"Aurelia… why are you here?" Acier couldn't hide the surprise in her voice as she and Sebastian stepped into his study. Dorothy had called them back roughly two hours after they'd parted, only for them to find Aurelia seated at the table.
And it wasn't just Aurelia's presence that caught her off guard. Amara, Alfred, Jeeves, Hilda, Nebra—holding Noelle—and Solid were all gathered there as well.
Sebastian peeked over Acier's shoulder, shooting a questioning look at Dorothy. His words came out more like a statement than a question.
"You called them here?"
Dorothy nodded, but before she could explain, Aurelia cut in.
"She did." Her voice drew everyone's attention as she continued. "She called us all here and gave us a rundown of what you're planning."
Aurelia narrowed her eyes at the couple, her tone sharp. "But I still want to know what happened. What brought this on? Why are you digging into your own minds and pasts? Are you fighting again or something?"
Acier's expression darkened as she fought off a twitch. "Please don't curse our marriage, Sister. Nothing of the sort is happening."
The fact that Acier didn't address Aurelia by name made her irritation clear. She wasn't pleased with the question—or at least with how it had been phrased. She deliberately ignored the looks of relief that flashed across Nebra's and Solid's faces at her response.
"Ack." Amara's hoarse cough cut through the tension, pulling everyone's attention to her. She raised a trembling hand and pointed it at Sebastian.
"What are you trying to do…? I don't like the idea of my daughter having a stranger poking through her mind."
Her gaze flicked to Francois, the look on her face saying, No offense.
Francois gave a polite nod. "None taken."
It would be stranger if anyone was comfortable letting a loved one lower their guard like this. Allowing an outsider to probe through one's mind was dangerous—leaving them completely vulnerable. If Francois had ill intentions, he could cripple them, kill them, or even take control of them, turning them into puppets.
Of course, Francois wasn't that kind of person. But no one could give him the full benefit of the doubt, not entirely. The temptation to enslave the leaders of a royal house wasn't something the average person could ignore without some shadow of a dark thought stirring in their soul.
Although Amara often mused inwardly about the idea of House Francois delving into her daughter's mind to uncover the root of Acier's unhealthy obsession with Sebastian, that was nothing more than a fleeting, darkly comical thought. It wasn't something Amara would ever seriously entertain—she would never put her daughter in a vulnerable position.
The worry and concern she felt were evident on her face as she locked eyes with Sebastian.
Sebastian folded his arms at Amara's probing and sighed, ready to give his mother-in-law a reluctant but acceptable answer. However, Acier silenced him by pressing her index finger to his lips.
Turning her attention to her mother and sister, Acier smiled. "If Dorothy has already given you the rundown, then you should know this is between Sebastian and me."
She resisted the urge to call him Sebby in front of Francois. Not that Sebastian would have minded—he actually felt more awkward hearing her call him by his actual name these days. There was something forced and unnatural about it when she said Sebastian, though she seemed unaware of his thoughts.
Her smile didn't falter as she continued. "This is a private matter between my husband and me. We don't need to explain our reasoning or thoughts to anyone else."
Amara and Aurelia's eyebrows twitched at her words, while Alfred, Hilda, and Jeeves—the three servants—tried to shrink into the background, minimizing their presence in the room.
Acier crossed her arms and spoke again in her sweet voice, though a hint of annoyance slipped through.
"Now I'll ask again: Mother, Sister, why are you two here?"
Her gaze shifted to the servants. "And you as well?"
"It's because I need them for the spell!" Dorothy shot up from her chair, raising her arm like a guilty child caught in the act. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she blurted out the confession.
Acier's sharp expression softened as she turned to Dorothy. Her voice became genuinely sweet, almost tender.
"Dorothy, honey, could you explain?"
Amara and Aurelia's brows twitched simultaneously. What are these blatant double standards?!
Dorothy let out a relieved breath, placing her hands on her hips and regaining her composure. She even looked a bit smug as she spoke.
"I've figured it out—how to do exactly what Dad asked!" She nodded toward the five in question. "And they're going to play a big role!"
Sebastian narrowed his eyes, scratching his chin as he mulled it over. To connect others' subconscious…?
Amara, Aurelia, Alfred, Hilda, and Jeeves had all been present in some capacity since the very beginning of Sebastian's and Acier's relationship. The first four especially had seen it unfold closely. Their perspectives would provide exactly the kind of insight Sebastian needed to piece together a complete picture of how their bond had formed.
The issue was… Dorothy shouldn't have known that.
Sebastian turned his attention to Nozel, raising an eyebrow at his eldest, who sat beside Dorothy.
"Were you the one who suggested she summon them?"
Nozel gave a cool nod. He had.
Not long after Dorothy's sudden "moment of realization," she'd asked him who had seen the most of their parents' relationship. Besides himself and his late grandfather, these five were the names that had come to mind.
Sebastian had been little more than a ghost in Nebra's and Solid's lives until recently. They knew little of their parent's bond and dynamic. Over the past few years, however, Nozel had seen more of Sebastian than almost anyone else, even their mother. They had met frequently as Nozel began his upper education and prepared to take on his role as heir.
Nozel, more than anyone, understood the shared connections that had shaped Sebastian's and Acier's lives. These five had been constant presences in their parents' story—at least until Amara and Aurelia had moved into House Vermillion.
That didn't negate all the time before that, though, when Amara and Aurelia had spent significant moments with Sebastian, whether intentionally or not. And those earlier years were what concerned Sebastian most.
A quiet moment passed before Acier caught on to what Dorothy was trying to do. Ignoring her mother and sister entirely, she gave an apologetic look to the three senior servants of House Silva. The servants responded with short, respectful bows, acknowledging her unspoken sentiment.
Amara and Aurelia's expressions darkened further as they shot Acier pointed, unamused looks—looks she dismissed without a second thought.
Turning back to Dorothy, Acier smiled warmly. "Well done, honey." Her head swiveled toward Francois, who sat across from Dorothy. She dipped into a graceful curtsy.
"And thank you as well, Lord Francois. I'm sure this wouldn't have been possible without your expertise and professional input."
Francois instantly flushed, scrambling out of his seat and waving his hands as if to ward off the compliment. A Duchess curtsying to someone of his rank? It was enough to make his heart race in panic. But more than that, he couldn't accept credit that wasn't his.
"N-no, Lady Acier, absolutely not!" he stammered. "T-this has nothing to do with me… this was all thanks to Miss Unsworth!"
"Hmm?" Acier straightened, her gaze shifting back to Dorothy. Only now did she seem to notice Dorothy's smug, almost gleeful expression.
It was as if Dorothy's nose had grown an inch with pride as Francois continued.
"We were all completely lost—no idea where to even begin with Lord Silva's and your request. I was, quite frankly, ready to give up. But Miss Unsworth, under what I can only describe as a sudden stroke of genius, came up with a viable method to make your wish a reality."
Acier and Sebastian stiffened almost imperceptibly. Sebastian coughed into his fist and turned to Dorothy.
"You said 'sudden'—as if the idea came to you out of nowhere?"
Dorothy, hands still firmly planted on her hips, nodded proudly and threw up a playful peace sign.
"Hehe, this is what we call enlightenment." My genius, it's almost frightening!
Although Sebastian and Acier had anticipated this possibility, seeing their suspicions come to life still sent a chill down their spines. The idea of having their lives and destinies manipulated was no pleasant thought, though they masked their unease behind stony, impassive expressions.
Fortunately, the attention didn't linger on them for long, as it shifted to the Silva heir.
"Clap, clap, clap!" Nozel smiled fondly at his fiance, encouraging the moment by offering a slow round of applause, clearly stroking Dorothy's ego further.
Solid blinked, baffled by the sudden display. Are we clapping now? After a moment's hesitation, he joined in.
"Clap, clap, clap!"
The room stilled for a moment before Noelle began giggling in Nebra's arms.
"Aga… aga… aga!" She squealed happily at Dorothy and slapped her chubby baby hands together in an attempt to mimic the clapping.
Apparently, that was the signal everyone had been waiting for. Francois and the servants joined in with polite applause. Even Amara and Aurelia exchanged a reluctant glance before adding their own slow claps.
Dorothy was absolutely on cloud nine, her face flushed—not from embarrassment, but from the sheer satisfaction of basking in the praise.
Acier caught Sebastian's eye and sent him a silent message. You were right.
Sebastian nodded back at her. Both of them carefully masked their pity as their scrutinizing gazes landed on Dorothy.
Honey, that was probably not your idea, Acier thought.
Unable to entirely reign on Dorothy's parade, Sebastian decided it was time to move on. He coughed into his fist and echoed Acier's words. "Well done, Dorothy."
Dorothy flushed even brighter, practically glowing as the applause came to an abrupt halt. Everyone stopped in unison—everyone except Noelle, who continued clapping blissfully, oblivious to the silence.
"Aga! Aga! …aga?" The baby's clapping slowed as she noticed everyone watching her. After a moment, she seemed to decide she'd had her fill and stuffed her tiny hands into her mouth instead.
Sebastian exhaled quietly, folding his arms behind his back as he addressed Dorothy again.
"Dorothy, why don't you give your mother and me a rundown of that plan of yours?"
Dorothy hesitated, then smiled. She moved to stand behind the chair she'd previously occupied and gestured for Nozel to do the same.
"Mom, Dad, why don't you sit down first?"
Sebastian and Acier didn't argue. Sebastian reclaimed his seat, Nozel standing dutifully behind him, while Acier settled into hers with Dorothy taking her place at her back.
But Dorothy had other plans. After a moment, she strolled away from her mother-in-law, rounding the table and making her way to the large window behind Sebastian's desk. Without a word, she slid into his chair, slouching back as though she owned the place.
Sebastian's mouth parted in stunned silence as his daughter-in-law made herself comfortable. He inched forward, about to speak, but no words came. Is she serious right now?
And then she kicked it up a notch—literally. Dorothy propped her legs up on his desk, casually shoving stacks of neatly arranged papers aside. His fingers twitched as he resisted the urge to say something. Instead, he placed his hand over his mouth, feigning deep thought to hide the quiver of his lips.
Sebastian wasn't obsessive, but he did have a certain… system. Why is it so hard not to scream? Dorothy's actions tested the limits of his restraint, and the stifled laughter of his family didn't help.
Thankfully, Dorothy broke the silence, twirling a strand of her short hair around her finger as she addressed the room. "Alright. Let's make sure we're all on the same page here." Her tone was as casual as her posture. "Mom and Dad want to relive their memories from their first meeting to about two weeks ago, right?"
Everyone nodded—even Noelle, who probably had no idea what was going on but clearly didn't want to be left out.
Dorothy turned to Francois. "To make that happen, we've enlisted Lord Francois." She gestured dramatically to the reserved mage seated nearby. "He'll use his Memory Magic to dig up and piece together those buried and likely imperfect memories."
Then she pointed to herself. "Meanwhile, I'll use my Dream Magic to take those core memories and weave them into a dream Mom and Dad can relive. Understand?"
The room nodded again, though Amara and Aurelia blinked at Dorothy in surprise. So that's what her magic is called.
Nebra, Solid, Hilda, and Jeeves didn't bat an eye. They'd seen Dorothy's magic in action plenty of times since she'd entered House Silva. In fact, Dorothy had taken Nebra and Solid into Glamour World to "play" on more than one occasion, leaving the siblings-in-law thoroughly impressed. It was no wonder they'd warmed up to her so quickly.
Sensing the duo's gaze, Dorothy flashed them a smile before addressing Aurelia and Amara.
"Aunt Aurelia, Grandmother, we can discuss the full extent of my magic another time. But for now, you need to know one thing: one of my abilities allows me to pull others into my dream."
She paused, letting that sink in. "An endless, infinite space where I can essentially do as I please."
The two blinked again, nodding stiffly as Dorothy's smile widened—though it quickly turned serious.
"However, I'm not omnipotent in that space, and Glamour World has its limits. Its inherent purpose is to lull people to sleep, which is… a bit of a problem here."
Aurelia raised a brow. "Why?"
Dorothy folded her hands on the desk, her expression grave. "Because falling asleep in Glamour World means entering eternal sleep. So naturally, I can't let Mom and Dad fall asleep there unless I want to kill them."
"Oh." The pair blinked, faces blank as realization dawned.
Dorothy nodded with a sigh. "Exactly."
"Because of this, I originally assumed my trump card—my greatest spell and ability—was crippled or useless, leaving me with no way to accomplish what Mom and Dad were asking." Dorothy's voice softened as she glanced down. After all, without Glamour World, I'm pretty much useless.
"But…" Her lips curved into a playful smirk as she lifted her gaze. "...I realized that wasn't the case."
The room fell silent, everyone waiting for her to continue.
Dorothy rested her hands in her lap, speaking with a light, casual tone. "You've all seen me do something like this before, haven't you?"
She snapped her fingers, and the ink bottle on Sebastian's desk vanished in a swirl of purple and blue hues.
Sebastian's jaw tightened ever so slightly, his teeth grinding in silent protest, but the others nodded in recognition.
Dorothy spread her arms, her knowing smile growing wider. "Where did it go?"
"To Glamour World!" Solid called out excitedly, drawing a satisfied nod from Dorothy.
"And what does that signify?" she prompted, her gaze sweeping the room.
A few blank stares greeted her, but Nozel—who already knew the answer—spoke up in her stead. "It means your spell, Glamour World, isn't a creation-type spell."
"Exactly," Dorothy said, her smile widening as Nozel continued.
"You're not creating it from scratch every time you pull someone into your dream. Glamour World exists as a separate space, and your spell merely grants you access to it and control over it."
"Precisely!" Dorothy clapped her hands together. "I hadn't thought about it before, but the fact that I can transport things into—" she snapped her fingers, and the ink bottle reappeared on Sebastian's desk, perfectly intact—"and out of Glamour World, even when I'm not inside it or actively using the spell, proves it's always there. Always existing. Always active."
"Honey…" Acier's voice was soft, her thin smile patient but curious. "Where are you going with this?"
Dorothy's eyes sparkled with excitement. "It means…" She paused for effect, her grin turning smug. "I don't have to be inside Glamour World, to use its abilities, be it for myself or for anyone else."
To demonstrate, she snapped her fingers again. A swirling vortex of pink and purple hues appeared, but this time, instead of something vanishing or reappearing, the mist cleared to form a window of sorts.
Through the translucent screen, everyone could see it—Glamour World in all its fantastical, surreal glory. Random objects of varying shapes and sizes floated through the endless space, some resembling ordinary household items, others like they'd been plucked from a child's imagination.
"This is Glamour World's current state," Dorothy explained, her voice ringing with authority as her gaze lingered on Aurelia and Amara. The mother-daughter pair exchanged a glance before nodding, their doubts seemingly quelled.
Dorothy pointed to a massive floating teddy bear within the dream realm. "This bear is something I created. It's not a physical object from our world. So normally, even if I brought it into reality, it would dissipate immediately."
As if on cue, the bear floated through the cloudy threshold, crossing from Glamour World into the office.
Noelle's eyes lit up as she reached out from Nebra's arms. "Fwuffy!"
But before she could grab it, the bear bulged and burst into countless drops of pink and purple light, raining colors across the room.
Noelle squealed in delight, clapping her tiny hands as Nebra chuckled, pinching the girl's cheeks affectionately.
Dorothy didn't miss a beat. "That's how it usually works," she continued, licking her lips thoughtfully. "When I'm outside Glamour World, all I can do is summon physical objects from it into this world." She gestured to the dissipating sparkles. "And when I'm inside Glamour World, I can't interact with or affect the outside world unless I teleport back out."
She raised a finger, her tone turning mischievous. "In other words, about 90% of my abilities are tied to Glamour World. So uptill now I thought that meant unless I'm in Glamour World, I can't do much at all."
A pause, her grin growing wider as her eyes gleamed with excitement. "But!" Dorothy's voice rose with renewed energy. "I've figured out a work-around."
Dorothy gestured back to the window, and everyone turned their eyes to it. A new figure came into view—petite, purple-haired, and wearing the same witch hat as Dorothy.
It was another Dorothy!
Except this one's eyes were closed, with a bubble of snot comically inflating and deflating from her nose.
Dorothy smirked at the looks of shock on her aunt's and grandmother's faces, waving them off dismissively. "Relax, this is just a clone I imagined into existence during my last trip to Glamour World."
They nodded stiffly, though their racing hearts suggested they weren't entirely "relaxed" yet.
"I've given this sleeping clone authority to lord over Glamour World in my absence," Dorothy continued, her tone casual, "until I return and decide whether to dispel her or… unimagine her from existence."
"Now!" Dorothy spread her arms dramatically, like a magician about to dazzle the crowd. "You must be wondering why on Earth I would do that. What could I possibly gain from creating such a thing, right?"
"Yes, yes, yes," everyone groaned in unison. "Please get on with it."
Nozel scowled, shooting disapproving looks at the group for their lack of decorum, while Dorothy flushed, coughing into her sleeve in an attempt to recover.
"Ahem," she cleared her throat. "Anyway, getting to the point…"
"With both a 'me' existing in the real world and a 'me' lording over Glamour World, I—the real me—can act as a beacon and bridge between the two realms. This way, my clone can channel Glamour World's powers into the real world."
"Like so."
She pointed back to the window. Everyone watched as the clone's eyes snapped open, causing a collective stiffening of shoulders.
But as they registered the clone's clouded, vacant gaze, they relaxed—somewhat.
The real Dorothy scratched her head sheepishly. "I didn't dare replicate a complete version of myself to control Glamour World. It's not that I don't trust myself, but, well…" She trailed off before waving her hand vaguely. "You never know. What if one day, it gets corrupted? Or attached to life? Or, God forbid, drunk on power and tries to take Glamour World from me?"
The room froze.
Solid fiddled with his thumbs nervously before muttering under his breath, though loud enough for everyone to hear, "That sounds scary."
Sebastian nodded subtly, thinking to himself, Right you are, my boy, right you are. The whole setup reminded him a little too much of some Xianxia stories where clones usurped the main body's identity and power.
Dorothy waved off Solid's concern with a playful grin. "It's only a possibility—one that'll never actually happen."
Please don't jinx yourself, my dear daughter… Sebastian cringed inwardly.
"Anyway, back to the screen!" Dorothy clapped her hands to refocus the group's attention.
The clone snapped its fingers, and once again, the giant teddy bear materialized inside Glamour World before floating through the window into the real world.
This time, however, the bear didn't dissolve into colorful sparks. It simply hovered in the air, solid and tangible.
Dorothy laughed, her hands on her hips. "As long as I keep this bridge and connection to Glamour World intact, and as long as I have mana, that bear won't disappear!"
She pointed to the floating bear, which began to glow faintly with a pink outline. Slowly, it floated downward toward Nebra—or, more accurately, toward Noelle, who was squirming in Nebra's arms, clearly intent on tackling the bear.
Everyone couldn't help but smile as Dorothy set the bear down beside Nebra. Nebra crouched, placing Noelle onto the bear's belly.
"Fwuffy!" Noelle squealed, giggling as she threw her arms around the bear in a full-body hug and snuggled into it, belly to belly.
Sebastian frowned slightly, watching his youngest daughter. She's going to be absolutely devastated when that thing disappears…
His gaze shifted across the room, landing on Alfred, who looked up as if sensing his master's unspoken command. Their eyes locked, and in that silent exchange, Sebastian's intent was clear.
Buy one. The biggest and softest you can find. Have it delivered to House Silva immediately, Sebastian mouthed.
Alfred's expression subtly conveyed, Of course, sir.
Without a word, Alfred moved to the corner of the room, pulling a magic transponder from his satchel. Whispering into it, he activated the glowing gem atop the device. Moments later, the light dimmed, and he slipped the transponder back into his bag before quietly resuming his place beside Jeeves.
No one paid him any mind, too caught up in watching Noelle's antics.
The room was filled with soft chuckles and warm smiles as Noelle clung to the bear, her laughter ringing like music.
Acier smiled warmly at Noelle before turning back to Dorothy. "That's very impressive, honey, but how exactly is this going to help us…?" she asked gently.
Dorothy paused, then smacked herself lightly on the head with a playful "Teehee… I forgot to explain that part." She scratched her head awkwardly before turning her gaze to Francois.
The nobleman straightened, collecting himself before responding with his usual politeness. "My duty here is to extract Lord Silva's and Lady Acier's memories and link them together to reconstruct accurate events for Miss Unsworth to review and weave into the dream, correct?"
Sebastian suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Does everyone in this world insist on speaking in questions? Just get to the point already!
It felt like the courtroom all over again, back when Lotus and his group were on trial—so much talking, so little doing. Still, Sebastian forced himself to nod along with the others, keeping his irritation buried beneath a calm exterior.
Francois clasped his hands behind his back. "To achieve that, I would normally activate one of my signature spells, Mémoire Absolue, which is sufficient for the task at hand."
"But." Francois raised a finger for emphasis, "the issue with this spell is that, to reconstruct the memories into coherent events, I would need to scan and review them myself. That would mean intruding upon Lord Silva's and Lady Acier's privacy—something that is, of course, unacceptable."
"So," he continued, "rather than I piece the memories together, I propose casting the spell only to connect and hold the memories in place. Miss Unsworth's clone, leveraging the power of Glamour World, will then organize and weave the events into the dream under her direction."
Dorothy chimed in, her bright smile drawing everyone's attention. "And you don't need to worry about privacy! My clone will be the only one with access to your memories. Since I'm not physically in Glamour World to monitor them, and I'll dispel the clone afterward, your secrets will be buried with her for eternity."
She scratched her cheek sheepishly. "It's not the most elegant solution, I admit… but it's the best workaround we've got. So, Mom, Dad—what do you say?"
Acier and Sebastian exchanged a glance before nodding in unison. Sebastian turned to Dorothy with a calm expression.
"Yes, that's acceptable," he said before fixing his gaze on Francois. "However, forgive my skepticism, Lord Francois, but can you actually do that? Activate only certain aspects of a spell while leaving others dormant?"
Sebastian's tone carried an edge of curiosity mixed with doubt. After all, in his experience, spells were cast as a whole—while their strength, range, and intent could vary, their core function remained unchanged.
Francois paused before bowing his head slightly. "May I be so bold as to correct you, Lord Silva?"
Sebastian sighed, waving a hand. "I've told you before, Francois, no need for formalities here. Just speak your mind."
The nobleman adjusted his monocle and forced a polite smile. "Of course. I am casting the entire spell, but I'm relinquishing control of its final phase—the reconstruction—to Miss Unsworth's clone."
He hesitated before continuing with pride tinged with self-deprecation. "You see, Mémoire Absolue isn't a basic spell. It's the product of years of rigorous training and experimentation—a fusion of two of my oldest spells."
"Oh?" Sebastian raised a brow, scratching his chin. "Care to elaborate?"
Francois inclined his head. "Certainly. When I first received my grimoire, I had only a single spell: Mémoire Rappel."
He chuckled wryly. "At the time, I thought my magic was limited to recalling things. The spell allowed me to remember anything that had ever happened to me and help others jog their memories as well."
He paused to let that sink in before continuing with a brighter tone. "Later, through experimentation, I discovered that memory magic had a high affinity with communication magic. This led to the creation of my second spell, Mémoire Connexion."
"As the name suggests, it allows me to connect multiple minds, enabling them to share thoughts, feelings, mental imagery, and anything they can visualize."
Francois blushed slightly under the approving gazes of everyone in the room, scratching his head before carrying on.
"Eventually, I combined the core principles of Rappel and Connexion to create Mémoire Absolue. This spell not only lets me link minds and retrieve their memories but also allows me to review and reconstruct them into a coherent sequence of events."
"And because Absolue is an amalgamation of these spells," he added, "I can focus solely on the Rappel and Connexion aspects while leaving the final phase—the reconstruction—in Miss Unsworth's clone's capable hands."
"I see," Sebastian nodded slowly, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "That makes… not perfect sense, but enough."
It reminded him of Yami's ability to combine Mana Zone with Black Hole to create Black Moon. The core concepts of Black Hole hadn't disappeared; Yami could revert the spell to its original form whenever he chose.
Sebastian gave a small, approving smile. "Very well, Lord Francois. Let's proceed."
"Wait, I have a question," Acier said, clasping her hands and drawing everyone's attention. She glanced at her mother, sister, and the three servants before repeating herself.
"What will their role be in all of this?"
"Oh! My goodness, I almost forgot!" Francois exclaimed, chastising himself as his gaze shifted to the five.
"According to Prince Nozel's instructions, these five are the ones most knowledgeable about and influential during the progression of your and Lord Silva's relationship to this point, correct?"
Acier nodded, though her eyes flickered with a hint of sorrow. While these five were present today, the ones who truly held the most influence had long since passed away.
If anyone noticed the subtle change in her mood, they didn't acknowledge it. Francois pressed on. "These five, along with Prince Nozel, have agreed to allow me to temporarily link their subconscious minds to yours. This will transfer all the relevant memories from those years into Mémoire Absolue. Miss Unsworth's clone will then use this input to enhance the accuracy of the dream and minimize bias."
Francois scratched the back of his head, looking slightly embarrassed. "I won't claim it'll be 100% accurate, but incorporating these perspectives should push the dream's fidelity to over 90%. Unfortunately, I don't have the power to commune with the dead to boost that number further."
Nor do I believe I ever will, he thought to himself before continuing. "So, Lord Silva, Lady Acier—does this solution work for you? If not, we can take more time to explore other options—"
"No," Sebastian interrupted, raising a hand. He shared a brief, silent exchange with Acier, who smiled and nodded.
Sebastian mirrored her nod before turning to Francois. "That will be more than enough. Thank you."
Francois inclined his head respectfully. "Of course. It's an honor to be of service to House Silva."
Sebastian didn't bother chiding him for his formality this time. His mind was elsewhere.
Perhaps he had been asking too much of Francois and Dorothy. Up until now, union and compound magic in Black Clover had always seemed to come together so naturally. He'd assumed they could replicate the same. But on reflection, that wasn't true.
Union magic only worked when there were strong bonds between the casters. Yami and Nacht were best friends. Yami and Ichika were siblings. Luck and Magna were rivals. Luck, Klaus, and Puli had even been reincarnated as vessels for elves. The list went on.
Maybe if Francois' son was here instead, he and Dorothy would have more resonance since they were both vessels of elf tribe members, but Marx hadn't even received his grimoire yet.
He'd be useless.
Francois and Dorothy, on the other hand, had only met two hours ago. They had no bond. Expecting them to create a union spell, especially one with such a specific purpose, was unrealistic.
The fact they had managed to devise a workaround, chaining smaller spells together to achieve the same effect—even if it was likely thanks to divine intervention—was already impressive.
Sebastian wasn't going to dismiss their hard work by insisting things be done his way when the result would be the same. Sure, the spell might gain a few percentage points in effectiveness if they trained for days or weeks together, but he and Acier didn't have that kind of time.
Ninety percent accuracy was more than good enough.
Acier looked around the room at her son, her mother, her sister, and the three servants. She smiled softly, her voice full of gratitude.
"Thank you. All of you. This means a lot to us. Truly."
Sebastian echoed her sentiments. "You have our gratitude."
The six responded in their own ways.
"It's not a matter worth mentioning, Mother, Father," Nozel said coolly, nodding his head.
"Brother, Sister, if you die, I call dibs on Noelle!" Aurelia beamed, earning a sharp look from her mother.
"What Aurelia means to say…" Amara said through gritted teeth, pinching her youngest daughter's cheek in frustration, "is that we will, of course, do everything we can to help you."
Alfred and Jeeves bowed deeply while Hilda curtsied. They spoke in perfect unison, their tone filled with loyalty. "It is our honor to be of service, Master, Mistress."
"Well, that's that!" Dorothy clapped her hands as she swung her feet off Sebastian's desk and sprang out of his chair.
"Do you need a moment, or should we start now?" she asked with a bright smile, circling around the desk to approach the group.
Acier hesitated, glancing at Sebastian from the corner of her eye.
"It's up to you," he said softly, giving her a reassuring nod.
Acier returned a small smile before turning back to Dorothy with renewed determination. "Let's do it now." If I wait any longer, I'll start hesitating, she thought.
Dorothy's grin widened as she stepped closer. "Alright. Do you want to do this here or somewhere more comfortable, like on your bed?"
"Here's fine," Acier and Sebastian answered in unison, drawing an amused laugh from Dorothy.
"Good. Then lean back and get comfortable. Dreams can be weird—sometimes time crawls inside, while an entire night passes in reality. Other times, it flows the same as the real world. And occasionally, you can live an entire lifetime in a dream, only to wake up a few hours later."
Her expression softened. "Reliving twenty years of life—even if it's condensed—will probably take a few hours in the real world. You don't want to wake up stiff and cramping."
Sebastian and Acier chuckled, letting their usual noble composure slip as they reclined in their chairs.
"It's time now. Don't resist," Dorothy said gently.
Her hands, glowing with pink and purple light, settled on their heads. The last thing they heard before the world began to fade was her soft, soothing voice.
"Sweet dreams."
Dorothy's words were like a lullaby, coaxing them into sleep. Their grip on reality loosened, and their eyes closed as they drifted off.
Dorothy stepped back, her smile unwavering as she turned to the others. "Alright, time to get to work."
Solid and Nebra exchanged a glance before quickly scooping up Noelle and her oversized teddy bear, making a hasty retreat to avoid disturbing the process.
As the door clicked shut behind them, Francois' grimoire floated to his side, flipping open with a soft rustle of pages.
"Memory Communication Magic: Mémoire Absolue!" he chanted.
Above Sebastian and Acier, an aqua-blue dome with sharp, angular planes formed, converging into a glowing sphere. Within it, fragmented images and memories began to surface, flickering across the planes like ghostly projections.
Francois averted his gaze from the couple's memories, focusing instead on the task at hand. With a snap of Dorothy's fingers, her clone moved silently behind the pair. Its cloudy eyes gleamed as it reached out to the dome, siphoning portions of the spell's energy to analyze the emerging memories.
Dorothy settled back into Sebastian's chair, closing her eyes in deep concentration. Her mana poured steadily into the invisible bridge she'd created between the real world and Glamour World, stabilizing the connection.
Francois turned to the remaining six. "Are you ready?"
They nodded in unison, and his grimoire flipped backward to its first page.
"Think about any memories you have of Lord Silva's and Lady Acier's relationship," he instructed.
The six closed their eyes, focusing intently.
"Memory Magic: Mémoire Rappel!" Francois chanted.
As the spell activated, their recollections began to surface, vivid and unbidden, drawn forth by the magic. Francois' grimoire flipped again, this time forward.
"Memory Communication Magic: Mémoire Connexion!"
A thread of glowing blue light shot out from Sebastian's and Acier's heads, connecting in midair before branching out to the six participants.
The threads pulsed with orange dots—memories and thoughts traveling from the six into the sleeping couple's minds. Unlike Sebastian and Acier's two-way link, the six could only send their thoughts, not receive anything back. This unidirectional connection allowed Francois to sever it if necessary without disrupting the delicate process.
Patiently, he watched as the stream of memories flowed into Mémoire Absolue, each one analyzed and woven into the dream by Dorothy's clone.
Francois clenched his fist, grounding himself to reality as he juggled with managing several spells at once, a feat only possible due to the nature of his magic. His voice was a quiet whisper, to strengthen his will and maintain his confidence.
"This will work. It has to work."
—
"It won't work."
The same enigmatic figure, cloaked in a blinding white light, knelt beneath the oscillating empty throne in Heaven's temple. His voice, young yet ancient and void of emotion, echoed softly.
"Or rather, it won't be enough, to attain the most sought after results" He added after a brief pause, a faint sigh escaping him.
Before Him, the plain black-covered book materialized once more, its pages flipping at an impossible speed—millions, perhaps billions—until it stopped at the next blank one. Oddly, although He had written in it just two hours ago, countless pages of new text had appeared in between, as if someone else had been recording their own entries.
His last contribution was no longer the latest.
Even now, as He observed the book, its pages continued to fill themselves with the same mysterious hieroglyphic script, independent of his actions.
The figure extended His right hand, and a quill pen appeared within it. With a deliberate motion, He drew a rectangle near the bottom of the blank page, spanning half its length.
"This space is mine," he declared.
Miraculously, as the self-writing text approached the designated area, it skipped over the rectangle entirely, continuing seamlessly on the next page—one the figure hadn't even turned to.
With precision, He inscribed a single line of hieroglyphic script within the rectangle. Its meaning could be deciphered as follows:
Time shall now freeze in the Primordial World.
—
And so, everything—life, matter, and even the intangible forces—came to a standstill across the world.
The Clover Kingdom, Heart, Diamond, Spade, Elysia, the Witch's Forest, and Hino—every realm froze as time itself was brought to a halt.
Birds hung suspended in the air. Waves froze mid-crest. Volcanic ash from the Yultim Mountain Range ceased its descent, locked in place.
All life, all non-living things—everything was frozen in time.
Well, almost everything.
Within the Gray Deer base, Julius stood abruptly from his desk, leaving behind the paperwork he had been working on. He tilted his head back, gazing at the ceiling.
Anyone who saw him now would hardly recognize him. His eyes swirled like twin vortexes, a black sun mark gleamed ominously on his right temple, and his hair was split evenly—half blonde, half black.
Then he smiled.
No, Lucius smiled.
It was a twisted, unsettling grin, one that oozed malice.
"I see you," he said, his voice lilting as if singing a dark melody.
The sound alone would send shivers down the spine of anyone who heard it.
—
In the seventh and lowest level of the Underworld, the three Dukes of Hell sat with contrasting expressions.
Seated on the third branch of the Tree of Qliphoth was Megicula, a petite female devil adorned with curved, ram-like horns jutting from her head, a thinner pair pointing upward from her forehead, long wavy hair, bat-like wings, and three eye slits rimmed with dark markings. Her long ears twitched as she furrowed her brows in confusion.
"What happened?" Megicula squinted, her tone laced with unease. "Why can't I communicate with Vanica right now? I can feel her… but she's not responding."
In the second seat of Qliphoth sat Beelzebub, a towering figure cloaked in shadow. With pointy ears, four horns—two small ones pointing up and two larger ones curving outward—and hair splitting like a black river down his head, Beelzebub trembled.
One of the three rulers of the Underworld, the devil of space and a being of the highest order, was trembling in fear.
He lowered his head, as though afraid to meet someone's gaze, as though terrified of drawing attention to himself.
And then, at the deepest depths of the Underworld, seated upon the first branch of Qliphoth, was Lucifero—the undisputed king of the Underworld. A monstrous being with four bat-like wings, long, light-colored hair, pointed ears, and sharp teeth. Four upward-curving horns jutted from his temples and the sides of his head.
From his lonely throne, Lucifero's slitted dark sclera and crimson irises stared upward. His gaze pierced through all seven levels of Hell, traversed the Primordial World above, ascended billions of light-years, and locked onto Heaven.
There, it found the Mysterious Figure.
"Enoch," Lucifero spat, his voice dripping with derision and disdain.
"I see you."
"Enoch."
Both Lucius and Lucifero spoke their words with malevolence, their voices resonating through the cosmos.
The Mysterious Figure remained cloaked in radiant white light, their features obscured. As their head tilted downward, the light masked their face, but an undeniable intensity emanated from their unseen eyes, as though locking gazes with both beings.
In a tone as emotionless and ancient as time itself, the Mysterious Figure spoke—not to either being, but to someone else.
"Uriel."
—
Far to the south of the temple where the Mysterious Figure knelt, a clear and pure waterfall cascaded into a serene river. Behind the rocks near the water, an artist's setup was nestled—a canvas on a wooden stand, brushes and paints scattered nearby.
Seated on a stool was a figure, a man with a beauty almost otherworldly. Though unmistakably male, his slender build, spotless skin, and lack of facial or leg hair gave him an ethereal elegance.
The man painted with practiced precision, though his color choices were unusual. Instead of the natural blues and greens of the scene before him, his painting burned with warm hues—the river glowed yellow, the grass blazed red, the waterfall shimmered orange, and the sky swirled with a fiery mix of them all.
As He painted, the Mysterious Figure's ancient yet youthful voice resonated in His mind, calling his name.
"Uriel."
Uriel paused, setting down his brush. He leaned back in his chair, golden eyes lifting to the starry sky. His tunic billowed gently in the wind.
With a sigh, Uriel spoke, His voice dashing yet tinged with irritation. "Very well, but this is the last time. Do not bother me again."
Without waiting for a reply, a radiant halo manifested above His head, glowing like a miniature sun and casting beams of light outward.
Fiery wings unfurled from His back, their feathers blazing red, orange, and yellow like a phoenix reborn.
Uriel stood, His golden eyes now blazing like twin suns. When He spoke again, His voice was no longer dashing but lofty, ancient, and absolute—a voice strikingly similar to that of the Mysterious Figure.
"And once again... let there be light."
His words echoed across all of Heaven, reverberating with a power beyond comprehension.
—
Above the Primordial World, a resplendent golden light flickered into existence. It was small at first, but then it grew—and grew—and grew—until it dwarfed the planet itself. The entire star system—Sun, Moon, and all—was consumed by its brilliance.
Everything turned white. The blinding light bathed every corner of existence. It was fortunate that all life on the Primordial World had been frozen in time because if not, nearly all would have been rendered permanently blind.
That's how glorious that light was.
Within the Gray Deer Base, Lucius instinctively averted his gaze, shutting his eyes tight and tucking his face into the crook of his arm. Yet it didn't help. This wasn't a light one could escape from so easily.
It wasn't just his physical sight that was overwhelmed. Inside his mind—inside his very soul—he saw it. That same golden light. It engulfed everything, consuming his senses and smothering his precognition. His astral body curled into a protective ball, shielding itself as best it could.
I should be scared, Lucius thought. I should be trembling. But he didn't so much as flinch. Instead, he smiled. Because I know... I'm not today's target.
Deep in the lowest levels of Hell, Lucifero retracted his gaze the instant that sacred light reached him.
Light magic wasn't arcane—it had holy properties but lacked the raw purifying power of Saint Stage magic. Yet this? This wasn't magic. It was something infinitely more pure. Something sacred. The very bane of malevolence itself.
And Devils were malevolence incarnate.
Uriel might not have been the strongest Archangel, but he was the one Devils feared most. No matter how powerful Lucifero was, no matter what he had been before, he was now a Devil. And as such, even the mighty Demon King had no choice but to avert his gaze and lower his head.
Lucifero's throne crumbled beneath him, cracking into rubble under the sheer weight of his gravity and fury.
"...Uriel...!" he hissed through clenched teeth.
Back in Heaven, the Mysterious Figure wasted no time. The moment Lucius and Lucifero looked away, He moved.
His head turned slowly, His gaze sweeping across the boundless expanse of the universe.
Within His eyes, the vast starry cosmos seemed to peel away, replaced by a boundless, infinite white void. Floating within this endless space were countless silvery orbs of light, their glow soft yet eternal.
The Mysterious Figure scanned the infinite expanse as though searching for someone. And then, as if finding what—or who—He sought, He spoke.
"Azrael."
—
A lone figure moved through the endless blank space, clad in a black robe that concealed their entire body. The fabric obscured even their face, leaving only the faint impression of a hooded silhouette. A scythe rested in one hand, though even the arm wielding it remained hidden beneath the folds of the robe.
Anyone who laid eyes on this figure would have thought they had encountered the Grim Reaper himself.
And they wouldn't have been wrong. This was Azrael, the Angel of Death—the guardian and retriever of all departed souls.
The space he walked through was the World Between Worlds, a vast expanse true to its name: a space of pure space. Countless silvery orbs floated around him, glowing softly, each one a soul of the deceased.
These souls came from every corner of existence—from humans to dwarves, elves to lizardfolk, insects to plants, devils, and even microscopic organisms. If it was alive, it had a soul. And if it had a soul, it was Azrael's responsibility to protect it until the Day of Judgment, when every being—whether the most depraved sinner or the purest saint—would stand before God for a fair trial.
That was Azrael's sacred duty: to scour every corner of the universe, collect the souls of the deceased, and bring them here for safekeeping.
As he moved through the infinite void, Azrael suddenly froze. A voice echoed within his mind, resonating with quiet authority.
"You know what I want."
The Angel of Death did not respond immediately. Instead, he turned his gaze toward the countless floating orbs of light. When he finally spoke, his voice was cold yet carried an odd warmth, like the stillness of a winter dawn.
"It is your choice. None can force you."
Moments later, three of the silvery orbs shot out from the crowd, stopping in front of him. Slowly, they began to shift. Their glowing forms morphed into silvery astral silhouettes before solidifying and taking on color.
All three figures were men, their appearances starkly different yet undeniably connected.
The first was the oldest—gaunt and frail, with deep wrinkles etched into his pale skin. He was tall, with long silver hair and piercing silver eyes that glinted with wisdom.
The second figure was younger, broader, and sturdier. Though his silver hair was shorter, his resemblance to the first man was unmistakable. Strength radiated from his steadfast posture, and he wore the House Silva attire with quiet pride.
The third was the most striking of the three. Though he appeared older than the second, he exuded a youthful vigor. His aqua hair was as vibrant as spring water, and his eyes gleamed a bright green. Draped in a cyan fur cape and carrying a royal cane staff, he looked every bit the eccentric aristocrat.
The two Silva men nodded in acknowledgment, their expressions cool and indifferent. The third man smiled warmly and returned the gesture with a bow.
Azrael remained still, his face unreadable beneath the hood. He didn't nod but simply waited.
Moments later, another orb of light broke away from the crowd and solidified into a figure. This one was younger, with golden-brown hair, a black birthmark on his lower lip, and a pale, nervous face.
The reactions were instant. The Silva men's expressions twisted into barely concealed disgust, though they made no further movement.
This man was Lux Kira.
Lux ignored their disdain and fell to his knees, clasping his hands in desperate supplication.
"Oh, great Angel of Death! If I help here, will my sentence be shortened?"
Azrael's gaze bore down on him, his voice cold yet gentle.
"You are already dead. The fact that you no longer possess a Grimoire is proof enough. Your sins and good deeds have been recorded in the Book of Life. All that remains is for you to stand trial on Judgment Day, where your actions will be weighed."
Lux's eyes widened in despair, his mouth opening to beg, but Azrael cut him off.
"However, God is merciful and forgiving. If you are willing to aid these two souls, even in death, the Lord will take note of your actions when your trial comes."
Lux froze, then nodded frantically. "Of course! Of course! My calling in life was to help others. Acier and Sebastian are dear friends—I'll do whatever it takes to help them!"
Azrael seemed unimpressed by his outburst. With a calm flick of his wrist, he spun his scythe. Lux yelped in fear, scrambling to his feet. Ignoring the disdainful looks from the others, he gave Azrael a nervous nod.
A sudden snap echoed in all four of their minds. Memories surged forth, fragments of Acier and Sebastian's lives and relationships flashing vividly. Orange dots of energy floated up from their heads and coalesced in the air before shooting out of the white space.
The glowing points of light hurtled across the cosmos, passing through the Primordial World, the Clover Kingdom, and finally reaching Castle Silva. They descended into Sebastian's study, where everything was frozen in time.
The dots merged with the spell Mémoire Absolue.
The resplendent light that had engulfed the world faded instantly.
Back in the Gray Deer Base, Lucius raised his head and opened his eyes, gazing out the window toward the Royal Castle with a faint smile. He turned back to his desk as the sun mark on his right lobe disappeared. His hair turned fully gold, and his swirling vortex eyes shifted back to their natural purple hue.
Julius Novachrono had returned.
And just as he did, Julius froze in time.
—
Within Heaven, the Mysterious Figure etched another sentence into the black book, its meaning translatable as:
And Time in the Primordial World Begins to Move Once More.
—
In an instant, all of creation in the Primordial World stirred back to life. Time resumed as though it had never paused, with no one aware they had been frozen at all.
Within Sebastian's study, Francois and Dorothy remained oblivious to the four new memory fragments that had merged with Mémoire Absolue. Both had deliberately turned their gazes away from the spell to avoid glimpsing the memories within. Meanwhile, Dorothy's clone stood silently, its sentience restricted by design.
The clone had one purpose: to weave a dream from the memories for Sebastian and Acier. It would not speak, nor acknowledge the contents of the memories it handled.
This restriction was precisely the loophole the Mysterious Figure had exploited.
Francois finished severing the connection of the six others' subconscious minds to the couple. Their memories had fully transferred, their role complete. Now, the clone moved forward. With glowing purple and pink hands, it hovered over the heads of Sebastian and Acier, the spell nearing its final phase.
Dorothy, the real Dorothy, sitting at Sebastian's desk snapped open her eyes. Her lips moved softly, and she murmured two words:
"Dream Weaver."
—
Author's Notes:
[1] Sorry about no update yesterday, this chapter was so long, and I had zero motivation to write or do anything whatsoever yesterday. I was just lazy.
[2] We have finally reached the dream, and I want to say, it will by far be the longest arc, not something that will be completed in a chapter or two, so buckle up for a long ride.
[3] As always feel free to join the discord at: https://discord.gg/s3MME8X8ar
"…Acier…"
"…Acier…"
"ACIER!"
"Bwah! Wha—What?!" Acier jolted upright, her absent mind snapping back into focus at the sharp call of her name.
Clang!
The sound of metal cutlery clattering against a ceramic plate yanked her fully back to the present. Her eyes darted to the table before her, the half-eaten sunny-side-up egg, and then across it to meet the twin sets of pink eyes boring into her.
Her sister's gaze was calm, calculating, while her mother's radiated exasperation, tinged with an edge of annoyance.
Acier stiffened, forcing a practiced smile onto her face. "Yes, Mother? What can I do for you?"
Her mother didn't answer immediately. Instead, Amara Silva let out a long, deliberate sigh, dabbing at her mouth with an intricately embroidered silver handkerchief. The gesture was elegant, deliberate, and entirely designed to amplify her frustration.
When Amara finally lowered the handkerchief, she shot her eldest daughter a disapproving glare that made Acier feel about two inches tall. Then, she inclined her head toward the figure seated to Acier's left.
"Your grandfather," Amara said coolly, "has been trying to talk to you for the past five minutes. The least you can do is acknowledge him."
Acier froze. She turned her head slowly, meeting the awkwardly smiling face of Nicklaus Silva, her grandfather. His long silver hair, now faded to white with age, framed sharp features softened by time. His once piercing silver eyes now held a faint haze, but his presence still commanded the room like it always had.
Acier felt a pang of guilt twist in her chest. Lowering her head, she murmured, "Apologies, Grandfather. Could you repeat that?"
Nicklaus waved her off hurriedly. "No issue at all, my dear. No issue at all. I was just asking—" He paused mid-sentence, his gaze narrowing slightly. Then, with a faint frown, he added in a much cooler tone, "Didn't I say to call me Grandpa?"
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. Amara and Aurelia both visibly tensed, their gazes darting to Acier.
Oh, great.
Acier kept her head bowed, hiding the grimace that threatened to surface. She clenched her teeth imperceptibly, forcing herself to steady her breathing before lifting her head.
Her lips stretched into a radiant smile, showing perfect, pearly white teeth, her lavender eyes wide and shimmering with faux innocence. She knew what he wanted—to see her. Or rather, to see Grandmother.
Is that all you ever see, old man? she thought bitterly, but the smile never faltered.
"Sorry, Grandpa. Care to repeat that?" Her voice came out sweet and casual, dripping with forced warmth.
She knew the tone would make her etiquette teacher writhe in despair, but that was a problem for future Acier. Right now, all that mattered was Nicklaus Silva's mood.
His eyes lit up at her response, his earlier frostiness melting away. His smile stretched wide and grandfatherly, as though he hadn't just iced over the entire room moments ago.
Nicklaus reached out his right hand and gently caressed Acier's left cheek. She fought every muscle in her body to keep from cringing, forcing her distaste deep down where it couldn't surface.
"Don't be, my dear Amethyst," he said softly.
I'm not your Amethyst. I'm Acier. Not Acyer! she wanted to spit back, but the words stayed locked behind her teeth. Instead, she maintained her dazzling, unbreakable smile and repeated her question for the third time, desperate to move on.
"So, Grandpa, I didn't hear you before. Could you ask your question again?"
Nicklaus hesitated for a moment before retracting his hand, coughing into his fist as a faint blush crept across his aged face. His usual composure—the air of a steadfast and unflappable royal lord—crumbled in an instant. He fidgeted awkwardly, looking more like a nervous child than the powerful patriarch of the Silva family he once was.
"Well, it's August now," he began shyly, "and your birthday isn't far away. I was wondering if there's anything you've set your eyes on. Just tell me, and Grandpa will get it for you."
He patted his chest dramatically, putting on a show of confidence, as if to say he would move mountains for her if she asked.
Because to him, she was his greatest pride.
Anything except giving me some breathing room and space, Acier thought bitterly, but she buried the dark notion alongside all the others. She could never voice that, not when it would break the old man's heart.
Even if it was toxic, it was still love. And love—real love—was a rare thing. Not everyone got it. Aurelia doesn't even get it, she reminded herself. I have no right to be selfish and turn it away.
Acier's weakness was her family. She loved them, and they loved her, in their own flawed, suffocating way. So she smiled even brighter, ignoring the ache in her jaw, and beamed at her grandfather with the warmth he needed to see.
"I'll love anything you give me, Grandpa. You know that," she said sweetly.
Nicklaus chuckled softly but shook his head. "Now, now, that won't do. Everyone has something they want. You just need to tell me what that is—"
"Speaking of birthdays," a cold, gruff voice cut through the air, interrupting Nicklaus mid-sentence.
All eyes turned toward the head of the table, where a broad-shouldered man with short silver hair and piercing eyes sat like a statue. Nathaniel Silva, the current Patriarch of House Silva, radiated authority even in silence.
As Nicklaus' only son, Amara's husband, and father to Acier and Aurelia, Nathaniel rarely spoke, but when he did, every word landed like a hammer.
He set down his fork, his scrutinizing gaze locking onto Acier. "This is your fourteenth birthday. I don't need to remind you what that means, correct?"
Acier straightened instinctively, her posture perfect, and nodded stiffly. "Yes, Father. I know full well."
Fourteen. The milestone that marked her transition from girl to woman in the eyes of the aristocracy. But it was not a celebration she welcomed.
This birthday wouldn't grant her independence; it would only steal her freedom further. Fourteen meant she was courtable, and those men—those greedy, lecherous men who had only been restrained by her age—would now be free to pursue her.
She would face suitors. Disgusting, predatory, slick, conniving suitors.
None would dare to force themselves on her, of course. Her position as the prized jewel of House Silva safeguarded her from such indignities. But no one would court her without House Silva's blessing, and therein lay the problem.
The main branch of House Silva couldn't afford to turn those suitors away.
Acier clenched her fists under the table, nails digging into her palms. With no brothers to inherit, she was the heir apparent. The burden of extending the family's main line rested squarely on her shoulders. If she failed, the side branches would seize the opportunity, sparking a succession war over inheritance.
Of course, Aurelia could take on that duty, Acier thought. But I'll never let that happen.
Aurelia deserved better. She deserved love. Real love. If she married, it should be because she wanted to—not because duty demanded it.
Acier's jaw tightened, but she kept her expression serene. She would endure it. She had to.
For her family.
Nathaniel nodded, his voice measured and precise. "This birthday will mark your coming-of-age ceremony, where all the upper echelons of royalty and nobility are invited."
"As a lady, you'll be expected to perform a waltz with a partner. Has your dance practice been progressing well?"
"Yes, Father," Acier replied, her tone polite but restrained. She had to force herself to remain composed. He already knew the answer. All of her educational progress was meticulously reported to him—reports that confirmed she was on track, especially with dancing.
Dancing was the one area where she excelled naturally, even when the more traditionally "feminine" pursuits—like knitting, cooking, or singing—eluded her. Perhaps it was because dancing allowed her to feel expressive, free. She loved it for that.
But the thought of dancing with some slimy older man, a predator looking to pin her against the wall and use her as a tool to sire heirs for House Silva, made her stomach churn.
Her mind conjured the image vividly: some bloated, balding noble slob, sweat glistening on his forehead as he tried to roam his hands over her body under the ballroom's glittering chandeliers. Her skin crawled at the thought. She wouldn't be able to push him away or call him out. Doing so would bring humiliation not just to herself but to House Silva.
That single, inevitable dance had the power to sour every ounce of love she held for the art. She knew her father understood that.
So why? she thought bitterly. Why do you have to bring it up and ruin my mood all over again?
Under the table, Acier's hands trembled, her nails digging into her palms as she clenched her fists to vent her frustration.
"UNACCEPTABLE!"
Amara and her daughters jumped as Nicklaus' furious roar filled the dining hall. He slammed his hands on the table, the plates clattering in response, and glared daggers at his son.
Nathaniel met his father's rage with an unflinching, ice-cold stare.
Nicklaus jabbed a finger into Nathaniel's chest, his voice rising in fury. "I will not accept Acier being forced to dance with those disgusting beasts who know nothing of propriety or respect for women! She has no need for men in her life, especially ones so morally depraved! She doesn't have to dance. We are House Silva. The rules bend for us. We don't cater to the whims of lowborn nobles—"
"Father." Nathaniel's cool voice cut through Nicklaus' tirade like a blade. His glare sharpened as he continued. "Many noble ladies have their coming-of-age ceremonies as early as twelve. You've already abused our House's standing to delay Acier's until now, under the pretense of waiting until she turned fourteen to align with kingdom law."
"That delay has already sparked rumors—that she is inept, slow-witted—"
"WHO DARES?!"
Nicklaus' fists came down on the table once more, harder this time, sending plates skittering. His voice was a thunderclap of rage, but it was soon followed by a hoarse cough as his fury overtook him.
"Give me the names of those bastards," he demanded, pointing a trembling finger at Nathaniel. "I'll have them disappear—"
"Father." Nathaniel interrupted again, his voice as steady as ever. "Acier's coming-of-age ceremony will proceed on August 31st. It will conform fully to aristocratic trends, including the dance."
Nicklaus gritted his teeth, his jaw tightening as he glared at his son. His hands trembled in frustration, his lip caught between his teeth in an attempt to hold back his rage.
"...Why you… you…" His voice cracked, helplessness breaking through his anger.
As much as Nicklaus was used to having his way, Nathaniel was the current Patriarch of House Silva. If he chose to enforce his will, there was little Nicklaus could do to overrule him.
Acier felt a sinking sensation in her stomach, an invisible weight pressing her down. She wanted to lower her gaze, to retreat inward, but uncharacteristically, Nathaniel spoke again, even though the matter had seemingly been settled.
"Acier." His voice was calm but commanding, drawing her attention once more.
"Yes, Father?" She straightened her posture, forcing herself to meet his cold, unwavering stare. Her body fought the urge to squirm as he continued.
"Do you have a partner in mind?"
"Huh?" The question jolted her. She blinked in confusion, scrambling to compose herself. "I—I mean, of course not. After all…" She trailed off, unable to finish the thought.
Acier harbored no fondness for the male gender, especially the way they always looked at her—like she was a prize to be claimed or a vessel to be used. Even if she'd dared to befriend a boy, she knew her grandfather would probably make him disappear before anything could develop.
Nathaniel seemed unfazed by her faltering response. He nodded with detached indifference. "Very well. I will arrange for a partner in secret. He will be close to your age and of respectable moral standing. I will ensure he understands his role: nothing more than a proper dance partner."
"Does that satisfy you, Father?" Nathaniel turned his attention to Nicklaus, who hesitated before nodding begrudgingly.
The plan was simple. When the time came for the men to swarm Acier and request a dance, her prearranged partner would be in the crowd, stepping forward to spare her from unwanted attention. It was a classic strategy among nobles and royals to protect their daughters' chastity and dignity—an old trick everyone in the aristocracy would see through but could do little more than gossip about.
The arrangement would fulfill her duty: dancing before the aristocracy as a symbol of her maturity and grace. After that, Acier could retreat to her family's side and refuse any further invitations, ending the ordeal without incident.
Nathaniel didn't bother seeking her opinion; he knew his daughter well enough to recognize this was the most tolerable outcome for her.
Moments later, Nicklaus turned to Acier, his expression softening as he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry, my dear. Grandpa will personally vet all the possibilities to ensure your dance partner has no ulterior motives."
Acier's forced smile became more genuine, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "Thank you, Grandpa. That means a lot."
Nicklaus smiled in return, though concern soon furrowed his brow. "Is that why you didn't respond to me before? Has this been weighing on you?"
He lowered his gaze, his tone growing somber. "Don't worry about it. Grandpa will push this back another year—"
"No." Acier interrupted gently, her smile softening further as she reached up to pat his hand. "It's not that, Grandpa."
And she was telling the truth. The dance, the ceremony—it hadn't even been on her mind until her father brought it up. No, her lack of focus, her untouched plate, stemmed from something else entirely. She wasn't preoccupied with the event.
She was just…
"Tired."
Both Acier and Nicklaus turned their heads toward Amara, who had finished her daughter's unspoken thought.
Amara brushed back her silky, silver hair, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she regarded Acier with that same disapproving stare.
"She's tired, Father. Perhaps even exhausted."
"Hm?" Nicklaus raised an eyebrow before reaching out, grabbing Acier by the chin without ceremony. He tilted her head slightly, raising it to scrutinize her face.
As he leaned in closer, he noticed it—faint, but there. The dark circles under her eyes, almost expertly concealed by her makeup, would've gone unnoticed had he not been looking for them. Her complexion was paler than usual, and it didn't take a sharp eye to recognize the signs of exhaustion.
Nicklaus grimaced in distaste, loosening his grip but not letting go, keeping her from averting her gaze.
"Acier…" His voice was low and somber, carrying a weight of disapproval she rarely heard from him. This tone wasn't for her; it was usually reserved for disobedient servants, unworthy competitors, or anyone foolish enough to cross House Silva.
Her hands trembled slightly.
"How many times have we gone over this?" he asked, his brows furrowing deeply. Acier winced as his words struck with finality. "You must stop waking up early and wasting yourself with that abuse you call training."
Acier clenched her fists, ready to retort, but her mother joined in before she could get a word in.
"It's not just the mornings, Father," Amara interjected, her tone brimming with frustration. She leveled a disgruntled stare at her daughter. "According to Alfred, she's been training late into the night as well. After dinner, no less."
Nicklaus's frown deepened. His grip on Acier's chin tightened unconsciously, making her wince in pain. Realizing it, he immediately jerked his hand away, his expression softening with a hint of regret.
Acier, however, paid no mind to the gesture. She whipped her head toward Amara, her eyes flashing with fury and betrayal.
"Mother!"
"Don't 'Mother' me!" Amara snapped, her voice rising as Acier flinched. "I've let this slide long enough, but do you honestly expect me to stay silent while you batter your body like this?"
Amara gestured sharply toward her. "Look at yourself! You look like you're about to collapse at any moment, and you can't even stomach a bite! How many breakfasts have you skipped now? This isn't healthy, Acier!"
"I don't skip breakfast!" Acier shot back, her voice trembling with indignation. "I just eat it later!"
Amara sneered. "Oh, is that something to be proud of? Then you barely eat at lunch, either!"
Acier gripped the edge of the table, preparing to defend herself again, but Amara wasn't done.
"Then you gorge yourself at dinner, take barely a moment to digest, and train until you're vomiting your guts out! You stumble to bed at midnight, collapse, and wake up before sunrise to start all over again! And you think that's acceptable?"
"Acier!"
Her grandfather's booming voice made her stiffen. She turned toward Nicklaus, whose expression mirrored Amara's anger.
"How can you do this to yourself?!" he spat, his tone dripping with exasperation. "A princess must treat herself with respect! You mustn't skip meals, nor neglect your beauty sleep! And all this for what? Training?"
He ground his teeth, shaking his head in disbelief. "If you must train, do it during the day—before and after lunch! That is the proper way, the healthy way—"
"You think I don't know that?!"
The dining room froze. Even Nicklaus and Amara stiffened at Acier's outburst. Across the table, Aurelia ducked her head low, pretending to focus on her bread to avoid being dragged into the conflict. Nathaniel, as always, watched the scene unfold with his usual detached indifference.
Acier's voice cracked as she glared between her grandfather and mother, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
"Whose fault do you think this is, huh?!" she demanded, her voice breaking as she pointed accusingly between them. "Do you think I like missing sleep?! Do you think I want to skip meals and vomit every night?!"
Her words hung in the air, cutting through the tense silence.
"Do you think I'd do this if I had a choice?!"
Amara and Nicklaus exchanged a glance, their expressions hardening with guilt and frustration.
"Don't take that tone with us, young lady," Amara said firmly, her voice regaining its edge. "Neither your grandfather nor I are responsible for you wasting yourself away—"
Acier abruptly pushed back her chair, rising to her feet. The sudden motion silenced Amara mid-sentence. Acier shot her a dark glare, her lips pressed into a thin line.
Without a word, she turned on her heel and strode toward the dining room exit, her steps sharp and purposeful.
"Don't you dare turn your back on me, Acier!" Amara shouted after her, her fury boiling over. "Where are you going—"
"Out!" Acier cut her off, her voice ringing with finality.
The twin doors slammed shut behind her with a resounding bang. The sound echoed through the room, leaving an uneasy silence in its wake. Amara froze, her anger momentarily replaced with shock.
Amara flushed crimson with outrage, shooting up from her seat. She looked ready to storm after her daughter, Nicklaus rising with her, but they both froze at the sound of Nathaniel's voice.
"Sit back down," the Silva Head commanded, his tone calm yet cutting, his focus never straying from slicing into his cod.
"Nathaniel?!" Amara hissed, her voice sharp with indignation. "Did you hear what that girl just said?! We've spoiled her rotten! It's time we discipline her, teach her some respect—"
"Sit. Back. Down."
Nathaniel cut her off, enunciating each word with such finality that it brooked no argument.
Amara stiffened under the weight of his tone, reluctantly lowering herself back into her seat. Her jaw clenched, and she forced herself to resume eating, though each bite seemed to stick in her throat.
Nathaniel spared his wife only the briefest of glances before turning his sharp gaze to the right, fixing it on his father.
Nicklaus, still standing, met his son's silent challenge with an indifferent look.
Nathaniel's unspoken question was clear: I, the Lord of House Silva, have ordered you to sit. Why are you still standing? Is this insubordination?
Nicklaus raised an eyebrow, gesturing to his empty plate. "I'm finished. Now, I shall take my leave."
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and began walking toward the exit.
Nathaniel didn't look back at his father, but his voice rang out, calm and commanding. "You are not to chase after Acier. Understood?"
Nicklaus froze just before reaching the door, his shoulders tensing ever so slightly.
Nathaniel continued, his tone steely. "Give her some space and time to calm herself. The capital and the kingdom are not in a stable state right now—you know that. Do nothing untoward or reckless that might draw more eyes to our house."
Nicklaus stood silent for a moment, then opened the door. As it swung shut behind him, he let out a single word in response, tinged with a snort of reluctant agreement.
"Fine."
—
Acier stormed through the grand halls of the Silva estate, her strides quick and purposeful. She spared not a single glance for the numerous servants who hurriedly stepped aside and bowed as she passed, nor for the polished decor that adorned the mansion's walls.
Her sharp, withering glares kept any opportunistic branch family members or scheming nobles at bay. Anyone foolish enough to think they could strike up a conversation, make an impression, or—heaven forbid—flirt with her was swiftly dissuaded.
Acier was in one of the foulest moods of her life.
Those... snakes!
The word hissed through her mind, though it hardly felt satisfying. She wanted to call her mother and grandfather much worse things—conniving, deceitful manipulators—but the words stuck in her throat. No matter how angry she was, she couldn't bring herself to curse those she loved so dearly.
Even so, she wouldn't tolerate their behavior. Turning black to white, manipulating the narrative to make her look like some immature, ignorant girl who was always in the wrong, who had no choice but to obey them—no.
Acier couldn't bring herself to shout at them or give them the full tongue-lashing they deserved, but she had no problem walking away. If they wanted to turn her into their scapegoat, she wouldn't stand for it.
She rounded a corner, her strides carrying her toward the main exit. The heavy doors loomed ahead, and her thoughts churned like a storm.
Acier hated training early in the morning and late at night. She loved her sleep and relished dining on the finest delicacies—so why would she willingly deprive herself of both?
Because her grandfather and mother, in their overprotective love, had left her no other choice.
Training during the day? Out of the question. Thanks to them, her so-called "training" sessions were anything but productive.
Whenever Acier attempted to train, her grandfather and mother insisted on spectating—under the pretense of monitoring her progress. In truth, they only wanted to ensure she didn't hurt herself. As a result, her drills, practices, routines, and even sparring partners were so restricted that her training barely qualified as exercise. She couldn't even work up a sweat.
And if that wasn't frustrating enough, sometimes they canceled her training altogether, claiming her other studies weren't up to par. This, despite the fact she had already mastered her lessons in arithmetic, financial management, history, and etiquette over two years ago.
They're wasting my potential! Acier clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms as she stormed out of the main estate toward Castle Silva's gates.
Acier was no ordinary noble; she was acknowledged as a magical prodigy. Despite not having received her grimoire yet, she could already best many magic knights and even some royals.
And they use that against me!
Her frustration deepened as she thought of how her mother and grandfather dismissed her need to train. They would tell her she didn't need to push herself like a commoner or peasant, citing her victories as proof of her innate talent.
But Acier knew the truth. The only reason she had won those battles was because she had pushed herself to the brink, battering her body in secret during the hours when they weren't around to fuss over her.
She wasn't going to lie to herself—Acier knew she was talented. But talent meant nothing without hard work to hone it. And thanks to their overbearing interference, she had no choice but to train during stolen hours, cultivating her skills while they slept.
And then they have the gall to pretend it's not their fault!
Acier grit her teeth as the royal guards wordlessly opened the gates for her. Without pausing, she strode through, her steps echoing on the expansive marble pathway leading into the heart of Clover Castle.
She stopped at the three-leaf clover engraved in the center, each leaf pointing to one of the royal houses. Looking up at the sky, she bit her lip.
Mother is one thing... but Grandfather is different.
Unlike Amara, who was merely an overprotective mother with little knowledge of magic or combat, Nicklaus was a former captain of the Silver Eagles. He knew better. He knew that natural talent could only take someone so far. To reach the upper echelons of magical might, to one day become a Magic Knight Captain—or even the Wizard King—required relentless effort.
He knew this. He just didn't care.
Acier's voice softened into a whisper, tinged with hurt. "Because if Grandfather has his way, I won't even become a Magic Knight. I'll be locked away in House Silva as some... defenseless princess, all in the name of my 'safety.'"
This was the problem with traditional houses like Silva and Kira. They clung to outdated values, believing women should remain indoors, managing households and looking pretty, while men handled the hard work.
Even her mother, Amara, adhered to these ideals, believing women belonged in dresses and jewelry—not in armor or battle gear. Cooking, dancing, and singing were deemed appropriate pursuits, but wielding a sword? Unthinkable.
Acier could barely stomach these restrictions, especially since they extended beyond combat. She wasn't allowed to practice even the simplest of "feminine" skills like cooking, under the excuse that royalty didn't need to cook when they had servants.
It was infuriating. Aurelia could make herself comfortable in the kitchen or among noble ladies during knitting sessions without issue, but the moment Acier tried, her grandfather would intervene. His excuse was always the same—he didn't want her cutting or burning herself.
As if I'm some fragile doll!
Her fists tightened as she stood under the vast expanse of the sky, frustration simmering in her chest. She couldn't help but wonder: when would they finally let her grow into the strength she knew she was capable of?
Acier lowered her gaze and turned her head toward the castle across from hers, letting out a wistful sigh. "I wish I was born a Vermillion."
The thought stirred a pang of jealousy she couldn't quite suppress. If she had to be born a royal, why couldn't it have been into the one House that cared little for rigid tradition or stifling conformity?
House Vermillion had always been progressive, openly defying the norms that other noble families clung to. That rebellious streak was, in fact, a major reason behind the ancient split between the Silvamillion lineage, which had fractured into House Silva and House Vermillion.
Over time, the two Houses had drifted further apart, becoming factions in their own right: the staunch traditionalists of House Silva and the free-spirited nonconformists of House Vermillion. The split had allowed House Silva to double down on their prideful, stagnated ways, while House Vermillion—like the lions they admired—were free to stretch their legs and carve their own paths.
Because of that freedom, countless women from House Vermillion had made names for themselves. Many joined the Crimson Lions or other Magic Knight squads, some became heads of their House, and one had even ruled as Queen Regent for a decade.
In contrast, House Silva had never produced a single female Magic Knight who kept the Silva name. Both Houses were descended from the First Wizard King and boasted proud lineages of magic knights, yet only the men of House Silva were granted that privilege. The women? They were mere ornaments, decorative pieces to bolster the House's image.
Acier Silva was envied across the Clover Kingdom for her position, heritage, and status. But maybe—just maybe—she was the epitome of spoiled and ungrateful, because she felt she'd trade it all away for a taste of freedom.
She clenched her fists, the feeling of invisible chains wrapping tighter around her. Her life at Castle Silva was an invisible cage, and she wore an invisible collar that bound her to it.
But then, Acier shook her head and smacked her cheeks lightly, forcing herself out of her thoughts. "Don't say that, Acier. You'll show them," she muttered, voice brimming with determination. "Grandfather, Mother, all of them. You'll take over House Silva, become a Silver Eagle, and one day…" Her fists tightened as a confident smile spread across her face. "One day I'll be Wizard King!"
Her mana flared in response to her resolve, crackling faintly in the air as she turned away from Clover Castle. With renewed energy, she began speed-walking down the marble entryway, her steps purposeful.
As she walked, she let her imagination run wild, picturing herself sitting on a grand throne in the future. Her family would clap and shed tears of joy, apologizing profusely for ever doubting her. Her enemies—those who schemed and plotted against her—would grovel at her feet, trembling as they begged for forgiveness.
"Hehe…" A smug chuckle escaped her lips as she imagined herself striking down those enemies with a single decisive blow. Acier raised her fist in an animated swing, fully engrossed in her fantasy.
But then she froze mid-step, her smug grin fading in an instant. Her body stiffened, and a cold sweat ran down her back.
She felt it—no, she definitely connected with someone.
"Ack!"
Forcing herself to open one eye, she cringed at the sight before her.
Kneeling on the ground a few steps away was the back of a silver-haired figure, panting slightly in pain. He looked dazed, clutching his side as if he'd been struck.
Acier blinked, confusion swirling in her mind. His hair was unmistakably Silva silver, but he wore no House Silva emblems or garments.
Acier's eyes darted to the silver-haired figure, and she hoped—prayed—he wasn't a Silva. He didn't look familiar, and considering the current tension between the main line and House Silva's branch families, she needed him to be unrelated.
If word got out that Acier Silva, the heiress of House Silva, had just physically struck a branch family member, it would cause an uproar. Plenty of opportunists would use the incident as leverage to blackmail her family.
Please, please let him just have silver hair by coincidence, Acier thought desperately. Yet, deep down, she knew the truth: only Silvas had silver hair.
Her stomach dropped as the boy spit out a mouthful of blood.
Acier froze, her face paling. She jerked her head around frantically, searching for witnesses. When she found none, she let out a shaky sigh of relief. By some miracle, no one seemed to be around to see what had happened.
Of course, the royal knight mages monitoring the castle's magic barrier might have witnessed it. But Acier knew she didn't have to worry about them. Their loyalty was to the royal family—the main branches—and they'd gain nothing by reporting her actions. If they tried to stir trouble, they'd likely be fired and replaced by Silva-aligned loyalists. Why risk their careers to curry favor with someone like the Kiras?
They'll pretend they saw nothing, Acier assured herself, though her confidence didn't ease the growing pit in her stomach.
She winced as the boy continued spitting up blood, each cough making her guilt claw deeper. She hadn't held back much on that punch, and—unfortunately—had instinctively reinforced it with mana. If she caught him straight in the face, she had likely shattered his jaw.
I need to find a healer.
Her head swiveled back toward House Silva, but the thought of returning filled her with dread. Her mother and grandfather would jump at the chance to use this incident against her, lecturing her endlessly about obedience.
Still, watching the boy cough up blood—and now what looked like chunks of teeth—she bit her lip hard and turned to dash back toward the estate.
This is my fault, and I need to make it right.
But before she could cross into Castle Clover's grounds, she froze. A burst of mana flared behind her.
Acier turned, her eyes narrowing as she watched the boy sit upright. He raised a hand swirling with water mana and brought it to his face.
To her surprise, the blood pouring from his mouth slowed and then stopped altogether.
He's a recovery mage?
Relief washed over her as she relaxed her posture. Her eyes lingered on him for a moment before she turned to leave again, mumbling to herself, Even so, he'll need a seasoned healer to fix him completely—
She stopped mid-thought, turning back once more.
The boy was standing now, his figure straightening as his hand remained pressed to his mouth. His once-crippling injuries appeared to be healing at an impressive rate, far quicker than she'd expected.
He fixed himself up?
Acier blinked, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. Though she'd held back slightly, the mana-enhanced blow should've taken a seasoned healer more than a minute to mend. Yet this boy had managed it with ease.
Her gaze lingered on his back, and she took a moment to analyze him. His mana seemed unremarkable at first glance, but the control he displayed... It was surprisingly refined.
But just as quickly as admiration crept in, Acier felt a wave of awkwardness wash over her. She stiffened and shifted nervously, fidgeting with her hands as she debated whether to say something—or simply disappear before he noticed her.
But her stomach churned at the thought.
That'd make me a snake, she thought bitterly. And Acier hated snakes. Creatures that bit others the moment they let down their guard, sinking venomous fangs deep, only to slither away when their prey managed to fight back.
She twirled a strand of her hair, unsure of what to do, her gaze moving from the boy's back to the ground in front of him. That's when she noticed it: a book sprawled across the dirt, its pages speckled with fresh blood.
Well, there's still something I can do…
Acier chuckled at herself, self-deprecatingly, and walked toward him. She couldn't bring herself to look him in the face just yet, so she ducked her head, crouched down, and reached for the book.
"S-sorry about that…" she stuttered, running a hand over the bloodied pages in an awkward attempt to clean them. But the moment she touched the stains, she winced—they only spread further.
Cringing, she tried again. "S-sorry about decking you…" she added weakly, still avoiding his gaze. Her eyes lingered on the book's contents—a roughly sketched diagram of the human body, partially obscured by blood. She let out an awkward laugh. "...And sorry about ruining your book."
God, I sound so lame, she thought, her cheeks flushing. Shutting the book, she held it out to him with trembling hands, still crouched and too embarrassed to stand.
The silence stretched on, each second making her feel like her legs would give out beneath her. Take the book, man! she screamed inwardly, desperate to end the excruciating moment.
"Hah hah…" Acier forced out a laugh, trying to lighten the tension. "You're a doctor or something, right? Well, you know what they say: practice makes perfect. I just gave you the chance to practice—"
She didn't get to finish. The boy snatched the book from her hands with a sharp motion, jerking her arm painfully to the side.
Acier winced, instinctively rubbing her arm. I probably deserved that, she thought, though the sting in her pride hurt more than her arm.
Normally, she'd let something like this slide and walk away. But her morning had already been ruined by her grandfather and mother, and her pent-up frustration boiled over.
With a forced smile that was anything but pleasant, she raised her head and spoke. "I know it was my fault, but there's no reason to be so rude—"
Her words faltered as her gaze met his face for the first time.
He wasn't looking at her. His eyes—ocean-blue and hauntingly lifeless—were fixed somewhere far ahead. No, "fixed" wasn't the right word. They weren't looking at anything.
His gaze was empty, absent, like a hollow shell devoid of purpose or drive. He looked alive but not living, a vessel simply going through the motions.
Acier stiffened. She knew that look.
It was the same expression she'd seen in her own reflection, so many times, when she sat alone in her room. Styling her hair the way her grandfather liked. Dressing in her grandmother's old gowns. Feeling like a doll being posed. A puppet on strings.
She shivered, remembering how her lilac eyes would grow dull every time her dreams were taken from her—every time she was told that something she loved was forbidden or "unbecoming" of a princess. Her eyes, like his, had once been vibrant but had dimmed to swirling voids of nothingness.
Her gaze dropped to his mouth, noting that there wasn't even a trace of blood left. No sign of broken teeth. The injury, which should've required a skilled healer, had been dealt with flawlessly—and without a grimoire.
Impressive, she admitted to herself, though the admiration was fleeting.
The boy grabbed the book by its spine and, without sparing her so much as a glance, turned and walked away. His movements were slow, his shoulders slumped and defeated. He headed down the hill toward the heart of the noble realm, his figure retreating into the distance.
Acier shot to her feet. She wanted to call out to him, to ask for his name or learn why he seemed so… broken. She wanted to reach out, to touch that void and understand it.
But her hand faltered mid-air, her voice caught in her throat.
I can't. I shouldn't. He's a stranger—someone I sucker-punched, no less. I'd just be imposing for the sake of my own curiosity.
Her arm fell limp at her side, and frustration bubbled within her. She bit her lip, watching his figure grow smaller and smaller until it finally disappeared from view.
And yet, as he vanished into the distance, Acier felt her chest tighten. Her eyes stung for a brief moment, and she clenched her fists in irritation.
Why am I sad? she thought angrily. I don't even know him.
"Young Miss!"
Hmm? Acier raised a brow and turned, her sadness and frustration vanishing from her face as a familiar, squeaky, pubescent voice pierced the air.
A petite girl, perhaps no older than her sister, sprinted into view. She had long blonde hair tied into twin pigtails and wore a maid's uniform.
The girl charged toward her, stopping abruptly in front of Acier, panting heavily. She quickly straightened herself, composing her demeanor.
"Princess… I-I've finally caught up to you…"
Acier's lips curved into a soft, fond smile as she reached out to pat the girl's head. "What is my cute little Hilda chasing after me for?"
The girl froze, her cheeks flushing pink before she pouted and hastily adopted an indifferent facade.
"Princess, it is a maid's duty to accompany their lady everywhere they go," Hilda recited, her voice stiff with practiced rhythm, as though the words had been drilled into her.
Acier crossed her arms, her smile fading into an unimpressed look. "Quit it with the acting, Hilda. You know I hate the distance."
Hilda paused but held onto her cold act. "I do not have the slightest idea what you mean, Princess. This is how I am. A servant has no need nor cause to cozy up to their master."
Acier's expression darkened, her teeth gritting slightly. Another thing they took from me… my Hilda.
Hilda had been more than just a maid to her. She was Acier's first and only personal maid, someone she had chosen because of their closeness and casual camaraderie. To Acier, Hilda wasn't just a servant—she was her first and only friend. The one person who made her feel almost like a normal girl.
But apparently, that was unacceptable. Royals weren't supposed to form personal bonds with their servants. So, unless Hilda wanted to be reassigned, she had to endure "reeducation" on how to properly behave around her master.
And now, an invisible chasm had grown between them. Even in the most intimate moments—when Hilda dressed her or gave her a bath—Acier barely felt her presence anymore.
There was no warmth, no connection. Only rote actions and formalities. Hilda would ask how she wanted her hair styled, but she no longer commented on how soft, silky, or beautiful it was. Her hands, once gentle and teasing, no longer lingered.
When bathing her, Hilda would coldly inquire about soap or lotion preferences. She never mentioned how smooth her skin was or cracked jokes about how flawless she looked.
Even when helping her choose dresses, Hilda stopped offering her opinion. Everything was deemed perfect because the dresses were selected by her mother or grandfather. They had to be perfect, even if they pinched Acier's waist or left her miserable.
Hilda had become just another face in Acier's life. The only difference was that Hilda's face had a name attached to it.
Acier had come so close to telling her grandfather, I hate you, in those days. It was the closest she had ever been. But she couldn't say it.
It wasn't true.
No matter how controlling her grandfather was, how picky her mother, or how cold and distant her father, she loved them. And because she loved them, she couldn't speak those words aloud.
Maybe they know that, she often thought bitterly. Maybe that's why they push me so far—they know I'll never fight back.
Acier pushed that disgusting thought aside, refusing to let it linger, and nodded. "Very well then, Hilda," she said, her voice laced with coldness.
The way she said her name made Hilda's heart ache, but the maid didn't protest. This was the only way they could stay together now—bound in body, yet separated in spirit and soul.
"Why are you chasing after me in such a hurry?" Acier asked, her gaze cool as she looked down at her.
"The Old Master sent me." Hilda curtsied, her eyes closed as she answered.
Of course, he did. Acier clenched her teeth, a sneer curling her lips. "If Grandfather thinks sending you to convince me to return will be that simple, he's sorely mistaken."
Still holding her curtsy, Hilda responded calmly, "My Lady, you are mistaken. The Old Master has not sent me to stop you, but to accompany you, as a servant should."
Acier froze, caught off guard by the response, as Hilda continued in her measured tone.
"The Old Master has given three conditions to allow you to leave the estate. First, I must accompany you at all times. Second, you must keep this with you at all times…" Hilda handed her a magic transponder. Acier hesitated but took it, her fingers brushing against the cold device.
"And third, you must return to the castle before dinner time."
Hilda rose from her curtsy, standing upright and opening her eyes. "Are these terms acceptable, Princess?"
Acier sighed softly. Grandfather, when you do things like this, it's impossible for me to hate you.
The concessions were so small they barely warranted a mention. They were nothing compared to what she had expected. Just this bit of breathing room—it was all she could ask for.
"Yes, it is," she replied with a nod.
Not that she had much choice. Even if she'd disagreed, her grandfather would have sent the Silver Eagles or the royal castle knights to retrieve her. He'd done it before, and he'd do it again.
She cared little for the royal knights, but the Silver Eagles—the order she aspired to join—were another matter entirely. She couldn't bear the thought of being seen by them as a spoiled princess or a runaway brat. They were protectors of the kingdom. They shouldn't waste their time on her family's petty affairs.
Hilda, sensing the Princess's acquiescence, hid a sigh of relief behind a deferential smile. "Excellent, Princess. Is there a specific place you wish to go? I can summon the carriage."
Acier paused, then shook her head. She gestured casually down the street. "Let's just walk. I came out to get some fresh air, after all."
Hilda bowed her head slightly, a servile smile on her lips. "Of course, My Lady."
The two began walking down the cobbled street. To Hilda, it seemed like an aimless stroll, but Acier was subtly guiding them, her mind elsewhere.
Her thoughts drifted to that figure she had seen just minutes ago—the one who had quite literally crashed into her life.
She didn't plan to talk to him, nor did she intend to call him out. But she couldn't help herself. She wanted to watch him from a distance, to study him.
Acier wanted to know more about that void.
Author's Notes:
[1] No update yesterday, because many things have been going on in life, and I'm now lazy and unmotivated on top of that. I can no longer promise the daily updates, I'll try to stick to every other day, at worst every three days.
If the delay goes on longer than that, just know I'm not dropping this story, I'm either in a slump, or life has just gotten in the way.
[2] If you see a character act uncharacteristically or differently than you're used to in the present timeline, there's a reason for that. People will be different in the past, and a lot can change them in 20 years or so.
[3] As always feel free to join the discord at: https://discord.gg/s3MME8X8ar
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