The next morning, Raven awoke at a very early hour, the world outside still shrouded in the soft embrace of darkness. The nightmares had not yet loosened their relentless grip on her; each dawn felt like a cruel repeat of the last. Every day, she emerged from the depths of sleep the same way—her face drained of color, her breathing labored, and her body soaked in a cold sweat. The sun had yet to rise, leaving the room dim and hauntingly quiet.
With a heavy heart, Raven sat up and settled on the edge of her bed, the fabric of her shirt clinging uncomfortably to her back. She closed her eyes, covering her face with both hands as if to shield herself from the memories that still danced behind her eyelids. The dream lingered, vivid and inescapable—the same nightmare that haunted her night after night. Liz appeared to her, a ghostly figure with pallid skin and blue lips, her eyes filled with an accusing fury.
"You killed me. You killed me, Aunt."
Raven felt the weight of those words press down on her, a suffocating reminder of the past she desperately wished to forget. She struggled to steady her breathing, but it emerged in trembling gasps that echoed in the stillness of the room. No matter how hard she tried to bury that memory deep within the recesses of her mind, the nightmares had a way of unearthing it, refusing to let her escape the truth. Long minutes passed, each second stretching into eternity, before her breathing finally began to even out. She lifted her head slowly, drawing in a deep breath, then let it fall again, her gaze fixated on the floor as if seeking solace in the familiar wood grain.
It was then that Morivane appeared before her, transcending the boundaries of the ordinary. She knelt gracefully on the floor between Raven's legs, her presence both comforting and unsettling. Morivane's fingers brushed gently against the ends of Raven's hair, which fell languidly around her face. With a tender gesture, she placed a hand beneath Raven's chin, lifting it slightly, and smiled faintly, a glimmer of warmth in her otherwise cold demeanor.
"What's wrong, my little vessel?" she asked, her voice soft yet laced with an unsettling edge.
In the dim light, her eyes glowed a fierce red, like burning embers in the darkness. "You seem unsettled… a little broken."
Raven looked at her in silence, the words caught in her throat. She felt utterly depleted, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on her like a heavy shroud. All she wanted was to close her eyes and drift back into sleep, to escape the torment of her waking life, even if just for a moment. But the allure of rest felt impossibly far away. Instead, she sat there, staring at Morivane without a word, feeling as if every ounce of strength had been drained from her.
Morivane tilted her head, curiosity flickering across her features. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Raven remained silent, the unspoken words swirling in the air between them, heavy with the weight of her unacknowledged fears and regrets. In that moment .
Morivane lifted both hands, cupping Raven's face with a delicate yet firm touch. She gently pulled her closer, studying the girl's expression with a mix of curiosity and concern. "Are you alright?" she asked, her voice a soft murmur in the dim light of the room. "You look paler than usual."
Raven closed her eyes, leaning further into Morivane's hands, seeking comfort in the warmth radiating from her. Though Morivane's touch burned—sharp and searing—it was a pain Raven welcomed. It was her only escape from the nightmare that clung to her like a shadow, the only refuge from the memories she could never erase, no matter how desperately she tried.
With a quiet determination, she leaned in even more, grasping Morivane's hand and pressing it harder against her face. The heat from Morivane's palm sent a rush through her, and even as her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, as though fire burned beneath her skin, Raven did not pull away. It was a paradoxical comfort, a brief moment of clarity amidst the chaos of her mind.
Morivane watched her in quiet astonishment, an unfamiliar sensation blooming within her—a flicker of concern for another being. This was the first time she had ever seen Raven like this, vulnerable and raw, stripped of her usual defenses. She remained silent, her gaze intense yet calm, as she studied the contours of Raven's face, the way her brow furrowed slightly and her lips parted in an almost imperceptible sigh. It was also the first time Morivane had observed Raven from such close proximity, the distance between them shrinking in a space filled with unspoken words.
After what felt like an eternity, Raven let out a slow, trembling breath. She opened her eyes, the warmth of Morivane's hand lingering like an echo on her skin. Gently, she pushed Morivane's hand away, the cool air rushing in to replace the warmth. Her face was still flushed, as if embers glowed just beneath the surface of her skin, but it gradually began to return to its natural color.
In a soft, subdued voice, she said, "Thank you… but I'm fine." The words were a fragile facade, a reassurance not only for Morivane but also for herself.
With a sense of purpose, Raven rose from the bed, the sheets rustling beneath her as she walked toward the wardrobe. She pulled out a clean shirt, the fabric crisp and inviting against her skin. She removed the sweat-soaked white shirt, feeling the cool air wash over her, and brushed her short black hair back, though a few rebellious strands still clung to her face, framing her features in a disheveled halo.
Morivane watched every movement from behind, her expression unnervingly calm, an inscrutable mask that betrayed nothing of the thoughts swirling within her mind. What stirred in the depths of her consciousness remained a mystery, leaving an air of uncertainty that hung between them like a fragile thread.
As Raven slipped into the fresh shirt, the fabric felt like a new beginning against her skin, a brief reprieve from the haunting echoes of the night. Yet, even as she turned to face Morivane again, the shadows of her past lingered just beyond the edge of her consciousness, waiting for the moment to return.
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Raven's POV
Without uttering a single word, I stepped outside, the cool air wrapping around me like a cloak.
Morivane floated silently behind me, her presence a constant chill at the nape of my neck, even though her touch burned with an intensity I both feared and craved.
The courtyard lay shrouded in shadows, enveloped in the cold blue hues of the pre-dawn hour. It was the kind of silence that exists only in those fleeting moments before the world awakens—a profound stillness that felt heavy with anticipation.
I settled beneath the sprawling branches of the old oak tree, pressing my back against the rough bark. The texture was familiar, grounding me in this moment as the cold air rushed into my lungs, filling them to capacity. It left, only to be replaced by another breath—each inhalation a reminder of the lingering memories that clung to me like a persistent fog.
Still, the memories of the nightmare were there, clawing around my heart like a vice, an unwelcome reminder of the battles I fought within.
Enough. Sitting wouldn't help me conquer these shadows.
Training would.
I stood, extending my hand as if to summon the very essence of my will.
The air thickened around me, solidifying into something palpable. The ground sank into an eerie silence, as though the ambient sounds of the world were swallowed whole, leaving only the beating of my heart in its wake.
A void tore open before me—a swirling well of absolute blackness, its edges trembling like a wound ripped into the fabric of reality itself.
Good. Focus.
I gathered my energy and forced more power outward, the effort causing beads of sweat to form on my brow as I coaxed a second void into existence beside the first.
It fought me, unstable and restless, a tempest of raw energy that threatened to spiral out of control.
I clenched my jaw, pouring more mana into it, feeling the energy coursing through my veins—
Crack—
The second void destabilized, collapsing inward with a violent force. A shockwave reverberated through me, launching me backward. I slammed onto the ground, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs.
A low, melodic laugh echoed beside the ancient tree, pulling me from my haze.
Morivane hovered above me, her hair drifting like crimson smoke in water, ethereal and mesmerizing.
"What exactly are you trying to achieve, little one?" she asked, her amusement evident in her tone.
I pushed myself up slowly, wincing at the ache in my muscles. "Splitting my channel. Two voids at once. Eventually, more."
"And why would that matter?" Her curiosity was genuine, but I sensed an underlying caution.
"It will," I muttered under my breath, determination burning within me. "Once I perfect it."
Morivane folded her arms behind her back, her form drifting closer until her toes hovered just above the ground, as though she were a specter suspended between realms.
"You do realize your body is still mortal, yes?" Her voice lowered to a whisper, laced with a hint of warning. "And mortals break."
I didn't answer; I simply wiped the dirt from my palms and stood tall, refusing to let her words seep into my resolve.
She drifted backward, her form already flickering like a dying flame. "I have spent too long outside," she sighed, a hint of weariness creeping into her tone. "Rest calls." A smirk graced her lips as she added, "Try not to break anything while I sleep."
With a flicker of darkness, she vanished into the mark over my heart, leaving me in the quiet of the courtyard, alone with my thoughts.
I trained alone, the hours stretching on.
The sky shifted from the depths of darkness to a pale gray, then gradually transformed into the soft gold of sunrise. As the world filled with the sweet melodies of birdsong, the city began to stir with life, awakening from its slumber.
But I didn't stop.
Training was the only way to quiet my restless mind, to drown out the echoes of doubt that threatened to consume me.
Sweat drenched my back again, but my breaths came steady and controlled now, each inhale a testament to my determination. My muscles ached, but the ache felt grounding—real.
Transitioning from void training to sword practice, I grasped my new blade, which hummed faintly every time I swung it. The resonance was both exhilarating and disconcerting—a heavy weapon balanced perfectly in my hands, hungry for action yet patient in its power.
Just as I adjusted my stance, preparing for another swing—
Footsteps approached.
It was Mother Mary, her expression worried, and beside her stood a royal servant in immaculate uniform, his demeanor all business.
The servant bowed deeply. "Lady Raven. His Majesty requests your presence immediately."
Immediately!.
I blinked, lowering my sword, the weight of the situation settling around me. "I was scheduled to meet Princess Lyria this afternoon."
"Yes," he replied, his tone unwavering. "But the king asked for you now."
Mother Mary placed her hands on her hips, a familiar gesture of concern. "Raven, sweetheart… what did you do this time?"
"Nothing," I replied, the word escaping my lips with a hint of uncertainty. "Probably."
I nodded to the servant, determination returning to my voice. "Give me ten minutes."
He bowed again. "Of course."
I rushed to take a quick shower—just enough to rinse the sweat and dirt from my skin—before following him, my heart racing with an unsettling mix of anticipation and dread.
The palace was quiet, still in the early stages of waking alongside the rest of the city. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, spilling golden streaks onto the marble floors, illuminating the intricate patterns etched into the stone. The air was crisp, carrying with it the faint scent of fresh bread and blooming flowers from the gardens outside.
But as the servant led me through the hallways, I found myself venturing into a part of the palace I had never seen before, the walls lined with portraits that seemed to watch my every move, their painted eyes following me with an unsettling intensity.
The double doors swung open, revealing a grand dining room that took my breath away. It was so large and ornate that I paused for just a moment, overwhelmed by the sheer opulence. A magnificent chandelier hung overhead, its crystals catching the light and refracting it like a captured sunrise, casting rainbows across the room. The ceiling was adorned with intricate murals depicting past rulers, their regal visages frozen in time. Long windows lined the walls, flooding the space with a warm morning glow that made everything seem alive.
At the long, polished table sat:
The King, his presence commanding and dignified.
The Queen, graceful and serene, her eyes glinting with wisdom.
Princess Lyria, her usual spark dimmed, a shadow of her vibrant self.
Princess Evanna, her smile soft yet distant.
And across from them, the visiting noble family from Ardellum sat poised and elegant.
Princess Leora, with her infectious laughter and radiant energy.
Prince Leonhart, tall and imposing, his gaze sharp.
Their father—Lord Aldren Varrow, an imposing figure who exuded authority , and the mother.
They were mid-breakfast, laughter and conversation swirling around them like a lively tapestry.
A servant, his voice clear and formal, announced my arrival: "Your Majesties… Raven Nightthorn."
All eyes turned toward me, a wave of attention that felt both exhilarating and suffocating.
I bowed slightly, trying to mask the flutter of nerves in my stomach. "You summoned me, Your Majesty."
Before the king could respond, Leora sprang from her chair, nearly bouncing with excitement. "Raven!" she exclaimed, her hands gripping my arm with a warmth that radiated through me. Her smile was bright enough to rival the chandelier above, a beacon of joy amidst the formality of the room.
"How are you? Did you sleep well? You look wonderful today—were you training already?"
Her enthusiasm was overwhelming, filling the space with a vibrancy that felt too loud, too bright for the heavy atmosphere.
"I'm fine, thanks," I replied quietly, trying to rein in my own anxiety.
Yet, she didn't release my arm, her grip firm and reassuring.
The king gestured with an elegant wave of his hand. "Come, Raven. Join us. Surely you haven't eaten yet."
"I—"
"I insist," he interjected firmly, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
Before I could argue, Leora tugged me into the empty seat beside her, the warmth of her presence a welcome distraction.
Food was placed in front of me—a feast fit for royalty. Platters overflowed with delicacies, the aroma wafting up to greet me. But despite the lavish spread, I found myself without an appetite, the knot of unease tightening in my stomach.
Voices blended around me—political discussions, trade routes, and war reports floated through the air like distant echoes. None of it touched me, a mere backdrop to the whirlwind of my thoughts.
Leora leaned close again, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. "You really must try the honeybread," she insisted, pushing a plate toward me with an eager smile. "I asked the cooks to bring it—"
Her hand brushed against mine, a fleeting connection that felt uncomfortable . I gently pulled my hand back, quiet and reserved. "It's… fine. I'll eat," I murmured, the words sounding hollow even to my own ears.
So, I took a bite, the motion slow and mechanical, as if I were merely going through the motions.
I felt eyes on me, a familiar warmth that made my heart race.
I lifted my gaze, searching the faces around the table.
Lyria.
She looked away too quickly—too reflexively—pretending to cut her food, her hands trembling slightly as if she were trying to mask an inner turmoil.
Her expression…
It wasn't anger.
Or irritation.
It was—
Sadness.
Deep, quiet sadness that tugged at my heart.
My chest tightened unexpectedly, the weight of her sorrow resonating within me.
Why? Did something happen that I wasn't aware of?
Everyone else seemed cheerful, even Princess Evanna, who smiled softly at her tea, her laughter mingling with the lightness of the room.
But Lyria looked as if she had barely slept, her eyes shadowed with unspoken burdens.
Morivane's voice curled in my mind again, her laughter soft and mocking. "Oh, Raven. How blind you are."
What do you mean?
"Everything." Her laughter echoed once more, a teasing melody that danced in my thoughts. "You see shadows but not light. I find it… entertaining."
I ignored her, focusing instead on the table before me, the chatter swirling around me like a distant storm. The unease lingered, settling in my bones as I stole another glance at Lyria, wondering what lay beneath her calm exterior.
The breakfast had finally come to an end, and the king rose from his seat, signaling the moment I had been summoned for. I kept my voice steady, calm, as I addressed him, "May I know the reason for your summoning me, Your Majesty?"
He nodded, eyes fixed on me, and said simply, "Now, then. Let us proceed."
Expecting the king to speak directly to me, I stepped forward, ready to listen. But instead, Lord Aldren Varrow rose from his place. His presence was commanding as he placed a hand over his heart and spoke with a respectful tone.
"Lady Raven, allow me to personally thank you for protecting my daughter."
Leora's face lit up instantly, her eyes shining with gratitude and pride.
Lord Aldren's gaze shifted briefly to his son before continuing, "And for putting my foolish son in his place."
Leonhart's cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but Lord Aldren stood taller, pride evident in his posture.
"I will not waste your time," he declared. "I have a proposal. My kingdom values warriors—true, formidable warriors. You are exceptional among them. Therefore, I would like to offer you a position among my personal knights."
A hush fell over the grand hall. The tension was palpable. Leora held her breath, her eyes locked on me with hope. Lyria's fingers clenched tightly around her glass, betraying her anxiety.
Lord Aldren's voice rang out again, steady and commanding:
"You will receive a high rank, wealth, a place in my army, status, full training, and a promising future. What do you say?"
I met his gaze without hesitation, my voice calm and measured as I replied, "…Your offer is generous. Truly. But I must decline."
A sharp intake of breath came from Leora, her eyes widening in disbelief.
"W-why? Is it not enough? If you want something more—Father can—"
I gently shook my head, slipping my hand out of hers with care.
"I have responsibilities here. People I care about , people depend on me . I can't leave them."
I bowed slightly, the weight of my decision settling in the room.
"I really don't care for titles or ranks. I have a family here, They are more important than any title or wealth in the world , and I cannot leave them for the world ."
I lied; I can't leave this place now, not before I find that spell .
The silence that followed was thick, heavy with unspoken emotions and tension.
"I appreciate the offer," I added softly, "but my answer is no."
After a moment, I spoke again, "If there is nothing else, I will take my leave."
No one stirred. No one spoke.
I bowed once more and said, "I wish you a pleasant journey."
Without waiting for a response, I turned and walked toward the exit. The soft echo of my boots against the marble floor filled the hall.
Behind me, the murmurs of the nobles began to rise. Leonhart exhaled in relief. Leora whispered my name under her breath, her voice barely audible.
And Lyria—
I could feel her gaze following me, warm and intense, filled with longing and fear.
I did not look back.
Yet somehow, I could sense her expression as clearly as if I had.