Sager had quietly followed all along, seated in the same carriage with Siarcanis and Fhena. When Fhena was carried into her chamber by Matron Eula, he remained close—his steps light, unobtrusive, although his presence—being that of a guardian spirit—was mostly invisible to human eyes. Soleis Castle held no novelty for him. After all, this was where he had once watched Fhena be born.
He observed in silence as Matron Eula and a few hand-picked maids attended to the sleeping girl—gently wiping her face and limbs with warm cloths, carefully brushing her silvery-milk hair, and murmuring soft words, as if trying not to wake a dream. To see his Master—once hunted and harmed by the very hands sworn to protect her—now handled with such care within these pearl-white halls, as a noble's daughter… it moved him deeply.
Here, she would be safe. Treated with dignity. No longer the forsaken girl once known as Nyala Nkosi: a con, an orphan, a vessel used by the Empire for her power and discarded when convenient. For the first time in a long while, Sager felt peace settle in his chest. His Master might finally have a full and abundant life.
Then—he stiffened. There it was again.
A shimmer. A spark. A flicker of yellow light, barely visible to mortal eyes—but not to him.
Only guardian spirits like Sager could see it.
It danced above Fhena, faint but radiant, glittering like gold dust caught in divine sunlight. It hovered. Observed. Sager narrowed his eyes, uncertain whether it was a blessing… or a warning. The spark pulsed once—then again.
And then it turned—facing him. Just for a second.
Sager's breath hitched. His clawed paw twitched against the carpeted floor. That moment—though brief—felt like an eternity. It had seen him.
Then the light vanished, gone as suddenly as it had appeared.
No lingering presence. No scent of threat.
Sager stood still, alert. His senses stretched to the edges of the room, every instinct flaring—not with fear, but vigilance. There was no visible danger. Nothing wrong. And yet… what had that been? What power lingered near his Master?
Before he could ponder further, a sudden cough broke the silence.
Soft—but clear.
Sager turned instantly.
His Master was awake.
Fhena had opened her eyes.
Fhena coughed uncontrollably, her small frame trembling as she struggled to catch her breath. Matron Eula swiftly and gently propped her upright against the pillows, then reached for a glass of water on the bedside tray.
"Here, drink, young lady," the Matron urged softly, lifting the rim to Fhena's lips.
Without hesitation, the little girl gulped it down, drinking with such urgency it startled the maids standing nearby. But once the initial surprise passed, soft, affectionate smiles bloomed on their faces.
Fhena exhaled sharply, the refreshing coolness washing away the dry sting in her throat. She gave a small, contented giggle—her eyes still heavy and slow to open.
"Welcome home, young miss," Matron Eula greeted with a voice as warm as the summer sun. The maids around them bowed in unison, respectful and silent.
Fhena blinked slowly, her vision adjusting. At first, her gaze was puzzled. She squinted, eyebrows scrunched in deep focus, lips pressed together as she seemed to hold her breath. She stared hard at Matron Eula's face, trying to place the memory.
The maids tilted their heads at the odd expression—perplexed, but utterly charmed by her seriousness.
Then, like a sudden breeze parting thick clouds, Fhena's expression lit up.
"Matron!" she squealed, gasping with recognition.
Memories flooded in. After the Grand Duchess's death, it had been Matron Eula who had nursed and cared for her during those early, fragile years—up until she turned three. The sharp mind of Nyala now housed within Fhena made it easy to piece the memories together.
"M–M'lady! You spoke!" Matron Eula shrieked in delighted disbelief.
The other maids gasped. Murmurs rippled among them as the realization sank in—until now, the young miss had barely spoken. Her words had always come with stutters or silence.
"She's speaking... clearly," one of the maids whispered.
"Has her stutter really gone?" another asked, eyes wide.
"Hush," Matron Eula snapped gently, waving them down.
Fhena giggled sheepishly, cheeks flushed pink. "O-Only a little," she said with a grin.
The maids couldn't contain themselves—they squealed and cooed, completely smitten with the little lady's charm.
Matron Eula clapped her hands once, firmly but fondly. "Alright, that's enough. Let's not overwhelm the young miss. Go on, prepare her lunch. She needs rest first."
The maids bowed again and bustled out of the room, still whispering excitedly to one another.
Matron Eula turned back to Fhena, her gaze filled with a complex mixture of awe, joy, and quiet pain. She reached out and gently brushed a stray lock of hair from Fhena's face.
"You're truly back to us," she whispered.
Fhena, still smiling faintly, leaned into Matron Eula's touch. For the first time in a long while, she felt it—genuinely, deeply. She was home.
The Matron tucked her gently beneath the covers once more, smoothing a hand over her forehead before standing. "I'll have your meal prepared, young miss," she said with a fond smile before stepping out of the room.
As the door closed behind her, Fhena sat up with a sudden spark of energy.
"Sager," she whispered.
A shimmer of golden light flickered, and in the next breath, Sager appeared on the bedside table to her left.
"Master," he greeted with a slight bow.
Fhena patted the foot of her bed. "Come."
Without hesitation, Sager leapt up and lay down where she gestured, folding his arms behind his head in a relaxed sprawl.
Fhena looked down at her arms, then at her legs—bruises, purple and yellow, marred her pale skin. Her brow furrowed. "Why am I bruised again?" she murmured. "But… I don't feel any pain."
Then it dawned on her.
Last night, her emotions had been raw—unfiltered rage and anguish toward Lady Ossaria. In that moment, she had wanted her father to see it. The marks, the suffering. Her wounds had already healed, but she'd silently wished for proof. Something visible. And so, her magic had responded—conjuring the bruises and scars upon her skin.
"For display," she whispered to herself. "To show what she did."
Sager nodded as if reading her mind. "Your gowns here cover you completely, Master. You won't need to manifest bruises to convince anyone of pain or abuse."
He sat up slightly, tilting his head. "Besides, the castle physician uses healing magics. It would be more believable if the bruises faded day by day. You should let them go."
Fhena looked at her arm one last time, then exhaled.
"Right," she nodded. "Let them go, of course. I'll take that into consideration." She smiled softly.
Only then did her gaze begin to truly take in her surroundings. For the first time since awakening, she allowed her eyes to wander across the room.
It was massive—far larger than the guest room at the estate. That space now felt like a mere closet compared to this chamber, which could easily fit a hundred of those small rooms within its walls. The room was beautiful in its own quiet majesty. The wallpaper was a calming blend of soft beige and peach, adorned with delicate floral patterns. Overhead, the ceiling had been painted into a near-realistic sky—brilliant blue with wisps of clouds—and at the center hung a silver-and-gold chandelier that caught the natural sunlight in stunning glints.
Tall arched windows flanked one side of the room, allowing in such a generous flood of light that lamps and candles were unnecessary during the day. The floors were a smooth, dark-toned marble—cool yet warm underfoot, as if they had absorbed the comfort of the room itself. Bookshelves lined the far wall, and a cozy sitting area was nestled in the center. The bed stood regally beneath sheer drapes of deep blue, rose gold, and soft blush pink. Its bedding was made of silk in rich purples and velvety fabrics. Despite the vibrant colors, everything was in balance—harmonious and comforting.
With bare feet, Fhena slipped out of bed. The marble greeted her soles with a surprising warmth, not cold, but soothing. Sager, ever her shadow, followed closely behind.
She made her way to the tall arched window beside the bed and unlatched it. A soft click. The doors opened to reveal a balcony bursting with flower pots, lush ivy climbing the railings and the stone walls. A cool, refreshing breeze rolled in and brushed gently against her skin, ruffling her silvery hair like a fond whisper. Fhena closed her eyes and breathed in the highland air—sweet with the scent of blossoms and soil, and for once, free of fear.
It was quiet.
And it was home.
Fhena sighed, a deep breath of contentment slipping from her lips. "This place feels good," she murmured.
She walked to the edge of the balcony, where thick stone railings were lined with fragrant pots of blooming flowers. Leaning slightly forward, she gazed out over the highland expanse below.
From her perch atop Soleis Castle's hill, she could see the winding road that led down to the heart of Hammendir. Chimneys puffed soft trails of smoke, houses dotted the rolling landscape, rivers shimmered like silver ribbons, and serene lakes nestled between groves of pine. Beyond them all stood the towering mountains—ancient, protective, and majestic—surrounding the duchy like silent sentinels. The sky stretched wide and bright above it all, pouring sunlight across the land.
Fhena's chest swelled. A quiet ache stirred in her heart—she missed Talemerein, the land of her first life, only a few days' ride from here. And yet… this view, this air, this peace—it stirred something hopeful in her.
"Hammendir," she whispered, "what a magnificent sight you are."
As if in reply, the wind rose gently, rustling the leaves and flowers around her. Sunlight danced across the balcony stones, and the nearby trees swayed, their branches whispering in the breeze.
It felt, for a fleeting moment, like the land itself was welcoming her home.
For a long while, Fhena stood quietly on the balcony, watching the skies stretch above and the grand expanse of Hammendir below. The scent of flowers mingled with the fresh breeze, and the rustling trees whispered like old friends. Then, suddenly, Sager's voice cut through the serenity.
"Ah! I remember now, Master—one of the gems containing your sealed magic is here," he blurted, eyes wide with the sudden realization.
After basking a while longer in the calm, Fhena finally returned inside, closing the heavy wooden-and-steel doors behind her. Her eyes sparkled with wonder at the castle's grandeur—tall green marble pillars lined the hall, and stately paintings watched from every corner, their frames aged with dignity and time.
Sager, now buzzing with excitement from that realization, felt more alive than ever. Having wandered Soleis Castle in past days, he took on the role of Fhena's personal tour guide. Though the halls were still, Fhena could feel the subtle pulse of activity humming behind the walls—footsteps in distant halls, warm light spilling from partially closed doors, the gentle scent of baked bread from the kitchens.
Before heading straight for the hidden gem, Fhena requested a small detour. With Sager at her side, she roamed the estate, sneaking peeks into some of its most fascinating rooms—the art gallery, the music room, the studio where half-finished paintings waited in silence, the bustling kitchen (which they giggled their way through), the gleaming astronomy dome, the towering five-storey library filled with tomes and stairwells, the weaponry tower, the fencing chamber, the archery range, and the knights' open-air training grounds. They even visited the elegant stables, the sweeping ballrooms, and the quiet, mystical garden reserved for the duchy's most sacred plants.
Fhena had gasped more than once—especially when she discovered that the Hammendir Knights' headquarters were not within Soleis Castle proper, but behind it in what was essentially another fortress. Despite the vastness of the estate, their exploration didn't take long—they mostly peeked inside, sampling the castle's personality rather than lingering. Once her curiosity was satisfied, Sager led her to the Family Tower—a secluded, sacred space where the Solléonis bloodline stored its most treasured archives. Surprisingly, it wasn't hidden in a dungeon or basement, but in a spiraled tower that rose proudly above the castle roofs. With careful, steady steps, Fhena and Sager began to ascend the winding stone staircase, mindful of the time. Lunch was nearing, and Matron Eula might return to her room at any moment.
As they ascended the spiral stairwell cloaked in golden light, Fhena furrowed her brow. "Why is a gem containing my sealed power here?" she asked, trailing behind Sager, her tone laced with confusion.
Sager, leading the way with feline grace, didn't look back. "It was a Velmorian's repayment to Kaelsin Solléonis… when he helped them ascend the throne."
Fhena blinked. Her head jerked backward in disbelief. "What? Why would Kaelsin Solléonis take my gem?" Her voice pitched higher, incredulous. "And—wait—did he take only one?"
"Yes," Sager said, his tone neutral. "Only one. As for his reasons… they remain unclear. But if I were to guess, I'd say it's because Kaelsin was always a man of material ambition. Perhaps he believed possessing such a powerful gem would make the Sunburst Sword recognize him as its rightful master."
Fhena nearly stumbled on a step. "What? How dare he expect the Sunburst Sword to accept him?" she scoffed, throwing her hands in the air. "He staged a coup! Helped traitors overthrow his nephew and handed the Empire over to the Velmorians!"
"Exactly, Master," Sager replied with a flick of his tail. "And when the gem failed to sway the Sunburst Sword, both artifacts were locked away here—forgotten. That is… until the War of the Velmorians."
Fhena's eyes narrowed. "War of the Velmorians?"
Sager nodded. "Two hundred and forty years ago. I was in the Western Empire at the time. Word traveled that the Velmorians had turned on each other—brother against brother. One of them, the younger sibling, Voturis, unleashed dragons from the sealed sanctums of Zaktiri."
Fhena's steps slowed as the weight of history settled on her.
Sager continued, "Caelis Solléonis—great-grand uncle of Siarkon—led the war alongside the reigning Velmorian. With the Sunburst Sword in hand, he slew the eight dragons Voturis had unleashed. Voturis was captured. Executed. And from then on, the name Solléonis was no longer whispered in shame, but revered again—protectors of the realm. The golden sun of the land."
"Ah, I can't believe I missed all that!" Fhena huffed, her voice echoing faintly through the high stone corridor. "Must've been incredible—seeing all of it, being part of that war." Then, without warning, she blurted, "Wait—did Kain and Venyssa never have children?"
Sager's steps slowed. A sigh left him, quiet but weighted. "They tried. Venyssa bore twice, but… she miscarried both." His voice gentled. "Eventually, she gave birth to a son. But illness took him before he turned two. So… no. They had none."
Fhena frowned. "Hmm… so my bloodline is direct from Kaelsin?" she asked, the name scraping her throat like ash. Her lip curled in reflexive disgust.
"Precisely, Master," Sager answered, but with calm resolve. "But do not let bloodlines define you. Wasn't that a phrase you once lived by?"
Fhena blinked. "I… said that?"
Sager grinned faintly, though she couldn't see it. "I remember clearly. You said it to a young mage born of cursed magic. It was during the final years of the last Solléonis dynasty. He turned to the light because of your words—and fought beside you at the end."
Fhena's eyes popped in surprise. "Huh… I did say that," she murmured, then chuckled softly. Her expression softened as she let out a sigh and shrugged, as if casting off some invisible weight. "Well, I suppose it's alright, then. Since some good came of it." She looked ahead, her eyes narrowing with quiet conviction. "My third gem is here. I can feel it."
A pulse stirred in the air around her—subtle, like the shimmer of breath on glass.
Truly, she thought, even the evil things done to us… Lehoi can turn into good.