Halwen sat down in his chair. The air inside his office was perfect. It was neither too dry nor too humid. The books were meticulously organized, sorted alphabetically and by size. Everything about the room felt carefully arranged, like the work of a man obsessed with order.

  Yet no such order existed in his mind.

  I’m a hypocrite, he thought. Bringing Lina here was a mistake.

  Halwen had worked with the Arkmarschall for a long time, had seen children experimented on and indoctrinated to serve, and had even believed in it.

  He defended it fervently against Drecht’s skepticism and insisting that what they did here was for the subject’s own good.

  But when it happened to his dear Lina, he backed out, halting the procedure right after Grace was injected into her, justifying it by claiming Lina was emotionally unstable.

  And surprisingly, the Arkmarschall listened. For a year and a half, they focused on stabilizing her, waiting for Halwen to signal that she was ready.

  What was I thinking when I told Lina this place would make her strong?

  The past resurfaced like a corpse rising in shallow water.

  He remembered Lina’s face that night, the way she cried and yanked at her own hair, trembling with rage because Faintborn’s Blessing had denied her the one thing she wanted most:

  Revenge.

  Such an adult I was. I allowed her to pursue revenge then, when she became unreachable, I stopped trying to talk to her. Instead, I gave her ‘space’ yeah, right. Idiot. I felt like a mule wearing a lab coat.

  He reached for the cabinet. There was only one thing to do when your mind was in turmoil. One last Hail Mary, a desperate bid to find a plan.

  A way to keep Lina and Vierna out of Operation Ewige Schlange

  Wine.

  A wise man’s fuel towards clarity.

  He downed it in one long sip.

  But no amount of wine was going to give Halwen a plan to undo all of this mess.

  He thought of separating Lina and Vierna, guessing that Lina’s change had come directly from Vierna.

  It seemed like a brilliant plan at first, until he realized that doing it forcefully would draw the Arkmarschall’s attention. And it would also surely shatter what little happiness remain in Lina.

  And Vierna, Halwen was sure that she was already the kind of girl people overlooked, no matter how hard she tried.

  If he went through with it, he would break them both. So he let the thought die.

  He threw the bottle. It shattered against the floor—just like the plan.

  Fuck it, he thought.

  He rose from his chair. With a flick of his fingers, he cast a minor dispersal spell over the shattered glass. The fragments blinked out of existence.

  Elsewhere in the facility, where the air didn’t reek of a man trying to find a plan at the bottom of a wine bottle, Lina and Vierna were busy preparing themselves for the feast.

  On the nearby bench, the clothes sent by the Arkmarschall awaited them.

  Uniforms.

  Simple, yet elegant.

  Black fabric. High collar. Silver trim along the cuffs.

  Just clean lines and perfect symmetry.

  The girls wore theirs with ease.

  They glanced at each other.

  Despite the simplicity, they liked it. It felt like something they’d wear at the front lines.

  Killing enemies, and all that.

  Not long after, Halwen arrived.

  He wasn’t in his usual lab coat.

  He wore a formal Reich officer’s suit, midnight black, buttoned to the neck, with a grey sash across his chest and a silver brooch at his collar. Sharp, severe, and without a wrinkle.

  Then the trio departed.

  A silver-black carriage waited at the gates.

  They boarded in silence. The wheels turned, and they were on their way.

  "Lina, why are you wearing your mask again?" Vierna asked, tilting her head.

  "Well… I don’t need one or two guys asking how I got this, right?" Lina replied flatly.

  "Well, If you say so.” Vierna said, “So, what’ll we do once we get there?"

  "Well, obviously the food table’s going to—"

  "Actually," Halwen cut in. "It would be better if the two of you split up once you arrive."

  "Why?" Lina asked

  "It’s good that you’re close," Halwen replied.

  "But if you only rely on each other, you’ll remain isolated.

  And isn’t this the best chance to truly see who you’re protecting?"

  It was plain honesty from Halwen. He wasn’t trying to force distance between them; he had already decided against that. But if they chose to mingle on their own, it might give them a different perspective. And who knew, maybe by doing so, they would free themselves from the hold that had shaped them.

  Lina and Vierna looked at each other, puzzled.

  "It’s okay, Lina," Vierna said gently. "Herr Halwen is right.

  If we’re too isolated, we can’t serve properly.

  And… having one or two more friends won’t hurt."

  "Well, okay. At least you’ll be unstuck from me for a while," Lina muttered, disappointed.

  "But I like getting stuck with you." Suddenly, Vierna closed the distance and hugged Lina with all her might.

  "Viernaaa," Lina groaned. “Not in front of Uncle."

  "Hehehe."

  The girls chatted almost the entire way, switching topics without pause. Vierna tried to include Halwen in the conversation more than once, and while he mostly just nodded, he did respond when it came to magic.

  According to Halwen, the world was split into two realms: the physical realm and the soul realm.

  The soul realm and the physical realm were interconnected. Actions taken in the soul realm would be reflected in the physical world. The physical world however would only effect the soul realm slightly.

  Wizards existed in both accessing the physical realm through their bodies, and the soul realm through their spirit.

  Magic, he explained, was an action performed by your spirit within the soul realm. That action would echo back in physical realm.

  The soul realm didn’t follow the same rules as physical one. It obeyed the Gesetz des Ganzen—the Law of the Whole. And through deeper understanding of that law, magic was born. There are limitations, yes but they aren’t as rigid or restrictive as those in the physical world.

  To make your spirit act, you needed mana. Halwen once said mana was like the soul’s stamina but unlike normal stamina, it could be seen, and channeled.

  It was subtle, but Vierna and Lina could see how much Halwen enjoyed talking about magic. In a way, he was just like her, he loved magic. The explanation didn’t sound like anything written in textbooks. It was Halwen’s own understanding of how magic worked. And by sharing it with them, it felt like he was giving away a piece of himself.

  The trio arrived at the manor.

  It stood tall not ostentatious, but commanding. Like the man who ruled it, the structure was simple in form: clean lines, dark stone, minimal ornamentation. And yet, it radiated elegance.

  It was Leopold’s magic, in a way. The ability to take something bare and make it regal. As if simplicity itself bowed to him.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  The courtyard was full, packed with citizens in dark coats and pale uniforms, voices low but excited.

  But it was clear not everyone had come.

  This was most of Einhartturm, not all. The rest were either too injured, too deep in grief, or still out there, cleaning blood off marble, dragging mana beast corpses into carts, scrubbing the last remnants of yesterday’s slaughter from their doorways.

  "Let me reactivate the communication rune.” Said Halwen, “don’t worry, I’ve tuned it so I won’t hear anything you say. It’s just for calling me when you’re ready."

  Halwen raised his hand and traced a quick sigil in the air. A faint shimmer pulsed across the base of his wrist. The rune linked itself to the matching ones already embedded on the girls.

  "Well then, I’ll head inside," Vierna said. Her voice was quiet, but the excitement in her eyes gave her away.

  "Okay. See you later," Lina replied, offering a small wave.

  Vierna walked through the courtyard.

  The crowd was large but orderly. Leopold’s staff were positioned strategically. It was to make sure to prevent any chaos.

  Vierna approached the manor doors. An attendant greeted her politely, and she returned the gesture with a soft nod.

  As she did, a few children brushed past her, walking straight into the manor without hesitation.

  No one stopped them.

  Leopold had said the feast was open to everyone.

  Surprisingly… he’d meant it.

  Inside, the manor felt larger than the courtyard. The ceilings stretched unnaturally high, the halls branching deeper than should be possible.

  Leopold must have used spatial magic to make this happen.

  Vierna stared, quietly awed.

  This was why she obsessed over magic.

  It broke the rules, shattered expectations. It replaced what was real with something better.

  As she wandered deeper inside, a soft murmur drifted from a cluster of well-dressed guests near a gilded frame. She paused, just far enough to listen without being caught.

  "...they say the Arkmarschall never had children. Is it true?”

  “He did. Lord Wolfarm. His first wife died giving birth to him."

  "So where is he now?”

  “War, maybe. Or something worse. You hear things."

  "And Duchess Thirza?”

  “Can’t bear his child. Mana reason you know?”

  In this world, mana was everything.

  It shaped everything, from marriage and bloodlines to childbirth. Some pregnant women had ruptured from within, their bodies unable to bear the strain of a fetus’s denser innate mana. When raw mana touched flesh, it felt nothing like heat or pressure; it was like being stabbed from the inside out.

  That’s why nobles married carefully, choosing spouses with meticulous attention to mana compatibility to ensure their bloodline would not die out.

  But Leopold had married Thirza anyway.

  It was a union that defied logic, even biology. And yet, he had done it and no one knows why.

  From near the grand stair, a voice rang out

  "People of Einhartturm."

  Arkmarschall Leopold. He descended the stairs, flanked by his wife.

  She was tall, graceful, and composed her golden hair elegantly swept back, eyes sharp beneath lids untouched by time. She looked no older than thirty, though rumor claimed she was well past forty. She wore a sleek black gown fitted for the occasion, minimal in design but impossibly dignified.

  "You’ve bled. You’ve endured. And you’ve prevailed. This feast is not just a celebration of survival but a reaffirmation of unity."

  "Let none forget what was sacrificed, nor who stood at your side. We rebuild, not from fear. But from resolve."

  "Tonight, you dine not as subjects, but as pillars of this Reich. Remember that."

  "Let the feast begin."

  Laughter and chatter resumed, brighter this time, as if Leopold’s words had cut through the haze of blood and ash, leaving something momentarily clean in its wake.

  Vierna moved deeper into the mansion eyes tracking every elegant curve of stone and spellwoven tapestry until she collided with someone.

  Her shoulder struck something firm.

  She looked up.

  The boy was a bit older. A head taller. Pale hair, neatly combed, with sharp eyes that didn’t blink enough. He wasn’t bruiser-built, no scarred knuckles or bloodied fists but there was something else in his posture.

  A noble’s son, probably. The kind who never needed to fight with fists because his tongue did the damage first.

  "Sorry, I didn’t see you," Vierna said quickly.

  "Ah, no, I should be the one to apologize. Clearly, I was the one in your path. I suppose when one’s eyes are fixed on glory, rather than the corridor ahead, it’s easy to miss obstacles. Still, it’s not every day one meets a glorified war supply courier. I’ll try to be more accommodating to our celebrated heroes.”

  Vierna opened her mouth.

  It was clear he was insulting her — and mocking her merit, her effort, was not something she would take kindly.

  "Look you pomp— “

  Before she could finish, a second boy stepped forward from behind her.

  He didn’t hesitate, reached out gently but firmly, placing his hand over hers and guiding her into a shallow bow. It wasn’t rough. In fact, it was oddly careful. Protective, even.

  "Apologies, Herr Dayrith. She did not know any better," the second boy said smoothly.

  The boy smirked. "Well, at least someone knows where their family stands. You could learn a thing or two from this little wannabe necromancer. Right, Edels?"

  Edels just nodded—clearly eager to avoid trouble with the other boy.

  The other boy turned on his heel and walked away without another word.

  "Do you have a death wish? He’s from House Dayrith. You were clearly about to insult him."

  Vierna had read about it in history class.

  House Dayrith were once rulers of the Silbermark Duchy. It was one of the major noble houses in the Reich. But they had long-standing rivalry with House Einhart.

  The Reich, though militaristic, was also highly meritocratic. Any noble house could challenge a higher-ranking one, provided they had the strength, honor, or leverage to do so.

  House Einhart had once been vassals, knightly retainers under House Dayrith. But generations ago, a succession crisis splintered Dayrith's leadership.

  Seeing an opportunity, House Einhart issued a formal challenge to the heir of Dayrith.

  Fate favored them. House Einhart won.

  Now, House Dayrith served the very bloodline they once ruled over. A humiliation carved into lineage. A feud preserved by memory.

  His grip slackened, slow and deliberate, letting her lift her head.

  And then—she saw him.

  His hair was black and neatly combed. His pale face was smooth and still, too quiet to be natural.

  Not unattractive, yet not striking either. It was forgettable, like a face you might glimpse in a crowd and lose the memory of at once.

  His eyes, though—

  They unsettled her. Hollowed, and distant, like they were searching for an emotion they forgot how to wear.

  There was an expression, but she couldn’t tell if it was real or just something he’d learned to copy.

  However his coat even more unsettling.

  It was white, too white. A black collar hugged his neck, and gold trim ran along the edges like veins. But the real discomfort came from the fabric itself.

  There was a pattern woven into it, subtle, almost invisible unless the light hit it just right. It moved with him, shimmered faintly. At first glance, it looked like nothing. A blur of embroidery, perhaps. But if you stared too long, you might begin to see it.

  Something that might be a hand.

  It was like an illusion burned into cloth. Fingers that weren’t fingers. Reaching things that never quite resolved. The more you tried to see it, the more it slipped away—

  But the feeling remained:

  "You're welcomed," the boy said smoothly.

  "Thank you… but I believe I could’ve handled it myself." Vierna said, her words were clearly laced with a bit of anger.

  He glanced back toward where Dayrith who had vanished into the crowd.

  "Look, I know the Arkmarschall praised you during the speech. But you need to be careful. Favor from someone like him comes with a price, and that price is envy.

  And the boy you nearly argued with? He’s Kasimir Dayrith. Heir to House Dayrith.

  Getting in trouble with him won’t benefit you in anyway whatsoever.”

  Vierna exhaled slowly. The boy was right.

  What Kasimir said had been intolerable, but what’s done was done. No point dragging it further.

  She straightened her posture. Voice calm, if not entirely soft.

  "I apologize. I wasn’t in my right mind." Vierna said as she let her breath out. "May I have your name, Herr?"

  The boy gave a small smile. "Edels Rouen. Pleasure."

  "Pleasure Herr Edels, my name is Vierna,” she says “forgive me but Rouen? As in House Rouen?”

  "Ah, you’ve heard of us? I’m flattered."

  He gave a modest bow.

  "We’re just a knightly vassal now. Small barony. Nothing worth mentioning, really."

  "But House Rouen earned its title through the Eisenlanze Tourney, didn’t it?" Vierna said.

  Edels blinked, caught off guard. His mask of polite detachment slipped.

  "You flatter me, Fr?ulein," he said, bowing his head. "To think you even know how we gained our knighthood… But truly, it was luck. A single duel in the finals. Nothing more."

  Then his smile turned warmer

  "I’m the one honored here. To meet Einhartturm’s newest hero. The girl who walked through blood and ash to serve her House without hesitation."

  "You flatter me, Herr Edels," Vierna replied, her voice softer now.

  Despite the strange stillness in his face, the hollowness behind his eyes, and that unsettling coat, Edels didn’t come off as cruel. In fact, he seemed… kind. Attentive. Whatever unease she felt upon seeing him began to slip away. Maybe the old saying was right: never judge a book by its cover.

  After that, he offered to show her around. They walked together, their pace easy, the stiffness between them quickly fading. Edels didn’t speak like a typical noble—no pomp, no long-winded speeches. He listened, asked questions, nodded at her answers. It felt more like walking with a thoughtful classmate than a highborn heir.

  He guided her toward a gathering of youths—mirthful voices, and the soft hum of laughter weaving through the air.

  Edels introduced her briefly.

  Someone even offered her a sweet pastry.

  Apparently, Edels and his friends were Unterkreis mages, young initiates sent to reroute the horde during the siege. They couldn’t make it back to Einhartturm, so they diverted to Fort Graustahl.

  "We were forced to drink Red Drought twice," Edels muttered, wincing. "Damn, that hurt like hell."

  "I know, right?" a girl beside him replied, rolling her eyes.

  "But I’m glad we’re still alive," A boy added, his tone dipping. "Triss didn’t have that privilege. Got jumped out of nowhere by a Varg. Poor Triss."

  This war didn’t spare anyone. Even the young, ambitious and powerful wouldn't survive after being shanked in the gut

  Vierna raised her mug, filled only with juice—but in this moment, it didn’t matter.

  "Well… here’s to Triss."

  "To Triss," Edels and his friends echoed.

  And just like that, children who were supposed to still be in school toasted fallen teenager in war, like it was a normal occurrence.

  Does Edel seems off?