"Feelings," he said. "We all have them. We all hate them."
A pause. The children smiled.
"But unfortunately for you, you have to learn to control them. Or they'll end up controlling you."
The entire classroom looked at him with pure admiration—and confusion.
There he was. Standing at the front of the wooden amphitheater of the Arcane Tower.
The State Arcanist. A tall, slender man with long, dark hair always tied half-up in a ponytail. His face was angular—sharp—but undeniably handsome. There were always students who had a crush on him, though none would ever dare admit it.
His golden eyes never gave away his true emotions. To the children, they showed only kindness and warmth. But behind those eyes… lay immeasurable knowledge. He wore a dark robe, intricately embroidered, with massive sleeves and regal presence. You could tell he was royalty from a mile away.
And now, the most powerful man in the country was talking to the younger students about… feelings.
"Everything starts there," he said. "For each of you, it'll be different. You're all ruled by one emotion. That's where your arcane comes from."
He gestured lightly with his hands, pausing every so often to glance at a student.
"For some of you, it might be happiness. For others—anger. Sadness, melancholy… Find it. Harvest it. And—"
A voice cut in.
"C'mon, Master! Let's talk about the important stuff. The Veil, the Trials, spells, Royals—there's so much! Why... feelings?"
"Oh, Ander," the Arcanist said, "I was almost starting to think you were actually paying attention. If you're so sure you understand what I'm talking about, why not finish the lesson yourself?"
He smiled—but it didn't reach his eyes. The children didn't know whether to laugh or not.
He took a deep breath.
"But… since you're so eager, I'll let you in on a little story."
The class fell silent. Every breath caught.
"I was saving this one for later, but I think you'll like it."
He looked at them, all leaning forward, perched on the edge of their seats.
"You may know this already, but there used to be many other Royals. Today there are about… maybe ten, but fifty years ago, there were dozens more. Then, one night... they were simply gone."
His voice dropped low.
"Some say there was a mysterious assassin in the palace. One who bypassed every guard—even the king. Others say they were poisoned at a banquet."
He paused.
"But among those, there were four with incredibly rare titles."
"But Master, all Royals have special titles," one student said.
"You're right, Laine. Very right. But these four were even more special than the rest."
He let the silence build.
"These four passed through the Veil. And made it out with the sacred water."
Gasps.
"Is that true? Do people like that really exist?" a student asked.
"Who knows…" he replied with a wry smile.
"But the story goes—there once were four very powerful Royals. Different in nature. But their bond... their friendship... is what carried them to the Veil's end. And after they returned, they helped the current king rise to the throne."
He scanned the room, taking in the awestruck faces.
"What do you think their titles were?"
The children burst out with wild guesses—none of them right.
"Tarot Cards!"
"Dice!"
"The Incredibles!"
The State Arcanist chuckled. "Ah, no—but I like that one."
He cleared his throat.
"They were called The Seasons."
A pause.
"Spring. Summer. Fall. And, of course... Winter."
"Master, it's true, isn't it? Did you meet them? What were they like?"
"You mean what they looked like, or what they were like?"
"Uh... both?"
"Well... besides being incredibly powerful—as fully ascended Royals who passed the Veil's Trials—they were pretty true to their titles, if you ask me."
He paused again, smiling faintly—as if the memory touched something deep.
"Summer—born from liquid fire, just like a dragon. Loyal to a fault. Dangerous, if provoked. Even unprovoked."
"Fall—sharp. Unstable. But irresistible to many."
A few students giggled.
"Spring..." His voice dipped, quieter now. "Kind. Stronger than all of them. She had a way of… seeing through people."
He cleared his throat.
"And Winter—"
A hitch.
Just a breath—but enough to break his rhythm.
"—was precise. Cold. Brilliant. The kind of person you wouldn't want to mess with. He really didn't know how to take a joke."
He stopped. The glamour on his face still held, but it was thinner now.
The class sat in silence. The Arcanist turned to the table behind him, starting to draw mindlesly magical runes.
Until a boy in the back leaned forward.
"What happened to them?" he asked. "Those Royals. Why does no one remember them?"
The Arcanist didn't turn.
"No one really knows," he said softly. "They vanished after the rebellion. Long before the others."
"What do you think, Master?" another girl asked.
He didn't answer.
Instead, he lifted his hand, and the glowing runes on the board shimmered and dissolved into a swirl of mist.
Class was nearly dismissed when a small voice rose—quiet, uncertain.
"Master," another student asked, "do you know any Royal alive today who looks like... well, actually like spring in a way? Green eyes, long, brown and golden hair, pink robes, funny ears?"
The Arcanist stilled.
Not dramatically—but something in the air changed.
He turned, slowly.
For the first time, the children caught him off guard.
"Where did you…?"
The student shrank in her seat. "Oh. Uh… I—I saw someone that looked like that in the library yesterday. She was… really pretty."
The silence that followed was immediate. Dense. Unbreathable.
The State Arcanist said nothing. Just stood there, unmoving.
When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.
"Dismissed."
There were only a few days left until the Trials. The entire city was tense. You couldn't walk a single corner of any street without hearing about them. Parents uplifting their children, Academy students sparring in alleyways, vendors yelling over each other trying to sell maps, charms, and tickets for rides to Wright Mountain, where the Trials would take place.
In the midst of it all, a small young lady weaved desperately through the crowd, trying to squeeze past the people gathering on every street.
"Excuse me!"
"Pardon!"
"So sorry!"
She clutched a leather bag brimming with papers that clearly needed delivering—somewhere. And judging by her frantic pace, she was very late. The crowd, however, couldn't care less.
It was Spring.
People cursed after her as she passed. She was disturbing their excitement, and their excitement was sacred. The Trials were the most important event in years—not just for the participating students, but for everyone connected to them. Family. Friends. Even someone who knew someone who knew someone. All of them held their breath, waiting to see who would be elevated. A rare event. High stakes.
Spring began mentally berating herself.
No, I can't do this. There's no way I'll make it to the castle in time like this. Ugh… I should've taken the back entrance. But the town was empty just last week…
She glanced around, thinking fast. Then she darted into a shadowed alley, pulled up her hood—and leapt.
Up the walls. Over the rooftops.
A blur.
Some people caught a glimpse, but she moved so quickly that all they saw was a flicker of dark pink in the corner of their vision. Like a shadow. A trick of the eye.
Moments later, she landed at the castle gates.
That should do it.
The guards tensed instantly. Visiting hours had just ended, and no one was allowed in.
Then she pulled down her hood.
The guards froze, their expressions dropping from alarm to pure reverence. They dropped to one knee in unison.
"Your Highness!"
Spring smiled. "The king always insists on being formal, doesn't he?"
She strode past them and bolted through the castle with the same inhuman speed she'd used to get there. The palace was beautiful—but she didn't stop to admire it. No time. She headed straight to the Throne Room.
The Throne Room was vast but far too quiet for its size. Light poured in from tall arched windows, carving slanted shapes across polished marble floors. At the far end, raised upon a platform, stood two thrones—equal in height, unequal in presence.
One was empty.
No one sat there. No one would sit there again.
The other held King Dante, poised as always. Dante looked older than the others, though he wasn't. His age hadn't carved itself into his skin—it had settled in his eyes and his white beard. The kind of weariness that only knowing too much could leave behind. He was not a muscular man—not even close. Strength had never been his weapon. His witt was.
He rarely looked at the second throne anymore, but the room never let him forget it was there.
Beside him stood his personal assistant, Samuel—silent, efficient, never far. The man spoke rarely but missed nothing.
The ceiling arched high above like the underbelly of a cathedral, holding symbols etched in gold—sigils of old bloodlines, constellations, and fragments of the First Scripture. The book that held the secrets of the Veil.
"Your Highness!" Spring called, bowing with a hand on her hip in theatrical flourish. There was a lilt of mischief in her voice—teasing. Almost mocking, but clearly fond.
At the sound of her voice, the king brightened. His worst day had just become his best.
"Ah, Spring, darling!"
He stood quickly, descending the steps to meet her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked at her as though she were a long-lost child returned home.
"My gods, Spring, it's not like you to be late. I've been waiting all day!"
"Dante, you flatter me. I ran into a bit of a... crowd. They're all so excited! I can't help feeling a little riled up myself."
"Of course you are! It's going to be captivating. I've heard the students are more prepared than ever. This Trial will be one for the centuries. Many will rise—hopefully more than a few. We've been painfully short-staffed."
"Huh… How come?"
Dante chose to answer only the first question.
"The State Arcanist is the best we've ever had," he said, smiling.
"I don't remember you ever inviting me to be your State Arcanist," Spring quipped.
Dante chuckled, the sound echoing warmly through the marble hall.
"Bright, as always."
A pause. Then, almost too casually, he added:
"He liked that about you."
She blinked. "He... knows me?"
"He's been mentoring the children daily. Claims it's exhausting—but he's better at it than anyone I've seen. The children adore him."
Spring tilted her head. Curious, despite herself.
"You don't usually praise your court like that."
Dante's face softened even further.
"No. I don't."
She narrowed her eyes slightly. "Who is he, exactly?"
The king met her gaze, voice calm.
"An idiot. Powerful. Impossible. A little broken. And far more dangerous than I'd like to think about."
She paused—expression unreadable.
Then suddenly remembered why she had rushed here in the first place.
"Ah—Dante! The books. You said it was urgent." She opened her bag and presented it.
"Yes, darling. Thank you." He turned to his aide. "Samuel?"
Samuel nodded wordlessly and took the bag from her hands.
"Is something wrong?" she asked. "It's a bit unusual to need books so fast you'd send me to fetch them. I didn't know you were such a picky reader. Those are from every corner of the country. Oddly specific…"
Spring smiled—but a trace of concern lingered in her voice.
Dante paused.
"I can't answer that. Not yet."
Her smile faded. She wanted to press him—but she knew better. Dante never said more or less than what he intended to.
So she let it go.
"Actually… I wanted to ask you a favor as well."
He blinked in surprise, then grinned. "Aren't you full of surprises today? Anything you want, darling."
"I want to train. Like we used to. I still don't know how much of my power I can use. I stopped trying a long time ago, and… that makes me feel very empty."
"Since we arrived here a few weeks ago, seeing everyone so alive, so passionate... I don't know. Something clicked."
For once, Spring didn't look mischievous or bright. She looked tired. That alone would've been enough to silence any tyrant.
Dante's concern showed at once.
"Spring, love… why would you ever think you're not allowed to do as you please in any part of Rowen?"
She gave him a look. "I knew you'd say that. It's just… Besides the Academy, there's nowhere safe. Nowhere covered. And there are so many people there…"
"Then go after dark. There shouldn't be anyone around—though I wouldn't bet on it. But truly, Spring... why do you still feel the need to hide? How many times have I asked you this? What good does it do you now? How many times have I told you to settle down here? I would always help you with anything you'd like."
She looked down, silent. Thinking.
After a pause, Dante turned and slowly ascended back to his throne.
He stopped halfway. Still facing away.
"Besides," he said softly, "I might need that power of yours sooner than you think."
Spring's head snapped up.
She stared at him, disturbed. He didn't say things like that lightly. Not between them.
Never had.
Never would.
Something was coming.
And she needed to be ready.
"Your Highness!" she called out—and darted from the room.
Spring was cleaning the tiny hut deep in the heart of Mossvale Forest—the quiet little place, not too far from the Academy, that she and Winter had been using while stationed in Rowen. She scrubbed the floor, dusted the shelves, rearranged books for the third time. Anything to keep her mind busy.
But it didn't help. Almost like clockwork, the king's voice would return to her thoughts, curling in behind her eyes.
Winter wasn't there to help ease her mind, either. Dante had sent him off days ago, on some secret mission. No warning. No details.
What was happening that the king needed his most trusted again?
She didn't know. All she knew was that she was alone. Again.
For several days now, it had been just her and her thoughts.
And they weren't being kind.
After hours of chores, she finally laid back in bed, exhausted. Who knew such a small hut could collect so much dust?
But rest never came.
The king's question kept circling her brain.
Why are you still hiding?
It dug at her. The more she tried to shake it, the more it buried in.
Why were they still hiding?
Some people already knew who they were. And they didn't care. So much time had passed, the story of the rebellion had faded into myth. A tale. A bedtime story.
They had the peaceful life they'd once dreamed of.
So why did it all still feel so wrong?
Spring had never understood the need to stay hidden. That had always been more of Winter's belief. Fall and Summer were harder to convince—but somehow, they'd all agreed in the end.
Maybe too much time had passed. Maybe revealing themselves now would fracture the kingdom's history, shake the narrative, cause chaos.
But maybe… it wouldn't.
She sighed. Rolled over. Rolled back.
Still no sleep.
And then, like a blade to the chest, the king's voice echoed again.
"I might need that power of yours sooner than you think."
That did it.
Fine, Lion Dante. I'm going.
She sat up. Swung her legs out of bed. And with a flick of her wrist, her training clothes flew from the wardrobe and wrapped around her in one smooth motion—like they'd been waiting for her this whole time.
She bolted out the door.
Too fast to track. The way she always did.
Spring reached the Academy.
She bolted through the stairs of the Academy until she reached close to the last level. The Sphere. A gigantic, magically sealed dome they used for training. Nothing went out—the magic would hold it.
She arrived in front of a giant stone door. The door was activated by reciting a spell only the Royals knew.
The Sphere held the power to create illusions of monsters, ranked from C to S, where S was the most insidious. The monsters were created through a simple spell, as was their number. It was easy to imagine why children weren't allowed to play in such a place. They could train here too—but only under close supervision by the State Warden or State Arcanist.
Once inside, Spring stopped walking when she reached the exact center of the Sphere. She recited the spell to lock the door behind her, then paused to wonder.
What was her rank now?
Let's just go with A.
She triggered the Sphere to create A-rank monsters. Three of them.
Enormous, humanlike creatures—white, with long spikes instead of arms. They had no other facial features, just a hideous smile.
They were fast. Really fast.
They lunged toward her, but she stayed calm and completely still.
The creatures halted mid-attack at the sudden movement of… air?
Spring began moving her arms and legs in such a gracious manner that the devil himself would've dropped to his knees. Every motion of her body—divine harmony.
The monsters lunged again.
She dodged.
And again.
And again.
Her dodges slowly lifted her into the air.
The air around her grew heavier, darker. Waves of power surrounded her, shifting, crawling toward the hand she now held upward.
She released a slicing blow—and completely pulverized the creatures.
With a beautiful pirouette, she gently touched the ground and bowed.
It was over. And what a show!
There was no public. But if there had been, they would've been standing breathless.
Such grace. Such power. All wrapped in the frame of a beautiful, tiny, elven-like princess.
Okay. Another round! Let's see an S.
A few floors above the training grounds, a single room was lit.
The rest of the massive tower stood silent and dark, but the glow from that room disturbed the stiffness of the night.
Inside, a classroom filled with students was on the brink of chaos.
They were all about to enter the Trial.
Desperate, over-caffeinated, half-mad with nerves, they scrambled through scrolls, spells, tactics—anything they could find in The Library or pry from the State Arcanist's memory. Time was slipping, too fast to catch.
At the front of the class stood the State Arcanist himself. Ever-restless. Ever-watchful.
He wouldn't leave his children alone at a time like this.
He called them children, but these students, unlinke the ones from the other day, were actually fully grown adults, ready to face the most dangerous exam in their lives. The Trials.
He explained things over and over again, whatever they asked of him. Hours had passed. Maybe days. It felt like eternity.
Well—to him, at least.
But his patience? That of a saint.
"Remember, children," he said. "The Veil never lies. It only shows buried truths. That is the first rule. It will test every corner of your soul. Strength. Wit. But most importantly—your memories. And your weaknesses."
The children were listening. Sort of. But they were buried in their own notes, heads low and minds spinning.
"Also, know that you don't have to reach the Fountain, either. If you get out after the second phase, it will secure you a place as a Royal. Don—"
"Master, please!" someone called from the crowd. "How many hits can the Guard Spell take?"
He didn't see who asked. He was too deep into his flow.
"Ah—it depends," he said. "There's a trick to it..."
He turned to the board and grabbed a piece of chalk.
But before he could write—
He froze.
A shift in the air.
The Sphere.
His entire body went still.
It wasn't the sound that hit him.
It was the feeling.
He knew it instantly. Not just what it was—who it was.
He stared at his hand, completely still. His mind was blank. A thousand thoughts tried to form but only one clawed its way to the surface.
How...?
The sound of chairs scraping and students shouting broke the spell.
"What was that?!"
"Who would trigger the Sphere now?!"
"It's coming from the training ground! Let's go!"
Only Spring could summon that kind of power—so much that the Sphere struggled to contain it. She was now battling an S-rank creature, and she was fighting even more beautifully than before.
The creature attacked from the shadows that had overtaken the Sphere, never showing its face. But even without clear form, there was no doubt:
She was fighting a demon.
Demons could wear many shapes, but two traits were always the same—completely black, and utterly terrifying. They were rare. And most who faced them didn't live to talk about it.
Clashes exploded in every direction. Power bolts lit the darkness. Dodges and strikes flowed like choreography. Neither of them was holding back.
They both knew it—they were fighting an equal.
Spring danced through the shadows.
Every move: seamless.
Effortless.
Lethal.
Just a bit more.
A few more dodges. A few more strikes. The rhythm of her battle started to shift—slowly, like a song nearing its final note.
The demon lunged, fast and silent, aiming for her back.
She turned in an instant.
Pressed two fingers against its forehead.
Boom.
The demon exploded—shattered into a million pieces of glittering dust.
She didn't bow this time.
But the crowd roared.
Cheers and gasps echoed from every direction. Spring looked up—and saw them. People—everywhere, lining the edges of the Sphere. Students, a whole bunch of them—she'd been watched. And not just watched.
Appraised.
This hadn't happened in so long.
She froze, breath caught. She hadn't even felt their presence—she'd been so focused.
Her face flushed red as she looked down, overwhelmed.
Then the flattery twisted into panic.
Oh no. No, no, no—people really saw that!
She had prepared herself for this scenario.
She just thought her luck may be better than this.
Turns out—it wasn't.
Spring bolted. In an instant, she flew out of the Sphere and out of the Arcane Tower. The children didn't even notice her pass by—only that she was no longer down in the training ground.
"What? Where did she go?!"
Spring finally stopped near a tree in Mossvale Forest, gasping to catch her breath. She had just used her powers to a considerable degree—for the first time in over fifty years. Her body felt completely drained. She pressed her back against the tree for support.
Oh no… What am I going to do? How am I going to explain this to Winter? I've really done it now…
But it—
"Felt good, didn't it?"
A sudden voice. Deep. Manly.
It came from the tree just a few meters in front of her.
Startled, she rushed over.
"Dante?"
It sounded like something Dante would say. It would be just like him to follow up, to check if she'd gone through with the training. He never missed a chance to insist they come out of hiding.
But… it was too dark.
The only light came from the stars and moon—and in a forest this dense, that wasn't nearly enough.
She looked up.
She could just barely make out a silhouette—a man lying on a high branch, hands folded behind his head, like he'd been lounging there all night.
"Not really."
Something about his tone told her he was smiling—and that made her skin prickle.
"Who are you? What do you want?"
"So straightforward, huh."
His voice was jovial, at first.
But then it shifted.
"Calm down. I would never hurt you…"
It was soft. Soothing, almost. But there was something underneath it—a tiredness, a sadness maybe. Or maybe she was just imagining it.
Spring stared up at him, frozen. Unsure how to respond.
He continued.
"If you feel bad about people seeing you... don't."
Her heart skipped.
Was he reading her mind?
"After all, you blend right in with the children."
Her blood started to boil.
You—!
If only I could get up there…
"Oh no, see?" he said lazily, pointing down at her with just one hand—his body still completely relaxed. "You left your brooch at home."
Spring let out a sharp breath, stunned.
"Who are you?!"
She called on the last of her strength—just enough magic to leap. She launched upward, her feet just barely hovering over bark, until she reached the branch—
No one.
The branch was empty.
She stood there, trembling, heart racing, palms sweating.
No way…
Who was that?
"I'm sorry… I don't think you're ready yet," the voice said softly. Though now it came from nowhere.
Then—
A gentle touch.
"And I'm not either."