The tall arched windows of Lady Valeyra's office cast long strips of silver moonlight across the dark stone floor. I stood before her ornate desk, arms behind my back, trying to look composed despite the tension tightening my shoulders.
Valeyra sat behind her desk, her fingers steepled elegantly beneath her chin, the same unsettling smile playing at her lips. She wore her usual black velvet robe, trimmed with silver feathers that shimmered as she moved. Her violet eyes never left mine—watchful, piercing, amused.
To her right stood Darius, stiff as ever. His robes, freshly pressed, bore the Kira crest across his chest. He didn't bother hiding the disgust in his gaze.
"Well then," Valeyra purred, brushing a strand of silver hair behind her ear. "You've returned with your life intact. That's promising."
"Barely," Darius muttered, crossing his arms. "Not from skill, I imagine."
I said nothing. The silence stretched until Valeyra rose from her chair and circled around her desk, her heels clicking lightly on the marble. She walked slowly, like a cat toying with a bird.
"I'm curious," she said, voice like silk. "Your magic… that grey aura. The snake. The pressure you unleashed in the mountains. What exactly is its nature?"
I hesitated.
For a moment, I considered telling the truth—that I didn't know what it was, only that it came when I lost control, when I was scared, cornered. That I felt as though it wasn't magic I used, but something deeper. Ancient. Watching.
But instead, I forced a calm breath and replied, "It's an illusion-type magic, my lady. I've always had a connection with dreams and visions."
Darius snorted. "Illusion? Is that what you're calling it?"
He shook his head, laughing under his breath.
"Pathetic. We lost trained men to protect an illusionist. Do you know how useless those tricks are on the battlefield?"
I kept my expression blank, though I could feel my fingers twitching at my side.
Valeyra, however, didn't seem affected by the claim—or by Darius's dismissal.
"An illusion magic…" she mused aloud, gently lifting a wine glass from the table. "Interesting. There are few users of it left in the noble houses. Mostly seen as parlor tricks, but in the right hands… it can become something terrifying."
She took a sip and walked back behind her desk.
"In truth, your mana is unlike anything I've felt. Elros says the same. Even the Elders cannot define its origin. But no matter. The Grimoire Festival is coming."
She set her glass down.
"When the magic chooses you, all illusions will end."
I swallowed, unsure if her words were encouragement or a threat.
Darius stepped forward, voice thick with scorn. "If the book doesn't reject him outright."
Valeyra's gaze flicked to him, sharp as glass. "Enough, Darius."
He fell silent, but the contempt in his eyes lingered.
Valeyra's tone softened again as she turned back to me. "Until then, you'll remain here, under close training. Elros will resume your mana control drills. And your father—" she smiled faintly "—will be kept informed of your… progress."
I nodded slowly.
She leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on the desk.
"Do not lie to me again," she whispered, so softly it sent a chill down my back.
Then she smiled brightly again.
"You may leave."
As I turned to go, Darius's voice followed me like a dagger.
"Let's see how long your little illusions can protect you, boy."
I walked out, fists clenched. I had lied. But I had to. Because deep inside, I knew—
Whatever was awakening in me wasn't illusion.
And it wasn't meant to be controlled.
As I turned to leave, Valeyra's voice rang out again, stopping me at the door.
"Oh, and one more thing."
I paused, glancing over my shoulder. Her smile had returned—wider this time, almost cheerful. But her eyes were too sharp, too calculated.
"You've been… far too quiet," she said, waving her hand in a graceful motion. "Too unknown. While it suits us for now, you'll need to build a proper image for yourself. Nobles don't rise from the shadows. They shine in the light, even when that light burns."
Darius gave a skeptical grunt.
"I want you to attend the noble banquet being held by House Vermillion in three weeks' time. The invitation has already arrived, and I'll be sending several young members of our branch."
I frowned slightly. "A… banquet?"
"Yes," she said smoothly. "An opportunity."
"For what?" I asked cautiously.
"To make friends," Valeyra replied, her tone honey-sweet. "Allies. Connections. People who will remember your name when the Grimoire Festival begins. You may be powerful, but raw power means nothing without presence. Politics, dear child, is a game of perception."
Darius clicked his tongue. "He can barely hold his magic—now you want him mingling with the elite?"
"That's exactly why," Valeyra said, not taking her eyes off me. "It's time the kingdom started whispering about the 'grey-eyed boy from the shadows.' A mystery is good. But eventually, a mystery must be seen."
She stood once again and walked past me, brushing her fingers along my shoulder in passing.
"Wear something nice."
Then she was gone, vanishing through a side corridor, her laughter trailing behind like perfume.
Darius scowled and stormed out a moment later, leaving me alone in the dark hall outside her office.
I looked up at the high arched ceiling, my chest tightening.
A banquet at House Vermillion… nobles, expectations, eyes.
I wasn't ready.
But I didn't have a choice.
Later that day, a quiet ache lingered in my chest—not from magic or training, but from something simpler.
Finesse. I hadn't seen her since before the mission.
The corridors of the Kira estate felt colder than usual as I made my way to her wing. The sun was setting, bleeding amber light through the tall stained-glass windows. Servants passed in silence, heads bowed. No one questioned my presence—but they all noticed me.
I stopped in front of her door.
A deep breath.
I raised my hand to knock.
"—Young master."
A soft voice cut through the stillness. I turned sharply to see a middle-aged servant standing beside a large flower vase, his face pale and rigid with formality.
"You cannot see Lady Finesse," he said gently but firmly. "She is not allowed visitors."
I narrowed my eyes. "By whose order?"
"I was instructed by the family physician and Lord Elric himself. She must rest and not be exposed to... emotional stimulation."
Emotional stimulation?
My heart thudded.
"Did something happen?" I asked.
The servant dipped his head slightly. "I am not at liberty to speak."
He moved to block the door subtly.
I clenched my fists. "Then I'll ask her myself."
I stepped forward, ignoring his reaching hand—and just as I did, the door creaked open behind him.
Finesse stood in the doorway, her long silver hair slightly messy from sleep, wearing a soft nightgown that shimmered like woven mist. Her eyes were half-lidded, as if still caught between dreams and reality. But even groggy and unguarded, her beauty was ethereal—unreachable.
Her gaze drifted to me lazily. "What's this noise...?"
The servant instantly bowed low. "My lady, forgive me. I was only—"
She raised a hand to silence him, then looked at me again. This time, longer. Deeper.
There was no flash of recognition in her eyes.
Just the measured curiosity one would offer a stranger.
"...Who are you?" she asked softly.
My breath caught.
I opened my mouth to speak—but the words didn't come.
Instead, I stood there in stunned silence as she rubbed her eyes and slowly turned back into her room, not even waiting for an answer. The door closed gently behind her with a soft click.
The servant turned to me again, face blank. "Please understand. This is for her safety."
I didn't respond. I couldn't.
I simply stood there, frozen in front of her door, as if part of the hallway.
As if I'd never existed to her at all.