The next morning flickered in like a dying candle flame, and I found myself—regrettably awake—sitting by the balcony of the Tezca manor with a book in hand.
To think that yesterday, I had to be dragged here by sheer force of Jane's gentle persuasion and Anna's anxious cheerleading.
I swear, if those two hadn't hauled me off the villa's chair like a dead body, I might've pretended to faint just to avoid responsibilities.
But no. Imperial decree. Again.
So here I was.
The Tezca main estate wasn't just big—it was the southern definition of "money, but with taste." The structure wasn't medieval stone or fortress-like nobility the way the Konrow mansion was.
No—this place was warm.
Everything was carved from sun-kissed clay and white stone, lined with dark wood polished to a golden sheen.
Wide arched windows let the sunlight pour in constantly, giving everything a bright amber glow. The air smelled like citrus and ocean breeze all at once.
You could immediately tell this wasn't the cold north. This wasn't the imperial capital's stiff luxury either.
This was southern.
Woven tapestries of sunset colors hung along the halls. Terracotta pots sat in corners with palm-like plants. Soft rugs, dyed reddish-orange, decorated the floors like little islands of warmth.
Lamps with colored glass reflected rainbow specks everywhere. Outdoors, creeping vines wrapped around the balcony columns, trailing tiny pink blossoms that swayed in the heat.
Everything felt alive. Everything felt… loud.
Nothing was subtle here.
Even their library was the same.
The Tezca library didn't feel like a library. No towering shelves packed with intimidating tomes, no quiet whispering scholars.
Instead, wood-and-clay shelves lined the walls like a cozy corner bookstore, and warm lamps flickered above cushioned seating areas.
Most chairs had embroidered pillows depicting southern patterns—waves, suns, volcanos, palm leaves. A lounging cat slept on one of the windowsills, flicking its tail lazily at anyone who dared disturb its nap.
Honestly? I loved this place more than I expected.
And of course, the sub-families of Tezca absolutely did not love me being here.
I'd walked in yesterday and immediately felt the scorching heat of their stares.
Not southern sun. No. This was the "who the hell is this outsider" type.
They didn't hide the condemnation either. But they were instructed by the head of the duchy to help me, so they each bowed stiffly and swallowed whatever insults hovered on the tips of their tongues.
I endured the scrutiny purely by pretending I didn't see a goddamn thing.
That, and the fact that I had to run around the entire day making last-minute preparations for the foreign delegation.
Every time I tried to slack off, Jane gently "guided" me back. Anna kept handing me water like I was some marathon runner dying on the road.
By the time we finished all the preparations, I was on the verge of collapsing.
Now, the only thing left to do was to receive the delegation.
Great.
Just what I wanted in life.
So here I was now, reading a curious book I'd found while browsing the "Etiquettes of Foreign Kingdoms" section.
The book wasn't even supposed to be in that section. It was tucked behind several volumes about proper bowing angles, formal address, and diplomatic table seating.
The title was what caught me:
"From Dusk to Dawn in Midnight's Sun."
Cryptic. Dramatic. Weird enough to pique my curiosity.
I wasn't even looking for a book like this, but the moment I saw it, something tugged at me.
Like invisible fingers plucking a string inside my chest. So I grabbed it on a whim and started reading earlier in the morning.
With my [High-Speed Processing], it didn't take long to go through the entire thing. Ten minutes, maybe. And that was me being leisurely.
The book was a creation myth. Something I hadn't heard about before—not even in the novel. Not even in the official records. It felt… old. Ancient, even.
It started like this:
In the first dawn, there was nothing.No air, no land, no sky.Only light.
The light existed alone for ages, radiating endlessly with no purpose, until monotony became unbearable. So the light created its opposite: a being made of churning nothingness. Dark.
Dark was void and cavernous. Light was brilliance and fire. They clashed at first—opposing forces that had no reason to exist together.
But the more they collided, the more they intertwined.Opposition turned into fascination.Collision became embrace.And eventually, light and dark fell in love.
From their union came two children: Dusk and Dawn.
Twin children of twilight—one bathed in fading gold, the other in earliest blue.They were balance.They were harmony.
But light and dark were not perfect. Over time, the couple grew estranged. Their natures were too different, too absolute. Their love soured into tension. Arguments fractured their relationship. Until, unable to reconcile, they swore to part ways.
The children were divided as well—Dusk went with Dark.Dawn stayed with Light.
Yet neither child could forget their other half.
Light eventually faded away. Dark eventually collapsed into itself. Both died.
And so Dusk and Dawn, left alone in their grief and loneliness, decided to create something. Something to fill the void their parents left.
They created creations.
Beings shaped from the essence of themselves—half twilight, half longing.
But their creations were wild and curious, and eventually, one such creation from Dusk fell in love with a creation from Dawn.
This was forbidden.
Dusk and Dawn—who had once loved, once fought, once separated—were terrified of repeating the past. So they forbade their creations from ever interacting with their counterpart.
A decree made from fear.
But to their creations, it felt like a chain.An unfair shackle.A prison on their own hearts.
In their fury, the creations rebelled. They raised arms, rose in power, and fought against Dusk and Dawn themselves.
Dusk and Dawn were still stronger. They won. But not unscathed. Their wounds ran deep, and their twilight bled across the realms.
In anger, they banished their rebellious creations to the mortal realm.
There, they cursed them with desires.A curse meant to slowly destroy them.
Desires that would entangle them in longing, envy, love, hate, ambition, hunger, pain…
Anything that would tear them apart.
These cursed beings eventually procreated and evolved.
They became the first "humans."
I lowered the book and stared out at the bright southern sea.
"…What the hell."
Of all the things to find in a southern library, a myth that basically explains humanity starting from cosmic heartbreak was not what I expected.
Trynda peeked over the railing.
[That book reeks of divinity.]
"No shit," I muttered.
Jane approached quietly. "My Lady, are you alright?"
"Yeah. Just reading existential nonsense," I said, flipping the book shut. "It's fine."
But inside?
I felt something unsettle.
It felt… too familiar.
Too reminiscent of the gods I deal with.
I didn't like it.
"Is the delegation arriving soon?" I asked.
"Yes," Jane said softly. "In half an hour."
I clicked my tongue.
Vacation ruined.Peace ruined.My sanity is practically gone.
I stood up from my seat, smoothing my southern dress.
"Fine," I muttered. "Let's get this over with."