Supreme Grace Day was an annual event, steeped in tradition, but one we'd never attended. I mentioned it before, but it bears repeating: Mother and Isolde always refused. They never explained why to Father or me, as if the details were irrelevant, as if their refusal was enough. Father, on the other hand, went out of duty—he had to protect the king, whose presence was mandated by protocol.
I didn't go because Isolde didn't. Simple. An invisible chain of intertwined decisions. But this year, curiously, we were attending. An anomaly? Maybe. I could chalk it up to Isolde recently talking about "friends," as if that were something desirable. A new variable. A crack in her usual structure. Or perhaps her tastes were just shifting with age. Every body changes, and the soul doesn't always resist.
Either way, it required preparation. Not at home, though. The academy had assigned us personal rooms, functional enough to avoid constant commuting. We stayed there only when necessary. It served as an excuse. A logistical solution. We didn't sleep there, but we stored essentials. Clothes, for instance. And now, we had to dress.
There was another reason. We were part of the General Class.
What does that mean? Let me explain, though it's not particularly thrilling. The academy has three categories: the Trial Class, the Arcana, and the General.
The Trial Class focuses on physical combat. It trains Ether Guardians and Veil Masters. They're the ones who stand at the front in a war, the first to bleed. Their training is rudimentary, practical, hand-to-hand. Little room for theory. No room for error.
The Arcana, conversely, educates healers and magical defense specialists. They don't fight; they support. They work while others fall. Their training leans more on knowledge than endurance.
Then there's the General Class. Our class. It teaches everything—and nothing. The knowledge is broader, but also more demanding. Lessons are rigorous, schedules relentless. And lodging is a necessary benefit, not a luxury. A structural condition.
This isn't particularly fascinating, as I said. But it's context. The theory was trivial to us, thanks to the Paradox Scriptures. We had an edge. We'd studied since we could reason—or even before. Maybe because, in my case, I'd already lived another life.
I brought a toothpick to my mouth. Not out of need, but habit. It mimicked a cigarette, an echo of what I used to be. In this life, I'm still a child. Smoking isn't an option. But later… maybe. Old addictions sleep, but they don't vanish.
"Eat or drink?" I asked without much emotion, letting the words drift into the air like a forgotten whisper.
"What?" Isolde looked at me, puzzled. "What are you talking about?"
"Would you rather eat or drink?"
"Oh… I don't know. Do you have money?"
A valid question. And an uncomfortable answer. I didn't have much. And Mother wasn't around to cover our momentary lacks. I asked out of courtesy, but the priority was that she had something in her stomach. My hunger could wait. Or fade.
"Mm… a hundred florins," I replied, pulling the bill from my coat. A meager sum, but enough for a pancake and a bottle of water. There'd even be some left for one or two attractions.
"That won't be enough for both of us. Shouldn't we go to Mother and ask for more?"
"Going and coming back would take too long. Not a viable option, if I'm honest, Issy."
She didn't reply right away. She stayed thoughtful, adjusting her coat. Then she went to the wardrobe. Pulled out two hats: one with a feather, the other plainer. She handed me the latter without a word.
"We could share the food," she said finally.
I took the hat and put it on with a slight nod.
"You sure?"
"It doesn't bother me. As long as it's with you, brother, I don't mind at all."
I smiled.
"Alright. You ready?"
"Yeah."
"Then let's go before it gets dark."
I approached the door. Opened it. Snow fell slowly, as if the sky were bleeding in silence. I stopped. Something was off. In the whiteness of the ground, I saw red stains. Blood.
I blinked. They vanished.
An illusion, maybe. Or a warning.
"Something wrong?" Isolde asked from behind.
"Nothing. Just a dizzy spell. Let's go."
"Okay…"
We walked. But the unease lingered. A tremor inside, a disquiet lodged under my skin. Something was coming. Something I couldn't pinpoint, but my instinct—that sense surviving across lives—recognized clearly.
I chose to ignore it. For now.
The day was planned. Formalities with Isolde were important. A silent promise, a truce between what I am… and what I once was.
We were going to enjoy what was left of the day.
I could already hear music in the distance. We'd only been out of the academy for a few minutes, but in that time, we hadn't seen any sign of Gareth or Leonard. I assumed they were already at the event's center. The most logical… and also the most unsettling.
The snow fell with a suspicious calm, as if the sky knew something I didn't. A dense, almost ominous silence. Too melancholic for a mere festival. Something inside me—that instinct sometimes older than myself—screamed to pay attention. I didn't know why I still felt that fear, but I ignored it. I wanted to focus on Isolde. I wanted to give her time, even if it was stolen. The academy and its classes demand constant attention, not for the knowledge, but for the theater of normalcy you must uphold to survive.
Sometimes, old Floiyo lets slip intriguing fragments about magic use. Always veiled, as if testing us. Yet she's never mentioned anything about Syrix. A silence too specific to be accidental. I considered asking her, many times. But I always held back. My mind, cruel and logical, spun scenarios: What if it's a forbidden branch? A taboo not to be touched? What if mentioning it makes me suspicious? What if they execute me for seeming… anomalous?
That kind of thinking stifles curiosity. But the doubt persists. Stubborn. Alive. Sooner or later, they'll discover I can use two types of magical sources. No disguise lasts forever. My mana is unstable. Irregular. Different. Is it because I don't belong to this world? What if that instability isn't a flaw, but a sign?
Isolde doesn't have that problem. Her mana flow is stable, pure, without the cracks that plague me. But she has dreams… dreams that don't fit this life. Another anomaly. Another coincidence.
Plus, she has a clear advantage: her magical capacity is superior. Her mana volume far exceeds mine. It doesn't bother me. It's not envy. But it puts me at a disadvantage. One made evident in the fire trial with Reginald. I had to force mana, unstabilized. The burns I got were worse than Isolde's. Far worse.
And yet… they healed.
On their own.
That worries me more than the damage itself. What is this body, exactly? And this soul? How much am I… me?
My thoughts shattered when something tugged my coat. I turned with reflexes honed by paranoia and found Isolde's hand. A cart had passed dangerously close. If she hadn't pulled me, I probably wouldn't be writing this. Or at least, not whole.
"Thanks… and sorry," I muttered, staring at the snow. There was blood again. Was it mine? From before? Or just my mind playing tricks?
"You okay? Not hurt?" Isolde asked, pulling me from the haze again. Though… it was less a haze, more a warning. One I ignored out of stubbornness.
"Yeah… no… I mean, I'm fine. Thanks to you," I stammered. Something was about to happen. I knew it. But I didn't understand it. Or how to stop it. "We should keep going."
"You sure? We can go back if you want…"
"It's fine. I want to spend time with you."
"More? We're always together."
"It's not the same. We're going to a kingdom event. I want to keep this memory."
"I get it… Alright. Let's keep going. But if you feel like that again, we turn back, okay?"
"Understood. Completely and utterly, my lady."
"Haha, stop clowning."
I smiled, but it didn't feel natural. We kept walking. I tried to ignore that discomfort, that persistent threat. But I couldn't. It clung to me like an invisible specter, whispering in my ear.
I pressed on, defying my own senses. Stubbornness. Nostalgia. I needed something warm. Something to make me think this life could be normal. That not everything was stained by horror.
Maybe that's why I went to the festival.
Once there, in the central park where these events are usually held, we wandered from stall to stall, looking for Gareth and Leonard. They weren't there. Which was, frankly, suspicious.
"What if we got lost?" Isolde asked, adjusting the feather on her hat.
"It'd be pretty humiliating to get lost in a park we know like the back of our hand, don't you think?"
She smiled, resigned.
"You're right," she sighed, tired of waiting. "Why aren't they here?"
"Probably delayed."
"Them? Delayed?"
"There's a first time for everything."
"Good point… but it's still annoying to wait."
"Waiting… for who?"
A voice slipped between us. I turned and saw Alicia. Dressed in dark colors. Eyes, hair, expression… everything about her screamed something I didn't want to hear. She approached and took my hand.
I pulled away immediately. Not out of rudeness, but reflex. I was already too on edge. Still, it felt harsh.
"Hey~! How rude, why'd you pull away like that?" she protested, grabbing my hand again, harder, like it was a game.
Isolde stepped in. No hesitation. She pushed Alicia aside with the ease of tearing a loose page from a book.
"What are you doing?" she asked coldly. "You know we're still kids, right?"
"Haha, so what? There's no rule against holding hands. It's just friendly… right, Lucy?"
I didn't answer. Didn't even look at her. That's when I saw them. Two figures in the distance. Leonard and Gareth.
Both in black. Leonard with his crossbow slung over his shoulder. Gareth… Gareth was different. Same suit, but better quality. And besides his rifle, he carried a pistol and a shotgun.
I knew what that meant.
I checked under my coat. No weapon. Old Floiyo had insisted: we must always carry them. For precaution. For survival. I'd forgotten. So had Isolde.
Gareth and Leonard approached. Gareth handed me my pistol, and I took it with a slight nod.
"Try not to forget it next time, Lucius," he said with a carefree smile.
"Thanks, Gareth."
"Haha. I've told you a hundred times, but here it is again: that's what friends are for."
His words aimed for warmth but felt like a learned ritual. I wondered if even he knew how automatic that phrase had become.
Gareth turned to Isolde, still locked in a spat with Alicia. I looked at Leonard.
"Were you waiting long?" he asked, with that same daily indifference, like an impenetrable armor.
"Not really. Five minutes at most. Why were you late? You're usually more precise than a well-kept pocket watch."
"Gareth had a wardrobe malfunction. Can't function unless every crease is perfect."
"It's called elegance, you ape," Gareth shot back, appearing behind me with rehearsed timing. He rested an arm on my shoulder, casual but calculated.
"I think you should worry more about taming that mane than dressing like a cursed mannequin."
"Come on, guys, don't fight over nonsense," Isolde interjected.
"Isolde's right. It doesn't matter who's right; what matters is your own opinion," Alicia added, stepping beside her. Then she turned to me. "But I must admit, Lucy looks the best. That coat suits you."
She approached with an overly wide smile and adjusted my coat collar with a gesture feigning intimacy. I didn't pull away. Not from lack of desire, but strategy. Sometimes, moving reveals more than staying still.
Isolde yanked her back. I could see the tension in her face. A swollen vein pulsed on her forehead.
"Why's she like that with you?" Gareth whispered, shielding us under the fold of his jacket. Leonard leaned in too, curiosity overriding his apathy.
I knew the answer. Always had. And though I didn't want to share, I wouldn't lie. Not to them.
"Attraction, I suppose. Not the first time. It was like this at the academy too… Though it's uncomfortable."
"Come on, man. She's the princess. Don't you think you should at least give her a chance?"
"A chance for what? We're twelve… And besides, I made a promise."
"Promise?"
The Vigil of the Fallen. A memory as distant as it was indelible. We were younger then, but words spoken in moments of loss weigh more than those sworn in peace.
Besides, love is an equation I'm not ready to solve. Not at this age. Not with this mind.
I dodged the conversation with a short cough and approached Isolde.
"Why don't we start exploring the place?"
I took her arm, pulling her away from Alicia. She clung to me harder than necessary. We began walking among the stalls, one after another, without buying anything.
We had no money, and beyond that, no intention of asking for it. Could we? Of course. But we shouldn't. In this world, borrowing money isn't humility—it's an affront. Refusing it, even when offered, is basic decorum.
Still, Isolde and I knew how to find fun in the margins. Her presence alone was enough to warm me in a way I barely remembered from my past life.
When Alicia got too close, Isolde stepped in immediately. That small gesture… amused me.
I talked with Gareth and Leonard about theory, and every word exchanged felt valuable. In my past life, conversations were weapons: contracts, blackmail, reports. No room for enjoyment, only utility.
If I ever spoke about what I loved—killing, calculating, eliminating—it wasn't with friends. It was with myself.
Now I had something I never had: a sister I loved, friends who accepted me without disgust, and a face that didn't inspire rejection.
I kept myself from smiling, out of habit. But inside, I was happy. An unfamiliar warmth I wanted to keep, preserve, protect.
But happiness isn't a refuge. It's a mirage.
The ground trembled beneath our feet. A dull rumble coursed through the earth. The Kingdom Sentinels began to move, abandoning their posts' stillness. Veil Masters descended from rooftops. Ether Guardians crawled from the shadows.
My body reacted before my mind. A chill settled in my spine. The danger was palpable.
"W-what was that?" Gareth asked, stopping with a skewer halfway to his mouth.
I looked around. Nothing. Then a second tremor, more violent. The stalls collapsed like paper castles.
"Uh… guys…" Leonard's voice pointed us south. We followed his gaze. Nothing. Or maybe too much: an impossible darkness. "Why'd everything go dark all of a sudden? And the red sun…?"
I ignored the darkness. Turned to the houses. The Veil Masters were nervous. The Ether Guardians too. Everyone was. Even those who never showed it.
A guard approached. Not me, but Alicia. He was breathing hard.
"Princess, we have to go!"
"What? What's happening?"
"No time! The king's looking for you. You kids, come. Master Elias ordered me to bring you to him."
"But what…?"
Alicia tried to argue, but we couldn't waste time on explanations. Not now.
"Lead the way," I said firmly, taking Isolde's hand. The guard started running, and we followed. All of us. Like pieces swept into a move that no longer belonged to us.