Date: August 5, 541 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
The baroness's estate was in the very heart of the province of Aurelia, which was rightly called the "Garden of the Rakesh Dynasty." Here, far from the clang of northern steel and the suffocating swamps of the east, summer was not a trial, but a gift. The air, thick with the scent of blooming wisteria and freshly cut grass, seemed like liquid gold, in which drowsy bumblebees lazily circled.
Eliza laughed, dodging another lunge from her mentor. Her laughter, pure and ringing like the chime of crystal bells, echoed through the garden, making the gardeners in the distance smile involuntarily. The girl moved with a grace accessible only to those who had reached the Warrior stage. Her movements weren't heavy like Kaedan's, nor bestial like Dur's—they resembled a dance.
"You're distracted by butterflies again, my lady," Margot remarked dryly, a tall woman with short grey hair and a face etched with old scars.
Margot was a veteran of the Rakesh legions, and her inner power, dense and harsh, was felt like an invisible wall. She took another step, and the wooden training sword in her hand became a blurred streak.
Eliza wasn't frightened. She took a deep breath, feeling a warm, sparkling radiance awaken within her. It didn't press on her flesh, but filled her with lightness. Just before the wood touched her shoulder, a golden shimmer flared behind the girl's back. Her Spirit—the Golden Thread—manifested in reality for a moment. A fine, glowing line wrapped around her wrist, and Eliza's reaction sharpened instantly. She gracefully deflected her mentor's blow to the side, spinning on her heels.
"I'm not distracted, Margot!" Eliza stopped, breathless, but with shining eyes. The golden spark in her Vessel slowly faded, returning her body to its normal weight. "It's just such a beautiful day today. How can one think of defensive stances when the sun is so warm?"
"Enemies won't wait for sunny weather," Margot lowered her sword, and her gaze softened slightly. She had known Eliza since infancy and, despite all her severity, felt something almost maternal towards this cheerful girl. "Your Warrior essence is stable, but you are too... soft. In the Dynasty, they value the sharpness of the blade, not the sheen of threads."
Eliza approached a rose bush and carefully touched a petal. Her fingers, accustomed to the weight of training weapons, were surprisingly gentle.
"The Rakesh Dynasty builds greatness on fear, Margot. Mama says it's the only way to maintain order. But I... I want something different."
The girl turned, and for a moment, her face became serious. In this look, there was no adolescent naivety—it held a hidden, deep will. "My dream is a world where energy won't be a weapon. Imagine if my golden threads could bind not only fighters, but entire cities? If everyone could share their warmth with those who are cold? A world of abundance, Margot. Where no one is a slave, because there will be enough resources for everyone."
The mentor sighed, putting her sword away in its sheath. "Those are dangerous thoughts, Eliza. The Baroness would not approve of such talk. If other houses hear of your 'World without Slaves,' they will see it as weakness, or worse, a betrayal of the Dynasty's ideals."
"Let them think what they want," Eliza smiled again, and the shadow of seriousness vanished as if it had never been. "And for now, I just want this day not to end. Are we finished for today? I need to... take a walk."
Margot squinted suspiciously. She knew very well what these "walks" meant. Eliza, the daughter of one of the most influential baronesses of the Dynasty, regularly slipped beyond the estate walls to spend time in the poor quarters of the city, among those her peers called "dust."
"Go, my lady," Margot turned away, pretending to be busy inspecting her gear. "But if you come back with your dress dirty with road dust again, I won't cover for you with your mother."
"I adore you, Margot!" Eliza ran up and hugged the stern woman tightly for a moment.
The girl smelled of honey and fresh wind. The mentor just shook her head, feeling her heart warm for a moment—Eliza's Spirit of the Golden Thread worked passively, even when she didn't summon it, giving those around her drops of her boundless optimism.
Eliza ran laughing towards the residential wings, laughing. She needed to change into something more modest. Her friends in the city—orphans and craftsmen's children—were waiting for her. And today, she was going to show them that the golden threads of her Spirit could make their lives a little brighter, even if this world was still full of shadows.
Silence fell over the garden, but it seemed the very space still vibrated with her laughter. Eliza was a rare flower in the austere herbarium of the Rakesh Dynasty, and she was determined to grow through the stones of the old order.