Therese climbed to the upper deck of her ship, her boots light against the worn wood. A salty breeze kissed her cheeks as she stepped toward the railing, eyes fixed on the endless dark sea.
"So it really was you who sent them to me," she murmured. "A high-grade teleportation like that… only a Sage could manage it."
From the shadows, a figure emerged—elegant and otherworldly.
She wore a fluttering gown of blue and white, like ocean foam dancing under moonlight. Her long, silken hair flowed like waves, and her sapphire eyes shimmered with worry.
"Therese…" she said softly.
Therese immediately bowed, palms pressed together in respect. "Master."
Sage Rielle of the Shifting Tide stepped forward, her presence as calm and vast as the sea itself. "We've been worried about you. And those children… They're good people. They could be good for you."
Therese offered a faint smile. "I'm just beginning my journey, Master. And already you're this concerned? I'll be fine. Once we reach land, I'll part ways with them."
Rielle frowned, then unexpectedly pouted. "You can't do that, Therese!"
In a flash of sea-light, she teleported in front of her student, cupping Therese's cheeks with both hands. "You need them."
Therese chuckled quietly and gently pulled her hands away. "I was joking, Master. I don't mind if they tag along—whatever your reason may be. But I left the choice to them. If they stay, it'll be because they want to."
A flutter interrupted them as Melic swooped down, landing neatly on Rielle's shoulder. He nuzzled her, chirping in greeting.
"Master Rielle," he said brightly.
Rielle scratched his tiny head fondly. "What did you do this time, Therese?"
"She threatened them. Tied them up. Beat up Sir Everiel. Played mind games," Melic added without hesitation.
"You did what?!" Rielle's eyes widened.
"Snitched," Therese scoffed, though the corners of her lips tugged into a wry smile.
"If they're going to travel with me, they need to know who I really am. I'll let them decide tomorrow."
"You even found someone from House Everiel," Rielle sighed. "Why must you always make things difficult?"
"Good evening, Master." Therese turned and climbed up to the lookout post above the main sail, where a small nest of blankets waited.
She lay down with arms folded behind her head, gazing at the stars.
"Therese…" Rielle whispered.
"Melic, keep watching over her."
"I will, Master Rielle."
With a shimmer of sea-blue light, Rielle vanished into the night.
Therese opened one eye, watching the stars flicker above her.
A memory surfaced.
Sir Everiel, standing still with the nameplates of his fallen comrades clutched to his chest.
"I failed you," he had whispered. "But I won't forget. May the Goddess of Life give you rest… and light your way home."
Then, with steady hands, he cast a torch into the small boat that carried their remains.
"I wonder," Therese murmured, "will I ever whisper such prayers… and gaze forward like that?"
She exhaled.
The night was quiet again.
And soon, her eyes drifted shut.
---
She dreamed.
"What?! We were all reincarnated together?!"
"And in the same family!"
"We're siblings again? Hahaha!"
"Why again?! I have to take care of brats?!" Therese cried in mock horror, a hand pressed dramatically to her forehead—but her wide smile betrayed the warmth blooming in her chest.
"That's alright, big sis," said a voice beside her, an arm thrown over her shoulder. "This time, work harder for us so we can laze around like before."
"You damn brats!" she snapped, grabbing a slipper and giving chase. Laughter echoed all around her.
Then—
The golden warmth shattered.
The laughter fell silent.
And the light was gone.
---
Therese stood alone in pitch darkness, in a realm untouched by time. A cold void where sound was thin and light refused to bloom.
Before her stood four towering iron crosses, each bound in thick, thorned chains that pulsed with faint crimson light.
Her heart tightened.
The Crimson Space.
A realm she had created—bound to her soul—to tether the spirits of her siblings before they turned into demons. A prison she made for them.
{Big sis… you're back.}
Liora, the third child and only daughter among the younger four, lifted her head. She looked no older than fourteen, her long hair tangled and matted. Her dulled eyes still searched for something—someone.
{Will you finally release us?} asked Alaric, the eldest of the four. His posture was worn, his shoulders sagging like someone bearing burdens he never should've carried.
{If you release us…} said Rowen, the fourth-born, smiling faintly. His red-glowing eyes shimmered in the dark. {That dream I showed you—it can happen again.}
{Big sis…} Cassian, the youngest at nine, whimpered. {I don't want to stay here anymore. This place is scary.}
Therese stepped closer. "It's only been a day, and you're all this messy."
They remained chained, still—shadows of the children she remembered.
They shared her dark brown hair, though it now hung knotted and lifeless over bruised, pale skin. Their crimson eyes flickered faintly. Not fully demons… but dangerously close. Still tethered. Still fighting.
With a motion of her hand, a basin of warm, glowing water appeared before them. Soft towels folded themselves beside jars of fragrant oils and gentle soaps—lavender, chamomile, crushed orange peel.
Fresh clothes followed:
—A flowing lilac dress for Liora, trimmed with lace.
—A dark indigo coat for Alaric, silver-lined.
—A moss-green tunic for Rowen, with polished brass buttons.
—And a cream vest with a sunflower-yellow scarf for Cassian—his favorite, even in this bleak space.
They said nothing.
But a twitch in Alaric's jaw. A shiver down Liora's spine. A faint gleam in Rowen's lashes. Cassian's tiny smile.
That was enough.
"There. You're all clean now."
{So when will you set us free, big sis?} Cassian asked again.
Therese smiled—warm, but distant—and conjured a tall, high-backed chair carved of bone and ink. She sat upon it, her presence warm looking at them.
"Not yet," she said gently. "But… if you'd like, I have another story."
{A story?!}
{We're tired of that!}
{Free us!}
Their voices twisted together, a crescendo of anguish and rage. Chains rattled violently. Demonic energy crashed into her, bursting her eardrums. Blood trickled from her ears.
Still, she remained seated.
Unflinching. Unbothered. She was used to it after all for over a decade now.
She opened her eyes again—smiling through the pain—and summoned a worn leather book into her hands.
"It's about a knight," she whispered, "who captured a runaway prince and princess I met today."
The fury stilled.
{A runaway prince and princess?}
{Why did they run away?}
{How did you meet them?}
{Tell us, big sis.}
The demonic energy ebbed like a retreating tide. The chains no longer glowed with malice—but with anticipation.
Therese opened the book. Her voice turned gentle.
"Then listen well."
{Yes, we will.}
They answered in unison, their voices soft, almost childlike.
The chains rattled once more—not in rebellion, but in eagerness.
---
Therese opened her eyes to the golden light of dawn. Blood had trailed down her cheeks.
With a wave of her hand, it vanished—no trace left behind.
"Therese, you went back to the Crimson Space again," Melic sighed, fluttering down beside her head.
She didn't respond. Just lay there, eyes watching the sky.
"They're gone with that last boat we have," he said softly. "You were too hard on them."
"That's alright," she murmured. "This makes us even."
"Even?! You just let Sir Everiel go! Now we're back to zero again—looking for someone with 'Ever' in their name!"
"I saved their lives," Therese replied, rising to her feet and stretching. "They gave me a good story in return."
She walked toward the rigging.
"Besides, the compass I gave them only points one way. We'll cross paths again."
Gripping one of the sail ropes, she swung down to the main deck with ease.
Melic fluttered after her. "And how can you be so sure?"
"It was the Masters who brought them to me," she said, stepping toward the cabin. "I'm sure they'll arrange another 'coincidence.'"
"I'm going to take a bath. You should too, Melic. You're filthy."
Before he could dart away, she snatched him mid-air—grinning.