The quiet that settled over the capital felt heavy, like the calm before a storm. Two weeks had passed without an attack, and the silence was almost worse than the chaos. I spent the time trying to train my magic, to make that flicker of light I'd found in the plaza something I could actually use. I didn't want to be a scared rabbit anymore.
Elisabeth helped when she could. Sometimes an older priest named Malcolm joined her. He'd lost an arm defending the church, but his faith seemed unshaken. When Arden heard about it, he just said, "He could grow it back." He explained it was complicated, needing knowledge he didn't have yet, but that he had a plan for it someday. He didn't say when.
I'd also heard whispers around the palace about something strange at a tavern. Something Arden was involved in. The story was a woman tried to approach him, and things ended... explosively. Nobody knew exactly what happened, just that it wasn't normal, and people were quick to stop asking. Sora seemed to treat it like old news, like she'd seen worse. It made me wonder what kind of dangers followed Arden around, even when things seemed calm.
Right now, I was walking down one of the palace's endless corridors with Seraphina and Lysandra. Seraphina looked sharp in her blue uniform, posture perfect as always. Lysandra was tagging along because Thalia had something she insisted we both see. Thalia bounced ahead of us, full of her usual manic energy, leading us toward Sector Nine.
Some inventors had relocated to a safer sector, just in case. But Thalia wasn't convinced.
"The palace is the safest place you could be," Thalia declared as the metal door hissed open. "Anywhere else is just volunteering for an early grave."
The workshop was, if possible, even more chaotic than before. The air hummed with magic and machinery. Thalia brought us to a corner where a strange device pulsed with a soft blue light, thin mist curling around its crystal conduits.
"Behold!" the elf announced, throwing her hands up. "Mana extraction. The next step in your magical journey."
I raised an eyebrow, but before I could speak, Veylan appeared from behind a stack of equipment, his hair a complete bird's nest.
"You see," he began, pacing excitedly, "a mage with the tamer skill can form a contract with a beast. It creates a familiar, a summon. They share mana, but it's a balanced thing. A great reservoir feeds a small vessel, and vice versa."
He stopped and gestured grandly at the machine. "What we've built here creates an artificial taming contract between two people. It would link you directly to Arden's magic. The catch is that Arden becomes the 'Master' in the contract. He'd control the flow, but you wouldn't be a familiar that he can call forth at will."
I frowned, the idea settling uneasily in my stomach. "Why would you do this for me?"
Thalia cut in before he could answer, grinning like she'd been waiting. "Oh, we don't do things just for you. This was Arden's idea to begin with, after all. We're just following through."
I wasn't sure how to feel. It sounded like cheating. And the idea of Arden being my "Master" felt weird, like I'd be owned or controlled. But then again... maybe I was overthinking it. Probably.
Veylan's voice turned more serious. "The device isn't finished yet. I want you to decide if you want to try it or not."
I looked at the shimmering machine, the soft glow of mana inside it. My life had been nothing but running and hiding, useless in a village that was gone. I'd stared death in the face too many times. Maybe it was time for something to change.
Still, it had been less than two months since I left that village. So many firsts had happened, and I was still catching up.
"I... I need some time to think," I said, my voice quieter than I expected.
The elf grinned. "Take all the time you want! But don't keep me waiting too long, or I'll start experimenting on Lysandra here."
Lysandra shot her a glare that could freeze lava. Seraphina just sighed.
I smiled despite myself. I had come a long way from that terrified girl in rags. I would make this choice on my own terms.
Thalia clapped her hands together, her attention snapping to Lysandra. "Alright! Time to give the spotlight to our blazing guest star!"
Lysandra flinched. "What? Didn't you just sa-"
Before she could protest, Thalia grabbed her wrist and dragged her toward the far end of the room, past a clunky automaton frame half-covered in tarp. The corner looked like a cross between a blacksmith's forge and an alchemist's lab. Tools and strange components were piled high on a soot-stained bench.
On the wall hung a pristine rack of weapons and artifacts, one of which was a pair of dark-red gauntlets that gleamed with inner fire.
Veylan appeared beside them in a flash. "Aha! Perfect!" He plucked the gloves from the rack. They were elegant yet intimidating, made of a burnished alloy with runes crawling up the forearms.
"Hold her still, please," Veylan said cheerfully. Thalia, still gripping Lysandra's wrist, complied.
"Wait a moment," Lysandra stammered, but it was too late. Veylan was already slipping the first glove onto her hand. The metal hissed as it adjusted to her hand.
"Oh, of course not!" Thalia said, raising her free hand in a placating gesture. "We would never expect the great Lysandra to work for free. That would be an insult. So, we're offering you the gloves to keep if you find them satisfactory. Plus," she leaned in conspiratorially, "you would be the first person in the Empire to wield them. A one-of-a-kind prototype, designed for a master of fire."
Lysandra paused, her expression flickering.
"And," Thalia added in a sing-song whisper, "you'd be helping us perfect a tool that'll put all other enchanted gauntlets to shame. You would be remembered in the research logs as the benchmark."
There it was.
Lysandra tsked loudly, folding her arms with a huff, the guantlets clinking softly. "Tch... Fine. I suppose it is only natural that my expertise would be required. I will assist. But do not expect me to wear these if they fail to meet my standards."
"You're all heart," Seraphina muttered dryly beside me.
I didn't even try to hide my grin. She's so easy.
Thalia shot me a wink, and Seraphina's brow twitched just enough to show she was thinking the same thing.
"Excellent!" Thalia said, and began steering the now-gauntleted Lysandra toward a heavy door marked with hazard symbols. "Let's get you into the thermal containment chamber! Don't worry, we reinforced it after the last spontaneous combustion incident!"
"What?!" Lysandra snapped, digging her heels in, but it didn't stop Thalia's momentum.
The door hissed open. I caught a brief glimpse of red-tinted light, sleek panels, and what looked like a floating orb suspended inside a field of mana before it closed behind them with a heavy clang.
There was a beat of silence.
Then Veylan clapped his hands once and turned to me, still beaming like a man who'd just unleashed two disasters into a volcano. "We'll run some tests. You can observe later if you'd like."
He then nodded toward the chamber. "Best to stay clear until we're sure it's stable."
Curiosity got the better of me, though. After a moment's hesitation, I slipped through the heavy door into the testing chamber just before it sealed completely.
"Do you mind not pushing me like I'm some test animal?!"
Lysandra's voice echoed against the metallic walls as the chamber door hissed shut behind us. Through the observation window, I could see her glaring daggers at Thalia, who was bouncing on her heels like she'd just won a hazard game. Veylan, standing calmly beside her, was already flipping switches on a glowing console with far too much glee.
"You're not just doing this for us," Veylan said, eyes still glued to the screen. "You're doing it for you. Those gloves might save your life the next time the cult decides to send one of their pet monsters to say hello."
"She's right, you know," Thalia added, adjusting her goggles. "I doubt that attack was without reason. Something about it feels... planned. Like an experiment, or a distraction."
"Wonderful," Lysandra muttered, yanking her wide-brimmed hat lower over her face. "So I'm just the next fireball to be thrown at their plan."
They kept talking about mana channels and combustion thresholds, but Seraphina gently tapped my shoulder and nodded toward the hall. I gave Lysandra one last glance. She caught it and rolled her eyes, but didn't look away. Her arms were crossed, the new gauntlets gleaming, her horns still hidden beneath that 'elegant' hat.
I wasn't really worried about her getting hurt. I knew these people weren't cruel.
But still. They were weird. The dangerously smart kind of weird.
I followed Seraphina out, reluctantly.
Once the door closed behind us and the muffled voices faded, she walked a few paces ahead of me before finally speaking.
"She'll be fine," Seraphina said flatly. "She's more than capable."
There was a pause.
"...Probably."
I squinted at the back of her head. That wasn't comforting.
Still, it was something. More than I expected from Seraphina, anyway.
We walked for a bit in silence, our footsteps echoing faintly against polished stone. Eventually, we stopped near a large window overlooking some kind of underground garden, full of glowing vines and softly humming crystal pillars. It was strangely peaceful, like a small pocket of calm inside the chaos.
"Are you alright?" Seraphina asked suddenly, her voice quieter this time.
I blinked. "Huh?"
"You've... been through a lot," she said. "I thought you might need someone to ask."
The words hung in the air like a strange echo. I stared at her. She still looked deadpan as ever, not a muscle moving on that sharp face. It felt weird hearing her say something so... normal.
"I'm fine," I said, a little too quickly. "Really. I mean, yeah. It's fine. I've been through worse. Kind of."
I trailed off. It didn't sound very convincing, even to me.
Seraphina just gave a slow nod. "Alright. I won't press."
She turned her eyes back to the window, arms folding behind her back in that annoyingly elegant way she had.
"But," she said, "you don't have to help us. You're just a kid. You could still walk away. If you've got family... go back to them."
I looked away.
Family.
There was a long pause. Long enough for the silence to feel heavy.
"I don't have any," I said. "Family, I mean."
The words came out quieter than I meant them to.
"My parents died years ago. I never really knew if I had any relatives. Maybe I did. Maybe not. No one ever came looking."
Seraphina didn't say anything. She didn't move either.
I looked down at my hands. At the small smudge of soot on my sleeve from the attack. At the faint shimmer of mana still clinging to my fingertips like something unresolved.
"But I'm not alone anymore," I said. "Not exactly."
There was Arden. Silent, strange, kind in his own way. Sora, always smiling even when scared. Lysandra, in her own… complicated way.
I wasn't alone. Not really.
There was a moment of silence between us, quiet as the flickering light from the mana-vines outside.
Then, before I could overthink it, I looked at Seraphina again. And said something I'd never imagined hearing from my own mouth.
"I'm going to stay," I told her. "I'll keep fighting. Because I'm in the same party as the Hero."
My voice wavered slightly. Not from fear…well, maybe a little, but mostly from the sheer absurdity of what I'd just declared. Who the hell did I think I was?
But I didn't take it back.
Seraphina blinked once. Her expression didn't change, but I thought I caught a flicker of something. Maybe surprise, or maybe understanding.
She knew who I meant. Not the seven heroes from the songs. I meant him. Arden. The weirdly quiet, too-powerful-for-his-own-good guy who barely spoke unless he had something kind to offer or someone to quietly patch up.
She gave me a small nod.
And then, just for a second, her mouth twitched upward in the faintest smile.
"Then hold on to that," she said. "It'll be worth more than steel."
She turned and walked ahead without waiting, her coat swishing slightly with each step.
I blinked, then hurried to catch up. "Wait! Where are we going?"
She didn't look back. "To train."
"…To what now?"
Seraphina didn't explain.
Instead, we headed down a long hallway on the west side of the mansion, walking past a few doors and into what looked like an old stone wing, less decorative than the rest of the place.
The walls were lined with softly glowing torches and reinforced arches. There were scratches on the floors, even a few old scorch marks. And the doors were wider and heavier.
This place had seen use. Not elegant dinners or noble visitors.
Practice. Combat.
War.
She opened one of the side doors and stepped inside. The room beyond was wide, circular, and empty, save for some wooden dummies, a rack of training staves, and a few worn sparring mats rolled up against the wall. Mana-crystals set into sconces along the walls gave off a soft bluish light, filling the space with a cold, almost expectant hum.
Seraphina moved to the center of the room and turned to face me. Her posture shifted in an instant, one foot sliding back, knees bending into a slight crouch, her weight balanced perfectly between the ball of one foot and the solid heel of the other. Her hands came up, not in a brawler's clench, but held loose and ready.
I just stared. "You're going to fight me? Did I do something to offend you?"
"I'm going to train you," she stated, her voice as level as her gaze. "You have potential, but it's raw. You need a vessel to channel it through. A focus."
"So you just... decided today was the day to teach me how to punch things?"
"You're underprepared," she said, not unkindly, just stating a fact. "You're reckless. And you're weak."
"H-hey, that's rude!"
She didn't deny it. Instead, she just gestured for me to step forward. "I like you. Now stand here."
"Is this how you show everyone you like them?"
"You're lucky."
Huffing, I tried to copy her stance. My feet felt clumsy and too far apart. My raised heel made me wobble.
I held my arms up, but they were either too high, making my shoulders ache, or too low, leaving me feeling exposed. I looked less like a fighter and more like a scarecrow that had been knocked crooked by the wind.
Seraphina waited, a statue of calm precision.
"Try to hit me," she said.
I hesitated, then stepped in and threw a punch so slow and telegraphed a blind man could have seen it coming.
She didn't even need to block it. A slight tilt of her head was all it took, my fist whistling harmlessly past her ear.
I tried again, putting more of my shoulder into it. She leaned back, letting it pass. A third attempt, and she simply sidestepped, the motion so fluid it was insulting.
She moved with highly efficient, minimal, and controlled motion that was maddening. Meanwhile, I was huffing and swinging my whole weight around like I was trying to chop down a tree with my face.
On my fourth lunge, my balance finally gave out. Before I could face-plant into the mat, her hand shot out and caught my wrist, steadying me for a brief second. Then, in the same motion, she pivoted, using my own stumbling momentum to send me spinning past her. I hit the ground with a heavy thud that knocked the wind from my lungs.
I lay there, staring at the ceiling, gasping. Every part of me ached. My pride, especially, felt like it had been trampled.
Her boots entered my view above me as she stepped forward, hands on her hips, her gaze still unreadable. "You're slow," she said.
No argument here.
"You telegraph your movements. Your body shouts your intentions before you even throw the punch."
I didn't know what 'telegraph' meant, but it sounded bad.
"You lack power, coordination, balance-"
"I get it," I groaned, pushing myself up onto my elbows.
She crouched down beside me, her face as unreadable as ever, but her voice lost a fraction of its edge. "You didn't flinch."
I blinked up at her. "What?"
"Most people do. When they fall, or when they see a strike coming. They flinch. You didn't."
I wasn't sure if that was a compliment or just another observation, but I took the hand she offered. Her grip was firm, pulling me to my feet without effort. I wobbled, my legs feeling like wet rope.
She let go once she was sure I was steady. "You're weak," she repeated, the words blunt but not cruel. "But you're not fragile."
I didn't know what to say to that. The difference felt important, but I was too tired to figure out why.
She stepped back into her ready stance. Waiting.
Somehow, my bruised and tired body obeyed before my mind could protest. I lifted my arms again.
Seraphina gave a single, short nod. No smile, no praise. Just acknowledgment.
We started again. I threw more punches. She dodged or deflected every one.
Sometimes she would stop me to adjust the angle of my wrist or the placement of my foot. Other times she just let me fail, the lesson learned through the jarring impact of the mat.
The count of my failures blurred together until I stopped counting altogether. The pain was different now. It was not the sharp, fearful ache of injury, but the deep, honest burn of muscles being pushed to their limit and slowly, stubbornly, adapting.
When she finally stepped back and said, "Enough," my body nearly gave out in relief. She offered no parting wisdom, simply turning and walking away as if we'd just concluded a casual conversation.
I stood there, swaying, my breaths coming in ragged pulls.
That was the first time.
And then it happened again.
And again.
Whenever her duties allowed, we trained. And though she never said it, I suspected she carved out the time deliberately.
I didn't become a master. I didn't even become good. But I learned how to move without tripping over my own feet. I learned how to stand my ground and how to fall without breaking. I learned how to try, and fail, and try again.
I was getting better. I could feel it.
Not quickly. Not easily.
But it was real.