The carriage passed through the gates of Amoria in the late afternoon.
Stella barely paid attention to the city sliding past the window. She knew it by heart, the clean stone streets, the pale façades, the guards standing motionless before noble estates. Everything was orderly. Too orderly. Nothing here carried the marks of recent battles, no scent of dried blood, no lingering tension like the one that still clung to her skin since Lake Ornelle.
When the carriage stopped before the main Tallcrag residence, Stella stepped down on her own.
Her legs were still heavy, but they held. She refused a servant's help with a simple gesture and crossed the hall without slowing her pace.
"Young lady."
"Thank you."
She was already moving on.
"Stella."
The voice came from the study.
She paused, drew a calm breath, then pushed the door open.
Count Russell Tallcrag stood near the window, hands clasped behind his back. He wore neither a ceremonial coat nor excessive jewelry. He looked like a man who was still working, even when the day was ending.
He turned toward her.
His gaze examined her briefly—not like a noble worried about his daughter's appearance, but like a man searching for injuries that did not show.
"You returned earlier than expected."
"Yes."
"Are you hurt?"
"No. Exhausted, mostly."
He nodded, accepting the answer without pressing further.
"Sylver isn't here," he said after a short silence.
"I know. He's on a mission."
"A prolonged one," Russell added. "But he informed me before leaving."
Stella did not answer right away.
"He told me about your progress," the count continued. "You are now a fourth-circle mage."
She looked slightly away.
"It wasn't enough."
Russell frowned.
"Explain."
Stella took a moment to gather her thoughts.
"I cast a spell I couldn't sustain on my own. At the time, it worked. The attack landed. But afterward… my reserves were completely empty. If Aren hadn't been there to finish the fight in my place, I wouldn't have been able to do anything."
Her hands clenched at her sides.
"I didn't collapse during the battle. But once the spell was released, my body had nothing left to give. That's a weakness. A real one."
Russell listened without interrupting.
"And what conclusion do you draw from this?"
Stella lifted her eyes.
"I need to change how I use magic. Circle sorcery."
The count nodded slowly.
"Using ambient mana to manifest magical phenomena, rather than relying solely on your own reserves."
"Yes. But it's not simple. Ambient mana is unstable. Without structure, it disperses. I tried."
"And?"
"It's extremely difficult to control. Much harder than using my own mana. But that's exactly why I want to keep going."
Russell studied her for a long moment.
"Until the Academy."
"Until the Academy," Stella confirmed.
"Very well. You'll train here. No more external missions."
"I understand."
"Sylver won't be available before your departure," Russell added. "His assignment takes priority."
"I expected as much."
The count allowed himself a faint smile.
"Rest today. You'll begin tomorrow."
Stella inclined her head and left the study.
—
The days that followed passed in focused silence.
Stella spent long hours in a secluded training chamber on the estate, its walls engraved with ancient circles designed to absorb magical overflow.
She failed often.
Ambient mana scattered before taking shape. Circles lost cohesion. Sometimes they collapsed the moment they formed.
But she persisted.
She learned to slow down. To structure. To resist forcing power through sheer will.
It wasn't spectacular. It was demanding.
And every evening, she left the chamber exhausted, yet aware of a barely perceptible improvement.
—
A week later, the residence received a letter sealed with the royal crest.
Russell read it twice before looking up.
"Prince Heir Gram von Eleanor and his sister will come here."
"Here?" Stella repeated.
"To formally thank House Tallcrag. They'll arrive tomorrow with a royal procession."
Stella remained silent.
She knew what it meant.
Recognition. Alliances. The kind of attention that weighed heavier than words.
—
The next day, the gates of Amoria opened to the sound of trumpets.
The royal procession advanced slowly, ordered, imposing.
Stella stood straight beside her father when the princess stepped down from the carriage.
She was the same age as Aren.
And when their eyes met, something passed between them.
Not rivalry.
Not friendship.
A silent recognition.