The capital gates stood taller than I imagined.
Three archways of polished obsidian stone framed with white marble, lined by twin statues of warmaidens from the Mourning Era—eyes blindfolded, hands gripping shattered blades.
A steady line of travelers, traders, and minor nobles moved through the gates under heavy watch. Kingdom guards clad in deep crimson armor checked each one—papers, seals, cargo, intent.
No one made a sound.
Not until Perephone stepped forward.
The guard captain didn't even lift his halberd.He recognized her instantly.
His eyes widened. One hand came to his chest in a salute, the other motioned to his men to lower their weapons.
"Lady Perephone… The Lightning Seer of the Northern Mountain…" he muttered in awe.
Several passersby turned at the name. Murmurs began almost immediately.
"Is that really her…?"
"I thought she retired…"
"She hasn't aged a day. The legends were true…"
"Then who's the girl with her?"
Perephone raised a brow and offered a half-bow, more out of habit than humility.
"At ease, Captain. I'm not here on Tribunal business. I'm escorting my student."
The man nodded quickly.
"Of course. The gates of Cindral are open to you both. You'll be registered as honored guests under Guild Accord."
Then his gaze shifted—to me.
And he hesitated.
"...May I ask her name?"
"Luna Gadriel," Perephone said plainly. "Daughter of Lady Gadriel of the Celestial Highlands."
"Gadriel…" the captain echoed.
The name carried weight.
Enough to ripple outward. Whispers began anew among those waiting in line, some bowing their heads out of respect, others eyeing me with open curiosity—or caution.
They don't know me. But they know the bloodline.
It wasn't me they looked at.It was what I might become.
A vessel. A symbol. A prophecy still walking.
"...She'll be attending Aetherfall Academy," Perephone continued. "Mark her status accordingly."
"Understood. Aetherfall is expecting new arrivals through the week. If you're passing through the outer district, you'll be near the Crystal Vale quarter. They'll direct you."
The gates opened wider for us than they had for anyone before.
I followed Perephone in silence.
As we passed through the threshold, I caught a final glance at the twin statues.
Though blindfolded, I could swear… they were watching me.
Cindral's capital was nothing like I imagined.
Even from the gate, the roads shone pale gold under the sun. Brickwork patterned in sacred geometry spread like veins across the streets. Vendors lined the walkways with silks, relics, salted fruits, and trinkets etched with protective runes. The smell of clove, citrus, and baked bread wove through the air like a spell.
Above us, sky bridges connected one district tower to another—domes of glass and stone catching the light like stars frozen mid-fall.
"You look like you're trying to memorize every stone," Perephone said beside me.
"I'm not sure when I'll see all this again…"
"It's a big city, Luna. You'll have time. But not the luxury."
People stared as we passed.
Not at me—at her.
One old merchant dropped his coin pouch as he scrambled for a better look. Children pointed. A young scribe nearly fell off his courier bird trying to bow mid-flight.
"Seer Perephone! From the mountains—truly her!"
"The Storm-Warden! She walked the thunder path!"
"May the Tribunal shine through her name…"
Some knelt. Others simply watched in stunned silence, their respect carved into the rhythm of their breath.
Perephone took it all in stride. Not prideful, not cold. Just… familiar.
"You're a legend to them," I murmured.
"I'm a warning to most of them," she replied. "And to the rest… just a name with too many tales."
"Do you hate it?"
"No. I just don't need it."
We stopped by a temple square where a fountain danced in reverse—water flowing skyward into a ring of light that hovered mid-air. Small children tossed stones in, laughing when the stones shimmered and vanished.
I sat on the edge while Perephone bought us dried nectar fruit from a stall.
The city pulsed around us.
Life. Magic. Stories in motion.
"Do you think I'll be happy here?" I asked.
Perephone didn't answer right away.
Instead, she peeled the fruit slowly and handed me a slice.
"No," she said finally. "But I think you'll be needed here. And that's more important."
The capital had the shine of old myths—but behind every polished archway and gilded road was something else. A hush. A pulse.
A place this ancient doesn't just stand. It watches.
We arrived at the old Guildhall just before dusk.
It stood like a half-remembered memory—three stories tall, stone and brass beneath climbing ivy, windows glazed with age. A sigil long faded still hung over the arched doorway: a lightning bolt striking a coiled serpent, cracked down the middle.
"You lived here?" I asked, brushing dust from the threshold.
"For eighty years," Perephone answered simply. "Back when I was still useful to the throne."
The caretaker, a pale man with an ageless face, bowed low upon seeing her.
"High Seer Perephone," he said breathlessly. "We thought you vanished into the mountains."
"I did," she replied, "and now I've returned with a student."
He didn't ask questions. Only offered keys.
The second floor belonged to me now.
A wide room of wooden beams and silk banners. A shelf of worn books, mostly political theory and battle memoirs. A mirror veiled in silk. A balcony that opened toward the inner ring of the city—and past it, the far-off gleam of a crystal structure I would soon know well.
Aetherfall Academy.
Its spires glinted in the dying sun. Not yet close. Not yet mine.But near enough to make me nervous.
"We'll stay here for two days," Perephone said over tea in the common hall. "Then you'll begin."
"That soon?"
"There's no point in delaying. You're ready."
I wasn't sure I agreed. But I nodded.
We spent the rest of the evening walking the city.
At her side, we passed streets lined with marble fountains and musicians playing instruments shaped like tree branches and feathered harps. Children ran barefoot in temple courtyards. Spell vendors sold floating quills and bottled fireflies that whispered dreams when uncorked.
At every corner, someone recognized her.
A nod. A prayer. A whispered story.
Some even approached, asking blessings for their children, or questions about the Abyss War.
She answered few, smiled at fewer.
"They remember the symbol, not the person," she said once the crowd faded. "And the symbol never gets to rest."
"Is that what I'll become?" I asked quietly.
She glanced at me sidelong.
"Only if you let them write your story."
Back at the Guildhall, I sat alone on the balcony, hands clasped around a warm cup.
The city below still pulsed with soft lights and movement.
I looked past it all—past the domes, the towers, the halls of nobility—and toward the shimmer at the horizon.
The Academy called to me.
And something else.
A breeze stirred.
And for just a second, I felt Solviel's presence behind me—not speaking, not guiding—only watching.
I thought of the siege.Of the man I had to kill.Of the boy I saved.Of the prophecy I didn't ask for.
"Will I lose myself here?" I whispered.
But no answer came.
Only the wind.
I closed my eyes.
Sleep didn't come easy.
But when it did, I dreamed not of battles, nor spirits—but of standing barefoot beneath the great dome of Aetherfall, surrounded by shattered mirrors, each one reflecting a different version of me.
I stood barefoot on a floor I couldn't feel.
A sea of polished obsidian stretched infinitely beneath me—so flawless it mirrored the skies above. No stars. Just a vast dome of broken light and pulsing gold, split into fragments and shards.
They floated around me like fractured glass, some small as slivers, others large enough to step through.
Each one reflected a different me.
One wore armor, bloodied and breathless. Another cloaked in feathers, laughing with strangers. One stood on a throne she didn't want. And one… stood alone. Always alone.
I reached for that mirror, but it split before my hand could touch it—shattering with no sound, drifting away like dust in water.
At the center of the room—where all light met—was a raised platform of radiant marble. A circular dais encircled by golden threads that spun like orbits.
And lying atop it…
Was Solviel.
Her human form was beautiful in a way that almost hurt to look at—fragile yet infinite. She appeared no older than I was, with golden-white hair splayed around her like a halo, eyes shut in rest.
Her skin held the faint glow of runes pulsing gently—soft, soothing. Barefoot like me. Draped in veils made of light and glass-thin silk.
And she was sleeping.
Completely still. Unmoving.
"Solviel…" I whispered.
My voice echoed through the hall of mirrors, bouncing and folding in on itself, like it didn't belong to me.
I stepped closer, carefully.
Her chest rose and fell. Peaceful. Dreaming.
Yet I felt something else—an ache. A heaviness that weighed on the space between us.
Then I saw it.
Below her body, encircling the platform, was a faint mark scorched into the ground—a single ring of azure blue, broken only at one edge.
A scar where something once bound her. Or perhaps still did.
Is this where she retreats when she goes silent?
Is this where she hides her shame?
"Why do you sleep here?" I asked quietly.
Still no answer.
But this time, the mirrors responded.
One behind me flickered—not with a version of myself, but with a memory.
A black silhouette, shaped like a man, eyes blazing azure blue and brazen brown, standing tall and still.
He did not speak, but I heard his voice anyway:
"So… this is your new vessel?"
I turned, but the mirror was already fading into fog.
I looked back to Solviel.
For a moment, I saw her brows tense. A small flinch. A whisper trying to form behind closed lips.
I knelt beside her, unsure what to say. Unsure if I even had the right.
"You gave up your pride to save others…"
"But who saved you?"
I reached out, brushing a loose thread of her hair aside.
She didn't wake.
But she breathed deeper—just once.Like something in her heard me.Like something… was finally willing to remember.
Golden light began to rise from the ground—threads weaving through the mirrors and spiraling toward the unseen sky above.
My body felt weightless.
Then the light pulled me upward—
And I awoke.