{Mirabel Barvavosta.}
Our training carried far into the night, and we fought until his body could no longer move, until every trace of life seemed drained from him.
It was what needed to be done. Exhaustion allows one to grow past their limits.
The more you exhaust yourself, the stronger you get. Of course, Nicholas might be special.
His power spikes in strange moments, as if something beyond him is either helping him or losing its grip on him entirely.
Miracle warned me of this. His mother was a wise woman.
MIracle married into the family as I did. She was not a noble, but the old king, Nalkafer, fell in love with her.
It was only after they married that she discovered the blood of Anstalionah.
Or rather, the blood of his line. The first king was a cursed man in the most literal sense, and he passed that curse down.
With each generation, it grew more suffocating.
The curse was not the illness itself. Its conditions, according to Miracle, were simple.
Something will be bad. That is all. That is the entire curse. Not something I should acknowledge at all, and yet its shadow still pursues me.
I looked down at Nicholas as he slept. His breathing was haggard, and he was likely trapped in a nightmare.
Sweat rolled down his skin, and he clutched onto my hand with a strength deeper than anything he had shown while fighting.
It would appear that his growth will soon accelerate. We might stand together before a war. He wishes to go and fight.
Not many know his face, not outside the castle, not even most nobles.
It would not be difficult for him to enter a battlefield unseen, and that terrifies me.
For who knows what might happen then. It is a foolish ambition, and yet I know he will follow through no matter what.
So I must cultivate him as I cultivate myself. I must mold his power into something that might break the world.
This is my oath to him, an oath I am certain I will need to keep.
I rested my head on his chest to feel the beat of his heart more closely.
I wanted to sleep knowing he was alive, knowing he would not die in his sleep.
I feared he might force his own end, invoke his death, so I keep watch at nearly all times.
Yet I must also rebuke the meaningless death he seeks. It is in his blood to die.
So I must make my future husband immortal.
Slowly, to the sound of his heartbeat and the rhythm of his life, I drifted.
Drifted closer and closer to sleep, closer and closer to the endless ambition that is peace.
And when the darkness finally came, I was reborn in a terrible light, one that glowed with stark, suffocating black.
Before me, or rather above me, a creature lurked and looked down with something like pity.
I could not read her face, for it was so vast it could dwarf a world, yet the emotion reached me unmistakably.
"Little light of the slothful goat, might you breathe out and scream?"
My voice came out stronger than I intended. "You must save him, Cradella!"
She, who I now knew to be Cradella, laughed. She laughed at my despair.
She laughed at my prayer. She laughed at my wish and my begging, my submission.
"Red Giant of Wrath, you must hold dear to your heart his ambition. You must remove all faults from his core."
I felt myself rise, and then I felt myself fall as her voice echoed outward and inward all at once.
"He shall be a restless sleep, never to touch the altar again."
I awoke to the sound of a crash. My eyes shot open as I sat up, only to see Nicholas picking up a fallen brush.
His hair was wet, long, and far more curly from the water. He stared into the mirror with a strange, agitated expression.
He was scowling.
"Damn this, I don't need all this hair. I'm going to cut it all off!"
I instantly appeared beside him. "What are you talking about? That simply cannot be!"
He turned to me. "You wake only to this?"
I pressed a finger to my lips, the dream lingering like an omen. "Yes. I must preserve your one good trait."
***
Sansir returned from his mission, and while Nicholas prepared to spar with him, he went to eat beforehand.
It gave me a brief moment to settle myself before observing their match.
Sansir had already provided a detailed report of his accomplishments, and the knights had proven dependable.
They spread throughout the kingdom to establish the Guild as instructed.
With that finished, the only tasks left involved producing what was necessary and acquiring additional resources.
I looked through the paperwork while Sansir arranged the training grounds, eventually setting the documents on my chair as I released a tired sigh.
"Just to let you know, his power has grown over the last few days. With the speed of his cultivation, it might be dangerous."
Sansir smiled with that same confident air he always carried.
"I'll be fine. He's still inexperienced with the sword. It's impossible for him to win."
His arrogance was predictable, almost customary.
Even so, when Nicholas stepped onto the grounds holding his dulled iron sword, a quiet tension stirred inside me.
He appeared more composed, almost settled, yet that only emphasized how quickly he was changing.
I sat down and slid the papers underneath me, watching as the two took their positions.
Sansir offered his usual greeting, and then the match began.
Their blades collided with sharp, controlled force, and Nicholas's movements flowed with a smoothness he had never shown before.
His strikes were deliberate, confident, and grounded.
I had instructed both of them not to use magic for their first clash, as this match was only meant to gauge how much Nicholas had grown.
Amazingly, from the looks of it, he had grown significantly.
His posture was more consistent, with far fewer openings than he once had.
Though he still left his sides vulnerable at times and his footing remained slightly off, he was beginning to resemble a trained knight.
Perhaps not an exceptional one, but certainly competent enough to stand with them.
As the exchange continued, the clashes grew noticeably harsher, each strike carrying increased weight.
Then Nicholas faltered.
His parry came out weak, too soft to absorb Sansir's attack, and his sword flew from his hands as Sansir lunged forward to capitalize.
It was a foolish mistake, and he knew it.
I released a slow breath and shook my head. "Again."
Nicholas looked bothered as he retrieved his sword and returned to his stance.
However, this time a faint aura began drifting off him, coating his blade in a dim black light, veiled by a thin layer of white mist.
He was preparing.
His growth was a spectacle unto itself, yet the source of his genius seemed to come from something grander, something deeper than simple talent.
I wondered if he had studied future techniques for a while.
He reeked of time, that strange distortion clinging to him like dust from a path he should not have walked.
It might be the case that he had perceived Time as well. If so, it would be wise to question him further.
He released a cold breath as runes began stacking in the air, bending the surrounding space with their presence.
This was astonishing.
He was actually interacting with the world through his aura.
The extension of one's Inner World, this level of influence meant he had achieved near-complete mastery over the power innate to him.
Which was strange given his condition.
Nonetheless, I still had to admit the truth. Nicholas, he was quite a bit stronger now.