The sun rose like a golden spark through the enchanted walls of the Empire of Solarys, painting the towers, streets, and rooftops with shades of pale gold and soft pink. The dawn, with its magical touch, whispered to the living: "Arise."
To the south, the farmlands woke to the whisper of the wind in the tall leaves. The peasants, still rubbing the sleep from their eyes, stretched as the oxen were harnessed to the plows and their calloused hands returned to contact with the earth. The smell of humus, sweat, and strong coffee mingled with the distant crowing of a more enthusiastic rooster.
To the west, the urban area was teeming with sounds: carriage wheels, the shouts of merchants preparing their stalls, maids hanging carpets on the balconies of the stone houses. It was the beating heart of everyday life, a mosaic of weariness and hope, of transactions and fake smiles.
In the east, where the climate was drier and the ground harder, the sunrise melted the frost that clung stubbornly to the glass windows of the shrines and magical schools. Apprentices, wrapped in light cloaks, ran downstairs so as not to miss the morning rituals, while monks prayed silently to the God of the Five Elements.
But it was in the north, in the old noble region where the d'Argêntea Mansion was located, that dawn painted a more serene scene.
In the garden of the mansion, Lígia sat elegantly at the breakfast table with Clarisse, her little sister, at her side.
Bathed in stained glass windows that filtered the sunlight into golden patterns on the floor. The maids moved silently like trained shadows, depositing porcelain cups, silverware and jams made with fruits from the d'Argîntea's private greenhouse.
"Sister, are you really going to perform the ritual?" asked the little girl with a voice that sounded like a floating petal.
Lígia looked at her with a slight smile, but her eyes still carried the weight of her previous insomnia.
"It seems so. Daddy said yesterday that there's no more time to postpone."
Clarisse pouted and speared a strawberry with her small silver fork.
"But it won't hurt, will it?"
Lígia hesitated, commenting internally "the feline system said so."
Out of nowhere, a ghostly purr echoed next to Lígia. The holographic cat was lying on the edge of the table, as if it always belonged there, licking its own paw with feline contempt.
"It's a good thing only you can see me, ungrateful host. I'm a transcendental support system, not an emotional pillow."
Lígia rolled her eyes discreetly, pretending to drink the hibiscus tea.
"Clarisse, what are you going to do today?"
The little girl smiled, her eyes shining.
"I have a painting class and then we're going to visit the garden of mirrors. Do you want to come with me?"
The proposal warmed Lígia's heart for a moment. But the memory of her father's order fell like a shadow over her shoulders.
"Not today, sis. I need to go to the library again... and prepare for the ritual. Maybe later?"
The little girl nodded with an understanding smile and went back to playing with her juice.
Breakfast was in silence, Ligia was lost in thought.
"You're quiet today, sis," the girl commented, nibbling on a caramelized fruit.
Lígia smiled sideways. "Just thinking about adult things. It's a disease that catches on over time."
Her little sister's eyes widened. "Disease?!"
"Metaphorical," she replied, and winked. "In other words, a fake disease."
Across the table, the system purred, invisible to the common eye. "And it is indeed contagious. You have acute phases of anxiety and surges of responsibility."
Lígia sighed, taking a sip of spiced tea. She had not yet completely overcome the revelations of the previous night.
While her little sister rambled on about cakes and classes, the silence was broken by the sound of Vael's determined footsteps entering the hall with a slight respectful bow.
"Good morning, ladies," he said, his voice clear before addressing Lígia. "The count wishes to see you in the eastern gardens. He asked you to come soon."
Ligia raised an eyebrow. Her father rarely made invitations; his words sounded more like decrees.
"Thank you, Vael. Tell him I'll be there soon."
She finished her tea slowly, stood up, and walked to her chambers. When she arrived, she took off her light nightgown, washed her face, and braided her hair with the help of a maid, feeling sleepy. She put on a simple gray linen dress, embroidered only with silver threads on the sleeves. Light, comfortable, but still worthy of a count's daughter.
As she entered the garden, the place was covered in jagged shadows. Between rose bushes and paths of white stones, my father was already waiting.
"Father," she said, bowing her head slightly.
"Lígia," he replied, without turning around. "Are you getting ready?"
"The Awakening Ritual needs to be prepared. The marks of the lineage are already showing on you. Your aura has changed. Even dogs don't look at you the same way." my father continued.
She smiled.
"It will be painful," he said, finally looking at her. "Not for the flesh, but for the soul. Not everyone survives the pact that seals the lineage. And you will inherit more than power. You will inherit responsibility. The eyes of the Empire will follow you."
"They already follow me," she replied. "I just want to know how to dance under their gaze."
He nodded, as if, for a moment, he had forgotten he was talking to a young woman.
"Get ready. We will begin the alignment rituals."
Lígia bowed again, turned, and left the garden with her heart beating like a war drum.
"Are you feeling this, Peste?" she murmured, without stopping walking.
The system, curled lazily like an irritating, furry collar, purred.
" 'Feeling' is a subjective word, a host prone to dramatization."
"Pest, don't provoke me..." she whispered, though there was no real irritation in her voice. "There's something in the air. Like... like reality is holding its breath."
Pest stretched, opening one jewel-like eye.
"This is called a magical omen. The etheric field around you is adjusting. The fabric of the world twists when one of the Argent line is about to Awaken."
She stopped before the silver tree.
"Are you going to tell me more about this ritual?" she asked, as if speaking to the wind. "Or are you going to make it sweet until the time comes?"
"Hmm... it will depend on whether you give me real milk or that etheric crappy food." The system yawned. "But I can give you a hint: the ritual is less about magic... and more about who you choose to be when the power comes."
She looked up at the sky, which now glowed soft amber. The northern birds sang, and the sound was bittersweet. Like an old memory.
Lígia sat down on the cool grass, hugging her knees.
"I don't feel ready, Pestilence."
"No one ever is. But you are the daughter of the Crimson Rose, heir to Auren, born under the wandering star. The Awakening will show you who you truly are. The question is: will you accept it?"
She was silent. For a long time. The sound of the leaves, the fountain, the world turning.
Until she said. "Yes. I will."