[You later learned that Anastasia wasn't merely permitted to accompany her parents—Nicholas II had granted her the right to visit you alone, as long as you agreed.]
[This was a privilege even her elder sisters did not enjoy. You understood her excitement—and you also knew your life was about to become livelier.]
[Sure enough, after that, Anastasia visited the library whenever she had free time. At first, she pretended to browse for books. Eventually, she dropped the act entirely.]
[Whenever she saw that you weren't busy, she would immediately come to chat. She asked many questions—about the world beyond the palace, about the beautiful and tragic stories she had read in books.]
[At those times, you would tease her about their first meeting, when she pretended to be interested in military strategy: "Didn't you say you weren't reading romantic novels?" Each time, she would grow flustered and try to get back at you—only to be outwitted again.]
[Though her little tricks didn't work on you, she learned many new ones from you. From the palace staff, you heard that her sisters had started complaining bitterly.]
[Sometimes, she would sigh sentimentally in front of you, or reveal the same shy expression she had worn when you first met.]
[You would say she was acting sick again.]
[Anastasia would blush and grow indignant.]
[This was your first year at the Tsar's court.]
[That year, you foiled Rasputin and the Holy Church's conspiracy. You healed the Tsarevich Alexei with mysterious power and earned the imperial couple's trust. It was also the year you became close with Anastasia.]
[And—it was the year your research into inheritance truly began.]
[You started experimenting with the fusion of Magecraft and miracles.]
[Magecraft preserves the past. Miracles channel human belief in the present. You theorized: if miracles represent the 'now' and Magecraft the 'then,' then perhaps 'now' could preserve the 'past,' and 'then' create the 'present.']
[On your 312th day in the Kremlin, you secluded yourself in the library. Not even Nicholas II's visit could lure you out.]
[Aside from your initial clash with Rasputin, you had shown little of your mystic prowess. Still, the imperial couple only grew more reverent of your wisdom. They dared not disturb your work.]
[Anastasia came and went, visibly disheartened.]
[Day 313—you remained in seclusion.]
[Anastasia's mood continued to sink.]
[Day 314—you still secluded yourself.]
[Deep in research.]
...
In 1913, autumn neared its end. Leaves fell in lonely cascades, leaving trees bare and skeletal.
It had been a year of hardship for the Russian Empire.
Since the disastrous war eight years earlier, the nation had never fully recovered. Oppression by local nobles and the displacement of millions of peasants had sparked fierce social upheaval.
Even Peter Arkadyevich Stolypin's reforms—which had once suppressed revolt and won Nicholas II's trust—had vanished with his assassination. His land policies had never addressed the empire's true issues, and after his death, the situation deteriorated even further.
No matter how hard Nicholas II pounded the table at his ministers, no matter how clever his reforms, the decline was irreversible.
But inside the Kremlin, that gloom did not touch the imperial family.
No matter how anxious or angry he was, the Tsar always smiled before his family. Always reassured them that everything was fine.
In her luxurious chamber, Grand Duchess Anastasia sat by the window, pen poised, watching the birds on the barren branches.
She was deep in thought—not about the empire's fate, but about something far more personal. Melancholy in a maiden's heart.
"Anya spacing out again?"
The sudden voice startled Anastasia. She turned, brushing back her silver-white hair, and saw a familiar face peeking through the doorway.
With a small huff, she replied: "I was merely thinking. And His Grace Lucan has told me it's rude to spy on others, Sister Maria."
It was her elder sister, the third imperial daughter: Maria Nikolaevna.
"Oh, come off it—I know you're the first one who got to meet His Grace alone. You don't have to remind me every single day, Anya!" Maria pouted. "Besides, I did knock. Someone was just too lost in thought to notice."
She entered the room, her angel-feather gown sweeping the polished floor.
"Was I really that out of it?" Anastasia blinked.
"Definitely. Ever since His Grace shut himself away, you've been like this. Sometimes I worry you'll wander off and fall into a moat somewhere."
"You'd fall into a moat!" Anastasia shot back instantly. She turned in her chair to face her sister. "My pure faith guides my steps—I shall not go astray."
"Did Lucan teach you that?" Maria asked curiously.
"No. It's from the Bible."
Anastasia replied solemnly, then paused. Seeing Maria visibly relax, she added: "But it's a passage His Grace explained to me—just for me."
Maria: "..."
Maria sighed. Ever since their sister had met Lucan, she'd become fond of teasing them.
Still, seeing her so happy—it made Maria smile despite herself.
"You know what you look like right now?" Maria asked.
"What?"
"You look like a girl pining for her beloved." She tapped Anastasia's smooth forehead. "But I can't blame you... I've seen Lucan from afar. He is absurdly handsome and charismatic. No wonder Father and Mother like him so much. They even canceled the trip to Saint Petersburg to stay here in Moscow. And that's the capital!"
Anastasia blinked again, chewing over her sister's words. Slowly, a blush spread across her cheeks.
"I—I'm not... and handsome? That's—ugh..."
Her voice dwindled into a whisper. She bit her soft pink lip.
Maria chuckled. Her sister rarely acted like this. Still, she couldn't help feeling a little jealous—jealous that Anastasia could be so close to Lucan, could smile so purely in front of him.
But Maria also knew the truth:
Anastasia was the brightest among them. In looks, in charm, in wit—she outshone them all.
She had once claimed to meet a snow spirit from legend, long ago.
So...
"If you keep denying it, you might miss your chance to be first," Maria said quietly.
"First what?" Anastasia asked, looking up—only to meet her sister's narrowed eyes.
She suddenly understood.
"I just overheard Father," Maria said. "Lucan's ending his retreat today. He'll open the library doors..."
Before Maria could finish—
Anastasia shot to her feet, gathered her skirts, and dashed from the room.
Maria stood frozen.
She glanced at the paper and pen on Anastasia's desk, at the birds outside, at the towering library across the courtyard.
Then she smiled bitterly.
She wanted to be bold like Anastasia. But she couldn't.
Just like a year ago, when they'd dared each other to sneak into the library—but only Anastasia had actually gone.
It was thanks to their encouragement that Anastasia had first met Lucan.
Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova—had met him because she had dared to step forward.