Mist hung low in the valley, curling around the stone buttresses of a dark fortress like smoke over embers. The morning sun hadn't fully claimed its towers, and the air still carried the sharp chill of dawn. Each breath drew in frost-pine and the wet moss tang of the river cutting through the base of the cliffs. Birds stirred somewhere beyond, distant and indifferent.
The Scarlet Secret Enclaves lay stretched along the narrow valley floor, following the natural terraces like it grew there. Its dark stone walls absorbed what little light there was, leaving windows to glimmer faintly with lamps inside. Ivy clung stubbornly to sections of the walls, like warning embroidery.
Levi's boots crunched against gravel on the outer path, each step louder than intended in the valley's quiet. Wind tugged at his cloak, brushing aside the deep crimson lining. He stops in front of the fortress.
"Are you really going to make me knock?" he asked, cool and deliberate.
A head popped out of a high window, a man. "Yes, we are!"
"I am not part of this captain!" another voice called.
Levi squinted against the irritation crawling into his expression. "So childish…"
After a few seconds, he knocked—once. The wall shivered, then shifted aside, dragging itself open.
"Seriously, the side entrance?" Levi muttered, stepping inside.
The passage was dimly lit with lined symmetrical sconces. Mid-step, a man leapt from a hidden alcove. Levi twisted aside easily—letting the man slam against the opposite wall.
A cackle erupted, loud and unhinged. "Hahaha! He really thought he got him!"
"Can you behave like adults sometimes?" a sharp voice cut through.
Zio emerged, boots thudding softly, short, thick in a dense, purposeful way. Her pink hair was woven to one side, corset blouse tight against her torso, short straight leather skirt ending mid-thigh. A strap pouch swung at her waist. Half-frame glasses perched on her nose, violet eyes sharp and glaring.
"This is even worse than last time," Levi said, expressionless.
"We didn't have a lot of time to prepare." Zio said.
"No, you weren't supposed to expect me at all. How many of you know?"
"Just about everyone," another voice called.
A tall, lean blonde guy stepped forward, blue eyes bright. "You thought you'd be talking to the vice, but it was actually me! Fooled you."
"Ohh," Levi admitted, flat. "Good job."
"Captain!" the first man lunged again.
Levi stepped back.
He almost lands into Zio, but she pulled a charm from her hair. Sigils flared across her arm as she curses it, and she pushed him back effortlessly. He slams into the wall again.
"Ugh… my nose—" the man groaned.
"I know he's strong, but take it easy, Zio," the blonde said.
"Shut up," she snapped, dust drifting off subtle tattoos fading across her arm.
Levi managed a slow breath. "No place like home," he muttered,
Zio's glare followed him no matter where he went.
The Enclave buzzed around—doors opening, sergeants moving, shadows sliding along walls, silent glances as Levi passed.
"Welcome back, Sir," a voice said. Levi didn't glance up.
Another voice scoffs. "Ha!, he didn't even turn."
"You owe me 9 sivars now," Another guy walked by, carrying some files.
At the inner stairwell, the air grew warmer, drier. Dust motes floated lazily through the pale light. His office door was open.
"Madam Luna, please get off that chair," Isela's voice cut through.
"Stop calling me Madam! I'm only twenty-eight!" Luna snapped, sliding free from under the desk.
"Then perhaps you should act like it," Isela replied, calm and precise.
Her composure shifted only slightly as shadows reacted to Levi's presence.
"Hi," Levi said, shrugging out of his cloak.
"What am I interrupting?" he added, voice low.
"Er…" Isela hesitated.
"Nothing," Luna said, snapping back into awareness. "We were just organizing your workload."
Levi slid a hand over the top folder of stacked documents. "How bad is it?"
"The East have the heaviest losses—robbers, rebels, the usual mess." Luna said, nudging the stack toward him. "The South's overwhelmed. Refugees packed in too tight, sickness spreading, not enough food to go around." She tilted her head, eyes lifting briefly. "And everywhere else is holding. As best as they know how."
Levi flipped through the pages slowly. "The capital remains stable." he said.
Isela hovered, quill lifted, anticipating questions without crowding him.
"Three reports need rewriting. One was destroyed," she added, glancing at Luna.
"What?" Luna asked, frowning.
Levi nodded. "We'll need a clean version for the Dowager. And bring me—"
"Yes, sir," Isela said, already preparing fresh parchment.
"Now, Luna," Levi turned his gaze to her. "Get out of my seat."
"Would it kill you to ask nicely," Luna muttered, stepping aside.
Levi settled, hands lightly on the table, shoulders squared. Six months—the longest he'd ever been absent. Three months traveling to Varkyn, three months within, each day a test he didn't share.
"Where's Edna?" he asked.
"She's away, as usual," Luna said with a scoff.
Isela remained quiet, unfazed.
Levi glanced through the documents a few moments more.
"Aren't you going to at least ask how we've been without you?" Luna finally spoke.
"Were you worried at all for my well-being?" Levi replied, not looking up.
"Not really. You're not stupid enough to put yourself in actual danger," Luna thought, narrowing her eyes. "But I do wonder why you'd spend so much time at the front lines with no contact?, unless you were secretly keeping touch with Edna?"
"I infiltrated Varkyn. It had to be flawless," Levi said casually, but the weight landed hard.
A pause.
A blink.
Then—
"You did what?! Alone?!" Luna screamed.
.><><><.
I'm well aware it's getting old now.
Every time I begin with opening my eyes—sun in my face, someone barging into my room like it's a ritual practice.
Not to worry, though.
This time, I woke up early.
Dark and early, absolutely unconventional—and warm as well. Uncomfortably so. The air felt thick, stuffy, like it was pressing back as I tried to breathe.
I pressed a hand to my head. Thudding. Persistent. Rude.
I blinked slowly, and last night's memory began to crawl back in.
It was… less than ideal.
I was too hungry to think straight, but ever so committed to avoiding Raymond at all costs. The results however—eating too fast, swallowing too too, and nearly humiliating myself at the table by vomiting in front of royalty.
I was been excused. Thank the gods.
{But then… how did I end up—}
I turned my head. There was a table. Too close.
{—here?, where in the...}
I pushed myself upright on the soft surface beneath me, preparing to piece things together, when—
Pain.
Sharp. Tight. Low in my stomach and compressing.
I grabbed the back of whatever I was lying on for support as realization hit me at once.
"Shit."
I collapsed back down, breath knocked loose, and let my hand slide instinctively to my abdomen.
And just as I fear.
"I slept in it."
The corset.
The death trap. Yes.
I exhaled slowly.
Two unfortunate things had already occurred within the first minute of my consciousness.
First. this cursed contraption had both buttons and wires. At the back. Meaning I couldn't remove it myself.
Second. I had officially started my day with a curse word.
How exciting.
"Is anybody out there?" I called, voice rough. "It's hot in here!"
Silence answered. Of course, probably still sleeping in their quarters, as I should be.
I lay there for a few more seconds, letting the still warmth settle against my skin. Then, with a groan, I forced myself up. The pressing in my stomach flared again—sharper this time. My hand went to the corset instinctively.
"Ah, my God."
Had it… twisted? Shifted in my sleep? I squeezed my eyes shut, cursing the damn thing.
The room was dark, empty. But an early kind of dark—enough to guess, feel the silhouettes of things. I remembered slipping into here last night, the family lounge, it was closer to the dining hall than my study, and—well—i was being lazy.
I swung my legs off the couch, pressing my palm to the armrest so I don't double over. The air around me breathed quietly, like it hadn't experienced life in a while. My head still throbbing, and stomach still tight.
"Well, I'm definitely not going to sleep. Might as well get started with my daayyy..."
I pushed myself onto the armrest with more strength than usual.
"Ugh. Yyyy."
{I feel so bloated.}
I stood finally. Then shuffled toward the hall, slow and measured, barefooted. I paused in the doorway, leaning against the frame for balance. My eyes scanned the stillness, the quiet felt halo. No faint whispers of maids stirring in the early hours. No sound. Not one. I truly was alone at this hour. Just me—and probably a handful of guards outside, but no one really cares about them.
I exhaled shakily, like some pregnant mammal, and started toward somewhere. The kitchen. Any good day of mine always starts with a hot cup of floral scents. Always tea first. That might even ease my stomach… perhaps.
The kitchen sat deeper in the estate than most people realized—past the lesser halls, into narrow corridors that branched off like a rib cage from the main body of the house.
Just far enough that smoke, noise, and smells didn't offend visiting nobility with their delicate sensibilities.
I shuffled my way there slowly, one hand occasionally brushing against walls whenever my stomach protested too much. The halls were dark and empty in that particular way only early hours could manage, the kind of quiet that made the house itself feel half-asleep.
I wake early for once, and no one's around to witness the miracle.
The kitchen door yielded with a soft push.
Inside, it was… clean.
Not sterile—lived-in, but orderly. Counters scrubbed. Utensils hung in neat lines. The long work-table was left bare except for a folded cloth and a single knife resting where it belonged. It looked like a room that was expecting company. Not me of course.
The last time I'd been here was years ago. It was a memory I'd rather forget.
I found the kettle, filled it from the water jar by the wall, and set it aside. The stove was a compact metal contraption, smaller than i remember—but I still remember how to lit the thing. The fuel was already in, I just had to put the slow matche to it. And wait.
Thankfully the fire caught without a fuss, I appreciated that more than I should have.
"Now tea." Preferably something sour. Something that could convince my stomach to stop twisting on it's self.
I turned to the cupboards.
They were stocked with little containers, arranged by size and type, each labeled in neat, looping script. I ignored the writing and went by instinct instead. Standing on toes I grab the containers one after another. One lid off—dried leaves, earthy and sharp. Another—crushed petals. Another—roots that looked vaguely offended at being disturbed.
"Ahh, nope."
I lifted another—a small tin and sniffed. Floral. Lemon-bright. Familiar.
But before I could relax, it caught my nose—I sneezed.
Hard.
My elbow clipped something behind me when I jerked back.
There was a sharp clatter, then the unmistakable sound of glass shattering against stone.
"Oh—no. Pls no."
I shut my eyes, turned slowly, then opened my eyes just in time to see the powder blooming across the floor like spilled ink, staining the grout, my hem. Evidence.
It spread farther than it had any right to, fine and soft, clinging to everything.
I stared at it.
This was not tea. But this smell...
I crouched, ignoring the renewed ache in my abdomen, and hovered my fingers over the mess. The smell reached me properly then—warm, a little bitter, deep. Definitely not floral. Or herbal.
Familiar in the worst way.
My brows knit.
I touched it.
The powder smeared like sand, gritty against my fingers and heavy somehow. I rubbed it between my fingers. The texture was wrong.
"…This can't be possible, there's no way this is real."
I brought my fingers to my tongue. Just a little. Barely a taste.
Bitter. Sharp. Almost smoky.
My breath caught.
"Oh my God," I scoffed a laugh.
This was—
Just then the door creaked open.
"Stop murmuring, we have so much to prepare—"
I jolted upright, nearly slipping on the powder, heart vaulting straight into my throat.
The head chef stood in the doorway, holding a candle stand that cast warm, accusing light across the kitchen onto my like a caught feline. His eyes tracked from my face, to my stained hands, to the spill of drak-brown grounds spread at my feet.
"My lady…?" His tone hovered between confusion and quiet horror.
I straightened slowly, tucking my hands into my sleeves as if fabric could erase evidence.
"…Good morning," I said.
Of course the one morning I wake early, wander half-dead into the kitchen, I get caught looking like some clumsy stupid cat, covered in mystery powder.
{With my eyes, whatever shade they are I definitely look like one right now.}
.><><><.
In only a matter of minutes, the kitchen had begun to wake. Muffled clatters, chopping, sizzling—two maids were on the scene, one attending to the mess I'd made, the other preparing the tea I actually intended to drink. I hovered at the side, hands crossed—slightly pressing against my sides, my stomach still twisting on itself, but I ignored it—eyes fixed on the ground.
They moved fast, efficient, silent but awkward, my presence was causing a stir in their thoughts «Since when does she even come here?»
«She's probably here to blame nearly puking on herself in front of the prince yesterday on one of us.»
{And you'd wonder why I don't like maids.}
The head chef, oh he had it much worse, his internal panic practically radiated off him in waves.
«Do I earn enough to cover the damages, ground beets are so rear and expensive. No, it's only if she reports it… but she could just fault me instead… I can't lose this job!. Should I beg?, or speak first?»
I honestly wished I could shut him up. How lowly do these think of me?
«What's that idiot doing?!, » Another sharper thought brushed passed.
One maid suddenly rushed to the one bent over the pilled powder, she frantically grabs the girls hand, then looks up at me.
"I'm so sorry My Lady, I'll clean it myself."
I just stared at her, blankly. Because I had no idea why she was sorry but, ...okay.
She whispered something to the young girl.
Now any Noble in my place wouldn't take that...but I'm not any normal Noble. And frankly, as much as I was offended at their remarks, I also didn't mind it. I'd never tried to have a relationship with any of them for this particular reason.
"Wait," I said, raising a hand as the older lady bent to sweep the powder into a trash pan. She froze mid-motion.
"Yes, my lady?" she asked, careful. Polite. But her mind said other wise.
«What is it, would you prefer I lick it off instead?…»
"Have we always had this in stock?" I asked, my voice calm, measured. But I was just a little over that edge.
The young girl hesitated, then glanced at her companion, shrugged. "No, my lady. The young Lord brought it. Lord Verellin… he drinks it every morning."
My eyes widened imperceptibly. Which young lord?. "Lord Verellin?" I repeated, tasting the syllables. "Cael?"
"Yes, my lady. He drinks it every morning." The older one nodded.
I nodded slowly, stepped back.
«Why is she shaking and sweating so much?, is she also already of Lord Verellin?»
That last thought struck me with surprise, I was shaking?, and sweating?. I brushed a hand over my temple, and truly...it was wet.
My hands were shaking slightly too. Odd. Why were my hands shaking?.
{What the heck's going with me?}
I glanced down, my eyes shimmered, feeling… dry, and too bright for the dim kitchen, like the candlelight was sharper against my irises than it was two seconds ago.
Then thud—
I heard it.
I heard my heart thud in a rhythm that was completely off, beats landing heavier than the last.
My fingers were twitching like they had a mind of their own, my nerves felt itchy—restless.
{What the hell?, why am I shaking?,}
I shut my eyes, shaking my head slightly.
"Someone get Lauren..."
My thoughts jumped faster than I could chase them, weaving too many details together at once—I'm pretty sure I heard the outside broom scraping against the stone. And my stomach fluttered uneasily, a quiet churn that chalked up to my mouth.
"My lady?, are you alright.." someone spoke softly near me,
"Go get Lauren." I repeated, it seemed like the only words I could used.
What was happening?
"The tea's ready My lady."
{Tea, right...i should—}
The kitchen was suddenly too loud, my head banging. I moved towards the tea, my reactions were faster than usual. I picked the cup. Balanced it. Then took a sip, it was truly sublime, a perfect blend...but, as soon as it reached my stomach it churned even more. I doubled over with my hand against my stomach.
{What the fuck did I eat?!}
My body was rebelling, but against what?
I exhaled, trying not to look at my hands as they were increasing my anxiety.
Anxiety? Me?
Great. Just great.