Walking through the echoed hall, the sound of multiple footsteps drifted along the walls.
A man in a green suit led the way, and not too far behind him walked a man with his red hair tied neatly into a bun. Though the sun had set, their expressions were unwavering, visible even without the warmth of its fading light.
Among the guards that trailed behind Exios, one carried an unconscious young woman with red, wavy hair. Her face was marked with soil and wounds, her frail appearance weighed down by both dirt and blood.
When they reached their destination, Denver stopped abruptly. The men behind him halted as well.
He took a deep breath, his eyes steady on the long stretch of the solemn hall.
"Please take Crimson Ardit to her room," he instructed calmly. "Tell the handmaids to follow their orders carefully. The herbs placed inside each jar are marked with notes on the proper amounts. They must measure with precision—too much or too little could do her harm. And they should mix them with water, so she can digest them more easily."
"I trust you're giving her medicine for her recovery," Exios said, a faint smile tugging at his lips, his tone carrying quiet mischief. "And not poison."
Denver turned, his expression unchanged, though his eyes were firm. "And I trust you will answer me with honesty," he said, "and not lies."
The guard carrying Crimson moved past him, followed by others, leaving only the two men in the hallway—Exios with four guards standing silently behind.
"Well," Exios said lightly, as though they weren't standing in a tense silence, "shall we talk inside, or out here?" His voice was still friendly, almost casual.
Denver gave no reply at first. He stood still, his thoughts weighing heavily on him. Exios kept his gaze on him, patient, his brown eyes unwavering.
Above them, the sky deepened into night. Stars began to scatter across the horizon, and a half-moon rose, spreading pale light into the hall. Denver, having settled his mind, finally looked into his uncle's eyes—dark now under the dim glow.
"Why did you hide her from us?" Denver's words fell sharp, direct, leaving no space for evasion.
The question had gnawed at him from the moment he discovered that Liliana had been sheltered in Exios's tavern. The tavern of a man he had known since the day he was born—not just anyone, but the brother of Emperor Hadeon Achlys of Ephamour.
Denver had already played through countless possible answers in his mind. He knew his uncle well enough—his heart, his temperament, the wounds that lingered in him.
Perhaps Exios had hidden her because she was a child lost and in danger. Perhaps because she had no memories, and he could not abandon someone so young. Or maybe she reminded him too much of the son he had lost, and he kept her close in grief.
Another reason could have been simpler still: that for the first time since his family's death, Exios had felt warmth again—something like love, care, or joy—and refused to let it slip away.
Yet despite all these possible answers, something still did not fit.
'No… he knew something. Something beyond even his own knowledge. A force—powerful, dangerous—something that lived within her, impossible to ignore. And yet he kept her there, in a tavern of all places, in the midst of civilians who had no idea of the danger they lived beside.
If she were ordinary, I would understand. But she is far from ordinary. Why hide her from us? He knew we could have helped. We could have studied her, searched for her identity, found answers—answers that have eluded us for far too long. We might already know what she truly is, why she carries such an impossible flow of mana within her.'
Denver could not understand the meaning behind Exios's calm, warm smile.
'And yet… he hid her on purpose. He even made it so that we would eventually find her, leading her here ourselves. But why? Why the charade of a search, when he could have given her to us from the beginning? If this was always his intent, why waste all this time?'
Exios broke the silence with a soft sigh, one that seemed to carry the weight of a long-kept burden. He glanced toward the tall window, where the night sky had deepened into darkness. Clouds drifted, swallowing the half-moon, and the meadow below glimmered with fireflies weaving among the spider lilies.
"It was guilt and vengeance, at first," he admitted, his voice low. His mind traveled back to the day he first caught the small child. "I didn't know what I was dealing with. The overflowing mana… the fact that I couldn't even see her core… and the way she simply fell before me—it was too strange to ignore. Too suspicious to overlook."
He looked down at his own hands, as if remembering the weight of that moment. The half-moon reemerged for an instant, shedding pale light across his features.
"But then," he continued, "I laid her down on the bed—the bed that once belonged to my son. The room he used to stay in. And in that moment… something unsettling crept into my heart."
He recalled how the little girl had lain there, harmless, sleeping peacefully, yet surrounded by unseen dangers. Not because she was the danger, but because the world would deem her so. And Exios, carrying the wounds of his past, had sworn to harm anyone he believed tied to his family's death.
To take justice. He thought.
But vengeance was all he felt.
He convinced himself that she was involved somehow. That maybe she was an accomplice of the ones who had torn his family apart—that perhaps the same trap was being set again. The child was bait, sent to lure him out. To kill what remained of his blood.
But how could a child possess such powerful mana?
She couldn't. It was impossible. And yet… she did.
Everything about her, that day, that encounter—it all felt too much like fate. Or a cruel joke.
"I thought of killing her."
Denver blinked at his uncle's words. He hadn't expected such an answer from Exios.
"For three years I blamed no one but myself," Exios continued, his voice low, heavy with grief. "We had no clues, no witnesses, no suspects. Only silence. And so I turned everything on me. But then she appeared—after three long, unbearable years—carrying something I couldn't explain. Our meeting felt almost… planned. She looked harmless, but she felt dangerous. I thought…" He exhaled shakily. "I thought it was connected. To what happened back then.
As if all the blame I carried could finally be shifted onto someone else," Denver listened with quiet intensity.
Exios's gaze fell, softening as though he were looking back at that first night again. "But then I looked at her properly. Harmless. Sleeping peacefully. Yet in danger." His voice trembled. "She reminded me of my son… That last night, when he slept soundly, unaware. Harmless. But in danger."
He closed his eyes, the memory tightening his chest.
"She was just a child. Like him. She must have been terrified. Like him. And when she realized she was safe in my arms… it struck me. That's how my son would have felt if I could have held him one last time."
His hands, which had tightened into fists, loosened as he let out a slow breath. A faint smile touched his lips at the thought.
"I think wanting to blame her was nothing more than me trying to escape myself. A desperate excuse. The thought came—and thankfully, it vanished before I could act on it. Otherwise… I'd never have forgiven myself if I'd harmed that child."
Two fireflies drifted past the window, weaving in and out of each other's glow. Their silhouettes reminded him of himself and the child..
"Of course, I didn't tell my brother any of this," Exios added, voice steadier now. "I wanted to make sure she wasn't being followed. I wanted to be the first to catch whoever might have been after her. To do something right. To carry the burden alone, because it was my family that was taken. Mine."
Finally, he lifted his gaze to Denver's. His eyes were no longer sharp with suspicion, but gentler, filled with a bittersweet clarity.
"Then I became selfish. She opened something in me I thought was gone. Her presence in the tavern, her clumsy little habits, her curiosity when we walked through the market, the way she smiled at small things… it brought life back to those empty walls. And I'd be lying if I said she didn't remind me of my son. But no—she isn't him. She feels more like… the daughter I never had."
He ended with silence, the kind that lingered in the air. Then he scoffed softly at Denver's expression.
"Does that answer satisfy you? How close was your prediction?"
Denver smiled faintly—genuinely—at his uncle.
"Well, you've answered more than I thought you would. But knowing you, uncle, you'd never hurt a child. Even if they had something to do with it—you wouldn't. That's not who you are. You've always known what's right and wrong. You plan carefully, act strategically, even create chaos when you must—but deep down, you act with your heart. And your heart, uncle, no matter how scarred, is still pure. You'll always take justice when it's time. That's who you are."
His words landed somewhere between correction and comfort.
Exios had changed. When his family died, he had shut himself away. He wouldn't return to the Imperial Palace, wouldn't face his kin. Denver had written letters, but none were ever answered. He thought the uncle he once knew had been buried with his aunt and cousin.
That Exios had vanished.
What was left was a man shattered into pieces so small that no one could ever hope to put them back together. He became distant, untouchable. A loner once more—like before he had met Leanna.
But the impossible had happened. Piece by piece, unknowingly, unwillingly, the broken man let himself be rebuilt. Not by his own strength, but by a little girl. His mind told him she was just a lost child. But his heart… his heart whispered she was his lost daughter.
Denver thought that he would never see his old uncle again. Not that it would bother him, but deep down, admitting in his own head, he did miss him.
Denver sighed softly, breaking the silence. "And well… I guessed it fifty-fifty."
Exios chuckled, stepping closer to place a hand on Denver's shoulder. "Don't be too hard on her. I trust you'll guide her well, help her grow. But remember—she's still just a child. A child with no memories." He patted his shoulder twice before moving past him.
"I'm not done yet, uncle. I want to know what really happened in the arena, between the Imperial Guard Lancaster and Crimson." Denver's voice followed him down the hall.
Exios didn't turn back. He simply waved his hand with a teasing air.
"Tomorrow, perhaps. Or another day. You nearly had me crying tonight with all this talk of my wife and son. Ah, and don't forget—let me meet the child soon! Goodnight!"
He continued down the hallway alone, carrying with him a bittersweetness that clung like shadow.
Denver watched him go, letting out a quiet sigh. "Of course he was going to dodge that question."
Turning the other way, with his guards in tow, Denver's steps carried their own lingering feeling. Relief.
---
The warm yellow light of the room, cast by the candles hanging from the ceiling and the single flame on the desk, gave me comfort. I was exhausted after such a long day. Sitting on the chair, I quietly looked at the book and quill resting on the desk—the ones Professor Sagra had given me earlier.
The ladies-in-waiting had been here not long ago. When I returned, they were waiting with a plain dress and warm, wet towels. They changed my clothes, brushed my hair, and wiped my body with care. The towels carried a sweet rose-like fragrance that lingered even now.
They told me that when I was ready, I would go down to the main floor for dinner. But honestly, after everything… waking up from being kidnapped, standing bare in front of strangers, wandering through endless halls and stairways, wasting words on that Denver, then speaking for hours with the professor…
'I just want to sleep.'
My eyes fell again on the book and quill. Rest wouldn't come so easily. There was still work I had to do—the professor's assignment. But another thought wandered into my head.
'Do I really have to stay here? Do I have to follow everything they say? What if I just refused dinner and went straight to bed?'
I glanced toward the heavy door. Surely, guards were standing on the other side. I sighed. There wasn't much I could do.
Slowly, I let my gaze drift around the decorated room. Professor Sagra's words about the Ephamour Empire—about history and art—slipped back into my thoughts. My eyes lingered on the delicate ceiling patterns, where golden petals and tiny flowers curled along the plaster, and then pulled toward the tall windows.
The view outside caught my breath. The fields were alive with small lights dancing through the dark—a sea of fireflies beneath the stars. Above, the half-moon peeked through restless clouds, glowing faintly over the night sky. I had never seen such a sight before.
Back at the tavern, even at night, the streets would still be lit. The market would still hum with quiet chatter, far less chaotic than during the day. That neighborhood was always busy, always alive.
'I wonder what Sir Exios and Ms. Crimson are doing right now. I wonder if my friends thought of me today…'
I tilted my head back toward the desk. The book seemed to be waiting, silently, for me to write.
'I don't feel like eating. I'll just write a little… then go to bed.'
I reached for the quill and opened the book. A blank white page stared back at me, as though it had been waiting patiently all this time.
---
Two small silhouettes moved side by side down a long hallway, their steps echoing against old doors and painted walls. One girl's pink hair was tied into neat pigtails, the other's short brown hair framed her face simply. Both wore the same attire—the mark of ladies-in-waiting.
"What do you think of her?" Inanna asked, her tone playful.
Phoebe's gaze flicked toward her before answering softly, "She's different. For a child, she's surprisingly mature."
"She is! And such a lovely child, too," Inanna replied with a cheerful smile.
Phoebe's tone stayed calm. "It's only her first day. We'll see more of her as time passes. There might be sides she hasn't shown yet."
"I know," Inanna said with a small pout, "but she's only a child. She's lost, vulnerable, and scared. Someone has to make her feel at ease, like she belongs. She has no one right now except us."
Phoebe let out a quiet sigh. "That is our duty, yes. But remember why we were chosen for this. She isn't like the others. There's something about her we don't understand yet—something that could bring danger, if left unchecked. She's kind, and she seems harmless… but our orders are clear."
Their footsteps slowed as the great oak door at the end of the hall came into view. The two girls pushed it open together, revealing a dining room touched by elegance. Greenery filled the corners, tall windows offered a view of the night sky, and a long table stretched forward, covered with soft purple fabric and little decorations.
But only one plate sat there, steam rising from the food, beside a single glass of water.
They stood in silence. They did not know the girl well. Their orders told them to observe, not to feel. Yet, in that moment, it was impossible not to feel the quiet ache of sadness—for a child so young, so lost, sitting alone in such a vast place.
The room remained hushed until footsteps echoed from behind. The sound grew nearer, steady and clear. When Vesta appeared, the two immediately turned and bowed.
"Raise your heads. The Lady is in her room."
Both girls lifted their eyes in confusion.
"Will the Lady come in later to eat her dinner?" Phoebe asked.
Ms. Vesta shook her head slowly.
"I waited for her to finish her homework. I was outside, peeking through the door that was slightly open. After a while she fell asleep at the desk, so I let her rest."
The two exchanged a glance. Inanna's sadness was plain on her face, while Phoebe only looked back at her in silence, as if they understood each other without words.
"Will this place really be okay for her?" Inanna asked quietly. "I'm afraid she'll feel so lonely staying here… Not for days, not even months, but for years."
"I understand your thoughts and feelings for the Lady," Vesta replied with a sigh. "But we can do nothing else except stay by her side. And remember—" her tone sharpened, "—we cannot become attached to her. The emperor himself chose you two. Not only to serve her, but to watch her every move, and be cautious around her. She isn't a normal child. She's a danger to us all… and to herself as well. If your feelings ever become an obstacle, you must stop her. Stop her by any means necessary. The Empire's stake lies in our hands."
Inanna and Phoebe listened intently.
"Of course," they both answered in unison.
"Remember," Vesta continued, her eyes narrowing into a deep stare, "this palace is filled with triggers meant for her. Even the slightest spark—whether on purpose or by accident—will teleport you immediately to her side. In front of her, or behind her. Be ready. Be cautious. You'll know it's happening when you suddenly feel something crawling on your skin."
She paused, letting the weight of her words linger.
"Understand?"
"We understand."
---
"…"
Again. The place where it all began. The black endless void.
But this time, the word didn't come. The famous word that always greeted me here.
Strange.
From the first days of my stay in the palace, I would return here every night. It kept telling me to die. Kept promising it would find me—somehow, some way.
But today marks my seventh day here, and for the first time… silence. Not a single word.
Still, I've learned something: every time I come here in my sleep, I remember what it said before.
I remember that I remembered.
But when I wake up, everything is gone. My mind blank.
It's almost a routine now.
I wake up to Ms. Phoebe washing me, Ms. Inanna dressing me, Ms. Vesta walking with me through my schedule. They make sure I eat well, do what I'm told, and look presentable.
Then there's Sir Denver. He guides me through examinations, testing my abilities, explaining methods to control them, even trying to create something new from what I can do. To him, I'm an object. A rare, precious object. Yet sometimes he treats me with patience, even with care… or maybe I only imagine it. He still hasn't figured out my core, nor who I really am.
Professor Sagra, on the other hand, fills me with curiosity. He teaches things I've never heard of, gives me work that keeps my mind busy. He truly seems to love his job. Sometimes, he even makes me smile, taking my thoughts away from everything else.
I haven't seen Sir Exios, nor Ms. Crimson. When I asked Denver, he only said they'd visit eventually. I don't trust him. But I trust Sir Exios. I'll just have to keep waiting—
"Waiting, huh?"
What?
"How long, exactly?"
…I'm surprised. You've never said two different things before. Not the same tired mantra—
"How long are you going to wait?"
For what?
"For him."
Sir Exios? A few more days, maybe? I don't know. He's Denver's family. Surely it won't take that long.
"Not him. You know who I meant."
What are you saying? Who? And who—or what—are you?
"…"
Are you serious? Silent now?
"—---gonna take over, just not now. I'm trying my best to not let him—---you. It's the first time that I'm speaking—---I don't know for how long it will last."
What?
"Remember. Don't get y—---that's why you can't remember in the first place. Because you—---vain."
Why are you speaking in riddles? You almost sound like Sir Denver… and Professor Sagra mixed together.
"Lycoris—--. Destruction—"
---
I forced my eyes open, drenched in sweat, gasping for air. My whole body shook, not with heat—but with cold. Freezing cold.
I turned my head slightly, scanning the room with weak eyes.
There they were—my ladies-in-waiting, all three of them—and Sir Denver.
Vesta and Denver were talking, not noticing I had woken. But one of them always noticed first. The loudest one.
"Lady! Oh my, the Lady has woken!" Inanna squealed, clutching Phoebe's arm so tightly she shook her back and forth.
The conversation stopped instantly. Both turned toward me. Vesta hurried to my side, pressing her hand against my forehead.
"She's cold. Too cold."
Sir Denver came closer to examine me.
"Liliana, how do you feel?"
"Freezing… Is it winter already? Professor Sagra said winter comes after fall… but it's supposed to be spring soon." My voice came out weak and raspy.
"You're right. It's too soon. Snow falling from morning till noon is unnatural."
"Till noon…?"
"You haven't woken until now. It's noon already. Past your breakfast, your routines, your lessons. Even lunch. Everyone here tried to wake you—by force, by magic—but nothing worked."
'What? I… couldn't wake up?' I thought silently, stunned.
"Care to explain?" Denver asked, as though I had the answer myself.
I pushed myself up, trembling, still shivering with cold that clung to my bones.
"I had a dream."
"A dream?" Vesta repeated.
"Yes. A strange one."
"What was it about?" Denver pressed.
I blinked slowly, trying to recall. Then looked at them and answered:
"I was looking at a flower. Floating. Glowing."
Silence. They waited for me to continue.
"A black lycoris."