"My lady… there is something that requires your attention," the head maid said at last, her voice thin and wavering, as though she'd rehearsed the sentence a dozen times and still wasn't prepared to speak it.
I lifted a brow. "What is it?"
Her eyes flicked away. "It would be better… if you saw it for yourself."
She turned, gesturing stiffly. "This way… please."
We followed her down the hallway toward the kitchen. Cassian and Vivian walked behind me, alert and cautious, but neither of them seemed to notice the guilt clinging to the maid like a shadow.
She was hiding something.
A section of the kitchen floor had been pulled open, revealing a narrow staircase spiraling down into darkness. The air that rose from below was cold, unnaturally so, and thick with the stench of rusted metal and decomposing flesh.
We descended.
"The Baron sealed this place," the maid whispered as our footsteps echoed on the stone. "Many of us… tried years ago…" Her voice faltered. "But the ones who went down never returned."
Cassian stiffened beside me. Vivian swallowed hard.
My tone sharpened. "So who, exactly, is locked in here?"
The maid stopped at the final landing, shoulders curling inward as though bracing for judgment.
"The real owner of this entire territory," she said quietly. "The true lord… the one the Baron overthrew. He is still alive—but only barely."
The maid unlocked the final iron door with trembling hands.
It groaned open, the sound scraping across the stone like a dying creature.
Inside, the cell was barely wide enough for a grown man to stretch his legs.
The stench of rust, blood, and long-forgotten suffering clung to the walls like mold.
And in the corner, hunched and ghostlike, sat the man who once ruled this territory.
His appearance was not something time alone could inflict.
His hair hung in long, tangled ropes streaked with gray and dirt. His beard was unkempt, matted to his jaw like a wild animal's. His clothes, if they could still be called that, were nothing more than rags barely clinging to his starved, skeletal frame.
His skin was a map of torment:
bruises layered over old ones, scars cross-hatched like someone had repeatedly carved and stitched him back together with no intention of healing. His ankles and wrists were raw from where shackles had rubbed the flesh open again and again.
But the worst were his eyes.
Once noble and steady, now hollow, sunken, unfocused.
He stared blankly at the floor, pupils dull, as if hope had been starved out of him long before his body began to break.
When the door opened, he didn't flinch.
He didn't lift his head.
He didn't react at all.
It was the stillness of a man who had forgotten what it meant to expect anything—rescue, mercy, or even death.
Only when the faint sound of footsteps echoed closer did he move, just barely. His fingers twitched, curling weakly, as though instinct remembered fear even when the mind no longer could.
Vivian gasped softly.
Cassian froze, his throat bobbing.
I stepped forward, and only then did the man's gaze shift slowly, painfully, as if the very act required what strength he had left.
There was nothing human in that expression.
Only emptiness.
Only a man who had been alive far longer than he wanted to be.
"My lord," I said quietly, stepping closer. "Do you remember where you are? Or even your own name?"
For a moment I thought he hadn't heard me.
Then barely, his eyes shifted. A twitch. A breath.
It took everything in his ruined body just to nod.
"Do you recognize the maid behind me?"
Another slow, painful nod.
Then, in a voice so faint only I could hear it, he rasped,
"I… I… rec— recognize… you… too."
My blood stilled.
Me?
How?
I had never met this man. Not once. So for him to recognize me… from where?
From when?
Was he someone I was meant to eliminate? Someone who slipped through the cracks of my past?
"Cecilia," Vivian murmured, snapping me from spiraling thoughts. "We should help him first."
I forced a small smile. "You're right. Let's fix him up."
And afterward, I can extract whatever information I need. Or remove him entirely if it comes to that.
With a flick of my fingers, the iron shackles cracked and fell apart.
Cassian lifted the broken lord carefully, almost reverently, and carried him upstairs. The butler rushed a physician into the room. Vivian and Cassian hovered anxiously by the door as he was examined.
When the physician finally left, I dismissed everyone else with a single cold look.
This was my conversation—not theirs.
I tossed two mid-grade healing potions onto the bed. "Drink. You'll need this to be conscious."
As the color slowly returned to his face and the trembling in his limbs eased, I stepped closer, eyes hard.
"So, my lordship," I said quietly, "where exactly do you recognize me from?"
A beat.
"Your answer will determine whether I let you live."
For a moment he simply stared. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed—hoarse, broken, but unmistakably amused.
"You've certainly changed," he managed. "Before, you were hollow. Empty. Now… there's a faint shine in your eyes."
"That is not an answer." My voice dropped several degrees colder.
He exhaled slowly, a bittersweet smile ghosting his lips. "It's a shame you don't remember. But I can't blame you… a child raised on battlefields."
He leaned back, weary but earnest.
"We met briefly during the Northern Siege. I came to deliver supplies and inspect the front lines."
A memory stirred.
A tiny shard of warmth from a life drowned in blood.
"You're that… wimpy, too-cheerful inspector who kept sneaking snacks into my barracks," I said, narrowing my eyes.
"You looked like a child swallowed by war," he murmured. "So I wanted to leave you with something, however small, to hold onto. Even in that brief encounter, I hoped you'd remember that kindness still existed, even when the world offered you none."
His smile widened, trembling. "I hoped… even if just once… you'd remember you deserved something gentle."
I remembered those few small chocolates or cookies left on my bed whenever I returned late at night. Those simple confections, so out of place in the life I lived, reminded me of the days I had long since lost. My heart always trembled at the sight of them. Something inside me cracked each time, but I forced myself not to show a hint of weakness. Weakness meant death on the battlefield, and I refused to die before completing my mission.
"I'll let you live for now," I had warned. "If anyone ever discovers my past, I'll give you a slow, painful death without mercy."
"That will be all," I added, leaving without looking back, shutting the door hard behind me.
"You okay?" Nox asked quietly.
I simply nodded.
Was I okay, after realizing someone from my past was breathing the same air as me again? I wasn't sure.
I was on my way back to the room we had been given when Sophie stopped me, saying I was to stay elsewhere. Wordlessly, I followed her, lost in my thoughts. The room she led me to was nothing like my previous one—larger, quieter, almost too soft.
"My lady, if there is anything you need, please tell me," Sophie said. She had avoided meeting my eyes before, but now she smiled at me brightly, almost cheerfully.
"Could you prepare a bath for me?" I asked. "And wash these clothes."
"Certainly, my lady. I will see to it at once."
"Sophie… where are Vivian and Cassian?"
"They're currently resting in their own rooms."
Steam curled through the air as Sophie left the room, and I was alone—finally alone. The bathwater was warm, almost too warm, but I welcomed the sting as I eased myself into it. The heat rushed over my skin in a single wave, and the moment it touched the places still marked by the spell, pain lanced through me—sharp, electric, merciless.
A quiet gasp escaped my lips before I could stop it.
The spell's residue still crawled beneath my skin like invisible thorns. Every breath made it flare.
I sank deeper into the water until it reached my shoulders, then my throat. My body finally loosened, little by little, as if the warmth was the only thing keeping me from shattering. I let my head fall back against the edge of the tub and closed my eyes.
The room was silent.
And in the quiet, everything I had been suppressing began to surface.
A memory of those small chocolates, left with no explanation, floated into my mind. Such a small kindness. So fragile. So undeserved. I had pretended not to care. Pretended it meant nothing. But now, in this quiet room with warm water softening the ache in my bones, it hit me harder than any blade had.
Why did kindness always hurt more than cruelty?
My fingers trembled under the water. I swallowed hard, trying to steady myself, but the pressure behind my ribs wouldn't fade. I exhaled slowly, feeling it shake on the way out.
Every time I'm reminded of my past,
I wasn't okay.
I wasn't even close to it.
The spell had drained more than my strength; it had scraped old memories raw, ones I had buried. Faces, voices, promises long broken. And then finding someone from my past… it was too much. Too close. Too dangerous.
I curled my knees slightly beneath the water, drawing them closer to my chest, the way I used to when I was a child hiding from things far less terrifying than the world I lived in now. The surface of the bath rippled faintly, disturbed by the tightness of my breath.
The heat seeped into the deepest parts of me. Outside the door, footsteps passed, muffled and distant. Inside, I stayed still, letting the warmth cradle me, letting the silence settle around me like a balm.
I stayed there for a long time. Longer than I probably should have.
And for that brief, fragile span of moments, I let it.
I stepped out of the bath slowly, almost unwilling to leave the warmth behind. Water still clung to my skin, my hair dripping in soft, heavy strands that left a faint trail across the floor. The room felt cooler against my damp body, but before I could reach for anything, Nox gestured to me.
"Come here."
I blinked tiredly at him. I settled down cross-legged in front of him, letting my weight rest against his knees.
A small grin tugged at my lips. "Am I getting spoiled today?"
He huffed a quiet laugh. "What do you think?"
It had always been like this, our special little bond, our silent exchange of trust. Nox took the towel and began gently patting my hair dry, careful with every movement. He had been terrible at this once—tugging too hard, twisting wrongly, losing patience—but over the years he had learned. Now his fingers moved with the ease of someone who had practiced for my sake alone.
I closed my eyes as he braided my hair, the familiar tug-and-weave soothing in a way nothing else was. I loved this. I loved him doing this. It grounded me.
When he finished, I climbed onto the bed without a word, sinking into the mattress. He lay down beside me, pulling up the blanket with a gentle certainty. Lux was still curled at the foot of the bed, breathing slow and steady after consuming my mana.
"Goodnight," Nox murmured, his hand finding the top of my head, patting it lightly. The simple gesture lulled my breath, softened my muscles, and I drifted into sleep under his touch.
But sleep did not welcome me gently.
It dragged me back, back to the cold, back to the dark, back to the stench of iron and blood and despair.
Chains rattled.
Harsh voices echoed from every direction, faceless and merciless.
"Bind her tightly."
"She's far too dangerous, don't give her room to speak."
"If she utters even a word, silence her."
"A devil's incarnate deserves no mercy."
Hands grabbed me. Metal bit into my wrists. Someone laughed low, cruelly.
Darkness swallowed everything.
I jerked awake, breath tearing out of me in a sharp gasp.
The room was dim, my chest throbbed as if the chains were still there. My hands trembled violently. I could barely breathe.
"Cecilia."
Nox's voice cut through the panic—steady, deep, anchoring. His arms were around me before I could shrink away, pulling me firmly against his chest. "It's alright," he whispered against my hair. "I'm here. You're safe. Breathe."
I gripped the front of his shirt, knuckles white. My breath came ragged and broken, but he held me to keep me from falling apart, gentle enough not to frighten me further.
Little by little, the nightmare loosened its grip.
Nox kept one hand on my back, the other stroking my hair where the braid rested. The motion was slow, rhythmic. Calming.
"Sleep," he murmured. "I've got you."
And tucked in his arms, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest, I slowly allowed myself to close my eyes again.
Vivian stood outside Cecilia's room, clutching a pillow to her chest.
She had spent nearly an hour pacing the hallway, debating whether to knock or turn back. Sleep refused to claim her every time she closed her eyes; the image of Cecilia collapsing from the spell flashed before her, the memory of her trembling body burning into her mind.
So she wandered. And her feet somehow brought her here.
"…Maybe she'd sleep better if someone was there," Vivian whispered to herself, though the pillow in her arms already betrayed her intention.
She took a steadying breath and raised her hand to knock—
Then froze.
A choked gasp ripped through the door,
followed by a panicked, broken voice.
Her heart plummeted.
Cecilia…?
She pressed closer before she realized what she was doing, her ear hovering near the wood. Her fingers gripped the pillow so tightly the seams dug into her skin.
Inside, she heard ragged breathing—too quick, too uneven. Then Nox's voice, low and calming:
"It's alright… I'm here. Breathe."
Vivian swallowed hard.
A nightmare.
Of course, it was.
After everything Cecilia had endured today… after the spell tearing through her… after the forest…
Vivian hugged the pillow tighter, guilt and helplessness twisting painfully inside her chest.
She wasn't the one Cecilia called for in her nightmares.
She wasn't the one Cecilia could rely on.
She hadn't even realized her eyes had begun to burn.
She stayed there a few seconds more—only long enough to ensure Cecilia's breathing steadied, only long enough to hear the faint rustle of blankets as Nox held her.
Vivian's shoulders slumped with relief.
Relief… and something bittersweet, something she couldn't quite name. A sting of inadequacy, maybe. A quiet ache she pushed down quickly, because this wasn't about her.
It was about Cecilia being safe.
That was all that mattered.
Vivian turned away silently, clutching the pillow like a small fragile shield, and walked back down the dim corridor.
She'd try again tomorrow.
Maybe.
If her heart felt steady enough.
And if Cecilia didn't need someone else.
The next morning broke softly over Baron Julius' estate. Sunlight stretched across the courtyard, golden but fragile against the lingering tension of the previous day.
We moved quietly, packed, and prepared to leave. The forest behind the estate still carried the faint iron tang of blood, a reminder of the horrors we had unearthed. Vivian cradled Lux, while Cassian adjusted his cloak, his eyes scanning instinctively for danger. I checked our belongings and ensured nothing was left behind that could compromise us.
Heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed before the door opened. I turned slightly when Baron Julius entered. He looked healthier than I had expected. Beside him, a small child, no older than five or six, clung to his father's hand, eyes wide and timid.
"My deepest gratitude," Julius said, voice trembling with familiar humility. "You—Lady Florence, and your companions have saved my family… and my estate."
I tilted my head, expression neutral. "We did what needed to be done. Your gratitude is noted."
The young boy peeked out from behind Julius, curiosity and caution mingled in his gaze. I allowed my eyes to meet his for only a moment, then shifted back to the Baron.
"Please, accept this reward," Julius began, voice breaking slightly. "We insist—anything you desire, name it."
I let my gaze sweep the room, lingering on the child before returning to Julius. "We do not accept rewards. The lives that had been endangered, the horrors hidden here… they are not to be repaid with gold or titles. Use that for your people. Besides, we are leaving today."
"Very well… at least allow me to provide you safe passage. A carriage, equipped however you require."
"That will suffice."
Cassian and Vivian exchanged glances but said nothing. The offer would make the journey safer and wise to accept.
Moments later, the Baron's attendants wheeled a finely crafted carriage into the courtyard. As the carriage doors closed, I allowed myself a brief exhale, watching Julius and his son stand silently in the courtyard, gratitude mixed with lingering fear in their expressions. What they endured was horrendous, leaving scars for a lifetime. The only request Baron Julius made was to erase the memories of his son. The mission had a deadline of two weeks but we completed it in three days with the slight change of bringing the real culprit along with us.
The horses began to trot forward, carrying us away from the shadows of Julius' estate and back toward the Imperial Academy.
I leaned back, letting the motion of the carriage soothe the tension in my shoulders. Cassian and Vivian remained silent, each lost in their thoughts, while I allowed the faintest trace of a smirk to curve my lips. They had survived, learned, and most importantly, understood a fraction of what it meant to walk the edge of true darkness.
And I would make sure the next lessons were even sharper and they were prepared to face it.
"Starting from this moment," I said, voice flat, eyes cold, "I am not your friend. I am your teacher. Every mistake you have made, every hesitation will be noted, corrected, and remembered."
Vivian's face fell, her fingers tightening around Lux. Cassian's jaw stiffened, but neither of them dared to argue. I let the weight of my words settle over them, letting them feel the icy distance I now intentionally placed between us.
The carriage rolled smoothly along the dirt road, dust rising in pale clouds behind us. The sun climbed higher, but I didn't look out the window. Instead, I let my eyes roam over Cassian and Vivian, noting their posture, their tension, and the subtle ways they tried to appear composed.
"Tell me," I said, voice calm but laced with steel, "yesterday—you both thought you understood danger. Tell me what you learned."
Vivian's hands tightened around the boy on her lap. "That… that people can be cruel. That…" Her voice faltered, but I didn't allow her to finish.
I leaned back slightly, letting the silence stretch, watching her squirm under it. "That is not enough. Cruelty alone does not define the world. It is how you survive it, how you respond when hesitation will cost lives. Did you hesitate yesterday?"
Her eyes flickered toward Cassian. He didn't answer immediately. His jaw tensed. "I… I thought I could—"
"Could what?" I interrupted, voice low, cutting. "Could you survive without killing? Could you survive without understanding that mercy is sometimes the luxury of the weak? Say it."
Cassian's eyes narrowed. He swallowed hard. "I hesitated."
I allowed a faint smile, predatory and cold, to touch my lips. "Good. Recognizing your weakness is the first step. But do not make the mistake of thinking recognition is enough."
Vivian's hands trembled, but I didn't pause. "You cling to hope, to morality, to the idea that you can remain innocent in a world built on blood. Tell me—what happens when innocence gets you killed?"
Neither answered. The silence was thick, almost suffocating. I let it settle over them, letting them feel the weight of their inexperience.
"I will not coddle you," I continued, leaning forward so my eyes bored into theirs. "Every mistake you make is a lesson. Every hesitation, a failure you will carry. And when I push you, when I force you to your limit… do not think of me as cruel. Think of me as the only one who will ensure your survival."
Cassian clenched his fists, jaw tight. Vivian's lips pressed into a thin line. Both were shaken, but the lesson had landed. I could see it in the way they shifted, the way they sat straighter, as though preparing for something worse.
"And understand this," I said softly, letting my tone drop to something darker, almost a whisper that seemed to echo in the confined space of the carriage, "yesterday was only a taste. You have seen a fraction of what the world is willing to do. And I will show you the rest. And I will not hesitate. Fail me, and… you will see why I do not forgive."
I leaned back, my expression serene, almost casual, as if the weight of my words had not cost anything. Yet in their eyes, I saw the tremor of fear and respect.
The carriage moved onward. I let them sit with it, knowing the journey ahead would only sharpen.
To be continued...