Seraphina found us not long after the illusions vanished—along with Love, if I had to guess. Her boots clicked against the stone as she strode over, brushing some grime from her white coat like she hadn't just been wrangling monsters. She glanced around, eyes scanning for threats, before settling on us with a frown that softened as she reached out to support both me and Sora in one effortless motion.
"You two look like you've been through a washing machine," she muttered, voice dry as ever. "Let's get you out of here."
Before I could ask what a washing machine was, I heard them—magi-guns cocking, boots slamming into the stone, the hiss of hydraulics. The guards had arrived.
They poured into the plaza from the ruined archways, clad in silver-plated armor glowing faintly with spellrunes, their weapons already trained on the lingering monsters slinking in the shadows. Some of them were accompanied by… automatons. Giant ones. Hulking masses of armor and glowing cores that made the ones I'd seen before—the almost-human-sized versions—look like toys. One of them turned its head with a metallic whirr, scanned the plaza, and opened fire. A burst of red-hot light reduced a crawling beast to sludge and sparks.
I gulped.
The guards spread out, securing the area and shouting orders. Some moved to assist the shaken civilians hiding behind rubble, guiding them to safety with practiced ease. Seraphina was already talking to a captain, gesturing with her free hand while Sora leaned into her side, still a little dazed.
Then Sora's head perked up. Her eyes lit up, face blooming with relief like spring after frost. I turned my head—and there they were.
Arden. Lysandria. And someone else—a young woman I didn't recognize—walking toward us alongside two guards.
"There you guys are!" Lysandria called out, her arms crossed in annoyance. "Would've taken forever if it weren't for these glorified tin cans." She jabbed a thumb toward the escorting guards, who didn't even blink.
Sora didn't wait. She practically launched herself forward, only barely remembering she had sore legs halfway through and staggering slightly—before Arden caught her.
He didn't say a word. Just rested his hand on her head, gently ruffling her hair like she was something delicate. He gave her a thumbs-up with his other hand. She melted into him, wrapping her arms around his waist in a hug that looked more like a clinging lifeline. Her face was hidden, but I could feel the pride radiating off her in waves. The way her breathing calmed, like being near him eased something inside her.
Lysandria scoffed. "Ugh. Get a room, lovebirds."
Arden turned toward me then, stepping over the bits of shattered stone and monster husks. His eyes met mine, and though his expression was unreadable as ever, he raised a hand—and a faint glow sparked between his fingers. A warm wave washed over me as the healing magic seeped into my skin, easing the ache in my arms and legs.
"You used magic," he said simply, almost like a passing comment. "I could feel the mana you left behind."
I blinked at him. "I—what?"
Sora peeked out from his side, nodding quickly. "She did! I saw it. When the illusion tried to stab her, she blocked it with a shield of light." Her voice rose with excitement, and she looked at me with wide, proud eyes.
Oh.
Oh.
I remembered the shield—the way it had sparked to life in front of me, the crackling weight of it pressing against my hands—but I hadn't known if it had actually counted. If it had really been magic. But hearing it confirmed like that, like it mattered—that I mattered—something fluttered in my chest. For the first time, I felt seen.
Before I could say anything, Arden turned slightly and waved the young woman over.
"This is Elisabeth," he said. "She's a priestess of the Light religion…"
"The Luminous Path," she corrected with a small smile. "But yes, we do follow the goddess of Light. Um… hello. It's an honor."
She gave a small bow, her hands clasped politely in front of her, and smiled like she didn't mind the mix-up at all.
"I think she might be able to help you learn," Arden continued, nodding at me. "Specifically light magic. Shielding, mostly—but also sensing, if she's trained in that. You've got potential."
My jaw nearly hit the cobblestones. "Wait—what?"
"I—I can?" Elisabeth looked just as baffled, glancing between him and me like she'd missed a step in a conversation neither of us had been part of.
But Arden had already turned back to Sora, who had begun recounting the events in the plaza with a mixture of shy excitement and trembling fingers. He nodded along as she spoke, listening intently, and every time he patted her head, she leaned into it like a flower toward sunlight.
Elisabeth left soon after to check on the church, promising she'd return if I wanted help. Seraphina had to leave momentarily too—some officer business, probably—but not before giving us a once-over and a final sarcastic quip.
That left Arden, Sora, Lysandria, and… me, mostly just tagging along. We did a final sweep of the city, helping drive out the last of the cultists and checking in on the wounded. Arden glided from person to person, healing like he was swiping lint off a jacket, leaving me wondering if I'd accidentally hired a magician or a very confident janitor. At one point, we came across a woman pinned under a collapsed wall, blood streaking her temple.
Before I could even panic, Arden stepped forward and murmured something under his breath. A spell circle flared beneath his feet, golden and complex, and the rubble lifted. Not crumbled. Not shattered. It just… rose, like an invisible hand had peeled it away, piece by piece, without so much as bruising the woman beneath. She looked up at him like he was some kind of angel. I didn't blame her.
The days that followed were… strange. The city felt like it was trying to breathe again, and everywhere I looked, something was being repaired or rebuilt. The automatons were the stars of the effort—hulking things that moved with eerie precision, hauling stones and reshaping walls like it was nothing. I'd never seen anything like it. In any other city, this kind of damage would've taken months. Here, it looked like it'd be days.
It felt almost alien. Almost unnatural. But it was also incredible.
Arden helped out where he could, usually with Sora trailing behind him and Lysandria complaining nearby—though she did pitch in, occasionally, when no one was looking. I spent most of my time with Elisabeth, trying to figure out this whole "light magic" thing.
She wasn't exactly a master. Not even close. But she tried. Honestly, I don't think she even knew why Arden had volunteered her for the job. She could've said no. But he had saved her life, and I think that kind of thing sticks. She owed him—and I think she knew he knew that.
Still, there was a question that kept bothering both of us: if Arden was so damn good at magic, why wasn't he teaching me?
Maybe he knew something I didn't. Or maybe he just had a thing for throwing people in the deep end and seeing if they swam.
The next few days were a blur of repairs, noise, and a lot of awkward standing around. Automatons lumbered through the streets like they owned the place—stacking rubble, lifting entire walls like they were made of paper, all without a single complaint. Show-offs.
One evening, Arden got whisked away for some emperor meeting. Strategy, logistics, war stuff—I didn't ask. Which left the rest of us in the palace dining hall. It was too big, too quiet, and I was painfully aware of how little we actually knew each other.
Sora kept sneaking glances like she wanted to say something but never quite committed. Lysandria just jabbed at her food like it owed her money.
After an eternity of cutlery clinks and mutual suffering, Lysandria sighed.
After an eternity of cutlery clinks and mutual suffering, Lysandria finally spoke.
"Alright, Sora."
Sora perked up, halfway startled. "Huh?"
Lysandria still wasn't looking up. "You and Arden. What's going on there?"
Sora's cheeks flared like a startled bird, and her fork jittered in her hand like it had ants. "He's just… he's someone very important to me. That's all."
"That's not an answer," Lysandria muttered.
I jumped in before Sora could melt into her seat. "So uh, how long have you two known each other, anyway? I mean, you were already with him when I woke up in that forest, so... must be a while."
Sora looked like she hadn't expected the conversation to turn on her like this. She fidgeted, glancing between the two of us.
"About two years now. Maybe a little more." she said finally.
"Two years?" Lysandria raised an eyebrow. "And you're still blushing like a village maiden with a crush?"
"That's just how I am!" Sora blurted. "He's… always been kind. Patient. When I didn't know how to act around people, he never made me feel out of place. He just… accepted it."
It was quiet for a moment after that. Not awkward—just quiet.
Lysandria eventually exhaled through her nose. "Hmph."
Then she tilted her head toward me. "What about you? You don't exactly look like someone who's known him long."
I blinked, caught off guard. "Uh. No. Not really. Hasn't even been a month."
Lysandria snorted, shaking her head. "Huh. No wonder you still look so awkward around them."
We all fell quiet after that. The palace felt even bigger somehow—like it was holding its breath along with us.
Sora poked her food, Lysandria was back to scowling at hers, and I just stared out a window, trying to sort through the jumble of thoughts swirling in my head.
Maybe we weren't exactly a team yet. Maybe… just a bunch of lost pieces. Shoved together by chance.
But somehow, despite the awkward silences and unspoken questions, it felt like we were starting to fit.
Just a little.
And that was enough—for now.
Or, well. It would have been enough—if we hadn't been interrupted by the clearing of a throat so precisely timed it felt like punctuation.
We all jumped. Even Lysandria flinched.
Standing at the head of the table—where no one had been a second ago—was a man in a dark waistcoat and perfectly ironed coattails. He looked like he'd stepped straight out of a high-end portrait: greying hair slicked back, monocle gleaming, hands folded with the kind of calm that could part oceans. I hadn't heard a door. I hadn't heard anything.
"I must apologize for the intrusion," he said, voice smooth and aged like a well-brewed tea. "But I fear it is far too early for any of you to indulge in sentimentality."
We stared.
Sora was halfway through raising her fork again, then lowered it slowly, like afraid to spook him.
He gave a small bow. "I am Albrecht. Steward of the imperial household. His Majesty requests your presence at first light tomorrow—though he suspects you'll all be up late brooding, so I was sent to… gently discourage that."
"Additionally," he continued, producing a scroll from somewhere unseen, "your sleeping arrangements have been updated. At Lord Arden's request, of course. It was observed that sharing cramped quarters with two other girls has not been… conducive to rest."
He adjusted his gloves, as if just mentioning it required polishing the air.
"Miss Sora will remain in Lord Arden's care and lodging, as per his original instruction. Miss Lysandria, you will be granted a private suite on the third floor. And you," he said, looking squarely at me, "will likewise have your own room. Fresh linens. A working lock. And a door that does not rattle when the wind blows."
Lysandria folded her arms. "With all due respect," she began, which meant no respect was coming, "who died and made you in charge?"
Albrecht adjusted his monocle.
"Technically, the last three people who attempted to ignore my schedule," he said, so lightly I couldn't tell if it was a joke.
Sora made a tiny squeak. I nearly joined her.
He gave a final nod, then stepped back—and by the time we blinked, he was gone again.
No doors. No footsteps. Just the faint echo of a ghost who drank etiquette for breakfast.
We sat in silence for a long moment.
Then Lysandria muttered, "I hate him."
Sora whispered, "He was kind of amazing."
I just stared at my now-cold food and quietly reevaluated what I thought counted as "weird."
Another servant—this one wearing a deep blue sash and a permanent look of serene disinterest—arrived without a word and motioned for Sora to follow her. Sora hesitated just a second, then turned to me and gave the softest little wave. She looked almost… apologetic.
Then she was gone.
Another servant peeled off with Lysandria, who barely acknowledged me as she marched after her, chin high and heels clicking like judgment.
Which left me.
Alone.
My guide said nothing, just started walking. I followed like a stray dog, my footsteps muffled by thick carpets. Every flicker of candlelight cast shadows that danced along the walls, and the portraits of stern-faced nobles seemed to watch, waiting for me to slip up.
As we stepped into a quieter corridor, faint voices drifted down from a nearby guard post. Two armored men stood watch, their tones low but sharp enough for me to catch.
"Do you really think they've caught her? Alive, even?" one murmured, his voice rough with disbelief.
"Orders came straight from the top," the other replied. "She's to be kept alive for questioning. The Emperor wants answers. That 'Love'—she's not just a cultist. She's something else. Dangerous."
The first guard spat on the floor. "Let's hope she talks before she disappears again."
I swallowed hard and glanced at my guide, hoping for answers. But she only tightened her grip on the lantern, eyes fixed straight ahead.
When I opened my mouth to ask, she gave a polite but final shake of her head.
No answers today.
"This room has been arranged for your comfort," the servant said. "Master Arden was insistent."
I had no idea what that meant.
But when I stepped inside, I forgot to care.
The room was too much. The bed was big enough to fit my entire village. The fireplace was already lit. A delicate desk sat beside the window, complete with an ink set and a stack of thick, clean parchment. A chandelier—not a magi-lamp, a chandelier—hung from the ceiling like a crystal spider web.
I stood in the doorway, half-expecting someone to tell me there'd been a mistake. That this wasn't mine, that I wasn't supposed to be here, that someone had gotten me confused with a noble girl who knew which fork to use and didn't mutter to herself when stressed.
But no one came.
I walked to the balcony. Opened the door. The cool air hit me like a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.
The city was beautiful in the dark.
Silent.
Still.
I leaned on the railing, resting my cheek against my arms.
It was too much space. Too much quiet. Too much room in my chest where fear had been living for so long. And now… it didn't know what to fill itself with.
But I could breathe.
And for now, that was enough.