The attic hatch creaked when she pulled it down. A narrow, retractable ladder groaned under her weight as she climbed into the dust-tinged space above.
It wasn't large — the beams slanted low, and the floorboards were bare except for a few covered crates and a small metal file cabinet. But the air here felt… still, as though holding its breath.
She pulled the tarp from the nearest crate. Inside, bound in faded ribbon, lay early love letters between Nyxara and her husband, their ink softened with time. Beneath them, a slim folder labeled in bold, decisive strokes: "In case of return."
Her gaze fell to a long wooden case propped neatly in the far corner. She recognized craftsmanship before she even touched it — solid oak, polished but unadorned. The latch clicked open beneath her fingers, and there it was.
Silverthorn.
The rapier's blade gleamed faintly even in the muted attic light; its guard shaped like curling rose stems tipped with tiny thorn motifs. She traced the cool steel with her fingertips, the weight of its history pressing on her. This wasn't her grandmother's work — there was no hum of tech, no hidden mechanisms. This was her grandfather's hand, the same that had built and tuned engines in the workshop.
She remembered the story: forged by ancient methods, without aid of machines, inspired by his love for Nyxara. Strength not from circuits, but from skill and devotion.
Amy closed the case with care. With a quiet breath, she drew on the Item Box and stored Silverthorn away, where no rust, dust, or thief could touch it. She would wield it one day — but not yet.
Amy closed the attic hatch, the faint clicks of the lock echoing in the quiet hallway. The climb back down felt heavier than the ascent — not from exhaustion, but from the weight of what she'd found.
By the time she reached her bedroom, she was already unfolding the blueprints across her desk again.
With a pen in hand, she began finalizing her plan.
Two bedrooms — one for Lumi, one for Risa — remained untouched. Her own space stayed as it was, and the other guest rooms were marked for transformation: one into a gym, another into a relaxation lounge, and one into a multipurpose entertainment room. She circled the basement space, adding a bold note: Expansion — training area, magic and skill containment. The attic she marked only with a small cross and the words secure storage.
She leaned back in her chair, the pen resting against her chin. The plan was taking shape, each modification fitting into place like gears in a clock. Satisfied, she rolled up the blueprints, stored them neatly, and prepared for bed.
As she settled under the covers, her thoughts drifted briefly to the rapier in her Item Box — Silverthorn. The idea of wielding it someday brought a quiet smile before sleep claimed her.
…
The next morning, sunlight spilled into the dining area, warm against the polished table. Amy sipped her tea while idly picking at her breakfast when her phone buzzed.
A message from Sara.
Morning. You disappeared early yesterday. Busy?
Amy smirked, typing back quickly.
Just had some things to work on. You?
Sara replied almost instantly.
School's boring without someone to keep me entertained.
Amy's fingers hovered before she sent a short:
Guess you'll survive.
Sara's typing bubble appeared, paused, and then vanished. Amy chuckled and set the phone aside, taking another bite of toast.
Halfway through her tea, an idea clicked in her mind.
She'd been mentally listing the tools, materials, and specialized tech she'd need for the renovations — things she could hunt down herself, but why bother? Nymira Technologies had the resources, the manufacturing capacity, and the connections to get everything in one go.
Setting her cup down, she pulled out her phone again and scrolled to Damon Veiss's contact. The call connected after only two rings.
"Miss Elaris," Damon's voice was smooth, professional. "Good morning. What can I do for you?"
"I need a list," Amy said without preamble. "Everything Nymira has in stock that could be used for home construction, fortification, and environmental systems. All of it."
There was a brief pause. "That's… a broad request. May I ask the purpose?"
"I just want to renovate my house." Her tone was light, but there was no room for debate.
Damon didn't press. "Understood. I'll have the list compiled immediately. And if we don't have certain items, I can source them through our partners."
"Good," Amy replied. "Then I'll also need you to obtain everything I mark from that list. No delays."
"Everything will be delivered to your doorstep tomorrow morning," Damon promised. "Personally overseen."
"Perfect." She ended the call, slipping the phone back onto the table. Another piece of the puzzle was set — by tomorrow, the tools for her new fortress would be in her hands.
…
By mid-morning, the quiet countryside road outside the estate rumbled with the low hum of electric haulers. A convoy of matte-black trucks bearing the silver crest of Nymira Technologies rolled up the drive, each unloading crates, machinery, and neatly labeled packages.
Amy stood at the base of the grand atrium steps, hands on her hips, watching as teams of specialists filed out — all in black work uniforms, their movements efficient and precise. Damon had kept his word.
Inside, the first priority was the basement. The crew followed her down into the hidden warehouse, where the empty wall she'd marked in her plans waited. Protective sheeting went up, the sharp scent of fresh-cut concrete filling the air as industrial cutters bit into the wall. Sparks danced briefly before vanishing into the dust.
Amy oversaw every step — marking the expanded floor space for the training area, ensuring reinforced panels were installed for impact resistance, and designating one side for additional storage racks. The climate control was integrated directly into the new section, along with hidden compartments for weapons and armor. By the time the expansion frame was set and sealed, the basement felt less like a storage vault and more like the beginnings of a private command center.
Aboveground, the other renovations moved quickly. One spare room became a compact gym, lined with modular workout systems and an open mat space. Another transformed into a relaxation lounge with soft lighting, soundproofing, and reclining seats. The entertainment room came together last — wall-mounted projection glass, immersive sound, and adaptable seating for gatherings.
By late afternoon, the crews packed up their tools, the last of the crates stored neatly in the warehouse and supply closets. The scent of fresh paint and new materials lingered faintly in the air.
Amy walked through each room in turn, her boots quiet against the polished floors. The estate already felt different — more secure, more alive. In the basement, she paused one last time, the dim lights casting sharp shadows over the new training space. It wasn't perfect yet, but it was a start.
Tomorrow, she'd begin stocking it with the tools and weapons she'd claimed.
Tomorrow, the real preparation would begin.