The satchel lay half-full on the corner of my bed. I slid another shirt into it, then tightened the buckles on my boots with quiet precision. Every movement was deliberate—calm on the surface, hiding the storm underneath.
A mission.
My first one.
Outside the estate.
I should have felt something—excitement, dread, purpose. But there was only stillness inside me. A hollowed-out quiet that had been growing ever since my mana first erupted.
Tap.
The wind creaked against the windows. Candlelight flickered across the floorboards. I was just reaching for the blade Veyra had left for me when the door opened behind me—abrupt, trembling.
"Don't go!"
Finesse's voice, raw and breathless.
I turned, stunned.
She stood there, hair messy, her pale nightgown tangled at the sleeves, and her eyes—red, wet, scared.
"Finesse… what are you doing here?"
She stumbled toward me, hands clutching at her chest like she was trying to hold herself together. "You can't go. Not on a mission. Not now."
I stepped closer, heart beating faster than I wanted to admit. "It's not my choice."
"Then lie. Fake an illness. Hide in the cellar. Just—just stay."
I looked down. "You know I can't ignore Lady Veyra's orders."
"But what if you don't come back?" she whispered. "What if… what if this is like when mother died, and everyone said she was just traveling but she never—" Her voice broke. She fell against me, clinging tight. "I don't want you to disappear."
I froze for a second, then wrapped my arms around her gently. Her body was cold, fragile. Like a porcelain doll barely holding shape.
"I'll come back," I said.
"You promise?"
"I promise."
She leaned back slowly, blinking up at me with a faint smile breaking through the tears. "Do you remember… when we first met?"
I nodded faintly.
"You were sitting in the gardens. Everyone else was afraid of me. I was coughing blood… and I hated it. Hated being a burden. But you sat next to me. Quiet. Then you gave me that ugly, bent flower."
"You kept that?"
She nodded, laughing through her tears. "Of course I did. It was the first time someone looked at me like I wasn't cursed."
"You're not cursed, Finesse."
She looked down at our hands. "Maybe we both are."
She pulled away with effort, drying her face with her sleeve. "Just… come back."
"I will."
She nodded and turned, her figure slipping out the door like smoke.
I stood there for a moment longer, eyes fixed on the closed door. The room felt colder.
I didn't know it yet.
But she wouldn't remember that moment.
Not for long.
Behind the walls, buried in shadows just outside my room, two figures stood silent.
Lord Calmreich, Finesse's father, watched the door with narrowed eyes. He'd heard every word.
"She's gotten too close," he muttered, jaw clenched.
Behind him, the doctor adjusted his glasses and spoke in a voice like grinding gravel. "Her emotional state is compromising the balance. The longer she holds that bond… the more likely the transfer will destabilize."
Calmreich's hands twitched. "So what do you suggest?"
"Seal the memories. Erase the attachment. You have your permission from the High Circle. Proceed before it's too late."
The lord closed his eyes, then gave a shallow nod.
"She'll forget him," he whispered. "For the sake of her life, she'll forget."
The doctor stepped back, his cloak rustling like dried leaves.
And the corridor fell silent again.
////////////////////////////////////////
The moon hung low like a sliver of silver torn across the velvet sky. Crickets chirped faintly in the distance, their rhythm steady, indifferent. I stood beneath the arch of the Kira family's inner gate, a small bag slung over my shoulder, waiting.
Then I heard it—the sound of hooves.
Clop. Clop.
A black horse-drawn carriage, rough but sturdy, rolled into view. Dust swirled beneath the wheels. Two lanterns hung from the sides, casting dim orange light across the figures seated atop and behind it. There were four of them—cloaked, armored, disciplined. One of them jumped down as the carriage came to a stop.
"You," he said, voice low and weathered, "are the noble brat Lady Veyra's sending."
I didn't reply.
He scoffed and opened the carriage door. "Come on. The road's long. And cold."
I climbed in without a word, taking a seat by the window. The leather smelled like old sweat and metal. Moments later, the others joined me—three men and one woman. All older. All armed.
The door slammed shut, and the wheels started to roll again. The forest swallowed us.
Minutes passed in silence before someone finally spoke.
"You ever been outside the estate before?"
I looked up. The speaker was sitting across from me, eyes shadowed beneath a battered helmet. He had a scraggly beard and a voice that held the weight of a man used to losing.
"No," I answered.
He grunted. "Didn't think so."
"What about you?" I asked. "Been on a lot of missions?"
"Too many," he said. Then, after a pause, "Name's Brann. Don't worry—I'm not one of the ones who'll try to stab you in your sleep."
He chuckled at his own joke, but it was dry, almost bitter.
"You seem... different from the others," I said, cautiously.
"I ain't from a noble line, if that's what you mean." Brann scratched the back of his neck. "Born in a village near Raquey. Mud houses. Chickens. Bandits every winter. My father was a blacksmith. Honest, poor, died before I turned ten."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. That's life. You work, you fight, and if you're lucky, your name's remembered for more than a season." He leaned forward slightly. "Got a wife now. Three kids. Twins just started walkin'."
I blinked. "Why are you here, then? Fighting for nobles who probably don't even know your name?"
He gave me a long, thoughtful look.
"Because they pay," he said, simple as that. "Because my kids need boots and medicine. Because my wife deserves not to beg."
"And because," he added, quieter, "if someone like me doesn't come along, they'll throw boys like you into the fire alone."
I didn't know what to say.
He smiled faintly, eyes softening. "You're too young to carry all that power in your bones. But too valuable to be left unguarded. That's the curse, isn't it?"
I nodded, almost involuntarily.
The carriage rolled on, the wheels groaning beneath us, the road stretching like a ribbon of shadow beneath the stars.
For the first time that night, I looked out the window and didn't just see trees.
I saw people—faces, lives, choices—woven into the path ahead.
And I wasn't sure what was more terrifying.
The mission…
Or the world waiting beyond it.
The trees blurred past the window, tall shadows swaying like cloaked sentinels under the moonlight. The others had gone quiet, resting with eyes half-closed or staring blankly at the floor.
But Brann remained awake, arms crossed, gaze fixed out the opposite window.
I turned to him again.
"Brann," I said, hesitant but curious, "what do people say about the Kira family?"
He blinked once, then turned his eyes toward me. "Kira?"
"Yes. Our name. Our house. What do people outside say?"
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he shifted his weight, as though measuring something heavier than the question itself.
"That's a dangerous thing to ask," he said finally.
"Why?"
Brann sighed, his breath fogging briefly in the cold.
"Because no one says much about the Kira family at all," he murmured. "Not in inns. Not on missions. Not even around campfires. And not because they fear them like they do House Silva or the Vermillions."
He glanced at me now. "It's because they don't understand them."
I frowned. "What do you mean?"
He scratched his stubbled chin. "It's like... your family's just there. Always has been. In every major conflict. In every political turn. But never leading. Never falling. Like shadows behind the throne. People know the name 'Kira'... but they don't know where you came from. What your magic is. Who your founders were. Or why, despite all that silence, none of the noble houses dare challenge your presence."
That unsettled me more than I expected.
"No one knows our magic?" I asked.
Brann shook his head. "Rumors. Whispers. Some say it's blood-based. Others say it's curse-born. But whatever it is... it's not flashy. Not like fire, or light, or spatial warping. It's something that leaves no witnesses. That's why it scares people."
The wheels clacked over a rock, and the carriage swayed slightly. Then he added:
"Except for one name."
I raised an eyebrow. "Who?"
"Damnatio Kira."
The name hit like cold water.
Brann's voice dropped. "The judge of the Clover Kingdom. The man who became the head of theMagic Parliament Courthouse after the latest restructure. People say he's the closest thing to a second king. The only one with a legal hold over the Magic Knights themselves."
I knew the name, of course. Everyone in the family did. But hearing it from a commoner's lips carried a different weight.
"He's the only Kira the public truly recognizes," Brann continued. "Righteous. Cold. Unbending. But even him… no one knows what he really believes. Only that he follows the law."
He paused.