CHAPTER 54
The manor breathed easier with Sorayael home.
The restless silences of empty corridors were gone.
Her presence threaded itself into the rhythm of the household-waking before dawn with Krios sneaking into her room asking for "sword practice," sharing tea in the late afternoons with Grand Duke Zerathiel in the solarium, and those quiet hours at dusk,
where she often found herself seated in the garden with Zarethian, speaking less, understanding more.
Sorayael had grown used to waking up with Krios banging at her door, wooden sword in hand, demanding a spar. He was taller now, swinging wildly at her with enthusiasm and zero technique. She humored him, correcting his form, pretending to stagger when he managed a solid strike to her ribs.
Their mornings often ended in breakfast with crumbs all over the table and Krios leaning against her shoulder, breathless from laughter.
In the afternoons, she'd walk the gardens with Zarethian, speaking about everything and nothing.
Sometimes they'd find themselves beneath the old pear tree, just listening to the wind and the birds that had returned now that the manor was alive again.
The Grand Duke seemed content watching them from a distance, though he called Sorayael in from time to time to check on how she was adjusting. He didn't pry too much-never asked about the deeper wounds-but his presence was steady, respectful.
Krios also clung to her in his boyish way, following her as if afraid she'd vanish again.
He'd ask her a hundred questions a day-what was the weirdest monster she fought?
Did she ever get hurt? Did she meet any cool people?
Sorayael always answered truthfully, though sometimes her answers were trimmed at the edges, the pain softened for his young heart.
One evening, she caught him dozing in the library with a book twice his size resting on his chest. She tucked a blanket around him and smoothed his hair back gently.
'And braver,' she didn't say.
At breakfast, Zarethian was unusually quiet, prodding at his food without interest. Krios, on the other hand, was babbling about wanting to design his own crest for when he's a full-fledged knight.
Zarethian glanced up. "Make it a spoon. That's what you're best with."
A soft blue light lit up the screen: Deimon (Idiot Kidnapper).
She frowned, grabbed it, and answered. "It's late."
Her brow furrowed. "Yeah. What's wrong?"
That silenced her.
Deimon continued, "For the past three nights, I've been tracking encrypted transmissions-mana-bound messages disguised as weather interference. But it's not just random chatter. It's targeted, hidden."
Her stomach dropped. She sat down slowly on the edge of her bed. "...That doesn't make sense."
Sorayael pressed a hand to her forehead. "Do you have proof?"
Her silence said more than her words.
The call ended, but her screen remained dimly lit with his last message:
[Attachment: west_coords.trace]
She stared at it for a long time, thumb hovering over the file, heart thudding in her chest.
Outside her room, the manor was quiet. Krios was probably dreaming of dragons and swordfights. The Grand Duke asleep in his study. The moon hung over the distant hills like a silver coin, watching.
And yet, something had shifted.
Peace never stayed long.
'What on earth.. Rei??'
Note (Deimon):
"Sora, R.L. = Reinhold Luceris.
Whoever he's speaking to... they're in league with the Emperor.
I don't know what he means by 'oathbearer walking into the dark,'
but I think Reinhold believes this alliance will prevent something worse."
Her finger hovered over the coordinates. Blackveil Ridge. That place had long been uninhabited, the ruins of a forgotten citadel swallowed by mist and tales of monsters.
The silence in her room thickened.
'So... Reinhold had chosen this. But why?'
The following morning was dressed in gold and grandeur
The manor was still wrapped in the cool quiet of dawn, a gentle mist curling over the garden stones and dew glistening along the ivy-draped walls. Birds hadn't begun to sing yet. It was the kind of silence that made you second-guess leaving.
Sorayael adjusted the strap of her satchel, checking it one last time. Her cloak was folded neatly over her arm, boots laced tight, hair pulled back with a silver clasp.
She moved carefully through the hall, trying not to make a sound-but halfway down the stairs, a familiar voice stopped her.
She turned.
At the bottom of the staircase stood Krios, rubbing his eyes with one hand, the other clutching a stuffed lion by the paw. His hair was a soft, sleepy mess. He blinked up at her in his little slippers, brow furrowed.
Sorayael softened. "I was trying not to wake you."
She crouched to meet him halfway. "It's just for a while, Krios. I'll be back as soon as I can."
Krios looked down, his slippers shuffling against the marble.
He hesitated for a moment before reaching into the pocket of his pajama pants. "I was gonna wait for your birthday... but I want to give you this now."
He placed a tiny ribbon in her palm-woven in green and gold thread, clumsily knotted into a loop.
Sorayael smiled despite the lump rising in her throat. She fastened the ribbon onto the strap of her satchel and pulled him into a hug.
He giggled against her shoulder. "Okay... but I'll keep your spot warm at dinner, just in case you get home early."
As she stood to go, Krios followed her to the door, still holding the lion by its paw, waving it gently.
Sorayael gave him one last wave before the gate closed softly behind her.
The path ahead stretched wide and uncertain.
But behind her, a small window in the manor's west wing stayed open-a curtain fluttering, and a little brother watching the road with hopeful eyes.
.........
Sorayael stood beside Zarethian, their ceremonial attire newly pressed, badges glinting in the sun. They had been summoned to the Imperial Palace-along with the other heirs of noble lineages-for a formal recognition: their early graduation from Sterella Academy.
The grand hall of the palace was lined with red velvet and marble columns. Crystalline chandeliers glittered above them, their lights dancing on polished floors. The scent of myrrh and mountain lily lingered in the air.
The Emperor sat upon his gilded throne, smile carefully shaped but not reaching his eyes. Around him stood members of the court, nobles, and officials. Cameras hovered discreetly above for broadcast.
Zarethian leaned close, whispering near her ear, "They're playing this off like a harmless ceremony."
Sorayael's gaze narrowed, "Too much flare for just congratulations."
Their names were called in order. Each heir stepped forward to receive a silver insignia embedded with a mana signature-a symbol of their official passage into service. Applause filled the room, but Sorayael heard it like the distant echo of something broken.
As she and Zarethian stepped forward together, the Emperor's eyes met hers.
Cold. Calculating.
He gestured graciously. "Let this moment honor your discipline and unwavering spirit. You are the future of the Empire."
The room applauded.
But beneath the surface, Sorayael could feel it.
Something was coming.
Something deeper than celebration.
A play had begun and they were no longer students.