Spring was cleaning the tiny hut deep in the heart of Mossvale Forest—the quiet little place, not too far from the Academy, that she and Winter had been using while stationed in Rowen. She scrubbed the floor, dusted the shelves, rearranged books for the third time. Anything to keep her mind busy.
But it didn't help. Almost like clockwork, the king's voice would return to her thoughts, curling in behind her eyes.
Winter wasn't there to help ease her mind, either. Dante had sent him off days ago, on some secret mission. No warning. No details.
What was happening that the king needed his most trusted again?
She didn't know. All she knew was that she was alone. Again.
For several days now, it had been just her and her thoughts.
And they weren't being kind.
After hours of chores, she finally laid back in bed, exhausted. Who knew such a small hut could collect so much dust?
But rest never came.
The king's question kept circling her brain.
Why are you still hiding?
It dug at her. The more she tried to shake it, the more it buried in.
Why were they still hiding?
Some people already knew who they were. And they didn't care. So much time had passed, the story of the rebellion had faded into myth. A tale. A bedtime story.
They had the peaceful life they'd once dreamed of.
So why did it all still feel so wrong?
Spring had never understood the need to stay hidden. That had always been more of Winter's belief. Fall and Summer were harder to convince—but somehow, they'd all agreed in the end.
Maybe too much time had passed. Maybe revealing themselves now would fracture the kingdom's history, shake the narrative, cause chaos.
But maybe… it wouldn't.
She sighed. Rolled over. Rolled back.
Still no sleep.
And then, like a blade to the chest, the king's voice echoed again.
"I might need that power of yours sooner than you think."
That did it.
Fine, Lion Dante. I'm going.
She sat up. Swung her legs out of bed. And with a flick of her wrist, her training clothes flew from the wardrobe and wrapped around her in one smooth motion—like they'd been waiting for her this whole time.
She bolted out the door.
Too fast to track. The way she always did.
Spring reached the Academy.
She bolted through the stairs of the Academy until she reached close to the last level. The Sphere. A gigantic, magically sealed dome they used for training. Nothing went out—the magic would hold it.
She arrived in front of a giant stone door. The door was activated by reciting a spell only the Royals knew.
The Sphere held the power to create illusions of monsters, ranked from C to S, where S was the most insidious. The monsters were created through a simple spell, as was their number. It was easy to imagine why children weren't allowed to play in such a place. They could train here too—but only under close supervision by the State Warden or State Arcanist.
Once inside, Spring stopped walking when she reached the exact center of the Sphere. She recited the spell to lock the door behind her, then paused to wonder.
What was her rank now?
Let's just go with A.
She triggered the Sphere to create A-rank monsters. Three of them.
Enormous, humanlike creatures—white, with long spikes instead of arms. They had no other facial features, just a hideous smile.
They were fast. Really fast.
They lunged toward her, but she stayed calm and completely still.
The creatures halted mid-attack at the sudden movement of… air?
Spring began moving her arms and legs in such a gracious manner that the devil himself would've dropped to his knees. Every motion of her body—divine harmony.
The monsters lunged again.
She dodged.
And again.
And again.
Her dodges slowly lifted her into the air.
The air around her grew heavier, darker. Waves of power surrounded her, shifting, crawling toward the hand she now held upward.
She released a slicing blow—and completely pulverized the creatures.
With a beautiful pirouette, she gently touched the ground and bowed.
It was over. And what a show!
There was no public. But if there had been, they would've been standing breathless.
Such grace. Such power. All wrapped in the frame of a beautiful, tiny, elven-like princess.
Okay. Another round! Let's see an S.
A few floors above the training grounds, a single room was lit.
The rest of the massive tower stood silent and dark, but the glow from that room disturbed the stiffness of the night.
Inside, a classroom filled with students was on the brink of chaos.
They were all about to enter the Trial.
Desperate, over-caffeinated, half-mad with nerves, they scrambled through scrolls, spells, tactics—anything they could find in The Library or pry from the State Arcanist's memory. Time was slipping, too fast to catch.
At the front of the class stood the State Arcanist himself. Ever-restless. Ever-watchful.
He wouldn't leave his children alone at a time like this.
He called them children, but these students, unlinke the ones from the other day, were actually fully grown adults, ready to face the most dangerous exam in their lives. The Trials.
He explained things over and over again, whatever they asked of him. Hours had passed. Maybe days. It felt like eternity.
Well—to him, at least.
But his patience? That of a saint.
"Remember, children," he said. "The Veil never lies. It only shows buried truths. That is the first rule. It will test every corner of your soul. Strength. Wit. But most importantly—your memories. And your weaknesses."
The children were listening. Sort of. But they were buried in their own notes, heads low and minds spinning.
"Also, know that you don't have to reach the Fountain, either. If you get out after the second phase, it will secure you a place as a Royal. Don—"
"Master, please!" someone called from the crowd. "How many hits can the Guard Spell take?"
He didn't see who asked. He was too deep into his flow.
"Ah—it depends," he said. "There's a trick to it..."
He turned to the board and grabbed a piece of chalk.
But before he could write—
He froze.
A shift in the air.
The Sphere.
His entire body went still.
It wasn't the sound that hit him.
It was the feeling.
He knew it instantly. Not just what it was—who it was.
He stared at his hand, completely still. His mind was blank. A thousand thoughts tried to form but only one clawed its way to the surface.
How...?
The sound of chairs scraping and students shouting broke the spell.
"What was that?!"
"Who would trigger the Sphere now?!"
"It's coming from the training ground! Let's go!"
Only Spring could summon that kind of power—so much that the Sphere struggled to contain it. She was now battling an S-rank creature, and she was fighting even more beautifully than before.
The creature attacked from the shadows that had overtaken the Sphere, never showing its face. But even without clear form, there was no doubt:
She was fighting a demon.
Demons could wear many shapes, but two traits were always the same—completely black, and utterly terrifying. They were rare. And most who faced them didn't live to talk about it.
Clashes exploded in every direction. Power bolts lit the darkness. Dodges and strikes flowed like choreography. Neither of them was holding back.
They both knew it—they were fighting an equal.
Spring danced through the shadows.
Every move: seamless.
Effortless.
Lethal.
Just a bit more.
A few more dodges. A few more strikes. The rhythm of her battle started to shift—slowly, like a song nearing its final note.
The demon lunged, fast and silent, aiming for her back.
She turned in an instant.
Pressed two fingers against its forehead.
Boom.
The demon exploded—shattered into a million pieces of glittering dust.
She didn't bow this time.
But the crowd roared.
Cheers and gasps echoed from every direction. Spring looked up—and saw them. People—everywhere, lining the edges of the Sphere. Students, a whole bunch of them—she'd been watched. And not just watched.
Appraised.
This hadn't happened in so long.
She froze, breath caught. She hadn't even felt their presence—she'd been so focused.
Her face flushed red as she looked down, overwhelmed.
Then the flattery twisted into panic.
Oh no. No, no, no—people really saw that!
She had prepared herself for this scenario.
She just thought her luck may be better than this.
Turns out—it wasn't.
Spring bolted. In an instant, she flew out of the Sphere and out of the Arcane Tower. The children didn't even notice her pass by—only that she was no longer down in the training ground.
"What? Where did she go?!"
Spring finally stopped near a tree in Mossvale Forest, gasping to catch her breath. She had just used her powers to a considerable degree—for the first time in over fifty years. Her body felt completely drained. She pressed her back against the tree for support.
Oh no… What am I going to do? How am I going to explain this to Winter? I've really done it now…
But it—
"Felt good, didn't it?"
A sudden voice. Deep. Manly.
It came from the tree just a few meters in front of her.
Startled, she rushed over.
"Dante?"
It sounded like something Dante would say. It would be just like him to follow up, to check if she'd gone through with the training. He never missed a chance to insist they come out of hiding.
But… it was too dark.
The only light came from the stars and moon—and in a forest this dense, that wasn't nearly enough.
She looked up.
She could just barely make out a silhouette—a man lying on a high branch, hands folded behind his head, like he'd been lounging there all night.
"Not really."
Something about his tone told her he was smiling—and that made her skin prickle.
"Who are you? What do you want?"
"So straightforward, huh."
His voice was jovial, at first.
But then it shifted.
"Calm down. I would never hurt you…"
It was soft. Soothing, almost. But there was something underneath it—a tiredness, a sadness maybe. Or maybe she was just imagining it.
Spring stared up at him, frozen. Unsure how to respond.
He continued.
"If you feel bad about people seeing you... don't."
Her heart skipped.
Was he reading her mind?
"After all, you blend right in with the children."
Her blood started to boil.
You—!
If only I could get up there…
"Oh no, see?" he said lazily, pointing down at her with just one hand—his body still completely relaxed. "You left your brooch at home."
Spring let out a sharp breath, stunned.
"Who are you?!"
She called on the last of her strength—just enough magic to leap. She launched upward, her feet just barely hovering over bark, until she reached the branch—
No one.
The branch was empty.
She stood there, trembling, heart racing, palms sweating.
No way…
Who was that?
"I'm sorry… I don't think you're ready yet," the voice said softly. Though now it came from nowhere.
Then—
A gentle touch.
"And I'm not either."