Valeryon¡¯s lips twitched and curled up at the corners. ¡°Noted, Commander.¡± With the current circumstances, it was easy to forget that she still wore the shell of a child to the outside world.


    Her amusement, however, was short-lived, replaced by a creeping dread as the reality of the situation sank in.


    If a non-magical infiltrator had secured a position as high as department head, the situation with the general staff could not be good.


    The realisation soured her, a bitter taste at the back of her throat.


    She thought of the Archipelago¡¯s founding purpose: a refuge from the outside world created by the Founder to shield magicals from persecution during the Sorcerer''s Hunt era.


    Prior to the events of that time, magicals and non-magicals coexisted peacefully.


    The magical community, as assimilated as the were to the non-magical society, was fragmented, scattered across the land, with only a few organised groups forming protective enclaves.


    Many skilled magicals, seeking better opportunities, migrated to more developed magical communities in neighbouring nations like Ebren and Simran, further dispersing their strength.


    At that time, magic was in its infancy, a fledgling force, and knowledge about it was tightly guarded by scholars and researchers alike, much like the glyphs. What little magic was commonly known was more of a novelty than a threat. Combat and protection-related magic were virtually nonexistent, as there had been little need for it in a peaceful society.


    So, when Fiore¡¯s non-magical ruling class, unlike their counterparts in Ebren and Simran who embraced collaboration with magicals, viewed them as a threat and launched a sudden, violent purge, the unprepared and outnumbered magicals stood no chance.


    Whoever had orchestrated this breach of non-magicals into the palace was not only humiliating them by spitting on the Archipelago¡¯s founding principles but was also courting catastrophe.


    Their laws were clear and absolute.


    Across both the Archipelago and magical Fiore, it was forbidden to reveal magic to non-magicals, to shelter them, or even employ them within magical domains. This society had been built on secrecy, on a delicate balance of power that kept their existence safe. Violating that was more than a crime; it was a betrayal that put their entire society at risk of discovery¡ªand vulnerable to another Sorcerer¡¯s Hunt.


    Another Sorcerer¡¯s Hunt. Another mass extermination.


    It was an outcome too terrible to even consider.


    Although, when considering how far magical society had progressed, Valeryon felt certain that, in a conflict, it wouldn¡¯t be the magicals who would be forced into hiding this time.


    Commander Marcellus cleared his throat, breaking her from her thoughts. ¡°Your Highness, if I may inquire¡ªwhat action should we take concerning this breach? The royal household cannot escape consequences entirely. But perhaps, we can mitigate them if we maintain discretion.¡±


    Before Valeryon could respond, Elora spoke up. "With all due respect, Commander, I must disagree," Her voice carried a desperate edge. "If we hide this, and the news leaks out anyway¡ªas it very well could, given that our enemies orchestrated this breach in the first place¡ªit would be even more disastrous. We¡¯re already at a loss. If we attempt to keep it quiet and fail, we¡¯ll lose all control over the narrative." She drew a shaky breath, her eyes darting between the Knight Commander and Valeryon. "It would be far better to handle it openly from the start, rather than risk a catastrophe later, Your Highness.¡±


    Marcellus shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. "The knights are discreet,  Lady Elora," he assured her with a calm, steady gaze. "This is not a suggestion to bury it forever, only until we have gathered all the facts. Once we understand the full scope of the infiltration, we can better mitigate the fallout.¡±


    ¡°Discreet?¡± Elora scoffed, her words holding a bitter edge. ¡°Your discretion seems almost too thorough considering how easily the enemy has managed to slip into our ranks and put Her Highness at risk. My sister and many of your knights are dead, Commander Warrington. Can you look me in the eye and say it was not preventable?¡±


    Warrington. That was the first time Valeryon had heard the Knight Commander referred to by his last name. For the most part, palace staff, regardless of rank were referred to by their title or their first name to avoid any confusion or mix up unless there were two people of the same name. It had not seemed pertinent to look into it, so Valeryon had not realised that the Knight Commander was a member of a Vassal House, but it made sense. Similar to how the Vesalius had the monopoly on the Chamberlain role, the Warringtons had monopoly over the Knight commander role, as was tradition.


    More surprising, however, was Elora¡¯s outburst; it was rare to see her so blatant in her anger.


    Marcellus¡¯s jaw tightened, his gaze hardening as he turned to Valeryon. He bowed deeply, dropping to one knee. ¡°Your Highness, my deepest apologies,¡± he said, his voice steady yet weighted with regret. ¡°Heiress Elora is correct in her assessment. It was our oversight that has led to this.¡±


    ¡°Get up. Apologies won¡¯t undo the damage,¡± Valeryon replied curtly. "However, you alone are not accountable for missing what no one could have predicted¡ªnot without warning, not without evidence. There were multiple points where this matter could have been intercepted before it ever reached the palace.¡± She paused, then added, ¡°But the fact that it didn¡¯t is concerning. How did threats of this magnitude¡ªthe successful smuggling of Sugar Crystals into the Archipelago, the bribing of staff in the Terminal to lace the food with it, non-magicals infiltrating the palace, let alone them setting foot on Vesperia itself¡ªgo unnoticed with all the security measures we are supposed to have in place? This cannot be just an individual¡¯s error; this is a failure of the system itself.¡±


    Marcellus lifted his gaze. ¡°What do you suggest, Your Highness?¡±


    Valeryon took a measured breath. ¡°Certain individuals seem to have grown¡­lax in their Oaths¡ªif they even took them to begin with. And who is to enforce that? Especially if those who are meant to enforce this matter to begin with are the ones compromised to begin with. The Archipelago seems infected with complacency, inviting rot. But presently, without authority beyond these palace walls, I can only address the symptoms of this matter, not the cause.¡±


    With that, she pulled out a sheet of parchment and dipped her quill in ink. ¡°Covert investigations will take too long. Place the palace on immediate lockdown.¡± She paused to open a drawer, withdrawing a thick stack of magical Contracts she had gotten copied earlier. She placed them squarely before Elora. ¡°Every individual is to be accounted for and bound by oath¡ªtonight.¡±


    Elora straightened, glanced at the stack, then back at Valeryon. "Of course, Your Highness. I¡¯m scheduled to meet with them in a few hours." At Valeryon''s gaze, Elora flushed slightly and cleared her throat. "I thought it would be useful to formally introduce myself and address any concerns. I have a complete list of all personnel and will ensure no one is overlooked.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± Valeryon¡¯s next words fell, clipped and cold. ¡°Knight Commander, an investigation must be opened regarding Lady Daphne Vesalius¡¯ involvement in this matter.¡±


    Elora froze. ¡°My sister? But¡ª¡±


    ¡°As the previous Chamberlain,¡± Valeryon cut her off, ¡°it is highly improbable that Lady Daphne was unaware of a non-magical¡¯s promotion to Head Chef. Not only should she have overseen the selection, she would have been present during the oath-taking. Such an oversight reeks of negligence at best, betrayal at worst.¡±


    Her gloved hand moved in precise motions as she sealed the document, handing it to the Knight Commander Marcellus. He took it with a respectful bow, his face set in stern lines. ¡°As you command, Your Highness.¡±


    Valeryon took another parchment and resumed writing. ¡°When all the signatures are gathered, and the true scale of the situation is understood,¡± Valeryon continued, ¡°notify the Enforcers handling the Asua werewolf attack. They must be briefed on these developments.¡±


    ¡°What should be the fate of those we detain, Your Highness?¡± asked Marcellus.


    ¡°All non-magicals involved are to be handed over to Enforcer custody. Standard protocols apply: interrogation, memory adjustment, relocation, and monitoring until we¡¯re certain they no longer pose a threat to our society.¡±


    Marcellus stepped forward slightly. ¡°What about the magicals, Your Highness?¡±


    Valeryon¡¯s hand paused mid-stroke, the quill trembling slightly in her grip. Beneath her veil, her eyes narrowed as she considered her response. ¡°There are laws for traitors, are there not?¡±


    Elora¡¯s face looked ghostly, as she spoke up, ¡°Your Highness, your Healer¡¯s Oath! Does it not prevent you from such actions? Your life would be at risk!¡±


    A silence hung in the air as Valeryon regarded Elora.


    She was right; the Healer''s Oath, binding for all Valeryons, forbade them from causing harm directly or indirectly, with severe consequences for any violation. However, the Inter-Galactic Origin Training had begun before her Name Day, the event when she should have formally taken the Oath and become an official member of the clan.


    "My predecessors were perhaps too restrained when they didn''t need to be. If our enemy is to be stopped, there must be consequences. Why else would the law exist? The Healer''s Oath will discern between justice and vengeance." She added, "And if there is a cost, I will bear it."


    While there would be no actual cost for her decision, Valeryon didn''t feel the need to reveal that. Her clan members were believed to be born with the Healer''s Oath naturally, and contradicting that belief would only complicate matters.


    Elora and the Knight Commander still tried to insist otherwise, claiming that no amount of justice was worth the risk of harm that the Healer¡¯s Oath may subject Valeryon to. However, perhaps sensing that their words were not convincing, Elora tried another tactic.


    ¡°Your Highness, wouldn¡¯t the public see such measures as¡­ unnecessarily severe and cruel? The Mainland has already outlawed capital punishment and similar stances are also being taken in many parts of the magical world. What kind of potential ruler would they see you as, if you choose to risk your well-being just so that traitor would be killed?¡±


    ¡°Cruel?¡± Valeryon echoed, her tone edged with a hint of incredulity. ¡°What is cruel about enforcing the laws of this land against those who wish to destabilise it? All those who reside here are subject to its rules. If they object, they are free to leave for lands more aligned with their values.¡±


    Valeryon resumed writing, the quill scratching against the parchment. "Prepare a formal case for the Council of Vassals. They seem to have sat idly by as this decay took root; let¡¯s see if they¡¯ll lift a finger to address it when the evidence lies plainly before them." Her quill paused briefly, and her voice hardened. "This is their mess. They will clean it.¡±


    Elora shifted, her brows drew together, worry etched deep in the crease between them. "And¡­ the public, Your Highness?"


    ¡°What of them?¡±


    Elora hesitated, careful with her words. "If we take the initiative to shape the narrative ourselves, we could prevent our enemies from turning public opinion against us."


    Valeryon dismissed the thought with a wave of her hand. ¡°That is a matter for the Enforcers and the Vassal Council to handle. I am merely a student preparing for their first year of education at Forester Academy. If the palace were seen as overly involved it may raise more concerns."


    Elora pressed her lips together, reluctant but determined. "Your Highness, while it may seem trivial now, public perception could become crucial. Someday, when your authority must be solidified¡­ today''s approach might shape how the monarchy is viewed for years to come."


    Valeryon¡¯s gaze rested on Elora, her tone flat. "Public opinion holds little weight. I have violated no law, my hands remain clean in this matter. Should anyone wish to criticise me, they will find no fault here.¡±


    Elora¡¯s expression grew more intense, almost pleading. "Your Highness, please reconsider. Even if there''s no immediate threat, leaving the narrative unchecked gives our enemies a foothold. It could encourage dissent, create cracks in the foundation, and jeopardise your influence. Those who oppose you could turn whispers into weapons."


    Valeryon''s hand stilled over the parchment, her fingers tightening on the quill. Elora¡¯s words lingered, touching on a concern she had not realised she held.


    Anarchy.


    Insurrection.


    Those were not things so easily countered.


    "The Oaths¡­¡± Valeryon murmured, as if speaking to herself.


    Elora¡¯s voice was gentle, "The Oaths allowed for the very circumstances that led to the tragedy in Asua. If we continue to place blind faith in their protection, we may face another devastation, Your Highness?"


    The weight of Elora¡¯s words settled heavily. For a millennium, Valeryon''s family had ruled, upheld by alliances as ancient as Vesperia itself.


    If these alliances weakened¡­


    If there allies refused to take their Oaths¡­


    If the Vassal Houses, wielders of power over essential veins and vital territories of the Archipelago, deemed her unworthy¡­ what power could she hold against them? She was vulnerable¡ªmagically, socially, and politically.


    The Valeryon clan¡¯s legacy could collapse like an ancient wall, crumbling stone by stone.


    A faint headache pulsed behind her eyes, sweat beading under her veil, her body aching as the familiar sharpness in her ankles flared up. She could smell the faint metallic tang of fresh blood; her passive Healing magic had weakened once more. Adding to her discomfort was the stretch of her stomach from her meal earlier, making her nausea surge.


    Valeryon took several steady breaths, focusing on manually reactivating her healing magic. Gradually, the pain dulled to a manageable throb. Being freshly recovered from a magical exhaustion induced coma, her current body was still unaccustomed to prolonged magic use.


    Lifting her skirt just enough to confirm the glow around her ankle as the torn flesh knitted back together, she allowed herself a brief, shallow breath of relief.


    Returning her attention to her parchment, she hesitated for a long moment before decisively setting the quill to paper again and continuing what she was writing.


    Each word felt like an additional weight, pressing down with the realisation of her own limitations.


    Regardless of whether her decision was right or wrong, with her power so limited, this was all she could do.


    Finally, Valeryon took a deep breath and sealed the instructions. She then extended the sealed document to Elora, who accepted it with trembling hands.


    Pale and looking visibly shaken, Elora¡¯s breathing was shallow as though on the verge of collapse. Just when Valeryon moved to check on her, Elora took a deep breath and seemed to regain her composure, silver eyes revealing quiet, fierce resolve.


    "I will see this through, Your Highness," Elora whispered.

 SL: Correspondence

    Vesalius Estate


    36th Day of Lammas, Year 1838


    Val,


    Are you alright? You''re eating properly, aren''t you? Resting like you should? Please tell me you''re taking care of yourself. Yesterday, you looked... off. Not bad¡ªnever bad¡ªyou always look perfect, but you didn''t seem well, and I can''t shake the feeling that something''s wrong. I??? ???s???m???e???l???l???e???d??? ???b???l???o???o???d???.??? If something happened, you would tell me, wouldn''t you?


    About yesterday¡ªI know I crossed a line with my behaviour. I do. I probably owe you an apology, but I can''t give you one because it wouldn''t be sincere. I wouldn''t take back what I did even if I could. Even if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn''t hesitate, Val. Not for a second. I''m not sorry for what I did. Not even a little.


    I??? ???m???i???s???s??? ???y???o???u???.??? ???I??? ???m???i???s???s??? ???y???o???u???.??? ???I??? ???m???i???s???s??? ???y???o???u???.??? ???I??? ???m???i???s???s??? ???y???o???u???.??? ???I??? ???m???i???s???s??? ???y???o???u???.??? ???I??? ???m???i???s???s??? ???y???o???u???.??? ???I??? ???m???i???s???s??? ???y???o???u???.??? ???I??? ???m???i???s???s??? ???y???o???u???.??? ???I??? ???m???i???s???s??? ???y???o???u???.??? ???I??? ???m???i???s???s??? ???y???o???u???.??? ???I??? ???m???i???s???s??? ???y???o???u???.??? ???I??? ???m???i???s???s??? ???y???o???u???.??? ???I??? ???m???i???s???s??? ???y???o???u???.??? ???I??? ???m???i???s???s??? ???y???o???u???.??? ???I??? ???m???i???s???s??? ???y???o???u???.??? ???I??? ???m???i???s???s??? ???y???o???u???.??? ???I??? ???m???i???s???s??? ???y???o???u???.???


    I miss you, Val. Truly, desperately, maddeningly¡ªI miss you.


    It''s the little things that make me miss you the most. The way your voice softens when you''re amused. That slight tilt of your head when you''re lost in thought.


    Those awful lessons with Governess Sachar are over now, but I''d endure every single one of them again if it meant seeing you every day. Sitting there next to you, pretending to take notes while trying not to fall asleep, having you there to nudge me awake when I inevitably do, break times spent together under the sun¡ªit feels like lifetimes ago.


    Nothing feels right here, Val. My grandparents keep insisting that the Vesalius Estate is my "home" now, but it''s not. It never could be.


    How could it, when my home has always been with you?


    I know, I sound dramatic¡ªmelodramatic even. You''d probably even laugh at me if I ever said any of this out loud. But it''s the truth.


    Next week can''t come soon enough.


    Counting the days,


    Yours always,


    Laurel


    P.S. Since I seem so serious with my intentions, my grandparents insisted I "do things properly," so I''m sending you something. Don''t feel pressured to like it¡ªbut, for the sake of my fragile ego, at least pretend you do, alright?


    ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


    Valeryon tilted her head as she examined the peculiar item that had accompanied Laurel''s letter.


    It was a dragon¡ªa plush one¡ªnearly as large as she was. Sprawled across her bed for lack of a better place, it shimmered faintly in the lamplight. Its golden body shimmering faintly. Its amethyst eyes, almost lifelike, had an eerie depth to them. Its velvet scales were stitched with such expertise that it gave the illusion of real dragon hide, while the wings on its back appeared like stained glass, shifting colours as they caught the light.


    Her brow furrowed. What was she supposed to do with this?


    It was exquisite, yes, but quite a baffling item to receive.


    She had no particular affinity for dragons.


    Majestic and powerful as they were, they held no significance for her. If it had to be any creature, perhaps a phoenix might have made more sense for her to receive given her heritage.


    She sighed, arms crossed as she stood over the plush.


    Valeryon could not recall having said or done anything over the years they had known each other to had possibly given Laurel the impression that stuffed creatures were something she cared for. Because if she had, wouldn''t he have gifted her one much earlier in their lives, when such a thing was at least more age appropriate?


    Such things were for children, were they not?


    Still, she could not deny that the craftsmanship was extraordinary.


    Tentatively, she reached out and let her fingers graze the scales. The fabric was softer than she expected, its texture pleasant beneath her touch. Her fingers lingered longer than she intended, tracing the finely embroidered scales, the intricate details of the wings.


    Then her gaze lingered on the amethyst eyes for a moment longer, then she sighed.


    Despite herself, a corner of her mouth twitched¡ªnot quite a smile, but close.


    "Ridiculous," she muttered, shaking her head and stepping back.


    Later that evening, as the soft glow of the lamps filled the room, Valeryon sat at her desk, deep in thought. Her fingers hovered over a small selection of fabrics before selecting a deep, iridescent red cloth¡ªthe same shade as the garland of roses Laurel had braided into his hair the day prior.


    Threading her needle with iridescent gold thread, she began to work. Hour after hour passed, marked only by the rhythmic motion of the needle. Roses emerged on the fabric, their petals curling delicately, vines twisting and curling in natural patterns. The hours slipped by unnoticed, her small desk lamp the only light in the room.


    When the embroidery was done, she turned to the next phase. Measuring and cutting the fabric, she stitched her pieces together, her motions careful and deliberate. By the time the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, her fingers ached to the point of throbbing, but her work was complete.


    The gloves were supple yet sturdy, their surfaces adorned with blooming gold roses. The scarf was light but warm, its rich red fabric gleaming with the same golden designs.


    Valeryon inspected the set critically, turning each piece over in her hands to ensure every stitch was flawless. Satisfied, she carefully packed the gloves and scarf into a box she had prepared earlier, ready to send them along with her response to Laurel.


    ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


    Vesperia Castle


    37th Day of Lammas, Year 1838


    Dear Laurel,


    Thank you for your letter. Allow me to reassure you¡ªI am well. As I have promised before, should anything of true consequence happen to me, you would be the first to know. That said, I will admit that I felt somewhat unwell yesterday. It was a fleeting discomfort, nothing worth troubling over, and certainly nothing concern you with, although I appreciate your consideration of my wellbeing nonetheless.


    About yesterday¡ªwhile your actions did result in a minor inconvenience, I understand they were motivated by what you believed to be right. I have made countless decisions that inconvenienced you before, and you have always shown me grace in those moments. It is only fair that I extend the courtesy same to you now.


    Your gift was an unexpected. I was not sure how to respond at first, but know that it is appreciated deeply. Thank you.


    In return, I have sent something your way. It is not much, but I home that it will provide some additional comfort during your temporary stay at the Vesalius Estate.


    Take care,


    Valeryon


    ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


    Vesalius Manor


    37th Day of Lammas, Year 1838


    Val,


    "Mildly under the weather," you say? I can''t say I''m convinced. Please, for once, take it easy. Get more rest, drink plenty of water, and try to eat a bit more, alright? y???o???u??? ???l???o???o???k???e???d??? ???l???i???k???e??? ???y???o???u???''???d??? ???l???o???s???t??? ???a??? ???s???c???a???r???y??? ???a???m???o???u???n???t??? ???o???f??? ???w???e???i???g???h???. Being who you are, I know you probably understand your body better than any Healer ever could and I am sure you have your health under control, but I can''t help but worry regardless.


    As for your "minor inconvenience"¡ªI have to admit, that made me laugh. I''ll take it to mean that you weren''t too bothered by my theatrics then? Still, I''ll try to tone it down next time. The last thing I want is to upset you too much.


    But honestly, how do you always know exactly what I need? It''s f???u???c???k???i???n???g??? absolutely freezing in here, and no one''s bothered to turn on the heating yet. N???o??? ???w???o???n???d???e???r??? ???I??? ???h???a???v???e???n???''???t??? ???g???o???t???t???e???n??? ???a??? ???d???e???c???e???n???t??? ???n???i???g???h???t???''???s??? ???s???l???e???e???p??? ???i???n??? ???t???h???e??? ???l???a???s???t??? ???f???e???w??? ???n???i???g???h???t???s???.??? Thanks to you, though, at least I''m warm now.


    And yes, it definitely will provide some additional comfort during my absolutely temporary stay here!


    Truly Val, thank you. You always seem to know how to make me feel better, e???v???e???n??? ???w???h???e???n??? ???I???''???m??? ???n???o???t??? ???s???u???r???e??? ???I??? ???d???e???s???e???r???v???e??? ???i???t???.???


    Always yours,


    Laurel


    P.S. Remember this?


    ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


    Valeryon cradled a small black music box in her hands, her fingers tracing the familiar golden rose and vine pattern engraved across its lid. Moistening her lips with her tongue, she wound the key with deliberate care, feeling the tension build until the lid clicked open. Inside, a golden rosebud lay nestled.


    As the music began to play, the bud the bud stirred to life and gradually began to unfurl, one petal at a time.


    A faint smile tugged at Valeryon''s lips. It was a tune she knew intimately¡ªa piece she and Laurel had composed as an assignment during their lessons with the Immortal Wisp instructors. It was neither particularly elaborate nor groundbreaking, but it was pleasant to the ear, catchy and most importantly, theirs, and that alone made it meaningful.


    Closing her eyes, Valeryon was transported back to the Music Hall, remembered how Laurel made even the most tedious moments enjoyable with his infectious enthusiasm. He would often hum along as they played or randomly begin to belt out absurdly affectionate lyrics to Valeryon, trying to coax a reaction from her.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Valeryon of course did her very best to act indifferent to it and focus on her playing, but considering the pleased look that he always wore afterwards it was obvious that even with having every inch of her obscured, he could tell that she was paying attention to him and that he had succeeded in his goal, despite her best efforts to hide her reactions.


    However as much as Laurel seemed to enjoyed playing music, Valeryon had come to learn there was something else he liked much more.


    Every single lesson, without fail, there was always a point where he eventually tire of his violin, abandoning it with a grin and extend his hand to her with a question. "Dance with me?" he''d ask, his lavender eyes sparkling.


    For Valeryon, dancing had always been a duty. A skill honed through countless gruelling hours of practice for the sake of appearances. It was a rigid art, stripped of joy or spontaneity. She took no pleasure in performing it. Yet, despite her reservations, she always found herself unable to refuse.


    Perhaps it had something to do the way Laurel smiled when they danced, wide and unrestrained, his delight radiating with such sincerity it was impossible not to be swept up in it.


    When the music swelled to a particular climactic sections, a particular memory surfaced, bringing heat to her cheeks.


    Laurel had tried to lift her¡ªsomething he''d seen at a performance his grandparents had taken him to a few years back. He had attempted it without warning, planning to sweep her gracefully into the air, but instead, he stumbled, barely lifting her off the ground. His face had flushed crimson, his smile gone, and for a moment, Valeryon thought he might withdraw into himself as he sometimes tended to do when he was confronted by the limitations of his youthful form in this world.


    However, he did not. Instead, he laughed, the sound rich and unrestrained. Leaning against her shoulder, he shook with mirth, his joy so genuine that Valeryon couldn''t help but find amusement in the situation as well.


    Then when the laughter subsided and Laurel caught his breath, he guided her hands to wrap around his neck, and proceeded to wrap his arms around her waist in a position that seemed more like an intimate embrace rather than any formal dace form that Valeryon was familiar with. He then led her into a new sequence of steps that Valeryon was only ably to adapt to due to her decades of training in dance.


    Valeryon probably should have put a stop to things, requested polite distance to be maintained as was expected of them, but she had not. Perhaps due to being too overwhelmed by the closeness of the moment¡ªthe coolness of his touch, the warmth spreading across her cheeks, the odd flutter within her that she couldn''t quite name. Regardless, without any protest, she let herself be swept along in the moment, so completely captivated by Laurel''s laughter and the ease at which he kept her close.


    The silence following the final note brought her back to the present, and she placed to the music box where the bud had completely unfurled, blooming into a golden rose. Valeryon bit her lip, her fingers hovering over the key. Then, after a brief moment of hesitation, she gave into her desire and wound it once more.


    ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


    39th Day of Lammas, Year 1838


    The next letter was accompanied by a framed painting. Laurel''s messy scrawl on the back identified the scene: "The view from my bedroom window."


    The painting captured a breathtaking landscape: the estate''s sprawling grounds lay nestled against rolling hills ablaze with autumn''s fiery palette. In the foreground, ornate iron gates stood tall, leading to a labyrinthine hedge maze. The maze was intricately designed, its hedges meticulously trimmed and gilded, forming the shape of a rose. Valeryon''s fingers hovered over it, wondering whether such a thing actually existed in reality or if its inclusion was just Laurel taking artistic liberties.


    Beyond the maze, the land sloped gently toward a vast, shimmering expanse of water. Having studied its features on countless maps of the Archipelago, Valeryon immediately recognised it as Crystal Lake, Vesperia''s largest body of water. However Laurel''s painting brought it to life in a way no map ever could. He depicted the lake''s surface reflecting the autumnal riot of colours, a swirling kaleidoscope of golds, reds, and oranges, glowing softly under the amber sky.


    Dominating the horizon was Vesperia Castle, its silhouette a dark crown atop a distant mountain. It loomed with quiet majesty, a watchful sentinel over the landscape. Yet, amidst the realism of the painting, there was an unexpected touch: a bright red heart, simplistic and non-anatomical, that hovered above the castle.


    The sight of it drew a faint quirk to Valeryon''s lips.


    It was Laurel''s signature doodle, a recurring feature on the edges of his classwork that had once baffled Valeryon. So much so that she actually went to the library to decipher what Laurel''s sketches were meant to depict. However it wasn''t in the books that she had found her answers. Instead it was from Laurel himself, who took the initiative to offer her an explanation after he had noticed her curiosity over his sketches the day after her failed attempt to find answers in the library. Valeryon couldn''t prove it, but given how conveniently detailed explanation was, she had a strong suspicion that Laurel knew exactly what she had been up to the previous day.


    With how the bright red heart so bluntly contrasted the realistic style of the rest of the painting, it seemed somewhat out of place¡ªbut Valeryon could not deny that its inclusion added a peculiar charm to it.


    ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


    43rd Day of Lammas, Year 1838


    Sunlight spilled through the tall windows of Valeryon''s chambers, casting warm streaks of gold across the room. In her hands, she held a blade¡ªa deceptively beautiful piece of craftsmanship. The dark steel shimmered faintly with a purple hue, a telltale sign of Draconic Steel¡ªa material Valeryon had become very familiar with due to Laurel''s great fondness for it.


    The blade was double-edged, tapering to a lethal point. The hilt, carved from polished garnet crystal, shaped into a blooming rose. Attached to the hilt was a fine gold chain secured by a magnetic clasp.


    A gentle press on the rose''s centre caused the blade to retract seamlessly, transforming it into an innocuous pendant. Valeryon had received it like this, only discovering the weapon hidden inside when she accidentally pressed the pendant during her close inspection of it.


    She experimented with the mechanism a few more times before leaving the blade unsheathed.


    Moistening her somewhat dry lips, Valeryon ran her thumb lightly along the blade''s edge. A sharp sting followed as the steel effortlessly parted flesh. Blood began to well up, but before it could drip, a soft green glow erased the wound, and left her thumb unblemished.


    Upon her initial read of it, the letter she had received seemed just like any other ordinary update from Laurel, filled with his usual witty remarks, sharp observations and half-hearted complaints. It was only upon her third read, while tracing her fingers over the densely written lines as she contemplated her response, that Valeryon discovered the minuscule faintly glowing storage rune embedded in the text. Unlike Laurel''s usual bold placement of runes at the bottom of the letter for her benefit of finding it easier, this one was meticulously hidden, activating only when her finger brushed its surface and unintentionally sunk into the concealed storage space within.


    Valeryon turned the blade over in her hands, her brows furrowing.


    Why had Laurel gone to such lengths to hide this?


    It was only after everything that happened in Asua that Valeryon had come to the belated realisation that beyond his easy-going nature Laurel could be a very deliberate and calculated individual.


    For him to send her a weapon, despite her known for being subject to the "Healer''s Oath" presented two possibilities. Either he had deduced the truth: that her Oath was a facade and he was merely trying to communicate that to her by sending her the blade, or he feared a threat so dire that he''d rather she risk breaking her Oath than face the danger unarmed.


    Her gaze moved to her wrist, where two glowing runes were etched into her skin. The first was the staff-holstering rune. The second, a recently inscribed storage rune¡ªcourtesy of Master Inscriber Arion who had been kind enough to take time out of his busy schedule working with the Knight Squadrons to fulfil Valeryon''s request for one.


    Her need for one hand been driven by the limitations of the Celestial Interface, which restricted its Inventory spaces to only store items recognised by Mission Central like the briefcase and the harp she had recently acquired.


    In the wake of her previous conversation with Elora, which had thoroughly woken Valeryon up from her appalling sense of complacency she had fallen into with regards to her safety and security, Valeryon had begun to actively take precautionary measures. Over the past week, she had taken the time to meticulously stock the storage space with essentials: emergency rations, gold, spare clothes, and other necessities. Now, in a motion that now felt like second nature to her, Valeryon pressed Laurel''s gift to her against the rune, and watched it disappeared into the pocket dimension with a faint pulse of light.


    Valeryon''s fingers curled into fists, blunt nails digging into her palms. She moved to the window, her eyes fixed on the sunlit expanse of the palace gardens. The scene was tranquil, but her thoughts were not. Shadows of doubt curled at the edges of her mind, but she pushed them aside.


    If her life was to end, if she was to fail one of the Main Missions, she would not allow for it to be due to negligence.


    ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


    45th Day of Lammas, Year 1838


    Valeryon traced her fingers along the embroidered roses shimmering against the deep red quilt. The gold thread caught the light, each precise stitch reflecting countless hours of dedicated work.A quiet sense of pride stirred within her; she knew Laurel would appreciate the extra quilt during his stay in Forester, where the northern cold of Fiore was sure to be unforgiving.


    With a small, satisfied smile, Valeryon folded the quilt neatly and secured it with a silken cord.


    Beside her, a letter rested on the desk, imbued with a glowing storage rune. She held the quilt against it. A soft light enveloped the fabric, and in an instant, it disappeared into the rune''s dimensional pocket. Picking up the parchment, she folded it carefully and slid it into a cream-coloured envelope. Crimson wax was then dripped onto the flap, and Valeryon pressed her personal mailing signet into it leaving the imprint of a stylised "V" flanked by wings. As the seal hardened, glowing holographic wings unfurled from the envelope.


    Letter in hand, she stepped to the open window, enjoying the sensation of the cool night breeze brushed her heated skin. Her silken nightgown fluttered as she held the letter aloft. With a flick of her wrist, she released it, watching intently as the wings flared brilliantly, propelling the envelope into the night sky.


    Valeryon lingered at the window, her gaze drawn upward.


    The heavens stretched infinitely above her, stars scattered like shards of crystal, their brilliance unmarred by the haze of clouds. The night''s colours ranged from deep indigo to vibrant navy, accented by streaks of starlight that painted faint pathways across the cosmos.


    Even after thirteen years to appreciate it, she could not get enough of it.


    The twenty years she spent at the Trial Grounds, the idea of appreciating the night sky had been a distant dream.


    The Courtyard, her sole connection to the outside world, had been strictly functional¡ªa rationed dose of sunlight exposure to maintain her health and wellbeing. Every moment beyond the confines of her bedroom had been scheduled and controlled, reserved for, reserved for meals, lessons, assessments, or the Death Challenges. The Trial Grounds'' regime allowed no time for idle wonder.


    Now, standing under the endless sky, she marvelled at its vastness, committing the view to memory. Tomorrow, she would depart, and for the next three months, the skies above Forester Academy would be her new canopy.


    Her belongings were ready. She had packed, double-checked, and triple-checked each item until her list was seared into her mind. Despite feeling prepared, a strong sense of apprehension gnawed at her.


    On one hand Forester Academy offered her the chance to complete one of the Main Missions graduating from a magical institute. On the other it brought risks that could jeopardise her second Main Mission: surviving long enough to die of old age.


    For example, with the academy being located on an island just off the coast of Asua, the journey to the academy would force her to pass through the City of Endless Winters once more.


    She brushed her fingers over the runic tattoos on her wrist. Closing her eyes, Valeryon forced herself to breathe deeply.


    Worrying was pointless.


    She had faced worse and lived.


    Whatever awaited her in Asua and beyond, she would endure.


    Inhale.


    Exhale.


    Inhale.


    Exhale.


    Inhale.


    Exhale.


    Her heartbeat quickened despite her efforts to steady it. Cold sweat dampened her brow as her breathing grew erratic. Gritting her teeth, Valeryon gripped her trembling fingers around her wrist and dipped her fingers into her runic tattoos.


    Inhale.


    Exhale.


    Still no solace. Desperate, Valeryon released her grip and tapped the Celestial Receiver on her opposite wrist to access her Inventory. A glowing blue window appeared, displaying ten slots. Two were occupied: one by a briefcase labeled "Home Away from Home" in purple and the other by a harp labeled "Harmonic Harp" in gold. Valeryon reached into the harp''s slot. Her hand plunged into the holographic screen before emerging, clutching the delicate instrument.


    Adjusting her posture to cradle the instrument more comfortably against herself, she plucked the strings with trembling fingers. Her fingertips glowed a pale green as she managed to coax out a slow paced, leisurely tune.


    Valeryon sighed, her body slumping slightly as gradually, her heartbeat steadied, her breathing evened, and the tension drained from her limbs.


    She played song after song, each one a balm to her frayed nerves.


    However at some point as the melodies lulled her into a state of profound relaxation, exhaustion began to creep in. Her eyelids grew heavy, and her body swayed unsteadily. Realising her mistake, in a brief moment of clarity, Valeryon hastily returned the harp to her Inventory and stumbled toward the bed. She barely made it before her legs gave way, collapsing onto the mattress in a heap.


    Blindly patting the space beside her, she frowned when her hand met empty space. Forcing her heavy eyelids open, she rolled onto her side and found what she was searching for: a plush dragon. A small smile tugged at her lips as she pulled it close, wrapping her arms around it.


    The room was silent save for the sound of her steady breathing. Valeryon stared into the dragon''s sparkling amethyst eyes for a moment longer before holding it tighter against her chest. With it nestled close, sleep finally claimed her, the weight of tomorrow momentarily forgotten.

 SL: Return to Asua

    A sharp knock jolted Valeryon awake. She blinked, groggy and disoriented, as the pale light of dawn filtered through the open window. A cool breeze tugged at the edges of her blanket, carrying with it the faint scent of salt from the distant sea. She groaned softly, sitting up and wiping a streak of drool from her chin with the back of her hand.


    Her gaze drifted to the stuffed dragon clutched against her chest. The soft fabric bore a damp patch where her face had pressed against it. With a faint sigh, she extended her hand, her hand flaring with a subtle green glow as the moisture lifted from the plush toy, evaporating into nothingness. Once the dragon was dry and pristine, she smoothed its wings and returned it to its usual place on the bed.


    The motion brought her Celestial Receiver to her attention and the events of the previous night rushed back with clarity.


    Reflecting on her behaviour, she realised that it had been a mistake to indulge in her playing as she had the night before. An action intended to regulate her emotions had resulted in her falling into a deep, unintended sleep.


    Her jaw tightened. Such carelessness was unacceptable. Next time, she would be more mindful.


    The knock at the door came again, louder and more insistent.


    Valeryon glanced at the door, then swung her legs over the side of the bed. The spikes embedded in her ankles bit into her flesh as she moved, making her wince, but it helped shake off the last remnants of sleep. She stretched, her shoulders rolling back and took a moment to straighten her posture.


    ¡°Enter,¡± she called.


    The Shrouded glided in, their dark silk gowns whispering against the floor. Glyphs etched into their veils shimmered faintly in the morning light. They moved in unison, wordless and efficient, ushering her into the bathing chamber. Their touch was brisk but precise, scrubbing away the remnants of sleep and preparing her for the day.


    Once cleansed, she was guided to the dressing room. The Shrouded worked seamlessly, moving like shadows around her. One draped the ankle-length coat dress over her, fastening the gleaming gold buttons with precision.


    Next came the white boots. Valeryon stiffened as they slid them over her ankles, the sharp spikes of her anklets catching on the lining. Pain flared, hot and precise, but her magic surged, stitching the wounds before any blood could stain the pristine leather. Her breath escaped in a slow, controlled exhale, as the boots were finally secured.


    The gloves followed, their silk cold at first before warming to her touch. They slid over her fingers like a second skin. Finally, the Shrouded placed the pointed ivory hat atop her head, its veil cascading down her shoulders in folds of opaque silk.


    Dressing complete, the Shrouded stepped back, leaving Valeryon to confront her reflection. The white-clad figure staring back felt like a stranger.


    The white uniform should not be unfamiliar¡ªshe had worn it once before at the fitting¡ªbut it had felt abstract then, a mere promise of things to come. Now it was real.


    ¡°This is Fiore,¡± she whispered, her voice barely audible. ¡°Not¡ª¡± the words caught in her throat as the Ban flared, silencing her before the thought could escape fully. She coughed, trying to dispel the unsettling sensation, but it lingered.


    Drawing a deep breath, Valeryon straightened her back and extended her hand. One of the Shrouded stepped forward, helping her down from the pedestal. Her feet touched the ground with a crisp clack. Her shoulders sagged briefly, but she quickly corrected herself, standing tall once more.


    They led her to the adjoining chamber, where a modest breakfast awaited. The dishes were arranged with meticulous care¡ªflaky pastries, fresh fruits glistening with dew, and a steaming pot of porridge.


    Valeryon sat down, her eyes gliding over the meal briefly with disinterest. Then she picked up her cutlery and began methodically working her way through it until the last crumb was gone. Reaching for her glass of water, she drank it in one smooth motion, savouring the coolness.


    Glass drained, Valeryon rose.


    Crossing the room, she reached for the bedside table. Her fingers found the cool metal of her pocket watch on the bedside table. She picked it up, turning it over in her hands. The Valeryon coat of arms was engraved on the smooth gold surface, catching the light.


    Opening it, she took a moment to read the inscription within: "To my dearest Val, made with the utmost care and love, Laurel." Her expression softened, a fleeting smile ghosting across her lips. She closed the watch with a quiet snap and fastened its gold chain to the waist of her gown, tucking the timepiece into one of the pockets concealed within the voluminous folds of her dress.


    As her gaze swept over the room one last time, and paused on the oversized plush dragon sprawled across her bed. Her hand twitched, hovering uncertainly. She bit her lip, pressing it into a tight line, before exhaling deeply. She stepped forward and took the creature into her arms. A soft flash of light surrounded the plush, and it vanished, absorbed into her storage space.


    With nothing else left to concern her, Valeryon took a moment to straighten her gown, smoothing out the folds before decisively exiting her chambers. The door clicked shut behind her, the quiet finality of it settling over her.


    She had walked these halls countless times over the years, each step a part of her routine. Every detail of the architecture¡ªthe arches, the marble floors, the chandeliers¡ªwas familiar. However as the years passed, the beauty that once captured her undivided attention had long become background noise, something to be passed by on the way to more pressing matters.


    However knowing that she would no longer be able to take these sights for granted made her pause and take everything in with fresh eyes. Valeryon let her gaze wander over the murals that decorated the walls, each brushstroke telling a story, the rich colours pulling her in. The statues that had once blended into the background now held her attention, their stoic expressions seeming to speak to her in a way they never had before. The tapestries, carefully woven and hanging with pride, reminded her of stories she hadn¡¯t thought of in years, memories of childhood lessons she had long since forgotten.


    The air around her was perfumed with the scent of flowers. Vines crept up the walls and arches, their blossoms perpetually in bloom. Valeryon slowed her steps, drawn in by the quiet beauty of the plants. Her gaze drifted to the windows, and she caught sight of the gardens beyond. They stretched out in every direction, vibrant and full of life, perfectly tended.


    She continued her walk, allowing herself to linger on these familiar sights until at last, she reached her destination, the Entrance Hall. The grand double doors opened before her, revealing the expansive space within. There, at the centre of the hall, stood Knight Commander Marcellus and the newly appointed Chamberlain, Elora who both bowed upon Valeryon¡¯s entrance.


    Though his armour gleamed and every strand of his dark hair was meticulously in place, the faint pallor of his complexion and the shadows beneath his eyes betrayed sleepless nights.


    Beside him Elora seemed similarly frayed. Her attire, though immaculate, could not disguise the fatigue etched into her pale face.


    ¡°Your Highness,¡± the Knight Commander began, his voice steady but underpinned by a subtle unease. ¡°Everything is prepared for your departure.¡±


    Valeryon¡¯s brows furrowed. ¡°I trust the arrangements are completely secure?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Your Highness. Every contingency has been accounted for.¡±


    Elora took a step forward, drawing Valeryon¡¯s gaze. ¡°Everything is as it should be, Your Highness. We have ensured that all precautions are in place.¡± She hesitated, then added with quiet resolve, ¡°We will be ready to step in at a moment¡¯s notice, should the need arise.¡±


    Valeryon regarded her for a moment, then nodded. ¡°I appreciate your diligence. Both of you.¡±


    The Knight Commander straightened, a flicker of relief crossing his features. ¡°All matters will be resolved by the time you return for the Yule holidays, Your Highness. You have my word.¡±


    Valeryon inclined her head.


    As a brief silence descended over them, and Valeryon prepared to bid them farewell, when Elora held out a package wrapped in plain brown paper to her. Valeryon¡¯s eyes narrowed as she accepted the parcel, feeling its weight and the familiar contours of something rectangular. A book, perhaps?


    ¡°It is probably best if you open it when you are alone, Your Highness,¡± Elora said. Valeryon probably would have been deceived by the confidence she portrayed if it was not for Elora¡¯s hands retreating behind her back immediately after handing the item to her.


    Valeryon raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth twitching imperceptibly.


    Though Elora¡¯s composure had improved greatly, small tells like this still remained to betray her unease. The irony was not lost on Valeryon¡ªElora¡¯s attempt to conceal her anxiety had become one of the very signals that revealed it.


    Suppressing a huff, she slipped the package into her storage rune without further comment. Valeryon trusted Elora enough not to press her for details now.


    Elora bowed once more, her hands returning to their usual position beside her. ¡°Safe travels, Your Highness. Weekly reports will be sent to keep you updated of the palace¡¯s situation.¡±


    Valeryon pursed her lips. Tradition dictated that she distance herself from such matters, yet Elora and the Knight Commander¡¯s earnestness in keeping Valeryon up to date with palace matters made refusal difficult.


    She mulled over it for a moment.


    Technically, it wasn¡¯t as though she would act on the reports. Merely reading them couldn¡¯t hurt, and the knowledge she gained from it would be useful for when she began her official duties.


    Finally, she gave a small nod. ¡°Very well. Ensure they are thorough.¡±


    Elora¡¯s posture loosened ever so slightly. ¡°Thank you, Your Highness. I will make certain of it.¡± Excusing herself, she turned sharply on her heel, her boots echoing against the polished floors as she exited the Entrance Hall briskly, no doubt eager to resume her duties once more.


    The Knight Commander stepped forward, offering his arm. ¡°May I escort you to the carriage, Your Highness?¡±


    Valeryon accepted the offer with gratitude. While she was accustomed to walking on her own now with minimal issue due to her regular practice, that did not mean it was a pleasant experience to do so. Any reprieve, no matter how slight, was a relief she would accept with gratitude.


    The castle''s main entrance opened onto a grand marble staircase that descended into the sprawling courtyard. Morning sunlight spilled over the polished steps which gleamed like ivory. On either side, colossal statues of past rulers stood vigilant, their stoic gazes fixed on the horizon. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of sea salt mingled with sweet honeyed scent of asphodels blooming along the edges of the path.


    At the base of the steps, a magnificent carriage awaited. Its sleek, obsidian-black exterior gleamed like polished onyx, reflecting the sunlight in dazzling arcs. Gold filigree adorned the edges, curling into delicate patterns. The insignia of the royal family¡ªa phoenix in mid-flight clutching a blooming asphodel branch¡ªwas prominently emblazoned on the doors, the design rendered in vivid detail with inlaid mother-of-pearl and silver seemed to glow softly in the light.


    The carriage¡¯s wheels were crafted from enchanted steel and engraved with intricate runes that glowed faintly with a soft, steady light. Through the partially open door, the interior revealed itself: plush emerald-green velvet lined the seats, accented by gold trim. Crystal sconces shaped like blooming flowers emitted a soft, warm glow, infusing the space with an inviting radiance.


    Hitched to the front were a team of horses, their presence purely ceremonial rather than actually functional as the carriages of the Archipelago had long developed past the need for creatures to manually draw them. Their coats shone like burnished bronze, each muscle taut and perfectly proportioned. Their manes were braided with golden threads, and their bridles bore miniature versions of the Valeryon insignia.


    As the Knight Commander guided Valeryon down the staircase, the murmurs of gathered onlookers rippled through the courtyard. The people¡ªvisitors, guards, and attendants¡ªbowed deeply as she passed. Their attention was burdensome, but something Valeryon had grown to reluctantly tolerate in the decade she had resided here. A feat made easier by her recognising most of these people: the knights who patrolled the halls, the attendants who rushed about the palace completing their tasks, and the rare visitors granted permission to step onto the palace grounds.


    Soon, Valeryon was no longer thinking about them as Valeryon¡¯s gaze was drawn to the two knights standing sentinel beside the carriage doors. Dame Fray and Sir Lowell, clad in gleaming silver-plated armour, were unmistakable.


    Presented with such a familiar sight, her breath caught, and for a fleeting moment she found herself paralysed, but she quickly managed to overcome it before she could make a scene as the Knight Commander continued to escort her down.


    Valeryon had not seen either of her companion knights since the events in Asua. With everything that had transpired since, their absence had faded into the background of her thoughts¡ªor perhaps she had pushed it there deliberately, afraid of what she might discover if she looked too closely. But now, seeing them stand before her again, unscathed and unchanged, looking steadfast and dependable as always, she felt an ache in her chest she could not ignore.


    ¡°It is good to see you both well,¡± she said quietly. She swallowed again, trying to ease the tightness in her throat. ¡°I am¡­ grateful you could join me today.¡±


    The knights exchanged a brief glance, and Valeryon felt her cheeks warm. Had she said too much? She was not accustomed to extending such personal sentiments, and for a fleeting moment, she regretted saying anything at all. But her unease ebbed as Dame Fray¡¯s lips curved into a small, pleased smile.


    ¡°It is an honour, as always, to serve you, Your Highness,¡± Dame Fray replied, her tone warm.


    Sir Lowell¡¯s stoic demeanour softened too. ¡°We are at your service for as long as you will have us.¡±


    The sincerity of their words eased some of the tension knotted in Valeryon¡¯s chest.


    Not wanting to dwell on the matter any further, knowing that it would be best to be on their way soon, Valeryon turned back to the Knight Commander. There was one final formality to attend to.


    As she released his arm, Knight Commander Marcellus stepped back, dropping to kneel before her, the heavy plates of his armour clinking against the ground. Valeryon extended her hand to the man, who clasps it with both of his, lowering his head and pressing his forehead against it.


    His voice rang out, clear and unwavering.


    ¡°I swear,¡± he began, ¡°to lay down my life for the safety of the castle and all else that you hold dear in your absence, Your Highness.¡±


    As the words left his lips, a flash of golden light surrounded them, sealing the oath.


    Goosebumps rose along her arms, and an unwelcome shiver traced her spine. For a heartbeat, the world around her faded. In its place came flashes of terrible clarity: fallen bodies in the snow, blood staining the earth, vacant eyes staring into nothingness.


    She closed her eyes and willed the images away, drawing in a deep breath. When she opened her eyes again, her expression was composed, her voice steady.


    ¡°See that you do.¡±


    As Marcellus rose from his kneel with a deep bow and stepped back, Dame Fray''s voice broke through her thoughts. "Your Highness," she said softly, "shall we proceed?¡±


    Valeryon nodded once, and she was guided her toward the carriage. As she settled inside, the door clicked shut behind her. Moments later the carriage rocked slightly as the knights took their places in front, electing to settle into the coachman¡¯s seats rather than joining Valeryon inside the carriage, perhaps due to more attention being needed to be paid outside due to the presence of the horses.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    Valeryon leaned her head against the cool glass of the carriage window, letting out a soft sigh. Her breath misted up the surface, and she watched it fade as the carriage began to move. Outside, the morning light bathed the world in a golden glow, but her gaze remained distant, unfocused, as the scenery blurred past. Rolling hills, dense woodlands, and shimmering lakes¡ªnone of it truly registered.


    As the carriage neared the city, the scenery shifted. Vinora¡¯s streets buzzed with early morning life. Carriages loaded with crates and barrels lumbered through the crowds. Vendors shouted their wares, and children¡¯s laughter mingled with the chatter of students in crisp white Forester Academy uniforms, tugging heavy trunks toward public carriages bound for Vir¨¦.


    However the royal carriage¡¯s appearance disrupted the lively scene. Heads turned as it rolled past, conversations trailing off mid-sentence. Some pointed openly, others whispered behind their hands, and a few bowed in respect.


    The murmurs from the crowd filtered through the narrow crack in her window, left open to let in the cool air. Valeryon listened absently to the voices as they blended into the usual hum of the city¡¯s chaos, her mind half elsewhere until a nearby child¡¯s voice caught her attention.


    ¡°Who¡¯s in there, Mama?¡± a boy asked, his voice bright with curiosity as he tugged on his mother¡¯s sleeve. His wide eyes were fixed on the carriage.


    "That''s the Crown Princess, Her Highness Princess Valeryon the Second," the woman replied.


    ¡°The Evil Princess?¡± The boy¡¯s voice dropped to a horrified whisper as he clutched his mother¡¯s skirts and shrank back. ¡°She¡¯s here?¡±


    The woman¡¯s smile faltered. Her eyes darted to the carriage, then back to her son. After a moment, she laughed lightly. ¡°Yes, my dear. So remember, if you don¡¯t do your homework and eat your vegetables, Her Highness might come for you¡ªjust like she did with Golden Girl.¡±


    The boy¡¯s face went pale. ¡°No, Mama, no! I¡¯ll be good! Don¡¯t let her take me away!¡±


    Valeryon¡¯s jaw tightened, her hand snapping the window shut with a sharp motion.


    The carriage continued to rattle through the bustling streets of Vinora, the wheels jolting over uneven cobblestones. Valeryon kept her gaze fixed outside, watching the crowded market stalls and hurried townsfolk blur past. Tension coiled in her chest, a taut string threatening to snap.


    Only when they left the congestion behind and entered the quieter outskirts did she allow herself to sigh, shoulders briefly hunching forward before straightening back out again.


    Reaching into the storage rune etched into her wrist, Valeryon retrieved the parcel Elora had handed her earlier. Elora¡¯s only instruction had been cryptic: ¡°Open it when you¡¯re alone.¡± Now, with nothing pressing to occupy her and the journey to Vir¨¦ stretching ahead, it seemed as good a time as any.


    She carefully tugged at the string binding the parcel, peeling back the wrapping to reveal a slim book bound in smooth black leather. Gold lettering embossed on the cover read: The Last Phoenix Monarch.


    Valeryon tilted her head, her cerise and green eyes scanning the title. A fictional narrative. She hadn¡¯t expected that. With plenty of time before their arrival, she cracked open the book and began to read.


    The story drew her in immediately.


    The kingdom of Elaris teetered on the brink of ruin, torn apart by divisions between magical and non-magical factions. Suspicion and fear poisoned every interaction, fanned by rulers who thrived on chaos. At the heart of the story was Serenya, who was known as the Phoenix Monarch¡ªan immortal being reborn from flame with every death, though at great personal cost. Her role as a leader due to her phoenix birthright was was reluctant at best, forced at worst.


    Valeryon¡¯s brow furrowed slightly as she turned the pages.


    The people she fought to protect saw her as a monster. The kingdom she sought to save viewed her as a necessary evil. Even her own allies hesitated to trust her.


    As Elaris spiralled into chaos, Serenya faced insurmountable challenges. A magical plague spread like wildfire, decimating the populace. The non-magical faction plotted subjugation and genocide, while a powerful magical family exploited the turmoil for personal gain.


    Then Serenya discovered the cruel truth of her power. Her immortality wasn¡¯t infinite. Each rebirth eroded fragments of her humanity, leaving her less and less whole. In the end, she made the ultimate sacrifice, surrendering the last remnants of her soul to save Elaris. She became pure flame, a force capable of burning away corruption but at the cost of her very existence.


    Valeryon closed the book, her fingertips lingering on the embossed gold lettering of its cover. Her thoughts churned. Why had Elora given her this book? Was it a message? A lesson? A warning?


    She glanced again at the cover: The Last Phoenix Monarch.


    The selection felt deliberate, yet its exact purpose eluded her. Perhaps with more time and reflection, she would understand what Elora wanted her to grasp.


    The slowing carriage jolted her from her thoughts. Outside the window, the streets of Vir¨¦ buzzed with activity. Colourful banners adorned with house crests fluttered in the wind, their bright hues vivid against the grey stone buildings. Merchants shouted over one another, peddling their wares to the jostling crowds on the cobblestone roads.


    The carriage turned off the crowded main road, and Valeryon who worried over how they would be able to get past the dense crowds of people dominating the streets felt some of the tension leave her body. The noise of the town faded, replaced by the steady clip of horses¡¯ hooves against cobblestone. Soon, the towering iron gates of their destination came into view. As they approached, the gates swung open smoothly, revealing a private lot filled with luxurious carriages.


    Valeryon leaned forward slightly, peering out at the orderly rows. Each carriage seemed more extravagant than the last. She noted the fine details¡ªgold trim catching the light, bespoke designs etched into lacquered wood, and even enchanted sigils glowing faintly in some corners. Many bore the crests of the Twelve Vassal Houses, their emblems wrought in polished metal and enamel. Others, simpler yet elegant designs, marked carriages belonging to notable yet minor nobility of the Archipelago. The entire scene exuded wealth and power.


    Straightening her posture, she prepared herself for what lay ahead.


    As the carriage came to a smooth halt, the doors swung open to reveal a group of uniformed attendants. However before they could act, Sir Lowell and Dame Fray brushed past the attendants to personally assist Valeryon.


    ¡°Your Highness,¡± Sir Lowell said, extending his hand. Valeryon took it, her boots clicking softly against the polished stone pavement as she stepped down.


    The lot was pristine. Marble underfoot gleamed in the sunlight, and ornamental lampposts cast faint shadows over the path. The air carried a subtle jasmine fragrance, perhaps a deliberate touch to mask the underlying earthy tang of nearby stables.


    ¡°Lead the way,¡± Sir Lowell ordered, his tone clipped. He gestured to the attendants, who moved quickly to guide them. Valeryon fell into step between her guards, Sir Lowell at the front, Dame Fray close behind.


    Instead of the grand entrance they had used on during their prior visit, the attendants led them to a smaller, less conspicuous side door. The heavy wooden panels creaked open, revealing a hallway that radiated quiet opulence.


    High ceilings soared above in awe inspiring arcs. Suspended from these heights, golden chandeliers dangled like luminous constellations, their crystal pendants casting a warm, diffused glow across the space. Polished marble floors gleamed underfoot, reflecting the intricate carvings that adorned the walls. Constellations swirled into maps, tracing the vast network of trading routes that connected the Archipelago to the magical world beyond.


    One wall featured the Valeryon crest prominently. The phoenix¡¯s wings unfurled toward two smaller crests flanking it, belonging to the Aerwyna and Lunarys houses. These two houses, pillars of martial strength guarding the borders of the Archipelago, held a place of honour here in the Terminal that no other Vassal House could claim.


    The footsteps of the group echoed softly as they walked the length of the hallway. At the far end, ornate doors swung open¡ªnot to another room, but to a pristine beach. The sound of gentle waves breaking on the shore filled the air, and standing on the sand was the familiar shape of the Etheric Arch.


    Having done this once before, Valeryon knew the routine. As they stepped beneath the arch, the runes flared to life, casting vibrant colours across the space. An iridescent sphere of magic materialised, enveloping them in its shimmering embrace. It lifted them effortlessly off the ground, gliding weightlessly over the turquoise waters below.


    Valeryon leaned back against the curve of the sphere, her eyes fixed on the horizon. The expanse of turquoise waters stretched endlessly beneath them, the beauty of it all lost on her. The awe she once felt at this magical journey had long since been replaced by a tight knot in her stomach which tightened with each passing moment.


    For better or for worse, the trip was over quickly. The sphere descended, delivering them to the shore where another group of attendants waited. Without delay, they were ushered into a waiting carriage. The vehicle set off, rumbling along a dirt road that wound through rolling farmland and sunlit meadows.


    Valeryon stared out the window, her eyes catching on the imposing structure looming ahead¡ªthe Nexus Gate. She felt the hairs of her arms raise as the concentrated magical output in the area increased the close they got to their destination. The feeling was heavy but not as oppressive as it had felt on the first exposure.


    Then the carriage lurched to a sudden stop, snapping her from her thoughts. She leaned out the window, frowning. A long line of identical carriages stretched ahead, all the way up till the Nexus Gate in the distance.


    Of course. She should have expected this. Every single human-presenting child over thirteen from across the Archipelago¡ªVesperia, Viridia, Adhe, Venom, and Varic¡ªwould be travelling to Asua today. Viridia¡¯s Nexus Gate was the quickest and safest route, which meant carriage congestion was inevitable, just as it had been in Vinora and Vir¨¦.


    Thankfully, the staff manning the Nexus Gate were efficient. Despite the sheer volume of traveler''s, the line moved steadily, and the wait, though long, was tolerable.


    Eventually, Valeryon¡¯s carriage creaked to a stop at the base of the Nexus Gate. The crisp air outside stung her cheeks, sharper than she expected, and she shivered. Dame Fray extended a gloved hand to help her down. She accepted the gesture, stepping onto the cobblestone ground.


    The attendants nearby, cloaked in dark hooded robes, bowed deeply at her arrival. Without a word, they gestured toward the long stone staircase leading up to the Gate¡¯s platform. Valeryon tilted her head back, staring at the structure that seemed to scrape the clouds. The Gate was a marvel, an intricate web of steel and light, pulsating with a faint, otherworldly glow.


    She inhaled deeply, steeling herself for the climb. The stone steps were sturdy beneath her boots, but the higher she went, the more her chest tightened. Her breaths grew short, uneven. She curled her fingers into fists, letting her nails dig into her palms for focus. It barely helped.


    By the halfway point, the world around her began to blur. The clouds above and the glow of the Gate melted into a swirling haze. Her steps faltered, and when her foot caught an uneven patch of ground, her body pitched forward. Before she hit the ground, a firm hand caught her arm.


    ¡°Your Highness?¡±


    Valeryon blinked rapidly, trying to find her voice. It didn¡¯t come. Her throat felt like it was closing, her hands trembling uncontrollably. The weight in her chest pressed harder.


    Dame Fray¡¯s grip shifted to hold her hands, firm and grounding. ¡°Breathe, Your Highness,¡± she said softly. ¡°Slowly now. In and out.¡±


    Focusing on the warmth of her touch and the steady rhythm of her voice, Valeryon forced herself to follow the instructions. One breath in. One breath out. Again. Slowly, the tremors in her hands subsided, and the world began to sharpen into focus.


    When she glanced up, Sir Lowell was standing nearby, his sharp eyes scanning the growing crowd. His posture was tense, and his lips moved in hurried, hushed words she couldn¡¯t make out. He turned abruptly and snapped at someone in the distance, though the specifics of his words were lost to her.


    She tried to stand upright, but her legs felt unsteady. Before she could process what was happening, she was lifted effortlessly off her feet. The motion startled her, and she instinctively straightened her back, the ingrained teachings of royal etiquette kicking in even now.


    Time blurred as she was carried away from the crowd. The faint murmur of voices faded, replaced by the sound of her own uneven breathing. Then, a familiar scent broke through the haze. Lavender.


    Cold hands slipped over hers, their chill deep enough to seep through the enchanted fabric of her gloves. They lingered briefly before moving to her face. The cold palms cupped her cheeks, bypassing the veil she wore, meeting her damp skin.


    She leaned into the touch without thinking, the tension in her body melting away. Her lips brushed against the hand that steadied her, and a long, shuddering sigh escaped her.


    ¡°Laurel,¡± she murmured, her voice soft, almost disbelieving. ¡°You¡¯re here.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m here, Val,¡± came the reply.


    Her eyes fluttered open, meeting Laurel¡¯s lavender gaze which carried an uncharacteristic seriousness.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡± he asked.


    ¡°I am now,¡± she said, though the words felt fragile as they left her lips. Her hands moved to rest atop his where they still cradled her face.


    Laurel¡¯s brows furrowed. ¡°If I ask you what happened, will you be honest with me?¡±


    The excuse she had prepared crumbled before she could even voice it. Her fingers curled into the gaps between his. ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know¡± she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.


    She hesitated, debating whether to stop there, to hide behind ambiguity, but the concern etched on Laurel¡¯s face made her reconsider. The dam broke, and she slumped forward, her head lowering as fresh moisture welled in her eyes with a sting adding to the dampness on her cheeks.


    Laurel made a quiet noise, somewhere between a soothing hum and a distressed sigh. His hands twitched as if he wanted to pull away but stayed firm at her cheeks. Valeryon¡¯s grip on him tightened.


    ¡°You are¡­cr¡ª Val, you¡¯re definitely not okay.¡± he said softly.


    She pressed her face into his palms. ¡°I s¡¯pose not.¡± Then, after a shaky breath, she whispered the truth that had been clawing at her chest for a while now. ¡°I don¡¯t want to go back there.¡±


    The confession hung in the air between them, heavier than anything Valeryon had ever admitted aloud. Laurel¡¯s expression softened, and his thumb brushed away a drop of moisture trailing down her cheek.


    He rested his forehead lightly against hers, his voice soft as he said, ¡°You know, we don¡¯t have to go if you don¡¯t want to.¡±


    Valeryon¡¯s eyes fluttered open to meet Laurel¡¯s steady gaze. ¡°We?¡±


    ¡°Yes, we.¡± He smirked faintly. ¡°You didn¡¯t think I¡¯d leave you to deal with this alone, did you?¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s not that simple. The mission¡ª¡±


    ¡°Means nothing,¡± he interrupted. ¡°There¡¯s no real consequence for failure, is there?¡±


    After a pause, she sighed. ¡°No. There isn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Then it is that simple.¡±


    Valeryon lowered her gaze. It wasn¡¯t just the idea of returning to Asua that bothered her, but the memories of the Junior Academy that clung to her like a shroud.


    The eyes always following her.


    The whispers that cut sharper than blades.


    Her forceful separation from Laurel and subsequent isolation that left her questioning her very place in the world.


    Even so the idea of not attending did not appeal to her whatsoever, but for Laurel to suggest such a thing¡­


    She glanced at Laurel and narrowed her eyes with a faint sniffle. Without warning, she reached out and pinched his nose.


    ¡°What was that for?¡± he exclaimed, startled.


    ¡°You¡¯re just looking for an excuse to skip classes, aren¡¯t you?¡± she accused.


    Laurel¡¯s confusion lasted only a second before his expression softened. A dimpled smile spread across his face as he raised his hands in mock surrender. ¡°Darn, you got me. But admit it, Val¡ªyou thought about it for a second, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    Valeryon let out a soft huff, releasing his nose. She turned her attention to their surroundings, unwilling to engage further. But as she took in the scene, her stomach dropped.


    Around her and Laurel shimmered a transparent golden bubble, likely a sound-dampening barrier. Whether it was powered by runes or conjured by an Abjurer was hard to tell.


    Around them shimmered a transparent golden bubble¡ªa sound-dampening barrier, likely powered by runes or conjured by an Abjurer. Beyond its protective radius, a tense standoff unfolded. Sir Lowell and Dame Fray, their armour gleaming in the platform¡¯s sunlight, stood rigid near a hooded Nexus Gate attendant. They seemed to be locked in a terse exchange with two figures whose capes bore winged key insignias. Knights, undoubtedly Laurel¡¯s escort. From their scowling faces, they clearly weren¡¯t thrilled with the subject matter being discussed.


    But the knights weren¡¯t what truly caught Valeryon¡¯s attention.


    It was the spectators.


    On the far side of the platform, a small crowd of people had gathered.


    Students in crisp uniforms clustered together, whispering and casting not-so-subtle glances. Even the adults, some accompanying the students, made no effort to hide their interest. A few feigned busyness, fussing with luggage or exchanging hurried words, but their eyes kept darting back to them, betraying their true focus. Others abandoned all pretence, gawking openly at them.


    Hooded attendants moved through the throng, urging people to disperse. A few complied reluctantly, but most lingered, stubbornly ignoring the instructions. The platform¡ªintended for orderly transit¡ªnow felt like a stage, with Valeryon as its unwilling star.


    Her stomach churned. Had they seen everything? The thought made her nauseous. Strangers witnessing her moment of weakness was bad enough, but knowing many of them were likely her future peers and their families was worse. Her grip tightened on the armrests of the chair she had been placed to rest on, knuckles whitening. She wanted nothing more than to disappear.


    ¡°Val?¡±


    Laurel¡¯s voice pierced her spiralling thoughts. She blinked, her vision refocusing on him, finally taking him in properly. Laurel¡¯s snow-white hair, tied back in a loose ponytail, had a few rebellious strands framing his face. His uniform¡ªan ivory trench coat with gold buttons¡ªwas immaculate, though his gloves and hat lay carelessly discarded nearby.


    ¡°Val, Are you all right?¡±


    ¡°Mhm,¡± she managed, barely audible.


    Laurel¡¯s brow furrowed slightly. He studied her for a moment before speaking again. ¡°Before we go any further, I just wanted to ask¡­¡± He took a measured breath. ¡°Do you understand the meaning behind the gifts we¡¯ve exchanged this past week?¡±


    Valeryon shook her head. ¡°No. You weren¡¯t very clear in your letters,¡± she admitted.


    Laurel sighed, pulling a small wooden box from his pocket. He held it out to her. ¡°I need to explain something.¡±


    Valeryon accepted the box, her fingers brushing the smooth wood. She made to open it, but Laurel placed a hand over hers, stopping her.


    ¡°Not yet,¡± he said softly. ¡°Let me explain first.¡± He straightened, taking a deep breath. ¡°Val, the gifts were intended as a courtship.¡±


    Her mind stalled.


    Courtship?


    The word was familiar¡ªdredging up half-forgotten lessons from Governess Sachar.


    Courtship¡­ presenting gifts¡­ intention of establishing betrothal¡­ concluding in¡­


    Her eyes widened. ¡°Marriage.¡±


    Laurel nodded.


    ¡°Oh,¡± she said, tightening her grip on the box.


    Laurel scoffed. ¡°That¡¯s it? Just ¡®oh¡¯?¡±


    Valeryon considered her response carefully. ¡°I think it¡¯s a brilliant idea.¡±


    His smile faltered. ¡°A¡­ brilliant idea?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± she replied simply. ¡°Once we are married, there would be no reason for anyone to separate us.¡±


    Laurel stared at her, his mouth agape. A flush crept up his neck, blooming across his cheeks. He groaned, covering his face with a hand, muttering something entirely unintelligible.


    Valeryon waited patiently, accustomed to Laurel¡¯s tendency to react¡­ strangely whenever too much blood rushed to his face. Thankfully it did not take too long for Laurel to get his emotions under control.


    ¡°Val.¡±


    She blinked. ¡°Yes?¡±


    He cleared his throat. ¡°Listen, I¡­ That¡¯s not exactly¡ª¡± He hesitated, sighed deeply, and then smiled. ¡°Alright. Let¡¯s do it your way this time.¡±


    ¡°My way?¡± she echoed, confused.


    Laurel laughed. ¡°Yes, your way. Now, open your present.¡±


    The moment he said that, Valeryon¡¯s curiosity took over. She carefully unlatched the metal clasp of the box and lifted the lid.


    Her breath caught as she saw what was inside. She didn¡¯t try to pull the object out immediately. Instead, her hands hovered over it, hesitant, afraid to damage something so delicate.


    ¡°Do you like it?¡± Laurel asked, his voice quieter now.


    Valeryon closed the lid gently and re-secured the clasp. With a flick of her fingers, the box disappeared into her storage space. ¡°I do not believe there is a word sufficient to express how much I do,¡± she replied.


    Rising to her feet without any issue, she extended a hand to him. ¡°We should go. I believe I have wasted more than enough of everyone¡¯s time.¡±


    Laurel laughed, accepting her assistance and rising to his feet. ¡°As you wish, my dearest Val,¡± he said, dimples deepening with his grin.


    The shimmering bubble of silence around them dissolved as they stepped out. The world¡¯s noise rushed back in¡ªa chaotic symphony of voices, distant footsteps, and the hum of magic. The sudden onslaught of sound made Valeryon falter for a moment, the overwhelming stimuli blurring into a faint static in her ears.


    Laurel moved ahead without missing a beat. His voice carried a calm authority as he addressed the waiting knights, informing them of their readiness to depart. With the situation now clear, the group moved past the onlookers and toward the shimmering Nexus Gate.


    As they approached, the magic within the structure awakened. The air vibrated with energy, the runes flaring to life as the Gate opened.


    Stepping through was like entering a living current. The air thickened, pressing against their skin, only to lighten moments later. An invisible force pulled them forward, unraveling the world in a whirl of sensations. Valeryon felt a fleeting weightlessness before reality reassembled itself around them.


    The event which had previously felt like an impossible hurdle to overcome, passed without any issue.


    And just like that, they were through.

 SL: Greetings

    The wind howled like a feral beast, its icy claws raking the air with merciless fury. This was no mere cold that pricked at exposed skin; it was a voracious, unrelenting chill that burrowed beneath every layer of clothing, sinking into the bones and gnawing at the marrow.


    Magic or not, there was no escape from its bite.


    ¡°C-Celestials be damned,¡± Laurel muttered, his teeth chattering so violently it nearly drowned out his words. His snow-white hair, usually tied back with meticulous care, now whipped about in wild disarray. He tugged futilely at his high-collared coat, flexing his gloved fingers, stiff with cold, before exhaling in defeat. ¡°This place is actually the worst.¡±


    Unable to withstand the freezing assault any longer, Laurel sidled closer to Valeryon, looping his arm through hers, leaning into her with a heavy, drawn-out sigh.


    Valeryon turned her head slightly to face him, brows furrowed. ¡°Cold?¡±


    ¡°Freezing,¡± Laurel replied with a lopsided grin, dimples momentarily appearing as he rested his head against her shoulder. ¡°Protect me?¡±


    Valeryon blinked at the weight against her shoulder but didn¡¯t protest, her gaze returning to the sprawling city below.


    Asua stretched beneath them, its once somber streets now alive with unexpected vibrancy. Traders called out their wares from vividly coloured stalls, their voices competing with the brisk melodies of street musicians and the chatter of bundled-up visitors. Strings of enchanted lanterns, their frosted glass panes glowing softly, cast a warm golden light over the bustling thoroughfares.


    ¡°It¡¯s... livelier than last time,¡± Valeryon murmured.


    Laurel let out a soft laugh. ¡°The start of the school year will do that. It¡¯s the only time this frozen pit sees anything resembling excitement, after all.¡±


    Before Valeryon could respond, her attention was drawn by the approaching sound of boots crunching through the snow. She turned, her gaze landing on one of Laurel¡¯s knights, making his way toward them. His heavy cloak billowed behind him, and though his face betrayed no emotion, his measured steps and rigid posture spoke volumes. His movements were stiff, as though preparing for a battle not with the elements, but with something much more formidable.


    ¡°Young master,¡± the knight said, bowing his head briefly. His eyes flicked toward the growing crowd by the Nexus Gate, then pointedly to the closeness between Laurel and Valeryon. ¡°Perhaps it would be prudent to maintain decorum. Your proximity to Her Highness¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªis none of your concern,¡± Laurel interjected smoothly, not even sparing the knight a glance. ¡°However, if you ask me,¡± he continued, his tone light but edged with an unmistakable bite, ¡°it would be more prudent to recognise when your opinion is neither needed nor wanted.¡±


    The knight¡¯s jaw tightened imperceptibly, his eyes flicking between Laurel and Valeryon. A muscle in his neck twitched, but after a beat of silence, he inclined his head with stiff deference. ¡°As you say, young master,¡± he muttered, before turning on his heel and retreating.


    Laurel let out a sharp exhale, his breath curling like smoke in the frigid air. ¡°Grandparents¡¯ orders or not, I should start charging them for every unnecessary comment,¡± he muttered, his grip tightening on Valeryon¡¯s arm. ¡°Let¡¯s move. Standing here won¡¯t make it any warmer.¡±


    Valeryon nodded curtly, allowing him to guide her down the stone steps. As they descended toward the base of the Nexus Gate platform, the gusts that had plagued them began to lose their edge, though the air remained sharp and crisp.


    At the base of the Nexus Gate platform, a sleek black carriage stood waiting, its lacquered surface gleaming faintly beneath a dusting of fresh snow. The horses hitched to it were no ordinary breed. These were northern stock, bred specifically to withstand the brutal winters of Asua. Their thick fur-coated bodies were compact and robust, bracing against the frigid air. Occasionally, their hooves stamped against the frost-covered ground, their breath rising in heavy clouds before being swept away by the stray gust of wind.


    The driver, swaddled in layers of fur and wool, tipped his hat in greeting as they approached, snapping the reins lightly to steady the restless horses.


    Laurel, ever the gentleman when it suited him, opened the carriage door with a flourish, bowing with exaggerated courtesy. ¡°My princess,¡± he said, his playful lilt only slightly undermined by the persistent chatter of his teeth.


    Valeryon huffed softly and stepped inside without a word. Laurel followed closely, flopping onto the opposite bench with a theatrical groan.


    ¡°Who in their right mind thought building a school in the middle of a frozen wasteland was a good idea?¡± he grumbled, tugging off his gloves to rub his hands together in a futile attempt to warm them. ¡°Honestly, were they hoping save on costs by freezing us all to death?¡±


    ¡°We will adapt,¡± Valeryon replied simply.


    Laurel shot her a half-hearted glare before wrapping himself tightly in one of the thick blankets provided. "Easy for you to say, Val. You¡¯re practically a walking furnace."


    Ignoring his remark, Valeryon retrieved her pocket watch from her dress pocket. The soft click of the latch broke the quiet as she flipped it open, her eyes narrowing as she noted the time. There were still several hours to go before the magical bridge to the Isle of Forester would appear.


    Laurel, unable to contain his restlessness, shifted in his seat and peered out the frost-edged window. His breath fogged the glass as he sighed. ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s worse¡ªthe cold or the waiting.¡±


    Valeryon closed the watch with a decisive snap. "Both are inevitable. Complaining about them won¡¯t change anything."


    For a moment, Laurel just stared at her, then shook his head with a wry smile. "Comforting as ever, Val.¡±


    The cold bit sharply at their heels as Dame Fray and one of Laurel¡¯s knights stepped briskly into the carriage, quickly shutting the door behind them with a decisive thud. Warmth immediately began to reclaim the space, chasing away the frosty air that had seeped in.


    "Your Highness, Heir Vesalius, Sir Lowell and Sir Severin chose to remain outside to allow more space inside," Dame Fray explained, her tone steady and matter-of-fact. "They believe the cold will be more bearable once we get moving.¡±


    Valeryon¡¯s sharp eyes caught the glimmer of a coin being tucked into Dame Fray¡¯s gauntlet, and a faint curve tugged at the edges of Valeryon¡¯s lips as she realised that the ¡®choice¡¯ had come down to a coin toss.


    Laurel leaned back, draping an arm over the back of his seat. ¡°Better them than me,¡± he quipped, his snow-white hair shimmering like silver in the warm lantern light of the carriage interior. ¡°I¡¯ve endured enough of this cold to last several lifetimes.¡±


    The carriage lurched forward, its wheels crunching over the frozen streets. The steady rhythm of the horses¡¯ hooves echoed in the quieting streets of central Asua, their lively sounds gradually fading as they neared the outskirts of the city, heading for one final stop before reaching their ultimate destination: the Isle of Forester.


    Nestled off the northwestern coast of Norden, the Isle of Forester was home to Forester Academy, one of the most revered institutions of magical education in the world. Founded over a millennium ago by legendary sorcerers Eridan Forester and Taurian Davos, the academy stood as a beacon of arcane learning and power.


    Reaching it, however, was no simple feat.


    The island¡¯s defences were unparalleled¡ªconcealed by powerful wards and enchantments that cloaked it from sight. Its jagged shores, battered by ceaselessly roiling waves, formed a natural barrier as the sea crashed violently against the rocky coast. Few ships dared venture into these treacherous waters, and even fewer returned unscathed.


    The only reliable means of access was a magical bridge that appeared only at certain times of the year: at the start of term, major holidays, and the end of the academic year. Miss it, and it would be months before the bridge manifested again.


    Asua, as the nearest magical settlement, served as the gateway to the academy.


    In the weeks leading up to the bridge¡¯s appearance, the city¡¯s cobbled streets swelled with travellers, their numbers rivalling the resident population. Accommodations were booked months in advance, and those unable to secure lodging were left to set up temporary camps on the city¡¯s outskirts. Fires dotted the streets and alleys, their smoke thick in the air as clusters of people huddled together, some determined to secure prime spots near the bridge, others simply eager to catch a glimpse of the fabled island. Opportunistic merchants roamed these encampments, peddling enchanted garments, warming rune crystals, and other necessities to desperate buyers.


    For Valeryon and Laurel, however, such struggles were a distant concern. Their identities and status in this world afforded them comfort far removed from the chaos.


    The carriage¡¯s wheels creaked softly as it rolled to a halt. Ahead, their destination loomed¡ªa stately inn nestled among snow-covered pines, their branches bowing beneath the weight of a fresh snowfall. Its stone fa?ade was weathered by time, softened by ivy that clung to the cracks and crevices. A lantern hung above the door, casting a welcoming amber glow.


    Dame Fray and the Vesalius knight were the first to disembark. Dame Fray stretched her limbs with languid grace, her armour catching the faint light as she flashed a smirk at the knight. The Vesalius knight, less enthused, glanced down at his snow-covered boots, his expression souring.


    Laurel followed, his boots meeting the cobblestones with a muffled thud. He turned back, offering a hand. ¡°Careful, Val, it¡¯s a bit slippery here,¡± Laurel cautioned.


    Valeryon accepted his assistance, stepping lightly onto the ground.


    Sir Lowell and Sir Severin, were the last to join them, their expressions suggesting that they were none too pleased about their less fortunate travel arrangement.


    Dame Fray remained unapologetic, briefly pulling the coin from her gauntlet to press a kiss to its surface before tucking it away with a faint smirk playing on her lips.


    As they gathered by the stone steps, preparing to enter, a sudden motion caught Valeryon¡¯s eye. The coachman¡ªquiet and unobtrusive until now¡ªapproached Laurel with a swift, purposeful stride, handing him a folded slip of parchment.


    Laurel''s expression remained neutral as he read it quickly, then tucked it into the inner pocket of his coat. Without a word, he flipped a gold coin to the coachman, who caught it deftly. The man examined the coin carefully, narrowing his eyes before biting down on its edge. Satisfied, he nodded, pocketed the coin, and climbed back onto his seat. The carriage rattled away, its departure marked only by the fading sound of hooves.


    ¡°He¡¯s mute,¡± Laurel explained briefly to Valeryon before gently taking her elbow and steering her toward the inn.


    The steps leading to the heavy oak door were uneven, their surfaces worn smooth by the passage of countless traveler''s. Laurel pushed the door open, and it groaned in protest before yielding. Warmth and light spilled out in a golden cascade, wrapping around them like an embrace.


    Inside, the inn blended rustic charm with understated luxury. Polished wooden floors gleamed beneath the soft, flickering light of crystal chandeliers. Their facets scattered rainbows across richly woven rugs in hues of burgundy and cream. The air was thick with the mingling aromas of roasted meats, spiced stews, and freshly baked bread. In one corner, a harpist plucked her strings, weaving a delicate melody that harmonised with the low murmur of conversation.


    Patrons huddled around sturdy wooden tables, faces flushed from the warmth and the generous amounts of drink they had indulged in. Laughter echoed between the walls, and the crackling of several large fireplaces added to the cozy, vibrant atmosphere. However, as Valeryon, Laurel, and the knights stepped inside, a brief, almost imperceptible hush fell over the crowd. Eyes flicked toward them, then quickly darted away as the room resumed its previous cadence.


    This wasn¡¯t the kind of place frequented by just anyone. The patrons were largely from the upper echelons of magical society or at least had connections to those who were. The inn¡¯s location¡ªnear the bridge''s manifestation point¡ªwas convenient, but it was the establishment¡¯s reputation for catering to high-profile clientele that made it the natural choice for Valeryon.


    Laurel sighed deeply, the tension in his shoulders easing. ¡°Now this,¡± he said with a wry grin, ¡°is more like it.¡± He cast Valeryon a sidelong glance. ¡°Still think we¡¯ll be adapting just fine, Val?¡±


    Valeryon¡¯s lips quirked upward as she muttered, almost to herself, ¡°Comfort is temporary. Discipline endures.¡± It was an old saying she had long forgotten the origin of¡ªone that had carried her through the years of relentless agony in the Trial Grounds.


    Laurel chuckled, shaking his head. ¡°Comfort is fleeting. Discipline endures. Got it. We¡¯ll have to have that carved into your statue someday, won¡¯t we?¡±


    Valeryon refrained from responding, simply gesturing for Laurel to proceed. The unfamiliar surroundings¡ªcomfortable though they were¡ªmade her uneasy. She longed to escape the noise, the watchful eyes, and the unfamiliar faces. Laurel thankfully took the hint.


    They approached the reception desk, where a burly man with a jovial smile greeted them. He had a thick dark beard flecked with grey, and sharp blue eyes took in the party with professional, but friendly, interest. His gaze lingered for a moment on Valeryon¡¯s iridescent veil before his expression broadened into a grin. ¡°Welcome to the Roaring Hearth, Princess Valeryon, and Young Master Laurel,¡± the innkeeper said with a deep bow. ¡°Your suites have been prepared for your arrival.¡±


    Laurel offered a nod, his tone easy as he replied, ¡°Thank you, Orwin. It¡¯s been a while.¡±


    The innkeeper chuckled. ¡°Indeed it has, young master. Welcome back.¡±


    Valeryon¡¯s eyes narrowed. Welcome back? She knew Laurel occasionally came to Asua to visit his aunts, but from what he had previously mentioned, if he ever did decide to stay in Asua¡ªwhich he rarely did, given his disdain for the city¡ªhe always stayed at their residence. So, what business did Laurel have staying at an inn on the outskirts of Asua?


    Her thoughts were interrupted as Orwin handed Laurel two sets of keys, a folded parchment tucked discreetly beneath them. Laurel¡¯s fingers brushed over it in a fluid motion, palming the note as he slid a gold coin into the innkeeper¡¯s hand. The exchange was so seamless, so practiced, that Valeryon almost questioned whether she had imagined it when she caught the motion.


    The temptation to ask burned at her tongue, but she stifled it.


    Now was not the time.


    Orwin offered to escort them to their rooms, but Laurel waved him off with a dismissive gesture. ¡°No need. I remember the way.¡±


    I remember the way?


    As they turned to leave, Valeryon could no longer ignore the question that had been nagging at her. She opened her mouth to speak, but before the words could form, a figure stepped into their path.


    The young man before them was impeccably groomed, his dark brown hair neatly combed and his olive-toned skin glowing beneath the firelight. He wore the pristine white uniform of the Forester Academy, the fabric pressed to perfection and impeccably tailored. A white sash tied at his waist indicated his magical discipline¡ªor lack thereof¡ªmarking him as unspecialised. A silver badge on his lapel, its golden engraving gleaming in the firelight, identified him as a special student of some kind.


    He dropped into a deep bow, his posture immaculate. ¡°Heir Lawrence of House Sachar greets Her Highness, Princess Valeryon the Second.¡±


    Sachar?


    Valeryon inclined her head in acknowledgment. ¡°Well met, Heir Lawrence Sachar. May I inquire as to your relation to Lady Gracelynn Sachar?¡±If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°She is my great-aunt, Your Highness,¡± he replied, folding his hands neatly behind his back.


    ¡°I see. What can I do for you today, Heir Sachar?¡±


    ¡°I beg your pardon for the intrusion, Your Highness, but as you might already know, we Valerites are advised to extend our greetings upon arrival in Asua, to avoid disturbing your studies later during the semester.¡± He hesitated briefly, then added, ¡°If it pleases Your Highness, I would be honoured to introduce the other students who wish to pay their respects as well.¡±


    Valeryon¡¯s gaze swept the room, noting the curious stares they were already attracting. She had been aware of the custom, but hadn¡¯t fully considered its implications. It had been her oversight. With everything else demanding her attention, it hadn¡¯t seemed pressing to address. But the idea of receiving a procession of introductions in such a public setting was far from appealing.


    ¡°Your assistance would be appreciated, Heir Sachar,¡± she said at last. ¡°However, let us find a way to do this without disturbing the inn¡¯s other guests.¡±


    Laurel interjected with a grin. ¡°Leave it to me, Val.¡± Without another word, he strode back toward the reception desk, leaning over to whisper something to the innkeeper. A few coins exchanged hands, and moments later, Laurel returned with a triumphant expression.


    ¡°Meeting room secured,¡± he declared with a flourish. ¡°This way.¡±


    The private room stood in stark contrast to the bustling common hall. Modest in size but rich in atmosphere, it exuded quiet elegance. The walls, made of polished mahogany, bore faint carvings of ocean waves¡ªa subtle homage to Norden¡¯s maritime heritage. At the centre of the room stood a round table, its surface gleaming under the soft light of a brass chandelier. A simple yet tasteful floral arrangement of Eternal Rosette Blooms¡ªFiore¡¯s national flower¡ªadorned the table, their pale pink petals glowing faintly. Velvet-upholstered chairs surrounded the table, their deep emerald hues complementing the room¡¯s warm, earthy tones. Against one wall, a fireplace crackled, casting gentle shadows that added to the room¡¯s cozy, intimate ambiance.


    The knights divided into two groups: Sir Lowell and Sir Severin took guard outside, while Dame Fray and the other Vesalius knight positioned themselves unobtrusively within the room.


    Disregarding all formalities, and earning a disapproving glance from the nearby Vesalius knight, Laurel claimed a plush couch near the hearth. Reclining languidly, he closed his eyes, his snow-white hair catching the firelight like spun silver. Within moments, his breathing slowed, and his expression softened as sleep overtook him. Valeryon, accustomed to his behaviour, allowed him to do as he pleased.


    Lawrence Sachar stood by the door, his posture impeccable. A roster, neatly folded and annotated with his precise handwriting, rested in one hand, while his other gestured subtly toward the attendant the innkeeper had provided to assist them.


    The attendant, a wiry man with a perpetually anxious expression, nodded vigorously to each murmured instruction. ¡°Ensure the students are guided in promptly,¡± Lawrence concluded. The steward nodded again and hurried off to fulfil the order.


    Moments later, the first student arrived¡ªa young girl clutching a fraying satchel. Her wide, uncertain eyes scanned the room before she hesitated at the threshold. Taking a shallow breath, she stepped forward and offered a faltering bow.


    ¡°Clara Renswick, Senior Sachar,¡± she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.


    Lawrence offered a small, reassuring smile. ¡°Miss Renswick, this way.¡± He gestured toward the table at the centre of the room, where Valeryon was seated.


    Clara approached hesitantly, clutching her satchel like a lifeline. Her wide eyes darted nervously around the room before settling on Valeryon. She curtsied unsteadily, her voice trembling as she spoke. ¡°C-Clara Renswick greets H-Her Highness, Princess Valeryon the Second.¡±


    ¡°Well met, Miss Renswick,¡± Valeryon replied, her tone even but not unkind, trying her best to return the sincerity she was offered.


    And so it went.


    And so it went. One by one, the students arrived. Some bore the marks of humble beginnings¡ªcalloused hands, patched robes, and eyes alight with raw determination that spoke of hardship. Others were clearly scions of privilege, their polished manners and refined speech betraying an upbringing of ease and affluence.


    Lawrence skilfully navigated each introduction, ensuring that every interaction with Valeryon was brief yet respectful, maintaining a pace that kept the atmosphere from becoming tedious. At the end of each exchange, he offered subtle gestures of approval, instilling a sense of accomplishment in even the most timid before they departed.


    Valeryon offered the expected courtesies but said little else, choosing instead to observe the proceedings closely. To her, these were not merely students; they were future subjects, potential allies, or hidden adversaries¡ªand this was an opportunity she could not afford to squander. Every nervous tic, every overconfident smirk, every faltering bow and curtsy was a glimpse into their character. In this moment, before the world shaped and hardened them further, Valeryon could see the truths they might later learn to conceal.


    The final student entered, clearly aware of his awkwardness. His hair was a chaotic mess, as though the comb had given up halfway through its task. His uniform hung loosely, ill-fitted and worn, likely borrowed or second-hand. He mumbled his introduction so quietly it barely registered before retreating in a flurry of shuffled steps, leaving the door to click shut behind him.


    Looking a little helpless, Lawrence turned to Valeryon and offered a bow. ¡°Your Highness, that was everyone. I trust the process met your expectations?¡±


    Valeryon inclined her head slightly. ¡°You have handled this admirably, Heir Sachar. I hope it was not too great a burden.¡±


    ¡°Not at all, Your Highness,¡± Lawrence replied, with a faint smile. ¡°It is an honour to be of service.¡±


    Valeryon leaned back in her chair, fingers drumming lightly on the polished table. ¡°If you are not otherwise engaged, Heir Sachar, please stay for a moment. I have a few questions.¡±


    Lawrence straightened, his expression attentive. ¡°Of course, Your Highness. What would you like to know?¡±


    ¡°Tell me,¡± Valeryon began, her fingers still tapping against the wood, ¡°How many students from the Archipelago currently attend Forester Academy?¡±


    ¡°Approximately three hundred, Your Highness,¡± Lawrence replied promptly. ¡°We send about fifty each year.¡±


    ¡°And yet,¡± she continued, ¡°only thirty saw fit to present themselves before me today?¡±


    Lawrence¡¯s composure faltered for a moment. He shifted slightly, his shoulders tightening. ¡°Well... that¡¯s...¡± He cleared his throat. ¡°I apologise, Your Highness, that does seem to be the case,¡± he admitted. ¡°Many see the royal family as distant¡ªproviders of stability, yes, but removed from their daily lives. Approaching you directly, for some, would feel... intimidating.¡±


    ¡°Intimidating?¡± Valeryon echoed, her lips twitching slightly. Her fingers stilled their tapping. ¡°Perhaps. Yet of those who came, only one bore the name of a Vassal House: you. The rest were minor nobles or commoners, some of whom still elected to greet me. Tell me, Heir Sachar, are you the only Vassal House descendant currently enrolled?¡±


    Lawrence¡¯s expression stiffened slightly. ¡°No, Your Highness. There are others.¡±


    ¡°Yet none saw fit to greet me.¡±


    Lawrence¡¯s throat worked as he swallowed, his gaze dropping. ¡°That is correct, Your Highness.¡±


    For a long moment, the only sound was the soft crackle of the hearth. Then Valeryon¡¯s voice broke the silence, softer now. ¡°How do our students perform academically?¡±


    ¡°Exceptionally, Your Highness,¡± Lawrence said, relief seeping into his tone. ¡°King Vilram¡¯s educational reforms in 1683 established a rigorous system. Though magical training begins later than in other regions, the foundational theory ensures our students excel when practical application begins.¡±


    ¡°And socially?¡± Valeryon pressed, her head tilting. ¡°Is there cohesion among the students?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Your Highness,¡± Lawrence replied. ¡°The Society of Valerites, which every Valerite is encouraged to join at the beginning of the year, fosters unity, prioritising our shared heritage over individual magical disciplines. Weekly gatherings promote collaboration, duelling, and idea exchange. Leadership is merit-based, determined by duel victories.¡±


    Valeryon¡¯s gaze sharpened. ¡°Who leads this Society?¡±


    Lawrence hesitated for a moment, his confident demeanour slipping. ¡°Estelle Lunarys,¡± he admitted, his voice subdued.


    Valeryon¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°She was not among those who greeted me.¡±


    ¡°No, Your Highness. She is¡­ otherwise occupied.¡±


    ¡°With?¡±


    ¡°A Council of Valour meeting¡ªa gathering with the previous year¡¯s leaders of the Valour Society.¡±


    ¡°What about the members of this Council of Valour? Were any present today?¡±


    Lawrence lowered his gaze. ¡°Other than myself? No, Your Highness.¡±


    Valeryon¡¯s gaze rested on him, sharp and appraising. A long silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint rustle of fabric as Lawrence shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Finally, she spoke, her tone measured. ¡°That will be all, Heir Sachar. Thank you for your efforts. It was a pleasure to meet you.¡±


    Relief flickered across Lawrence¡¯s face as he bowed deeply. ¡°No need for thanks, Your Highness. I am merely fulfilling my duty. Please, do not hesitate to call on me should you require further assistance.¡±


    With that, he straightened, his steps deliberate but swift as he made his way out.


    As the door closed behind him, Valeryon exhaled softly, her shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. The conversation had been insightful, though it had only raised more questions than it answered.


    Pushing herself to her feet, Valeryon¡¯s gaze swept across the room, landing on the figure sprawled inelegantly on the couch at the far end. Laurel lay draped like an overgrown cat, one arm slung over his face, his snow-white hair in chaotic disarray.


    Sensing her intentions, the Vesalius knight stirred, glancing toward their charge. He hesitated, clearly debating whether to wake him.


    Valeryon raised a hand, fingers barely lifting from her side, but the command was unmistakable. The knight froze, bowing in acquiescence.


    Her footsteps were muffled by the thick carpet as she crossed the room. She paused beside Laurel, studying his relaxed form, then gave his shoulder a gentle nudge.


    ¡°Laurel. Get up.¡±


    He stirred, mumbling something incoherent before pulling his arm away from his face. Squinting against the light, he blinked blearily, confusion clouding his features for a moment. Then recognition dawned, and his lips curved into a dopey smile.


    ¡°Val,¡± he greeted, voice thick with drowsiness. He sighed, sitting up with a grunt, stretching languidly as his joints popped audibly. ¡°Is it over?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    Laurel rubbed the back of his neck, wincing slightly. ¡°If I¡¯d known that meeting was going to drag on this long, I would¡¯ve brought a pillow.¡±


    Valeryon¡¯s lips twitched. ¡°If all three hundred students had actually shown up, I might have offered you one myself.¡±


    He arched a brow, sitting up straighter. ¡°Three hundred? That didn¡¯t feel like anything close to that many people. How many actually bothered to show up?¡±


    ¡°Thirty.¡±


    The humour drained from his face. ¡°Well, aren¡¯t they bold?¡± he muttered, his upper lip curling.


    Valeryon gave no response, instead turning toward the door. Laurel rose to his feet with a sigh, moving slowly as he fell into step beside her, his hands slipping into his pockets.


    They headed toward a narrow staircase tucked discreetly to the side behind a wooden partition in the corner of the inn.


    They made their way toward a narrow staircase tucked discreetly behind a wooden partition in the corner of the inn. The scent of aged wood hung heavily in the air as they ascended the stairs, the creaks beneath their feet blending with the muffled sounds of conversation drifting from the bustling lower floors. The building, old but charming, was adorned with tapestries depicting beasts and ancient battles. One tapestry, in particular, caught Valeryon¡¯s eye: a vibrant phoenix embroidered in gold thread, its outstretched wings and fiery plumage bearing an uncanny resemblance to her clan¡¯s sigil. She might have appreciated it more if the image hadn''t depicted the phoenix being pierced in the chest by an archer''s arrow.


    As they neared the top floor, low murmurs of conversation laced with tension filtered through the narrow space. At this point, Dame Fray spoke up.


    ¡°Your Highness, I believe it is best if we walk ahead,¡± she said, her tone respectful but firm.


    Valeryon considered it for a moment before nodding, stepping aside to let Dame Fray and Sir Lowell take the lead. The narrowness of the stairs made manoeuvring awkward, but after a brief shuffle, the group fell into line, the Vesalius knights bringing up the rear, with Valeryon and Laurel sandwiched in the middle.


    However, as they turned the corner to the top floor, they found themselves face-to-face with the last people Valeryon expected to encounter: Jurien and Jorah Lunarys.


    Jurien, ever the picture of grace, straightened upon seeing them. Her smile softened the tension as she dipped into a perfect curtsy.


    ¡°Crown Princess Valeryon,¡± she greeted, her voice smooth as silk. ¡°I¡ªWe weren¡¯t expecting to run into Your Highness and Heir Vesalius here. I trust your journey here was comfortable?¡±


    Jorah, in stark contrast, leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed defiantly. His expression was openly hostile¡ªhis lips curled into a sneer as his glowing amber eyes flicked between Valeryon and Laurel with disdain.


    Laurel¡¯s lavender eyes narrowed in response. A rarely seen scowl appeared on his face as he returned Jorah¡¯s glare with equal venom. His hands flexed at his sides briefly before he caught sight of Valeryon. The tension left his body with a harsh exhale, and he tucked his hands back into his pockets.


    Valeryon frowned as she observed Laurel¡¯s reaction. The last time they had crossed paths with the Lunarys siblings in Asua, Jorah¡¯s animosity had been directed solely toward her. However, now, seeing Laurel¡¯s response, she began to wonder if something had transpired between them since then to provoke such a reaction.


    Regardless, Valeryon had no patience left to spare.


    ¡°Heiress Jurien,¡± Valeryon¡¯s voice rang clear and polite, though there was an unmistakable edge. "If you don¡¯t mind, we¡¯re quite tired. Perhaps we can converse at another time."


    Jurien¡¯s smile faltered for the briefest of moments, the corners twitching as her gaze flicked toward her brother, her hand betraying a subtle twitch at her side. "Of course, Your Highness," she replied, her words strained but still cordial.


    Jorah, however, did not offer the same civility. His sneer deepened, eyes narrowing with barely concealed contempt. He opened his mouth, likely to speak some biting retort, but Jurien¡¯s hand shot out to grip his arm, stopping whatever venom he had been about to release. Rather than resist, Jorah leaned further into the wall, his gaze never leaving Valeryon and Laurel as they passed by.


    The encounter left a sour taste in Valeryon¡¯s mouth. Diplomacy demanded cordiality with the Lunarys heirs, but Valeryon just could not bring herself to ignore the latent threat they posed.


    She was now almost certain¡ªthough she lacked concrete proof¡ªthat the Lunarys siblings, like Laurel and herself, were Trainees from the Origin. While that should not inherently be an issue, her mixed bloodline made such an association dangerous. The thought of the Lunarys twins possibly discovering her secret and carrying that information back to the Origin made her blood run cold.


    There would be no mercy for someone like her¡ªan anomaly in a galaxy that abhorred threats to the existing precarious balance of power.


    Wars had been waged over less, and if it ever came to that, the Valeryon clan¡¯s prospects were grim. With their dwindling numbers and non-combatant stance, they were vulnerable to subjugation or annihilation by more militaristic clans. Their reputation for impartiality and unparalleled healing skills had kept them neutral in past conflicts, but that had been because they weren''t the source of the conflict. If they were ever at the centre of one...


    She pursed her lips, refusing to allow such a possibility to become reality¡ªnot if she could help it.


    Two rooms had been arranged for them, but Laurel paid the arrangement no heed. He entered Valeryon¡¯s room with the assuredness of someone who belonged there. The Vesalius knights looked as though they¡¯d swallowed something bitter, their discomfort evident. Yet none dared challenge Laurel.


    Once inside, the knights methodically inspected the room. They sealed the windows, secured the doors, and placed crystal-carved ward stones around the perimeter. Valeryon watched, intrigued, as a shimmering translucent barrier briefly flared to life before fading from view upon activation. With their tasks complete, the knights stationed themselves discreetly around the room, doing their best to minimise their presence and grant Valeryon and Laurel a semblance of privacy.


    The room, as befitted her status, was the inn¡¯s finest. Darkwood furniture with intricate carvings gleamed under the soft glow of an ornate chandelier. A plush crimson rug softened their steps, its deep hues complementing the room¡¯s warm ambiance. A large bay window dominated one wall, offering a breathtaking view of the city below.


    Similar to central Asua, the cobblestone streets bustled with activity, street performers drawing small crowds with music and illusions.The clusters of students, guardians, and visitors camping around the area could also be seen, their numbers swelling as the time for the bridge¡¯s appearance drew nearer. Beyond the city, the frozen river glittered like a ribbon of glass, winding through the snow-dusted landscape.


    The entire scene seemed to belong to another world, so far removed from Valeryon¡¯s memories of Asua¡¯s darker corners¡ªits crumbling facades, its despairing inhabitants, its¡­


    She took a steadying breath, closing her eyes against the memories that threatened to overtake her.


    Inhale.


    Exhale.


    Feeling her strength waning, Valeryon settled into the corner seat of a velvety couch near the window, her hands folded neatly in her lap as her gaze drifted to the lively cityscape. Here, Asua felt unrecognisable. Though the buildings still bore signs of age, they were cared for, the streets alive with cheer and purpose. Likely, the influx of visitors and students lent the city its current vitality.


    The couch dipped beside her, and she stiffened instinctively as Laurel reclined beside her. He moved with unhurried familiarity, resting his head in her lap as though it were the most natural thing in the world.


    Valeryon frowned, her fingers moving involuntarily to trace the dark crescents beneath his eyes. ¡°You haven¡¯t been sleeping well,¡± she murmured, her voice tinged with concern.


    Laurel pulled the hand into his grip. A faint smile played at his lips as he tugged her glove free, tucking it into the inner pocket of his tailored coat. His hands, rough from all the hours he spent at the Crafting Hall yet surprisingly gentle, intertwined with hers.


    ¡°I¡¯ve slept enough,¡± he replied lightly. ¡°Just growing pains. Nothing to fret over.¡±


    Valeryon¡¯s frown deepened, but before she could press further, Laurel deftly shifted the conversation.


    ¡°Speaking of things to fret over,¡± he began, his thumb brushing the back of her hand, ¡°should we extend this little courtship of ours, or skip straight to the betrothal? Personally, I wouldn¡¯t mind either way, but betrothal does have a certain¡­ permanence to it, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    Valeryon blinked, caught entirely off guard by his abruptness. She took a moment to process the question, her mind scrambling for an appropriate response. ¡°Progressing to a betrothal,¡± she began carefully, ¡°would require proper arrangements. Informing your grandparents, as well as Elora, would be the first steps. The Yule holidays are probably the most ideal for such discussions.¡±


    Laurel sighed dramatically, cradling her hand against his chest as though her response had wounded him. ¡°Val, my ever-practical Val. You¡¯re far too level-headed for someone like me.¡± His playful tone softened into something more sincere. ¡°If it were up to me, I¡¯d marry you today.¡±


    The casual declaration sent a ripple of something unfamiliar through her. Her hand twitched in his grasp, caught between the instinct to pull away and the grounding comfort his touch brought. Laurel noticed, of course. His grip tightened, just slightly, anchoring her while his lips curved into a knowing smirk.


    ¡°You¡¯d like that, wouldn¡¯t you?¡± he teased, his voice low and velvety.


    ¡°I¡­¡± Words failed her as his steady gaze left her unmoored. ¡°That would not be proper,¡± she finally managed.


    Laurel arched an eyebrow. ¡°And why not?¡±


    ¡°It would be akin to an elopement,¡± she explained, her tone growing firmer. ¡°The scandal¡ª¡±


    Laurel¡¯s laughter interrupted her, warm and carefree. ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± he admitted, his eyes twinkling. ¡°It would cause a stir, wouldn¡¯t it? Besides, for our first wedding, my princess deserves a spectacle. The grandest wedding this world has ever seen.¡±


    Valeryon nodded solemnly. ¡°That is what would be expected of me.¡±


    Still chuckling, Laurel relaxed further into her lap, his eyelids growing heavier. The sharp wit in his expression gave way to weariness as a yawn escaped him. Noticing his fatigue, Valeryon raised her free hand to gently cover his eyes, her gloved fingers brushing against his cool skin.


    ¡°You should rest,¡± she urged softly.


    Laurel blinked slowly beneath her hand, a faint smile tugging at his lips. ¡°Only because you asked so nicely,¡± he murmured. Within moments, his breathing evened out, his frame relaxing as sleep claimed him.


    Valeryon glanced at her knights stationed by the door, and with a simple nod, they moved to draw the heavy curtains, leaving only the dim light of the chandelier above.


    Checking the time, she noted there were still nearly two hours before they were due to depart.


    Reaching into her storage rune, she retrieved a thick tome¡ªthe Compendium of Forester Academy, a dense volume detailing the institution¡¯s history. Though the book promised valuable insights, its dry prose made it a challenging read. She had been working her way through for a while now, a few chapters at a time, but she had yet to reach the halfway mark.


    As she skimmed the dense text, the rhythmic cadence of Laurel¡¯s snores filled the room. Her resolve to stay awake faltered under the combined weight of her own fatigue and the book¡¯s monotony. Slowly, her grip slackened, and the book slipped shut in her lap.

 SL: Forester Academy

    Valeryon jolted awake, her neck protesting the awkward angle she had slumped into. A dull ache throbbed at the base of her skull, and she winced, rolling her shoulders to ease the stiffness. Awareness seeped back slowly, like a cold draft creeping through cracks, and with it came the oppressive weight of all that loomed ahead.


    The muted glow of the crystal chandelier overhead bathed the room in soft, golden light, scattering delicate patterns across the walls. The quiet murmur of voices beyond the door tugged at her senses¡ªdistant yet insistent. Yet it was neither the voices nor the chandelier that drew her attention.


    Her thighs were pinned, soft warmth pressing down like an anchor tethering her to the waking world.


    Laurel.


    He lay sprawled across the couch, his head resting on her thighs, one arm dangling over the edge. His snow-white hair was a disheveled mess, stray strands sticking out at odd angles, catching the golden light like threads of spun moonlight. He slept with an enviable serenity, his breathing steady and untroubled, as if even all the world''s weight dared not disturb him.


    Valeryon remained still for a moment, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest, her thoughts sluggish as she worked to collect herself.


    Fragments of memory surfaced: the dry crackle of a page turned, the weight of a book in her hands, and the irresistible pull of exhaustion. The faint thud of something falling had roused her briefly, but not enough to wake her fully.


    A glance down confirmed her suspicion¡ªher book lay discarded on the floor beside her boots, its spine cracked, pages crushed at odd angles.


    Her hand hovered at her side, unsure whether to retrieve the book or let it lie. However, before she could make a decision, Laurel stirred.


    A deep inhale, a faint crease of his brow, and then his lavender eyes fluttered open, catching the chandelier''s light like polished amethyst. He blinked, once, twice, then his gaze settled on her. A slow, languid smile tugged at the corners of his lips.


    "Good morning, Val," he murmured, voice still thick with sleep. "Hope I didn¡¯t drool on you again."


    Valeryon¡¯s lips twitched as the words she wanted to say formed in her mind, only to wither away before they could escape. She opened her mouth, hesitated, then closed it again. A stiff shake of her head was all she could muster in the end.


    Laurel pushed himself upright with a low grunt, stretching his arms above his head in an indulgent motion. His back arched, a quiet crack echoing through his spine as his muscles unwound. A deep yawn escaped him, and his already-messy white hair fell even more wildly around his face. He groaned, running a hand through the mess, wincing when his fingers caught on a particularly stubborn knot.


    "Well, this is just great," he muttered, tugging at the knot in vain. It only tightened. He leaned back against the couch with a sigh, raising an eyebrow at Valeryon, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "I probably look like a right mess right now, huh? Care to help me out, Val?¡±


    Valeryon blinked, momentarily thrown by the casual request. He wanted her to help him with his¡­hair?


    Laurel did not seem to notice her hesitation¡ªor maybe he did and simply did not care. He turned his head slightly, exposing more of the tangled mess as if her compliance was a foregone conclusion.


    Valeryon exhaled softly and reached for the brush from her storage rune, its cool handle familiar in her grip as she pulled it out.


    She began at the crown of his head, combing through as she would her own, but immediately encountered resistance. The bristles snagged on a particularly stubborn tangle. Laurel flinched, his shoulders tensing.


    ¡°Did I hurt you?¡± Valeryon asked, brow furrowing.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± he muttered, though the strain in his voice suggested otherwise.


    Her frown deepened. It certainly was not fine.


    Valeryon sifted through her memories, searching for something useful. Thankfully she did not have to think for long as a lesson surfaced from her days in the Trial Grounds¡ªburied among the endless recordings on etiquette and appearances she had once been forced to consume, but dismissed as trivial.


    Start from the ends, then work upward.


    She adjusted her grip, focusing on the tips of his hair. Slowly, methodically, she worked through the tangles. The difference was immediate¡ªLaurel¡¯s shoulders relaxed, the tension unwinding as she found a rhythm. Her movements were slightly awkward at first, but gradually, they became fluid. The task became almost meditative, her focus narrowing to the glide of the brush through his hair, the steady sound of each strand being untangled.


    When the last tangle came free, Valeryon set the brush aside and gathered his now-smooth hair. Her fingers moved steadily as she parted the strands into three even sections and began braiding, weaving a tight, clean plait. When the braid was done, she tied it off with the same ivory silk ribbon that had held his hair before.


    Laurel reached up and gave the braid a gentle tug, inspecting it with a grin. ¡°Not bad,¡± he said. ¡°Thank you, my dear.¡±


    She simply nodded.


    With his hair out of his face, Valeryon found her gaze lingering on Laurel¡¯s now-uncovered earlobes. An unbidden image flashed through her mind: the gleam of crystals against his skin, catching the light. Before she could second-guess herself, she reached out, brushing her fingers against the soft flesh.


    ¡°You would look good with earrings,¡± she said, the words slipping out unfiltered.


    Startled by her own audacity, she quickly withdrew her hand, but Laurel caught it mid-retreat, guiding it back to his ear. ¡°Would I now?¡± he asked, leaning closer. ¡°What would you have me wear, my princess?¡±


    Valeryon hesitated, her instinct to dismiss the comment faltering under the genuine interest expressed in Laurel¡¯s gaze. She thought for a moment, then retrieved a small jewellery case from her storage rune. Inside, rows of earrings lay arranged by colour and design.


    Her fingers hovered briefly before selecting a pair of amethyst studs. She held them out. ¡°These.¡±


    Laurel took the earrings, inspecting them with a softened smile. ¡°From last Beltane, aren¡¯t they?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± She hesitated again. ¡°Do you want me to¡­?¡±


    ¡°Please,¡± he said, tilting his head.


    Valeryon¡¯s heart raced as she summoned her magic. Her hands trembled briefly, but she steadied them under the soft green glow that enveloped her fingers. With deliberate care, she sterilised the area and numbed the surrounding pain receptors before positioning each stud with precision. The piercings were completed with a single smooth motion, each stud settling perfectly into place.


    Laurel¡¯s hand twitched slightly at his side, but it seemed more like a reflex than a sign of pain.


    It took barely any effort for Valeryon to accelerate the healing of the surrounding flesh. The faint glow of her magic smoothed the skin seamlessly, leaving no trace of the procedure. Afterward, she took a moment to fasten the small silver clasps at the back, securing the studs in place.


    Valeryon sighed, leaning back to inspect her work. The studs glinted against his skin, catching the chandelier¡¯s light. They were just as striking as she had envisioned.


    ¡°All done,¡± she said softly, brushing her fingers lightly over his earlobes one last time to ensure the skin was unbroken. ¡°Would you like to check if they need adjusting?¡±


    Laurel¡¯s hand rose to hover near his ear. A faint flush coloured his cheeks as he shook his head. ¡°No need. I trust your judgement.¡±


    His quiet sincerity stirred something unfamiliar in her chest. Unsettled, she sought a distraction, glancing at her pocket watch. The sight of the time made her stiffen. ¡°The bridge will manifest soon,¡± she said briskly, rising to her feet.


    Laurel followed suit without protest, falling into step beside her.


    She bent to retrieve the book she had been reading earlier, but before she could close her fingers around it, Laurel smoothly took it from her. ¡°I¡¯ll mend it and return it to you,¡± he said, tucking it into his own storage rune.


    Valeryon nodded, her voice softer than she intended. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    They found their knights, who had been conspicuously absent from their room, outside.


    Dame Fray and Sir Lowell were conversing quietly with the Vesalius knights in a shadowed alcove not far from their room. Snatches of whispered words¡ª¡°intimate behaviour,¡± ¡°rumours,¡± and ¡°unemployment¡±¡ªreached Valeryon¡¯s ears just before the knights noticed them. The conversation broke off abruptly, and a tense silence settled. The knights shifted awkwardly, their gazes suddenly intent on the polished wooden floorboards beneath their boots.


    Valeryon intended to pass by without comment, but Laurel slowed slightly. A faint, amused smirk curved his lips, and his lavender eyes gleamed with mischief.


    ¡°What were you talking about?¡± he asked lightly, his voice carrying a deceptive warmth that made the knights visibly stiffen.


    Dame Fray opened her mouth to respond, but the Vesalius knights beat her to it, stumbling over themselves with hurried denials that only confirmed the obvious: the subject of their whispers had been Valeryon and Laurel.


    Valeryon exhaled softly and cleared her throat. ¡°The bridge,¡± she said, her tone brooking no argument. ¡°We need to leave.¡±


    The knights snapped to attention, their embarrassment swiftly buried beneath professional discipline as they fell into formation. The Vesalius knights took the lead, while Dame Fray and Sir Lowell brought up the rear.


    Descending to the inn¡¯s main floor, they were greeted by the bustling din of the common area. Voices rose and fell like restless tides, accompanied by the clinking of tankards and bursts of raucous laughter. The rich aroma of roasted meats and spiced ale hung thick in the air, mingling with the crackle of the hearth fire. Orwin, the innkeeper, paused in his tasks to greet them, wiping his hands on his apron before accepting the room keys from Laurel.


    ¡°Thank you for staying at the Roaring Hearth,¡± Orwin said, his voice warm but pitched to carry over the clamour. He bowed low, his weathered face creasing with respect. ¡°Safe travels, Your Highness. Young Master Laurel. Your patronage is, as always, greatly appreciated.¡±


    Valeryon inclined her head in acknowledgment. Together, they stepped back out into the unforgiving grip of Asua¡¯s winter, the cold folding around them like a familiar but unwelcome embrace. The streets of Asua were alive with motion¡ªstudents, guardians, and foreign visitors alike wove through the slush-covered thoroughfares in a tapestry of vibrant colours and diverse accents. Overhead, the sky deepened into twilight, painted in streaks of violet and gold, while street lamps flickered to life, their warm glow reflecting off the churned snow..


    Valeryon barely registered the crunch of the icy street beneath her boots when Laurel¡¯s cool fingers brushed against hers. Without hesitation, his hand naturally intertwined with hers. She glanced down briefly at their joined hands, but chose to say nothing, her attention returning to the winding streets ahead.


    Their path was toward the cliff¡¯s edge, where Forester Academy¡¯s famed bridge would soon appear. The closer they came, the denser the crowd grew. The crisp air was alive with the sound of chatter and the soft crunch of boots on snow. Breath rose in pale clouds, and a shared sense of anticipation rippled through the crowd, tangible as static.


    However, before they could get any further, the crowd nearby stirred like a restless tide. Valeryon¡¯s sharp gaze swept over the sea of shifting faces, quickly locating the source. Three students, flanked by a cadre of knights. Their sashes were conspicuously absent, marking them as first-years like Valeryon and Laurel. However, the crests on the knights¡¯ armour left little doubt about their identities: the golden apple of House Mallory, the coiled serpent of House Graham, and the raven of House Corbin¡ªsymbols of some of the most influential Noble Houses of Mainland Fiore.


    As their groups came face-to-face, the tension in the air crystallised, thick and unyielding. The boy at the center, with sharp features and chestnut-brown hair, stepped forward. Placing a hand to his chest, he inclined his head.


    ¡°Heir Morpheus Graham of the Most Noble House of Graham, descendant of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Forester, greets Crown Princess Valeryon the Second.¡±


    The raven-haired boy to his right followed, his piercing grey eyes unreadable as he mirrored the gesture. ¡°Aquila Corbin of the Most Noble House of Corbin greets Crown Princess Valeryon the Second.¡±


    Finally, the pale, blonde girl stepped forward, her curtsy precise and elegant. ¡°Appoline Mallory of the Most Noble House of Mallory greets Crown Princess Valeryon the Second.¡±


    Valeryon regarded them with a measured nod, ¡°Well met, Heir Graham, Heir Corbin, and Heiress Mallory.¡±


    Morpheus straightened, a faint smirk playing on his lips. ¡°Your Highness, I trust our greetings meet your expectations. Living under a democracy as we do in Mainland Fiore, encounters with individuals of your... caliber are rare. Why, when my father informed me of your enrolment, I was skeptical, given the lack of¡­ fanfare regarding your arrival. How extraordinary it is to be proven wrong.¡±


    ¡°It truly is an honour, Princess Valeryon,¡± Appoline added warmly. ¡°I look forward to learning alongside you and becoming better acquainted over the course of our studies.¡±


    Aquila¡¯s gaze narrowed slightly as he spoke, his tone probing. ¡°If fate permits, perhaps our paths will align. We are each destined to follow our families¡¯ legacies¡ªme as a Diviner, Appoline as a Psychic, and Morpheus as a Necromancer. Have you decided on your Path yet, Your Highness?¡±


    Before Valeryon could respond, Appoline interjected with a reproachful look at Aquila. ¡°That is hardly an appropriate question to ask. Princess Valeryon is of a Healer¡¯s lineage. Her path is clear.¡±


    Aquila raised an eyebrow, his tone cool. ¡°Not entirely. Her lineage is diverse. King Vilram Valeryon was a Psychic-Diviner. King Valeryon the First, revered as a Healer, also demonstrated the skills of a Creator. And let us not forget King Varic, who also excelled as a Creator sorcerer. Therefore, the question is entirely valid. So, Princess Valeryon, what Path calls to you?¡±


    ¡°I have no preference,¡± Valeryon replied evenly. ¡°Each Path has its merits.¡±


    Morpheus scoffed, his voice dripping with derision. ¡°How diplomatic. Personally, I find the Unspecialised Path laughable. It¡¯s nothing more than a glorified dumping ground for the inept and unremarkable. Dimwits, the lot of them.¡±


    ¡°Morpheus!¡± Appoline snapped, glaring at him.


    "What? It¡¯s true," he said with a shrug. ¡°If I were ever assigned to that Path, I¡¯d find the nearest tower and use that white sash to hang myself before my family had the chance to disown me.¡±


    Aquila snickered, crossing his arms. ¡°He¡¯s not wrong, Appoline. Better a Kinaesthetician than Unspecialised, though only barely. At least brute strength has some utility, even if it is quite primitive.¡±


    A sharp voice cut through the conversation like a whip. ¡°Watch your mouth, you Corbin crook!¡±


    All eyes turned toward the speaker¡ªa red-haired boy nearby, his jaw tight and fists clenched.¡°Being a Kina¡ªKinaewhatever¡ªbeing a hero is a hundred times better than joining the Paths of cowards, schemers, and murderers!¡±


    Aquila rolled his eyes. ¡°Careful, Ruadh. Don¡¯t strain yourself. It¡¯s pronounced Kinaesthetician. No need to thank me. And considering your family¡¯s... recent financial struggles, consider that lesson free.¡±


    Valeryon¡¯s interest piqued. Ruadh. Another of the Mainland¡¯s Noble Houses.


    Morpheus sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. ¡°How incredible that you still have the nerve to show your face here after the disgrace your brother brought upon your House, Ruadh.¡±


    Ruadh¡¯s fists clenched. "My brother did nothing wrong! His only mistake was not having enough sense to stay away from your kind."


    Appoline stepped forward. ¡°Did nothing wrong? Have you forgotten how he broke his Oath to my sister on their betrothal day? For some¡ªsome¡ª¡±


    ¡°The Oath wasn¡¯t binding!¡± Ruadh shot back, voice rising. ¡°It was just a verbal promise. And even if they had made a magical oath, it wouldn¡¯t have mattered because your sister used mind magic to trap him!¡±


    Appoline¡¯s expression turned withering. ¡°If my sister truly used mind magic, why would she waste it on someone as insignificant as your brother? She could have had anyone from a far more respectable House. Frankly, your brother¡¯s filth stained our House.¡±


    Ruadh¡¯s face flushed with anger. ¡°Do not speak about my brother or my family that way! Your sister bewitched him, and my sister-in-law helped him break free!¡±


    Aquila snorted. ¡°I¡¯m sure she ¡®helped¡¯ plenty. Surprising that your family even managed to send you here, Ruadh. After the compensation your House paid to House Mallory, I figured they would have you working as well to make ends meet.¡±


    ¡°Say what you want, Corbin,¡± Ruadh shot back, ¡°but all of Fiore knows your Houses are full of evil sorcerers, always looking to take advantage of honest, hard-working people like my parents.¡±


    The argument swelled into a cacophony of voices¡ªaccusations and retorts volleyed back and forth, each sharper and more biting than the last. It was chaos wrapped in decorum, polished insults barely concealing raw animosity. As the debate raged, Valeryon stood silently, watching with a keen, detached interest.


    From the corner of her eye, she noticed Laurel. He, too, was absorbed, though the hand covering his mouth, did a poor job of hiding the amusement he was trying to conceal. The corners of his lips twitched with the effort to suppress a grin, and his dimples twitched from the effort of it.


    Though petty on the surface, the exchange laid bare deeper currents: old wounds festering beneath polished exteriors, rivalries sharpened over years of political manoeuvring, and alliances that clung together only out of convenience. It was a microcosm of Mainland politics, every sentence a weapon, every pause a calculated risk. Valeryon listened intently, her mind mapping the labyrinth of relationships and hidden motivations. She filed each revelation away, knowing that even the smallest detail might one day prove useful.


    The surrounding crowd stirred, their murmurs growing restless as they shifted and craned their necks. But a glance around revealed nothing out of the ordinary¡ªjust the sea, glistening under the sun, and the endless stretch of sky above.


    Valeryon pulled out her pocket watch, its polished surface gleaming briefly in the light. Flicking it open, she glanced at the hands before snapping it shut with a soft click. Her gaze turned seaward, scanning the distant horizon for the bridge. It should have appeared by now.


    One minute passed. Then another. And another. The horizon remained stubbornly blank, an expanse of mocking blue that stretched to infinity.


    Her brow furrowed, the faintest line marring her otherwise impassive expression. She checked the watch again¡ªno mistake. The time was correct.


    The ocean breeze, salty and cool, brushed against her face, tugging at the edges of her veil. She strained her eyes, peering into the distance once more.


    ¡°It¡¯s late,¡± Valeryon murmured.


    ¡°Hm?¡± Laurel tilted his head, a smile curling his lips. ¡°No, it¡¯s here. Look again.¡±


    And then, it began.


    A deep, resonant rumble rose from beneath the waves, a sound that vibrated through the ground and up into the soles of her feet. The crowd fell silent, a collective gasp escaping as the waters stirred.


    Before them, the sea parted with an almost ethereal grace, revealing a glimmering pathway stretching into the ocean¡¯s depths. Towering walls of translucent water rose on either side, refracting sunlight into a kaleidoscope of colours that danced across the faces of the awestruck onlookers. Schools of fish darted through the shimmering barriers, their forms distorted by the undulating surface.


    A low grinding noise drew Valeryon¡¯s attention to the cliffs nearby, where massive stone disks adorned with intricate runes emerged from concealed recesses. With a ponderous groan, the disks slid forward, locking into place with thunderous finality. Atop each stood a robed figure, their silhouettes stark against the radiant sea. In unison, the figures raised their staffs and stamped them against the stone.


    Above their heads, glowing numerals blazed to life, hovering in the air like fiery sigils: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.


    ¡°Study years,¡± Valeryon murmured, her gaze flicking toward Laurel. ¡°We should head to platform one.¡±


    Navigating the throng was no simple task, but the knights flanking them moved with practiced efficiency, clearing a path through the dense crowd. As they approached the platform, Valeryon noticed a faint shimmer in the air¡ªa ward.


    She watched as a guardian tried to embrace their child, only to be gently repelled by the ward¡¯s unseen force. The parent lingered at the boundary, their fingers brushing futilely against the barrier as the child waved goodbye from within.


    As they came to a stop just beyond the ward, Dame Fray stepped forward, bowing deeply. ¡°Your Highness, before you depart, I must inform you that Sir Lowell and I will be stationed in Asua throughout your semester. Should you require anything¡ªsupplies, assistance, or protection¡ªplease do not hesitate to call upon us.¡±


    Valeryon inclined her head. ¡°Thank you, Dame Fray. I shall keep that in mind. Please be sure to take good care of yourselves in the meantime.¡±


    Behind Dame Fray, a small cluster of people began to gather, their impatience clear as the knights¡¯ presence blocked their passage. Noting this, she glanced at Laurel.


    Laurel¡¯s tone was breezy as he waved to his knights. ¡°Don¡¯t lose sleep worrying about what the ¡®ancient relics¡¯ back home will think. We¡¯ve got an agreement, and they won¡¯t meddle. But if you¡¯d rather not risk it, you¡¯re welcome to stay in Asua with Her Highness¡¯s knights. I might need a few things later, and having you around could be... convenient. Your call¡ªjust send me a letter when you decide.¡±


    With their farewells exchanged, Valeryon and Laurel stepped onto the platform together. The ward hummed faintly, acknowledging their presence and allowing them through without obstruction.


    Valeryon¡¯s eyes swept over the crowd, her initial composure faltering as surprise flickered across her face. Far more first-years than expected had gathered here. The platform, though vast, teemed with students, their eager, nervous faces a sea of unfamiliarity. Conversations buzzed in the air, blending into a cacophony that filled the space. She and Laurel wove their way toward a quieter corner, moving with an unspoken understanding to distance themselves from the pressing throng.


    A sudden gust of icy wind sliced through the crowd, carrying with it the sharp bite of frost. It stirred skirts and tousled hair, sending shivers rippling through the gathered students. Laurel abandoned any attempt at composure, pressing himself firmly against Valeryon¡¯s side and linking his arm through hers without hesitation. His normally cool skin felt even colder against her, seeking whatever amount of warmth she could provide.


    Valeryon gave him a sidelong glance. She could feel his weight leaning into her, but she said nothing, simply allowing the gesture. The chill subsided almost as quickly as it had come, though Laurel remained nestled close, his cheek brushing her shoulder as if reluctant to let go.


    As the last of the students trickled onto the platform and the whispers began to quiet, the figure standing at the centre of the platform, a striking woman,¡ªa staff member, no doubt¡ªcleared her throat, instantly commanding attention. She stood atop a slightly raised dais, her presence radiating authority. A glowing runic crystal pendant hung from her neck, pulsing softly with light. The glow intensified as she spoke, her voice amplified, reverberating through the air.


    ¡°Welcome, first-years,¡± she began, her tone steady yet laden with expectation. ¡°I am Carmina Mayweather, Deputy Headmistress of Forester Academy and Professor of Arcane Defence. You may address me as Professor Mayweather. Before we proceed, there are several critical matters to discuss. First and foremost¡ªyour safety.¡±


    Her gaze swept over the crowd, lingering just long enough to silence any lingering murmurs. ¡°This platform will carry us across the Bridge of Transference. While the wards surrounding us are robust and designed to protect against most external threats, they are not infallible. For your own safety, I strongly advise keeping a safe distance from the edges. Caution will serve you well here¡ªand beyond.¡±


    Once the crowd, including Valeryon and Laurel, shifted to accommodate the suggestion, Professor Mayweather continued. ¡°Now, I understand that this has probably been a long day for many of you, and rest is no doubt on your minds. But before that, we have a few more important matters to address. The first being the Pathway Selection Ceremony.¡±


    At this, a ripple of excitement coursed through the crowd, whispers flaring up among the students. Mayweather paused, allowing the chatter for a moment before raising a hand for silence.


    ¡°For those unfamiliar,¡± she said, ¡°the Pathway Selection Ceremony is one of the most significant milestones in a Furian sorcerer¡¯s life. It is during this ceremony that your magical potential, academic path, and future trajectory will be determined. Guiding this process is the Immortal Remnant Taurian. Their powers will assess your strengths, align them with your aspirations, and place you on the path best suited to your talents.¡±


    The mention of the Immortal Remnant immediately piqued Valeryon¡¯s interest. Any student familiar with the history of Forester Academy would know Psychic Diviner Taurian as the first Immortal Remnant ever created. This magical construct was the work of Necromancer Eridan Forester, one of the Academy¡¯s founders, who forged it after the untimely death of his co-founder, Psychic Diviner Taurian Davos. Davos had succumbed to a devastating plague that had ravaged the sorcerer population of that era, taking countless lives.


    Although Valeryon had studied concept and had even had the opportunity to extensively interact with an Immortal Remnant in the form of Ophelia Vesalius, the concept still fascinated her: magical constructs infused with the essence, memories, and personality of a deceased individual¡ªcapable of offering wisdom and guidance as though they were still living.


    The students¡¯ murmurings grew louder as they absorbed the significance of Professor Mayweather¡¯s words. Once again, she raised her hand, and silence fell.


    ¡°This year¡¯s intake,¡± she said, ¡°is our largest yet¡ªfive hundred students. To ensure the ceremony runs efficiently, we have established time deceleration zones within the Pathway Selection Hall. These zones will allow us to expedite the process. However, I must caution you: prolonged exposure to these zones will reduce your real-world lifespan. Make your selections swiftly.¡±


    Her words sent a ripple of unease through the students.


    ¡°Once the ceremony concludes,¡± Professor Mayweather continued, ¡°we will proceed to the Dining Hall, where Head Students of each Path will guide you to your respective tables. Afterward, they will escort you to your dormitories¡ªOh, and if you are carrying any large pieces of luggage on you, leave it on the platform¡ªit will be delivered to your rooms upon your selection.¡±


    She paused, her gaze sweeping over the assembled students one last time. ¡°Prepare yourselves. The platform will descend shortly.¡±


    A low vibration beneath their feet signalled the platform¡¯s activation. As the wards shimmered and the crowd shifted in anticipation, Valeryon cast a sidelong glance at Laurel, who still clung to her arm.


    ¡°Ready?¡± she asked, her voice low and calm.


    Laurel¡¯s lips quirked into a grin. ¡°With you? Always.¡±


    The platform shuddered softly before beginning its descent, accompanied by a resonant hum. As it lowered into the depths of the parted sea below, the scene transformed around them. The sky vanished behind a curtain of shimmering water, giving way to an underwater passage that unfolded like a dream. Luminous fish darted through the crystal-clear water, their iridescent scales scattering shimmering rainbows. Larger, more alien creatures glided by, their glowing fins casting ethereal patterns of light onto the platform.


    The tranquility of the moment was interrupted by a distant roar. Ahead, a waterfall thundered down from jagged cliffs, its spray creating a misty veil that obscured what lay beyond. Unease rippled through the group as the platform moved steadily toward the cascade, showing no signs of stopping or diverting. Valeryon tensed, bracing herself for the inevitable icy deluge.


    However, as they passed through, the waterfall dissolved into harmless mist, flowing over them without resistance.


    ¡°The waterfall is a security measure,¡± Professor Mayweather explained, her voice cutting through the murmurs. ¡°It nullifies advanced disguise magic. Any unapproved entities attempting entry would be ejected from this platform.¡±


    Valeryon¡¯s gaze flicked downward to the jagged rocks far below, her lips pressing into a thin line. An¡­ejection from such a height would most certainly be a one-way trip.


    Beyond the waterfall, the platform emerged into a cavern of glittering ice. The walls shimmered like faceted gemstones, their fractured light scattering prismatic hues across the frost-coated expanse. Stalactites hung like crystalline daggers from the vaulted ceiling, their razor-sharp tips gleaming ominously. The temperature dropped sharply, the air crisp and biting against skin.


    Their journey did not end there. The path ahead wound through a labyrinthine expanse of ice, its mirrored surfaces disorienting and surreal.


    Valeryon tried to track their route, but the endless reflections and identical turns rendered it impossible. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. When she opened them again, the disorientation had passed¡ªjust in time for the platform to break free of the maze into a vast, snow-blanketed clearing.


    The platform¡¯s hum softened as it settled into the clearing, its vibration fading into the whisper of wind through the frost-laden branches of the trees surrounding the clearing. The clearing stretched wide and pristine, broken only by a trail of footprints leading to a towering, octagonal structure in the distance. Its icy facade glimmered faintly under the pale light, and thin tendrils of mist coiled at its base, giving it an otherworldly presence.


    ¡°This way, please,¡± Professor Mayweather instructed.


    Inside, the tower was more extraordinary than its icy exterior suggested. The entrance hall soared skyward, its walls lined with intricate carvings that glowed faintly. The polished obsidian floor reflected the glow of floating orbs suspended in the air like captive stars.


    At the centre of the hall, a massive stone platform shaped like a cog floated. The platform¡¯s edges were etched with ancient runes that glowed in rhythm, emitting a faint, almost musical, thrumming energy. Smaller rectangular platforms jutted from the floors of every level, aligning seamlessly with the central cog as it drifted toward them.


    "This is the Floater," Professor Mayweather explained with a wave toward the central platform. "It is the primary means of navigating the tower. Step onto the glowing floor number corresponding to your destination, and the Floater will take you there."


    Valeryon frowned. The name "Floater" carried a far more ominous meaning in the Origin. In the Void-infested zones like the Nihilim and Orcus Galaxies, Floaters were monstrous entities from an unknown universe, breaching the Origin through dimensional tears known as Void Portals. Having now seen the devastation they cause, the Floaters'' emergence was an ominous harbinger, their presence signalling the chaos and devastation to follow as the first wave of invaders from their unknowable dimension.


    They were far more than a mere menace; their arrival disrupted the fragile stability of entire star systems, leaving ruin in their wake. Valeryon had never encountered a Floater directly, but she had heard the stories. The mere thought of them made her muscles tighten, and she had to force herself to suppress the involuntary reaction.


    As she shifted her weight, a faint sound caught her attention: coughing. It was soft, intermittent¡ªa noise easily overlooked in a crowded space. But the irregular rhythm sent a chill down her spine. It wasn¡¯t just coughing; it was the distinct cadence of the Ban flaring up.


    Her gaze swept unobtrusively over the first-years, scanning for the source. Despite her efforts, no one stood out. . Yet the cough continued, more noticeable now, louder in its inconsistency.


    Her frown deepened. It seemed their cohort had quite a few more Trainees than Valeryon had anticipated.


    They did not linger in the entrance hall for long, as Professor Mayweather led them onward through a corridor lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, offering a breathtaking view of the winter landscape outside. The land stretched far beyond what Valeryon had imagined¡ªan endless expanse of ice and snow, its cold beauty crowned by jagged mountains whose snow-capped peaks shimmered beneath the setting sun. Thin plumes of smoke curled upwards from various points in the icy expanse. People lived here¡ªnot just staff, but there seemed to be entire settlements hidden amidst the icy wilderness.


    At the corridor¡¯s end, a set of colossal doors loomed, carved from dark, ancient wood and inlaid with crystalline patterns that shimmered faintly in the dim light. As the group drew closer, the doors groaned open with a deep, resonant creak.


    Professor Mayweather turned sharply, her robes billowing. Adjusting her spectacles with a precise motion, she fixed the group with a steady gaze.


    ¡°As I mentioned, you are about to enter a time-altered space,¡± she began. ¡°This means that, while you are within it, time outside will seem to pass much more slowly. This space is divided into two zones. The outer zone operates at a temporal ratio of three minutes to every five seconds in the real world. The inner zone, where the Immortal Remnant Taurian resides, operates at a far more concentrated ratio: nine minutes for every five seconds outside. Your Path Selection will take place there.¡±


    With a smooth motion, she withdrew a roll of parchment from her sleeve. ¡°When your name is called, you will enter the Path Selection Hall. Do not linger in the outer zone. Proceed directly to the inner zone, step into the circle, and stand before the Immortal Remnant Tau for evaluation. Once you have chosen your path, line up behind the pillar in the outer zone that corresponds to it. Wait there until all selections are complete.¡±


    She snapped her wrist, unrolling the parchment with a crisp crackle. ¡°You will be called in alphabetical order,¡± she announced.


    ¡°Andras Asztalos.¡±


    Murmurs rippled through the gathered first years as a boy with golden hair and a swagger in his step strode confidently forward. His arrogance was palpable, radiating from every movement, as though he wore it like a crown. His smirk widened as he disappeared through the threshold into the hall.


    The whispers quieted, but only briefly, before the professor called again.


    ¡°Anik¨® Asztalos.¡±


    Valeryon¡¯s lips pressed into a thin line. A girl stepped forward with effortless grace¡ªher golden hair flowing like sunlight, sun-kissed skin glowing in the flickering light of the magical sconces. Anik¨®¡¯s smile, warm and radiant, commanded the attention of every gaze in the room.


    Then, the third name.


    ¡°Attila Asztalos.¡±


    The Asztalos heirs¡ªall three of them¡ªwere here at Forester Academy this year. Valeryon had suspected it, but she¡¯d clung to a flicker of hope that they might choose Azhar Academy in Ebren, as many Asztalos heirs had done before due to their mixed heritage. Yet here they were, and Anik¨®¡¯s presence in particular struck her like ice water cascading down her spine.


    Golden Girl.


    Valeryon¡¯s fists clenched, her nails digging into her palms.


    What were the odds that the strange fairytale circulating in the Archipelago years ago would feature opposing characters that so eerily resembled the heirs of two feuding houses? A wicked, veiled princess and a beloved, golden-haired heroine.


    What. Were. The. Chances?


    Her breath hitched as memories rushed forward¡ªunbidden, sharp. The rumours, the whispered taunts, the sidelong glances that followed her through the Junior Academy. And more recently, the frightened child in Vinora¡ªhis small hands clutching his mother¡¯s skirts, terrified, convinced she would abduct him.


    That child had not just feared a storybook villain.


    He had feared her.


    Crown Princess Valeryon the Second.


    The Evil Princess.


    Her chest tightened. Her vision blurred. She swayed slightly on her feet.


    Laurel, ever-watchful, caught her elbow in a firm grip. His voice, low and urgent, sliced through the haze in her mind. "Val, are you all right?"


    Valeryon nodded weakly, drawing a shaky breath that did little to alleviate the crushing pressure building in her chest.


    Laurel didn''t look convinced, but he didn¡¯t press. He was perceptive enough to recognize that this wasn¡¯t the moment for questions.


    She squeezed her eyes shut, and took a deep breath. Her nails dug deeper into her palms, just short of splitting skin. Golden Girl. The Sugar Crystal-laced food at the Terminal lounge. The werewolf attack in Asua. The traitors and non-magicals lurking in the palace. It all clicked together in a pattern she could no longer ignore.


    A web.


    A spider¡¯s web woven to ensnare its oblivious prey.


    It wasn¡¯t just a children¡¯s story. It was an attack. A calculated effort to erode people¡¯s confidence in her as a leader¡ªbefore she¡¯d even had the chance to lead. They wanted to destroy her. Her image. Her authority. Her competence. Her security.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    Had she truly been a child, isolated and vulnerable, it might have broken her. Left her powerless, unsure of why the world had turned on her.


    They wanted Golden Girl to become a reality.


    They wanted public perception to turn on her, for Valeryon to become the Evil Princess.


    However, for there to be an Evil Princess, there had to be a Golden Girl after all, and that had to be Anik¨® Asztalos.


    How bizarre.


    How absurd.


    They truly thought her a child.


    A strange sound broke the air around her, startling both Valeryon and Laurel, who was still holding onto her.


    ¡°Val, are you¡­ laughing?¡±


    Valeryon blinked, caught off guard. She hadn¡¯t realised the laugh had escaped her lips, the sound foreign even to her own ears. Clamping down on the unfamiliar sensation, she schooled her expression back into its neutral state. ¡°I just thought of something funny,¡± she murmured, her voice flat and unconvincing.


    Laurel frowned. "Funny? Val, are you sure you¡¯re okay? I¡¯m really starting to get worried here."


    "Yes," Valeryon replied, her mind already turning over the memories of her ¡®childhood,¡¯ looking at them through a new lens. How many more of these plots had she missed? How many more of these subtle, insidious, attacks against herself had she overlooked?


    The drone of names being called faded into the background until one finally jolted her back into the present.


    ¡°Valeryon the Second.¡±


    The room hushed, every gaze descending on her like a tidal wave.


    Laurel¡¯s hand brushed hers, a fleeting touch of reassurance, before he stepped back.


    Straightening her shoulders, Valeryon forced herself to meet the weight of their scrutiny head-on.


    The world has tried to shape her into something she didn¡¯t choose. A villain. A puppet. A character in someone else¡¯s story.


    She could not stop them from trying, but she could ensure the final narrative was one within her control.


    The doors yawned wider, the runes flaring brilliantly as she passed through.


    Inside, the hall stretched out in a cavernous expanse, like a temple to some forgotten deity. The stone floor was etched with intricate circles, their grooves glowing faintly with an otherworldly luminescence. The magic-infused lines shifted like liquid, casting subtle ripples of light that danced across the walls. Encircling the innermost circle stood a ring of towering pillars, their surfaces ornately carved with runes and reliefs.Atop each pillar, magical flames flickered, each burning in its own distinct hue¡ªsapphire blue, verdant green, fiery orange, and more¡ªcasting a kaleidoscope of light across the cavernous chamber.


    At the centre of it all stood the statue.


    The Immortal Remnant Taurian.


    Its form was humanoid, but barely. Carved from a pale marble-like material that glistened, it was more a suggestion of a figure than a true representation¡ªan impression of limbs and a face that seemed to shift when viewed too long, as though its true shape defied mortal comprehension.


    The soft echo of Valeryon¡¯s boots against the stone floor reverberated through the hall. The gathered students near the pillars turned toward her, their gazes sharp. Whispers floated in her wake, hushed and urgent, like leaves caught in a sudden gust. he could feel their scrutiny like needles against her skin. Valeryon kept her eyes forward, her jaw set. The glowing circle ahead demanded her full attention.


    The moment her feet crossed the glowing boundary, the atmosphere shifted. The temperature plummeted, and the murmurs around her snuff out, replaced by a suffocating silence that pressed against her ears.


    Above her, the Immortal Remnant Taurian towered, its inscrutable features strangely watchful.


    And then, she felt it.


    A stirring¡ªnot physical, but deep within her mind.


    A vast presence unfolded, ancient and immense, saturating her consciousness with its awareness. She felt it probing her consciousness, its awareness peeling back her mental defences as effortlessly as one might peel fruit.


    Then, it spoke.


    Ah, Chancellor Valeryon, is it already time for you to be here?


    The voice resonated directly within her mind, bypassing sound entirely. Its weight was staggering, nearly buckling her knees.


    Ah, no, allow me to correct myself¡ªyou are not Chancellor yet, are you? Crown Princess Valeryon the Second, yes? Yes. That is who you are at present.


    Valeryon stood rigid, her lips a tight line, her breathing shallow. The Immortal Remnant¡¯s voice continued, conversational yet heavy with inevitability.


    I have been looking forward to this meeting for quite some time. Your existence has been an unrelenting ripple in the currents of fate. Every iteration of the future I glimpse¡ªevery thread I tug upon¡ªis saturated with your shadow. You are the axis upon which a thousand futures turn. Greatness. Horror. Majesty. Catastrophe. Your path is a tapestry woven from the most vibrant and devastating of threads.


    Her jaw tightened, her awareness narrowing to the rhythm of her breathing.


    Inhale.


    Exhale.


    Your brother, young King Vilram, spoke of you when we last met, it said. He asked me to take care of you. A remarkable man, your brother¡ªmisfortune looms over him so overwhelmingly, yet his light does not falter. But I suppose that is to be expected. Remarkable, truly, you Valeryons. From the progenitor, to you... a legacy spanning timelines and destinies.


    Its tone shifted, almost fond, as if reminiscing.


    Him being the first of you Outworlders I met was perhaps my greatest fortune, considering the madness I nearly succumbed to when we first crossed paths. People of this world do not carry fates as burdensome as Yours after all. Although I must say I am certainly one of the fortunate ones, given how many of my kind have been¡ªcontinue to be¡ªdriven mad by the Uncertainty your kind has brought to this world. Your companion¡ªah, now there is one of us truly fortunate in that regard. So at ease with his limitations, with what is to be.


    Valeryon¡¯s breathing quickened as the oppressive presence grew stronger.


    You, though... Do you have any idea what you¡¯ve gotten yourself into by associating with him? No, I suppose you do not. Not yet, at least. Certainly now for a while. Ignorance is bliss, or so they say. Not that I would know. I was born knowing, born seeing. The concept of ignorance is utterly alien to me.


    A sharp, grating laugh echoed in her mind, scraping like claws against stone. Valeryon winced as searing pressure built in her skull. Instinctively, she touched her nose, her fingers coming away streaked with blood.


    Ah, forgive me. I forget myself. It has been so long since I spoke this freely. However I realise that no matter how resilient a mortal, few minds are strong enough to withstand Truth.


    Valeryon steadied herself, a faint green glow emanating from her hands as she willed the blood away. ¡°What do you need from me?¡± she rasped.


    The Immortal Remnant Taurian chuckled.


    What do I need? No, child. This is about what you need. Now let me see... So many choices, so many possibilities¡­ Your potential is formidable, but skill alone does not make one great, does it? Would you like to know where your greatness lies, Z??????????e??????????????????r?????????????????o????????????-??????????N?????????????????i?????????????n???????????????e?????????????


    The distortion struck her like a hammer blow. Her knees buckled, and she gasped, clutching her temples as waves of agony surged through her. Blood dripped from her nose again, pooling on the floor with a patter.


    ¡°H-how?¡±


    The Immortal Remnant Taurian¡¯s laughter echoed hollowly in her mind, each syllable a nail driven into her skull.


    How indeed. I cannot claim to see all or know all, for no matter how statistically likely something is to happen, as long as those damned fellows, those Otherworlders who so easily toy with Fortune as your kind does Death¡ªkeep interfering here. Truly, ever since you Otherworlders began appearing here, I have not known a single moment of peace. There are simply too many iterations to keep track of. And that is perhaps what makes you so fascinating. So many, possibilities, so many iterations, yet your life follows a trajectory so unusually clear¡ªalways circling back to what was, and what must inevitably be. A beautiful inevitability, much like the stars that shine above. Ah, speaking of stars, the Celestials¡ª


    The pain in her head escalated, her throat burning as she coughed violently, blood splattering onto the stone floor, adding to the mess already there. She heaved for breath, her body trembling under the strain.


    Oh my, I really must stop before I break you. There are consequences, after all¡ªyours from my actions, mine from His. Mutually assured destruction that serves neither of us well.


    ¡°Enough,¡± Valeryon croaked, her voice raw. ¡°Just... tell me my options.¡±


    Very well. Skill is a foundation for greatness, but the paths before you differ greatly. Let me illuminate them.


    The pillars surrounding the room flickered. Some flames extinguished, while others burned brighter. Valeryon¡¯s gaze darted to the symbols etched beneath each flame, but their meaning eluded her.


    Behold.  An emerald green flame grew brighter. As an Alchemist, your creations would be unparalleled¡ªa master among masters. Peace, prosperity¡ªthis is perhaps the path where you may find the most solace, if we disregard the occasional... creative uses of your creations.


    The emerald flame dimmed, and a golden flame surged.


    As an Inscriber, you would shine brilliantly. So much so that your dedication to the craft would consume you, leaving no room for anything else. It would be a life entirely... singular in purpose.


    Valeryon¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°Consume me?¡± she asked hesitantly, unable to withhold her curiosity.


    Yes, the Remnant replied curtly. Let us leave it at that. We have much to cover after all, and I would prefer if we avoid increasing the risk of our mutual demise.


    A silver flame and a dark blue flame brightened simultaneously.


    As a Dimensioner, paired with Abjuration, you would be a visionary. Infrastructure, development¡ªthese would define your legacy. History would remember you kindly¡ªa true architect of progress.


    A multicoloured flame joined the ranks. Your creations would not merely echo those of your Progenitor and predecessors but surpass them in brilliance and scale. With this path, you could reshape worlds, bending the elements to your will in ways unimaginable. In this world, such specialists are aptly called ¡®Creators¡¯, and you would embody the pinnacle of that title, a living testament to the boundless potential of such a mastery.


    The flames flickered and then slowly died, only for two new flames to burst into life atop opposing pillars¡ªone as dark as night, the other a pale, almost ethereal blue.


    Before you lies a crossroads. Paths to greatness and all it entails. Healing or Necromancy. Choose, and the course of your life changes irreversibly.


    The blue flame flared brightly.


    Choosing Healing is perhaps the most natural path for one of your bloodline. On this path you will achieve great things¡ªtruly great things. You would rise to prominence, command respect, and be revered. But¡­ Taurian paused, as though savouring the weight of its words. It comes at the expense of your two ultimate goals in this life.


    Valeryon''s heart thundered in her chest. Her two ultimate goals¡ªthe Main Missions. The very reason she existed in this world. So choosing Healing wouldn¡¯t mean just fall of graduating short; she may not even survive long enough to see it through. To choose Healing would mean forsaking those goals entirely, abandoning her very purpose.


    The blue flame dimmed and the black flame surged.


    To walk the path of Necromancy, however¡­ it trailed off, I can confidently say that, of all the Paths you choose, this is the only one where you have the potential to succeed in achieving both of your goals simultaneously.


    Valeryon swallowed, the air in her lungs suddenly tight.


    In the Orcus Galaxy, Necromancy was not merely forbidden; it was considered an abomination. Every native of the galaxy was born with the Will to Live, the ability that granted them ultimate agency over their death. To die was a deliberate act of final autonomy, one no individual had the right to overturn. Necromancy desecrated this sacred ethos, violating the sanctity of the dead and was therefore abhorred.


    However, this was not the Orcus Galaxy.


    Here, in Sorcerer¡¯s Legacy, death was unpredictable, inevitable, and permanent. Here, spirits did not simply fade. They lingered¡ªtethered to the mortal plane by unfulfilled desires, by sheer refusal to move on. Necromancers were not heretics here, but necessary guides who ensured that order was maintained in a world where death¡¯s grip was imperfect.


    In Ebren, necromancers were revered as sacred guides, peacekeepers who communicated with restless souls and brought calm to the lost¡ªboth dead and alive. In Simran, necromancy was outlawed, a practice deemed treasonous after a violent uprising by rogue necromancers. Fiore, where Valeryon now resided, took a precarious middle ground.


    Necromancy, though allowed, was tightly regulated. Its practitioners balanced on a razor''s edge¡ªboth revered and reviled, needed yet feared.


    However at present this balance had reached a tipping point. The recent suicide of a prominent Diviner had come with a chilling final prophecy: a necromancer would bring calamity to the nation. Public distrust flared in response, and rumours began to spread¡ªwhispers of following in Simran¡¯s footsteps by banning necromancy once and for all. Such a drastic measure seemed inevitable to many. However Fiore could not afford to sever its ties with necromancy entirely. The disastrous aftermath of Simran''s own ban loomed as a stark reminder of what occurred when spirits were left unchecked. Simran, after all, had been forced to turn to the Necromancers of its neighbours, Ebren and Fiore, swallowing their pride and paying exorbitant costs for their aid.


    So even beyond the nation''s internal struggles, such a ban would have far-reaching consequences on the world stage. Fiore had built an entire economic sector around necromancy, using it as both a strategic advantage and a valuable export. The nation¡¯s influence over Simran, and its economic growth, relied heavily on the practice. Banning necromancy would undermine Fiore¡¯s standing and severely damage its global power.


    Necromancy was essential¡ªno matter how much the nation loathed it.


    To Valeryon, while the choice felt clear, it was agonising. To embrace necromancy was to step into an identity marked by suspicion, a mantle heavy with stigma. Her clan¡¯s legacy, intertwined with healing and preservation, was also antithetical to the art of necromancy. Yet, to abandon her missions, to deliberately set herself up for failure, to knowingly shorten her lifespan and let the family¡¯s enemies dismantle the power her family had fought so hard to maintain in this world, was even more unthinkable. Especially now, as she stood cornered, outmatched, her enemies circling like vultures waiting for her fall.


    So, what path do you choose, Your Highness?


    Valeryon¡¯s lips trembled. She closed her eyes, inhaling sharply before exhaling the single word that sealed her fate.


    ¡°Necromancy.¡±


    For a moment, silence. Then the Immortal Remnant Taurian erupted with such unrestrained glee that Valeryon almost stumbled from the force of it.


    Oh, oh my. No way. No way! You actually chose it? Someone pinch me! Wait¡ªnever mind, I won¡¯t feel it. This is The timeline?  This is my timeline? The one that gets fleshed out? The published one? But wait, does that mean this is the first timeline that She is in or the second one? Please be the second one, please be the second one, please be the second one.


    Valeryon blinked, bewildered by the outburst. She pressed her glowing green hand to her nose, staunching the bleeding and erasing the evidence from her skin once more. Despite its supposed omniscience, the Immortal Remnant seemed genuinely surprised and strangely¡­delighted by her decision. She dared not ask why, unsure if its earlier warnings of mutual demise still held weight.


    Ah, yes. Before I forget. Congratulations on your path selection, Necromancer Valeryon.


    The black flame surged, detaching from its pillar and coiling around her waist, solidifying into a neatly tied sash. Her fingers brushed the material¡ªit felt strikingly similar to the silk she wove herself, perhaps because it, too, had been crafted from condensed magic. Yet, no matter how hard she tried, she could not exert her influence over it.


    Well, off you go then. There are still plenty more students to see, and people are going to talk about you enough as it is. Let¡¯s not add more fuel to the fire, shall we?


    Valeryon glanced back outside the inner time-altered zone, a knot of dread twisting in her stomach. From her vantage point, it seemed as if no time had passed at all; the students outside were frozen in place, their movements so incremental they appeared suspended in the same positions as when she entered the space, just as Professor Mayweather as informed it would.


    She took a deep breath and stepped back across the threshold into the main hall. The instant her foot crossed the boundary, time snapped back into motion. The hall fell into pin-drop silence, broken only by the faint rustle of fabric and the soft gasps of onlookers. Whispers rippled through the crowd, their focus unmistakable¡ªthe black sash tied around her waist. Valeryon pressed forward, steps deliberate, her head still pounding from the residual effects of her encounter with the Immortal Remnant Taurian, until she reached the Necromancy pillar, the black flame above burning with a hypnotic intensity.


    Heir Graham stood alone behind the pillar, his expression unreadable as he inclined his head in subtle acknowledgment. To her left and right, the Divination and Psychic pillars were more populated. Heir Corbin and Heiress Mallory stood at the forefront of their respective paths, returning polite nods when Valeryon glanced their way.


    The uneven distribution of students was stark. Necromancy was almost barren, with only Heir Graham and herself. The Divination line had six students, and the Psychic one was far larger, with at least a dozen. By contrast, the Unspecialised Path which Valeryon could see in her periphery stretched beyond sight, its line already teeming with over a hundred students. The some of the other nearby paths, visible through gaps between the towering columns, seemed to hold about forty students or more each.


    Valeryon winced as the dull throb in her temples refused to ease. It was not unbearable¡ªno nosebleeds or worse this time¡ªbut she could do without it. Exhaling quietly, she shifted her gaze toward the entryway just in time to see Laurel stride in, his lavender eyes scanning the hall with focused intensity. When his gaze landed on her, his expression transformed. The frown replaced by a radiant smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes.


    Laurel waved with unrestrained enthusiasm, and the whispers around grew louder. Despite knowing full well that it would only add fuel to the fire, Valeryon raised her hand slightly in acknowledgment. Given what she knew of him, she half-expected Laurel to go against Professor Mayweather¡¯s instructions and approach her directly first , but to her surprise¡ªand slight relief¡ªhe strode right past, heading toward the inner time-altered zone as instructed.


    Moments later, he emerged with a purple sash tied at his waist, his movements brisk and agitated. His crossed arms and taught expression as he walked toward the Divination line made his feelings about the situation abundantly clear. As he took his place at the end of the line, he turned toward her, his lips puckered in an exaggerated pout, his wide eyes practically begging for sympathy.


    Valeryon hesitated, feeling the weight of countless eyes honing in on her. She exhaled quietly, then stepped out of the Necromancy line and walked toward Laurel. Gasps and murmurs erupted in her wake, growing louder with every step she took.


    Laurel¡¯s arms dropped to his sides, his jaw slack as she came to a stop in front of him. ¡°Val,¡± he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I¡¯m not sure,¡± Valeryon admitted softly. ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    ¡°Me? Yeah, of course I¡¯m fine,¡± Laurel replied quickly, but his brows furrowed as he examined her. ¡°Why did you come over here? Not that I¡¯m complaining¡ªI¡¯m delighted, really. It¡¯s just... you never...¡± He trailed off, exhaling slowly. A smile slowly crept across his face. ¡°Thank you, Val. I¡¯m fine now.¡±


    Valeryon nodded. ¡°That¡¯s good.¡± Her fingers reached out, brushing the edge of his purple sash. ¡°Divination?¡±


    Laurel sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. ¡°Yeah. It matched the earrings you gave me better than the other paths. Everything else¡ªexcept maybe yours¡ªwould¡¯ve clashed.¡± He hesitated, his smile faltering. ¡°Unfortunately, when I asked to join Necromancy, he said¡­¡±


    Valeryon¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°What did he say?¡±


    Laurel shook his head, smile returning to his face. ¡°Just that I have no talent for it. It was either this or that hideous yellow Path¡ªnot much of a choice, honestly. Said something about ''greatness'' and ¡®hard work¡¯ in the other Path." He grimaced. "Divination seemed like the better option. From what I''ve heard, it''s the most laid-back Path. Least stressful, lowest workload¡ªprobably to avoid piling on the pressure, since, well, you know¡­¡±


    He swiped his hand across his neck in a slow, deliberate motion, tilting his head slightly to the side and sticking his tongue out, making his meaning unmistakably clear.


    ¡°So like I said,¡± Laurel continued, ¡°the choice was obvious. Forget greatness. There¡¯s no way I¡¯m going to spend the next five years slaving away for something as stupid as that when there¡¯s an easier option available.¡±


    Valeryon¡¯s hands twitched at her sides. She inhaled slowly. ¡°I see.¡±


    Laurel straightened, his expression softening into something more earnest. He reached for her hands, his touch tentative. ¡°Hey, if you think I should switch, just say the word. I mean, yellow¡¯s not that bad¡ªI could probably make it work with my incredibly good looks. We¡¯d just need to find the right earrings to match.¡±


    ¡°No need.¡± Valeryon tugged lightly on the purple sash, lips curving up at the corners. ¡°Purple suits you.¡±


    ¡°Val¡­¡± His face flushed red, the colour spreading to the tips of his ears. ¡°You really¡ª¡±


    A sharp intake of breath from behind cut him off. The next student had entered the room, freezing mid-step as their eyes darted between Laurel and Valeryon. They stumbled slightly before hurrying past to the inner zone, their face pale.


    Valeryon turned back to Laurel, intending to say something, but the words caught in her throat when she saw his expression.


    Laurel¡¯s eyes were locked on the retreating student, his expression dark and predatory, the warmth she had seen earlier completely erased. His jaw tightened, and the muscles coiled as though he was ready to spring forward.


    As the student disappeared into the inner zone and returned almost immediately after to join the end of the Unspecialised line, Laurel directed his attention back to Valeryon, his features smoothing into a serene smile, the hostility erased from his features as though it had never been.


    Valeryon gaze lingered on him for a moment before remembering what she meant to say. ¡°I should get back,¡± she murmured softly.


    Laurel¡¯s face fell slightly, but he quickly masked it with a bright smile. ¡°Right. See you later, Val.¡±


    Valeryon gave a small nod before turning, making her way back to the Necromancy line. The weight of countless eyes pressed down on her, the air thick with whispered conversations that followed every step¡ªsome hushed, others brazen and provocative.


    She straightened her back, her steps purposeful and deliberate. Let them whisper, she thought. Let them judge. What does it matter anymore?


    What had once been seen as scandalous, even inappropriate, would soon become the expected behaviour of a courting, soon-to-be betrothed couple. As she positioned herself at the front of the line, as insisted upon by Heir Graham gesturing for her to stand before him upon her return, a quiet sense of satisfaction settled in her chest. Laurel¡¯s careful manoeuvring had created this fa?ade, giving them the space to exist together in public.


    Due to the time period they existed within, the society they lived in, particularly among the upper class, remained exceptionally strict and prudish. So, even acting within the narrow confines of societal expectation, their relationship¡ªespecially considering their identities¡ªwas bound to attract attention, gossip, and scrutiny. However, it would be of a less consequential kind. One which Valeryon did not feel the need to bend to, not when they held no true weight.


    Thankfully, the rest of the Path Selection passed without incident. For much of it, only Valeryon and Heir Graham occupied the Necromancy line. However, as the selections continued, more students trickled in. By the time the final student took their place, Valeryon counted seven others behind her¡ªa surprisingly robust turnout given the line¡¯s sparse beginning.


    A hush fell over the hall as the sharp click of Professor Mayweather¡¯s heels echoed against the polished stone floors. Her presence commanded immediate attention, and her gaze swept across the assembled students like the edge of a blade.


    ¡°Congratulations,¡± she began, her magically amplified voice resonating through the chamber. ¡°Today, you have made one of the most significant decisions of your lives. This choice will not only shape your studies but the very course of your futures. Wear it with pride and unwavering commitment.¡±


    She paused, letting the weight of her words settle over the students. Then, her lips curved into the faintest smirk. ¡°Now, I believe we have kept everyone waiting long enough,¡± she continued. ¡°Brace yourselves.¡±


    With a single, deliberate motion, Professor Mayweather raised her staff high above her head. The crystal at its tip caught the light, glinting sharply before she brought its base down with a resounding thud. The sound reverberated like a crack of thunder, and a wave of magic pulsed through the air. Around them, the stone pillars groaned, and the circular platform beneath their feet began to rise with a deep, grinding rumble.


    As the platform ascended, the surrounding pillars sank into the ground, revealing the rows of students previously concealed from view. Valeryon¡¯s gaze swept over the students, but it froze when it landed on something she had not anticipated¡ªsomething that made her breath catch in her throat.


    Standing directly across from her at the forefront of the Healing path, a pale blue sash neatly tied around her waist, was none other than Aniko Asztalos.


    An Asztalos... a Healer?


    The absurdity of it nearly made Valeryon question her own senses. Healing¡ªrooted in selflessness, restoration, and care¡ªwas the antithesis of everything the Asztalos family stood for. For centuries, the blood feud between the Asztalos and Valeryon families had been defined by their cruelty, cunning, and an insatiable thirst for power. Never¡ªnot once¡ªbefore this had an Asztalos ever chosen to pursue Healing, a path so intrinsically linked to the Valeryon bloodline.


    Valeryon¡¯s gaze swept across the hall, seeking out the other Asztalos siblings. She spotted Andras first, standing proudly at the forefront of the Kinaesthetician Path. The crimson sash rested around his waist came as no surprise. The Kinaesthetician Path was all about pushing the human body to its absolute limits. It focused on enhancing strength, speed, and reflexes to superhuman levels. It focused on transforming its practitioners into living weapons, with the ability to physically overpower any opponent. For the Asztalos family, who revered power above all else, this path was the natural fit.


    Then her eyes landed on Atilla, his yellow sash marking his place on the Runic Path. It was an unusual choice for an Asztalos, but not without its appeal. Unlike most magical disciplines, which prioritised enhancing a practitioner¡¯s inherent abilities, the Runic Path offered something radically different: boundless versatility. The Runic Path focused on unlocking and controlling the primal forces of inert magic through the inscription of runes. Rather than enhancing what already existed, and what was readily available to them, the Runic Path allowed its practitioners to rewrite the very rules of magic, turning dormant energy into a limitless resource. In the hands of a true master, the Runic Path offered near-omnipotence, limited only by the practitioner¡¯s creativity and willpower.


    But Aniko... her decision was something entirely different.


    Considering Valeryon¡¯s pre-existing suspicions regarding the Asztalos¡¯ intentions toward her, Aniko¡¯s choice to align with the Healing path confirmed the worst of it.


    She recalled the warning from the Immortal Remnant Taurian regarding the outcome of her choosing the Healing path: It comes at the expense of your two ultimate goals in this life.


    The pieces were slowly falling into place, gradually beginning to form a clearer picture, but the full image still eluded her.


    Before Valeryon could lose herself further in her thoughts, the platform jolted to a sudden stop, its sharp grinding echoing through the air. Their arrival was immediately greeted by applause and cheers, a vibrant roar that yanked her attention outward, away from the chaos of her mind.


    She lifted her gaze, taking in the awe-inspiring scene before her. Above, a vast glass dome arched high, revealing the night sky in all its brilliance. The stars shimmered like scattered diamonds, their light fractured by ribbons of colour that danced across the darkness¡ªswaths of green, violet, and blue weaving together in a mesmerising display. Beneath the dome, orbs of light floated serenely, casting a soft, warm glow over the polished stone floors, their light adding an inviting ambiance to the sprawling hall.


    The layout of the hall was meticulously planned. Tables were arranged in concentric arcs, each row radiating outward, all facing the elevated central platform where the faculty sat at a U-shaped table. Intricate symbols, representing the various magical paths, were etched into the stone floor in front of each seating area, marking the designated spots for each magical discipline.


    A group of older students approached, their vibrant uniforms gleaming under the soft light, each one marking a different magical Path. As their badges caught Valeryon¡¯s eye, she realised that these were the Head Students Professor Mayweather had previously mentioned. Among them, naturally, was Heir Sachar who Valeryon had previously seen wearing an identical badge. As expected, he came to stand in front of the line of Unspecialised students.


    Valeryon¡¯s attention shifted to focus on the Head Student that came to stand right before her. The woman was poised, her all-black uniform standing out sharply against the white attire of the first-years. Her dark, sleek hair was tied neatly at the nape of her neck, and her amber eyes¡ªwhile striking, relatively dull in comparison to the glowing molten amber of the Lunarys¡ªheld an unwavering intensity. Her delicate features and distinctive colouring marked her as hailing from Estin, the eastern region of Fiore.


    "Follow me," the Head Student instructed.


    Following her, Valeryon and the other Necromancy students made their way to one of the empty curved tables in the first row. A glowing black skull, wreathed in thorny vines, was etched into the stone floor in front of their seats. To their left was the Divination table, and to their right, the Psionic table, all perfectly aligned with the arrangement from the Path Selection Hall.


    As Valeryon and the others settled into their seats, her gaze returned to the Head Student, now seated across from them. Valeryon studied her intently¡ªfaint shadows under her eyes hinting at sleepless nights, and a scar running from her jawline to the edge of her mouth.


    Friend, or foe? It was difficult to determine just yet.


    Before Valeryon could continue her study, a hush fell over the hall. A figure at the staff table rose. All eyes turned toward the dais at the centre of the U-shaped table, where the woman ascended with an air of quiet authority, her presence enough to still even the most restless students.


    Her robes, a deep navy velvet, shimmered with embroidered constellations that seemed to shift and twinkle as though plucked from the night sky itself. Auburn hair, braided into an intricate crown, caught the ambient light, lending her an almost ethereal glow. When she spoke, her voice resonated through the hall¡ªsmooth, confident, and utterly captivating.


    ¡°Welcome, students¡ªboth new and returning¡ªto another year at Forester Academy,¡± she began, her velvety voice wrapping the audience in its spell. ¡°For those joining us for the first time, I am Headmistress Willowbank. This academy¡ªForester Academy¡ª has stood as a bastion of knowledge, innovation, and community for millennia. Here, you will not only learn but also contribute to a legacy that endures through the ages.¡±


    She paused, letting her words settle. The stillness in the hall was absolute, her audience hanging on her every syllable. ¡°This year, as always, we will uphold the cherished points system. Each Path will compete throughout the year, earning points for academic excellence, participation in extracurricular activities, and, most importantly, acts of courage and kindness. At year¡¯s end, we will celebrate both individual and collective achievements with awards befitting your efforts.¡±


    A gentle smile softened her regal demeanour, infusing her tone with warmth.¡°Beyond academics, Forester Academy offers countless ways to enrich your journey. Like our many Societies. The Mirage Society honours our highest achievers. The Creator Society nurtures the brilliance of our most gifted Creator-Path sorcerers. Elysium Society celebrates artistry, beauty, and serenity. The Primordial Society champions athletic and duelling prowess, while Blue-Blood Society honours those who take pride in their magical heritage. And Valour Society provides a home for students hailing from the Valeryon Archipelago.¡±


    Her smile deepened. ¡°For those eager to explore beyond societies, the academy boasts a wealth of clubs and activities. Cultivate rare magical flora in the Gardening Club, perform in the Forester Academy Orchestra, or study mystical creatures in Creature Care. For the competitive among you, our Duelling Club, Majesty¡¯s Court, and One Touch Ball teams are always seeking fresh talent.¡±


    Her gaze grew sharper, sweeping across the hall as her tone shifted to one of stern clarity. ¡°Now, a word about the rules. Curfew will be strictly enforced¡ªstudents must be in their dormitories by 10 p.m. Wandering after hours will result in point deductions and detention. Moreover, I strongly advise against venturing beyond the tower without a professor¡¯s supervision. The Isle of Forester is not merely the territory of this academy; it is a sanctuary for magical creatures, flora, and fauna. Tempting as it may be to explore, the island¡¯s dangers are not to be underestimated. More than one student has met a grim fate by ignoring this warning. Exercise caution at all times.¡±


    She directed their attention to the space beyond the Dining Hall with a gesture. ¡°This floor offers ample recreational spaces to occupy your time responsibly. Should you feel restless, make use of them. So, allow me be clear once more: any student caught sneaking out of the tower¡ªor persuading others to do so¡ªwill face serious consequences, up to and including expulsion from the academy.¡±


    Her voice softened again, her tone imbued with reassurance. ¡°The staff offices on the ground floor are open throughout the day. If you have questions about your studies or concerns of any kind, do not hesitate to seek our guidance. We are here to support you.¡±


    At last, her lips curved into a warm, welcoming smile. ¡°That is all for now. I imagine you are all famished after a long day. So, please, feast to your hearts¡¯ content!¡±


    With a crisp clap of her hands, glowing runes etched into the tables flared to life, their warm golden light cascading across the hall. In an instant, an extravagant banquet appeared: platters piled high with succulent roasted meats, baskets of freshly baked bread, steaming bowls of rich soups, and an array of vibrant fruits and decadent desserts. The mouthwatering aroma wafted through the air, drawing delighted gasps from the students as they eagerly dove into the sumptuous spread.


    The sight only intensified the growling ache in Valeryon¡¯s stomach¡ªworse than usual as a consequence of her decision to skip lunch. Unwilling to bear it any longer, she filled her plate with a generous helping of dishes¡ªtender meats, perfectly roasted vegetables, and a selection of delicate pastries. She had barely lifted her fork when a subtle movement beside her caught her attention.


    Heir Graham, who was seated to her left quickly scooted away with an extremely displeased expression on his face, and across the table, even the Head Student glanced up with a furrowed brow. Valeryon turned toward the source of their concern and found Laurel slipping into the newly vacated seat, his face lit with a bright grin.


    ¡°Val, did you miss me?¡±


    Valeryon did not bother responding, her gaze drifting to the fresh plate and cutlery that had appeared before him. Without a word, she picked up a serving fork and added a few choice cuts of roasted meat and some vegetables to his plate.


    ¡°Thank you, my dear,¡± Laurel said, his voice warm as he dug in without hesitation, clearly just as ravenous as herself.


    The dining hall hummed with the lively chatter of students, a chaotic symphony pressing against Valeryon like an abrasive shroud. Amidst the noise, she and Laurel shared a cocoon of companionable silence, the rhythmic clink of cutlery on porcelain their only contribution to the cacophony.


    The peace however did not last long. A sharp clearing of a throat cut through the din. Laurel stiffened beside her, his fork halting mid-air. Following his gaze, Valeryon saw their Head Student shuffling to the corner of her bench, making room for three newcomers to seat themselves.


    At the centre of the trio was a striking girl whose glowing amber eyes betrayed her Lunarys heritage. She wore the male uniform, the tailored coat and trousers lending her a sharp, commanding presence. The sash around her waist a rich red, just a few shades darker than than the rest of her uniform, which looked like it had only just begun to turn red. Her gaze locked onto Valeryon, sharp and unflinching, as though sizing up prey.


    Flanking her were two male students, their relaxed postures a fa?ade. The sharpness in their eyes betrayed readiness for confrontation. They carried themselves with the quiet arrogance of those accustomed to getting what they wanted, their undivided loyalty and deference to the amber-eyed girl was greatly evident in the way they aligned themselves with her.


    Laurel placed his utensils down with a clink and brought a napkin up to dab at his lips, seemingly at ease, as his lavender eyes carefully surveyed the newcomers. However, being seated right beside him, the slight tightening of his jaw did not escape Valeryon¡¯s notice.


    The amber-eyed girl tilted her head, her lips curling into a faint smirk. She said nothing, her silence heavy and expectant. It was clear she was waiting for Valeryon to speak first.


    Before Valeryon could oblige, Laurel placed a firm hand over hers beneath the table.


    Laurel''s voice carried a lightness that belied the sharpness beneath it. "I can only hope that anyone with something important to say would have the decency to wait until after dinner, rather than disrupt it."


    The girl¡¯s smirk didn¡¯t waver, but her eyes narrowed. ¡°Of course,¡± she replied, her tone saccharine. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t dream of letting Her Highness go hungry. I¡¯ll make this quick.¡±


    Laurel¡¯s smile widened, though it never reached his eyes. ¡°Much appreciated. Though, from the way you were so quiet earlier, I thought you might need a bit more... encouragement to speak up.¡±


    Irritation flickered across her face, but it was swiftly replaced with a smooth mask of composure. ¡°Hesitation isn¡¯t a sign of weakness, Vesalius,¡± she retorted. ¡°It¡¯s wisdom¡ªknowing when to speak and when to remain silent.¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± Laurel said lightly, tilting his head as though truly considering her words. ¡°Pity you chose the wrong moment to test that wisdom. Interrupting dinner isn¡¯t typically a demonstration of good judgment.¡±


    For the first time, the girl¡¯s smirk faltered, her gaze darting between Valeryon and Laurel. ¡°Is there a reason you¡¯re speaking for the Princess?¡± she asked, her voice thick with disdain. ¡°I didn¡¯t come here to address you, Vesalius.¡±


    Laurel chuckled softly.  ¡°That¡¯s truly unfortunate. Her Highness isn¡¯t accepting additional greetings tonight. Anyone with the foresight to do so already paid their respects in Asua, as courtesy demands.¡±


    The girl¡¯s lips thinned. ¡°I regret missing that opportunity,¡± she said, her tone tight. ¡°I was ill at the time and needed rest. I hope Her Highness would make an exception and allow me to extend my apologies and greetings now, when it suits me better to do so.¡±


    Her companions subtly shifted away, as if to give more credence to her statement.


    ¡°How inconvenient,¡± Laurel remarked. ¡°And strange. If you were so unwell, why not send a messenger? You seem to have plenty of people to do your bidding.¡± He gestured subtly to the two boys beside her. ¡°Or were you hoping to infect Her Highness with whatever ailed you?¡±


    The girl¡¯s composure cracked, just slightly. ¡°I suffered only a migraine,¡± she snapped, her voice biting. ¡°Nothing infectious.¡±


    Laurel¡¯s smile turned razor-sharp. ¡°Curious, then, that even your companions seemed to remember suddenly enough to keep their distance at the mention of your illness which you not claim is not infectious.


    The girl¡¯s fa?ade shattered. ¡°Call your guard dog to heel, Princess,¡± she spat. ¡°I came to speak with you, not your pet. Considering Sachar visited you earlier, you must know who I am and how unwise it is to antagonise me.¡±


    Ah, so this was Estelle Lunarys. The leader of the Valour Society.


    Valeryon¡¯s gaze hardened.


    Through the entire exchange, Estelle had ignored all the proper protocol, never once showing the deference owed to the Crown Princess. This was not a lapse in judgement; it was a deliberate insult. And if Valeryon wasn¡¯t mistaken, there had been a veiled threat woven into those words as well.


    Laurel¡¯s grin faded, his expression darkening. ¡°Guard dog, is it? Bold words, coming from a Lunarys. Perhaps you¡¯re projecting. So, let me remind you¡ªbefore you go continue barking up the wrong tree, dogs that don¡¯t know their place tend to get put down.¡±.


    ¡°Did you just threaten me, Vesalius?¡± Estelle hissed, her voice rising sharply.


    ¡°Did you just threaten Her Highness?¡± Laurel countered, his tone calm but dangerous.


    The girl¡¯s companions shifted uneasily, their earlier confidence dampened by the growing tension.


    ¡°Do you know who I am?¡± Estelle hissed, her voice rising slightly.


    ¡°I know you¡¯re clearly delusional. You seem to think your position entitles you to speak without consequence, Lunarys¡± Laurel said, leaning forward slightly. ¡°Let me be clear¡ªyou¡¯re one of many possible heirs to your House, easily replaced if you prove to be a liability. But the person you¡¯re addressing? This is Her Highness Crown Princess Valeryon the Second. She is not someone you insult. She is not someone you threaten. Not now. Not ever. Show some fucking respect for your future master, mutt.¡±


    Estelle¡¯s face flushed crimson, but before she could respond, Valeryon decided it was time to intervene.


    ¡°Enough. This is neither the time nor place for this conversation,¡± Valeryon said evenly, her gaze fixed on Estelle.¡°You have disrupted my dinner long enough. Be silent.¡±


    For a moment, Estelle hesitated, her amber eyes flashing with indignation, and Valeryon wondered, considering how many other lines she had already crossed, whether the girl would defy a direct order from her too. Then, reluctantly, she dipped her head in acknowledgment, her companions following suit with subdued expressions.


    While Valeryon did her best to appear indifferent and unaffected by the situation, beneath her veil, her face burned with heat, and her chest ached with an unfamiliar sensation. It took her little longer to realise that what she was experiencing was fury. She was furious. Furious at the humiliation Estelle had subjected her to in such a public manner, for all her peers to witness.


    However, Estelle Lunarys¡¯ defiance was more than just a personal affront¡ªit was a symptom of a deeper problem. Just how far had respect for the Royal House eroded among the Vassal Houses that an heir would dare show such blatant disregard for the Crown Princess, to whom she was to swear an Oath of service upon reaching adulthood?


    And it wasn¡¯t just Estelle. Among the three hundred Valerite students at Forester Academy, fewer than forty had greeted her upon arrival. Whether this stemmed from the influence of their parents or their own apathy toward her authority, the implications were troubling.


    A monarchy depended on respect¡ªif not loyalty¡ªfrom the majority of its subjects. Without that foundation, the entire system could falter, and it would only be a matter of time before it eventually collapsed.


    Valeryon had planned to wait. She had planned to observe quietly for a while longer, but Estelle¡¯s open defiance made it clear: waiting was no longer an option.


    She would soon need to respond, lest others come to believe that such behaviour would go unaddressed.


    By the time dinner had come to an end, the room was abuzz with the soft rustling of students rising from their seats, ready to depart. Estelle Lunarys, glanced briefly at her companions. Without a word or a single glance backward, they left in silence, abandoning their unfinished plates as if the conversation that had begun earlier no longer warranted any further attention.


    Upon their departure, the Head Student let out a deep sigh an shifted back, settling herself at the centre of the bench.


    ¡°Right, well. Now that all of you seem to have finished eating, I hope everyone enjoyed their dinner,¡± the young woman began. ¡°I¡¯m the Head Student of the Necromancy Path, Mai Tanaka, and I¡¯ll be your guide this week as you begin your journey here at the Academy. We¡¯ll save the formalities for tomorrow, but for tonight, I¡¯ll show you to your dormitories so you can rest up and be ready for the day ahead.¡±


    She paused for a moment, her eyes narrowing as they landed on Laurel. ¡°Unfortunately, the dormitories are organised by Path,¡± she explained, ¡°but given our small cohorts, students from Divination, Necromancy, and Psionic will share a common area, so It won¡¯t be much of a separation to bear.¡±


    Laurel, catching the hint, took a moment to adjust Valeryon¡¯s slightly askew hat with a quiet laugh. ¡°Alright, guess I¡¯ll see you later then, Val,¡± he said casually, before getting up and heading back to his table. Seeing him, the Divination Head Student waved to him, and as Laurel took his seat among them once more, the young man immediately leaned over the table and pulled Laurel into conversation.


    Clearing her throat, the Head Student turned to Valeryon. ¡°What is the nature of your relationship with him? You two seem very close.¡±


    Valeryon hesitated for a moment, unsure how to answer. She searched her thoughts for the simplest explanation and, after a beat, responded, ¡°We¡¯re courting... with plans to be betrothed soon.¡±


    The Head Student¡¯s eyes widened briefly, eyebrows arching high, before her face shifted to express something that resembled a smile, but looked a bit more like a grimace. ¡°Congratulations,¡± she said after a moment. ¡°You two seem like a good match.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    The conversation shifted back to the evening¡¯s plans, and with a nod of agreement, the group stood and moved toward the doors. As they exited the dining hall, Valeryon realised why Headmistress Willowbank had been confident that the top floor would be enough to occupy them. The top floor was an entire island unto itself¡ªexpansive, self-contained, and immaculately maintained.


    Outside, the snow-covered fields stretched out in front of them, interrupted only by glass domes. Inside these structures, miniature ecosystems thrived, their warmth and lush greenery a stark contrast to the icy world outside. Between the domes lay expansive sports fields, tailored for games like One Touch Ball and Majesty¡¯s Court, their lines and markings faintly visible beneath a dusting of snow. Graceful wooden bridges spanned winding streams, their frozen surfaces glinting like glass, all converging into a serene lake bordered by weeping willows that swayed gently in the breeze.


    At the heart of the top floor lay a peculiar opening, a void plunging into the depths below. The purpose of the shaft became clear moments later when a colossal stone platform¡ªthe Floater¡ªascended with a soft hum. Its surface shimmered faintly, runes etched along its edges glowing as it docked seamlessly with the floor.


    The students formed orderly lines, their chatter subdued by the platform¡¯s presence. Valeryon observed the scene with quiet curiosity. When her turn came, she stepped onto the stone surface, her boots clicking faintly against the polished surface. She marvelled at its size¡ªhow it easily accommodated the entire student body with room to spare.


    The Floater began its descent, the runes along its surface pulsating softly. As they approached the fourth floor, the platform slowed, aligning itself with an array of bridging platforms that jutted out like spokes on a wheel.


    They followed their Head Student, Ayumi, along with the Heads of the Divination and Psionic disciplines, stepping onto the bridging platform that led to their dormitories.


    The docking area they stepped onto was cavernous, its walls adorned with detailed carvings that symbolised the three Paths that shared the space. For Necromancy, a skull wreathed in thorny vines dominated the stonework, while Divination¡¯s sigil¡ªa hand with an eye on its palm¡ªgleamed nearby. Psionic¡¯s emblem, a series of three concentric circles, completed the triad. Ahead, an arched entryway shimmered with an iridescent mist, its surface rippling like water.


    ¡°It¡¯s a security ward,¡± Ayumi explained, her tone brisk. ¡°It allows entry only to those aligned with our Paths. We can¡¯t see inside, but those within can see out.¡±


    Inside, the floors were polished black marble, reflecting the soft glow of overhead chandeliers. Dark leather armchairs were arranged in small clusters around wooden tables, and a fireplace crackled on one wall, its flames dancing in a silver grate.


    Clusters of older students lounged around, talking in low voices. They glanced briefly at the newcomers before returning to their conversations.


    At the centre of the room stood a middle-aged man with dark hair greying at the temples. His expression was calm, but there was a weariness in his sharp, angular features, framed by a neatly trimmed beard. His piercing grey eyes scanned the room with quiet authority, settling on the students with an intensity that commanded attention. He wore black robes that draped over his tall, lean frame, the fabric catching the faint light and shimmering subtly. A belt, adorned with silver snakes coiling around it, cinched his waist, their emerald eyes gleaming ominously in the dim glow.


    He took a step forward, and the room immediately quieted.


    ¡°I am Professor Arthurian Warrington,¡± he announced. ¡°While I do not directly teach your disciplines, you will all study Alchemy with me later in the year, each in accordance with your respective specialisations. I am the professor overseeing this dormitory. If there''s something that needs addressing, you will come to me first, before any other staff member. Understand?"


    His sharp gaze swept over the students, pausing on a few before continuing. "I expect discipline. Any conflicts between dorm-mates stay within these walls. Outside, you will present a united front¡ªor at least, the appearance of civility. Injure another student, and you will be expelled¡ªif. You. Are. caught."


    Valeryon¡¯s brow furrowed, wondering if she¡¯d misheard the strange emphasis on "caught." However, the pointed snickers from some older students nearby made it clear that she had not.


    Professor Warrington continued without missing a beat. ¡°Now, I understand that perhaps some of you may think that it may be pointless to worry about points, when the other Paths far outnumber yours, but in case you were not aware, the ranks of the Paths depend on the number of students in the top ten scorers, not the total points. So, stay on top of your readings, contribute to your classes, and you¡¯ll earn points for your respective Paths. With three Paths to look after, I expect at least one of you to bring me glory this year. Any student who falls behind or loses points better have a good explanation¡ªor prepare to spend your evenings scrubbing cauldrons.¡±


    He paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Breakfast is at 8. Don¡¯t be late."


    With that, he turned sharply on his heel and left the room, his robes billowing behind him.


    Seeing their attention return to her, Ayumi gestured to the three stone staircases that led from the common area, each flanked by intricate carvings of their respective Path crests. The one adorned with a skull was clearly meant for the Necromancy Path.


    The Necromancy Head Student stepped forward, her expression stern. ¡°I¡¯ll give you a proper tour tomorrow morning before breakfast. Be at the common room by seven sharp. If you¡¯re late, you¡¯ll have to find your way alone.¡±


    ¡°Your names are engraved on your dormitory doors,¡± she continued. ¡°Boys to the left, girls to the right. Find your rooms and settle in.¡±


    With that, the students began to disperse toward their respective dorms.


    As the students dispersed, Valeryon lingered at the base of the Necromancy stairs, her gaze drifting to the base of the Divination dormitory stairs just in time to see Laurel stood there, his snow-white hair catching the firelight. He waved, mouthing a quiet ¡°Goodnight.¡±


    Valeryon hesitated before raising a hand in a small wave. With that, she turned and ascended the stairs, her thoughts heavy with the day¡¯s events.