Morning light hits the glass panes of the window differently today. Fall has arrived.
I spin the quill between my fingers. It's been a full hour, and I just can't bring myself to start. The parchment lies in front of me. Those blank spaces are untouched. I've read the contents five, maybe eight times, but every time I pick up the writing instrument, my hand is hesitant.
"Damn…"
This Scholarship Form is worth its weight in gold. Across the entire Draxurio Kingdom, each city only receives fifty copies, and only once every three years. People wait, prepare, and even pray for this moment. The Queen herself founded this scholarship to give those without title or coin a real chance. A place at the Imperial Academia, not just as a visitor, but as one of its own.
For many, this is the one door that might open in a lifetime. For someone like me, someone who needs to survive, it does sound tempting.
Because most of my time has been spent under someone else's influence, and Semira has more than enough of it to keep me out of trouble. But that kind of safety is temporary, especially when the day comes that she's no longer at the estate. So this offer, it isn't just generosity. It's foresight. And honestly, it's smart.
I need to keep my safety from Thalric.
However, decision-making has never come easily to me. Here I am, staring at this parchment with its four paths laid out: Scribe Division, Healing Division, Military Division… and a fourth, unnamed, left blank.
"What the… These things don't even match my skill set." I sit on the wooden chair, legs dangling, the quill spinning idly between my fingers. I can't choose.
"Are you ready, Ella? May I come in?" That crisp woman's voice goes beyond the very walls of my little room in this early morning. It's Semira's.
"Yeah. Sure, come in," I say aloud, then I quickly place the pen down on the desk and stand up to snatch the edge of the bedsheet and yank it straight across the mattress to make the room less of a mess.
"I'm coming in." The door opens before I can stand up properly. Semira enters, her dress sweeping around her ankles. She's already dressed for the road, ivory sleeves, a forest-green sash that hugs her waist just right, and her hair twisted into a half-knot that somehow makes her look both regal and casual.
"Good morning, Lady Semira," I say, rising from the bed out of habit.
She gives me a look. "Ella. I told you, don't address me by my title."
"Right. Sorry— Semira."
She smiles at me, then her eyes settle on the desk, then flick to me.
"What's wrong? It looks nice, though," I ask, suspecting that she might be judging my clothes after declining the dress she offered me to wear earlier. What I put on now is the dress with cream long and puffed sleeves, the brown corset bodice tightly laced at the waist. I supposedly wear my pants and sweatshirt, but I realize I am not in my world.
"I like it. And yet, you still haven't filled the form, have you?"
I rub my temple. "...I'm stuck. I can't decide which division to choose."
"You should've asked me. I could've helped. Though…I think you already have one in mind." Sitting on the edge of my bed, she smooths her skirt and sighs. "I want to know which one among the four."
I hand her the parchment. "That's the thing. There are four boxes. But only three are labeled. The fourth one's blank." I point at the bottom box, which looks as empty as it did the first time I saw it. "Look."
Semira leans in and squints. "Oh, I see. It appears you didn't see it either."
"See what? There's literally nothing written there."
"Exactly," she says. "I can't read it either. But Father told me the Academia has four divisions. And the fourth… it only appears to those who are meant to see it. Special candidates, apparently."
"The Baron told you that?"
She nods. "Yes. He asked me to check whether you could read it."
Even a blind person would say there is nothing written. The parchment must have been copied with an error.
"Well, it's unfortunate."
"It's fine. Most don't get to see it. You still have to choose, though. We leave soon. If you can't decide, default to the Scribe Division."
"That's yours, isn't it?" I ask, even though I already know the answer. And Semira lies on the bed. "Indeed. The finest of the four, if you ask me," she says.
"Hard pass."
"Why? It's a noble discipline."
"I'd rather spend hours with a punching bag than with a pile of scrolls."
"Punching bag?"
"Yes, punching bag."
Then, out of the blue, Semira groans and her legs dangling off, thumping the mattress with her heel. "Aaaa, Ella, hurry and fill it now. I can't wait to reach the Capitol!"
"You sound like a child who's missed the fair," I comment and head straight for the window. The early light floods in. I pick up the parchment from the desk and hold it close to my face, squinting hard at the fourth box like the words might magically appear beside it if I stare long enough.
Nothing.
"That's exactly how I feel! I've waited my whole life for this. New life, big library, real scholars… and possibly one or two very good-looking ones."
"Ah, yes, the foundation of academic pursuit: handsome strangers," I chuckle, and Semira laughs, then buries her face in a pillow.
Movement outside draws my eye. Down in the courtyard, the household servants are beginning to load a pair of trunks onto the waiting carriage, all leather and embossed seals. One servant struggles to balance a thin stack of boxed books. Another lifts a rolled garment bag over his shoulder.
I jerk back from the window and rush back to the desk. No more thinking. No more waiting. I pick up the quill. First, my name—my full name, the one I still hesitate to write in places that matter. Semira notices that I have finally decided. She sits up at the edge of the bed and asks what I am going to check. Then, the box. I check the one that feels closest to me. The one that makes sense. I tell her that it is a secret and even I don't look at her as I am busy writing down, but I know she is between excitement and impatience. I know what she feels, because I once experienced that before. She stands up and walks to the door.
"I'll wait for you downstairs. Don't take too long," she says.
"Yes, maem."
Finally, the signature. I scrawl it at the bottom, sealing the choice.
I fold the parchment and slide it into the leather satchel resting by the bed, already packed with what few belongings I brought with me: two changes of dresses, a pair of boots, and the pendant from Morris. Swinging the satchel over my shoulder, I move to the door and pull it open.
Only to walk straight into a wall of dark fabric and broad shoulders. I stumble back a step and look up. Standing there, like he's been waiting, is Baron Molly Lehman.
<🗡️>
How long am I meant to stay here?
The question settles quietly in my chest as the carriage rumbles down the country road. I lean my head back against the cushion, watching the trees thin beyond the window.
Seven and a half months. That's how long it's been since I've been here in this world. Since Haken fell from the sky like a shard of fire and tethered himself to me with words of certainty.
He said the contract would end when his Presence Bar was full—that when he regained his strength, I'd come back to my world. He told me it wouldn't take long.
But it's been a long time. Long enough to learn how to tie a corset. Long enough to memorize the estate's creaking floorboards.
Long enough to lose track of how long I've been waiting for a sign. And still… nothing. I can't feel if I'm closer to the end. I don't even know what finishing looks like.
Now I'm leaving the Baron's estate behind. The carriage rolls toward the Capitol, the largest city in the Empire, and apparently, the heart of everything. Semira's been talking about the Capitol since before. For her, it's a beginning.
But for me, it's unknown.
We stop briefly in the town of Thorneby to collect a dress order from Ms. Rowena's shop. Semira sends the butler, but I offer instead. I say I'd rather stretch my legs, but I want the walk. I want five minutes where no one looks at me like I belong to a title.
The carriage waits just off the main road, not far from the central square. I navigate through the crowd where merchants hammer together festival stands, children chase each other between crates of apples, and fiddlers tune in the shade. Tomorrow is the Wine Festival, and the town feels ready.
Inside the shop, I collect the order, neatly boxed dresses in creams and pale blues. I also manage to tuck something else into my satchel: a plain pair of brown pants. Nothing fancy. But all I've packed are dresses. In this world, women wear gowns and layers, and sleeves. Pants are rare, even scandalous in certain parts of the Empire.
"Good luck on your journey," Ms. Rowena says as she ties the last ribbon on the box.
"Thanks. Wish me luck," I say, and manage a smile as I leave the shop.
Outside, the square has grown louder. The crowd shifts and breathes, people spilling from taverns and bakeries. I pick up my pace. Semira's probably waiting with crossed arms and sharp words. But as I near the corner of the square, my chest goes tight.
No way…
Rook and Jerren are there. I thought they'd moved on a week ago and chase a lead back to Vikur. But now, two stand not far from the old well, watching the crowd. One speaks to a vendor. The other lingers.
I veer right, box clutched tight against my side. Then, a hand brushes too close. And suddenly, cold steel kisses my side. A blade. Not deep enough to draw blood, but enough to make every part of me freeze.
"Well, well," a voice murmurs behind my ear. "Didn't think I'd see you again, sweetheart."
Malric.
Even before I turn, I know it's him. He smells like tobacco and leather and something scorched.
"Don't move, sweetheart," he warns. "Wouldn't want to ruin this pretty dress."
I stay perfectly still, my arms locked around the box, every nerve held tight as wire. Across the square, I catch movement. Rook is now near a stall of blacksmith wares. He isn't looking directly here, but soon he will. One thumb hooked near his belt where a blade rests. He is watching. Behind him, Jerren tosses something small between his fingers, dried fruit maybe.
"Looks like you've got somewhere to be, sweetheart. You're not the same scrappy thing I used to know in the ring," he says, mocking me. "We're here for the whole week," Malric continues, whispering too close to my ear. "You missed that notice, too, I take it."
Swallowing instead of talking, my breath won't come right, but I'm planning to throw the box and get the dagger that's tucked in my boot.
"If it weren't for what you did in the ring that night… for Morris…" He clicks his tongue. "Well. I wouldn't be feeling so merciful."
The blade lifts. Not gone. Rook shifts his stance. Just enough to catch Malric in his peripheral vision. He frowns slightly. Jerren, meanwhile, begins a slow, casual walk through the crowd, coming in this direction. His hand no longer tosses anything. It rests now at his side.
I step backwards a little, knowing that only a few feet away I am from the two, but Malric wraps my waist from behind and leans in close, sniffing the shell of my ear down my neck. Some people are just looking at us, but despite of discomfort, I manage to smile at them. Because this is the only thing I can do to avoid drawing attention from Rook and Jerren.
"Leave. Me. Alone." I grit out between clenched teeth, "Pervert."
Malric just chuckles. "Oh, oh, takes guts to call me that with a smile on your lips." The sound coming from him is too quiet for the crowd, but loud enough to feel against my skin. "If I change my mind and they spot you before you disappear… I won't stop them," he says, biting the lobule of my ear.
Then, suddenly, he releases his hand around my waist and steps in front of me. I see his back. The blade is gone. I don't hesitate. I pivot fast and slip back into the crowd, moving low, weaving past shoulders and stalls. The box digs into my ribs. Sweat gathers along my spine. I don't stop until I see the carriage. Semira stands outside, arms crossed exactly as I expected. Her brows are drawn, mouth is tight with impatience. She looks up just as I approach, and her expression shifts.
I rush past her, climb into the carriage, and slide into the seat with the box still pressed against my chest.
"What took you so long?" she asks, stepping in behind me. "And—are you out of breath?"
"Get inside," I say, voice tight and she startles by my tone. She doesn't argue. She smooths her skirt and sits beside me. Then she knocks once against the panel.
"To the Capitol," she orders.
The carriage lurches forward. I turn toward the window, my cheek resting against the cold glass. I close my eyes and try to breathe. I wasn't supposed to be seen today, certainly not by them.
Now, whatever advantage I had is gone.
They found me.