The glossy blue sword gripped between Noella’s greasy, ugly fingers glowed with an iridescent light as the idiot supplied mana to it. A Mana Armament—weapons or armour made by Curlian smiths—the weapon had probably cost the family a lot. What did she do to deserve such a weapon?

Emela’s frown deepened as she took a step forward and narrowed her eyes at her younger half-sister. “Why did you get that?” Emela asked. Her heart thumped in her chest, blood subtly bulging through the veins in her neck. “Did father happen to take the time to give a reason?”

Noella sneered, letting out a chuckle and covering her mouth with her other hand. “Aside from the fact that, unlike you. I’m a genius who the family didn’t have to waste a bunch of resources on just to get to Gravity Forging Five. Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps he just loves me, unlike you, the unlovable cur.”

Running her tongue along her front teeth, Emela turned to Nyx. The black-haired maid gave her a look that spoke volumes. Noella was pushing it, but Emela wasn’t strong enough to put her in her place. Especially not now that she had a Mana Armament.

“You should be licking the Mistress’s boots,” Matilda said, raising her nose at Emela. If it were anyone else, Matilda would be cowering silently in the back, but not in front of Emela. It didn’t help that Matilda was just two cultivation stages below her—she wasn’t as talented as Nyx, but she had her worth.

Emela ignored the girl and focused on Noella. “When did this happen?”

“Oh, earlier today. It was a surprise for me after I had just finished a nice twelve-hour meditation session,” she said, letting out a chuckle. Emela’s brow twitched. “Oh, sorry, I forgot. You can barely meditate for two hours. You poor thing.”

Emela shot forward. But Nyx was there, blocking her. “Calm down, Mistress,” she said, her voice tight. “She wants you riled up. It wouldn’t end well for you.”

Noella stood there, mana sword held at her side, as she ran a finger across the cruel smile hanging on her lips. “The Instructor isn’t here this time, sister. What do you say?”

Emela scoffed. The idiot thought she was as dumb as her, though she had almost stooped to that level. Emela shook her head, raising a hand and resting it on Nyx’s shoulder. “Thank you, Nyx.” Nyx glanced back at her and nodded.

“I’ll be on my way now, Noella, if that was all,” Emela said, stepping to the side and moving past Noella and Matilda. Nyx trailed behind. Noella’s face morphed with confusion as she looked at Matilda.

Placing a hand on her chest, Emela let out a breath. What had she been thinking? Though that was it. She hadn’t been thinking; she was just reacting—a good way to get herself hurt. It was a stupid move, but the toad could really get under her skin sometimes. Nyx stepped next to her, her face as blank as ever. Emela sighed, “Why did he have to give her a Mana Armanemt?”

“I fear. It’s just the beginning, Mistress. With your departure to the Muddust family, a lot more resources will open up for your siblings. Especially the ones with some signs of talent.”

Emela sighed. “I suppose so.” Noella was a toad, but she’d been right about one thing. The family had put a lot of effort into raising Emela’s cultivation level to what it was now. But did that mean they should hate her for it? She hadn’t asked them to. They’d decided for her.

The crackle of the torches filled the silence as the pleasant smell of lavender swept down the hallway. They were near the east wing gardens, and the flowers should be in full bloom—the summer heat would be doing them wonders. The idea of taking a quick break crossed her mind. It would be nice to lie in the grass and watch the sunset, if but for a moment. She’d not had the time lately. But could she? No. The Instructor would kill her if she found her lounging.

“Isn’t that Claymore, Mistress,” Nyx said, inclining her head. Down the hall, standing by the stone arched windows that looked out into the east gardens, stood two boys. Arms flailing widely, his face scrunched up in a frown. One boy—Claymore, Emela’s younger brother—argued passionately.

“How can you say the sour beans are better than deep honey apples?” Claymore said, spittle flying from his mouth. Emela chuckled—her little brother could be a bit too passionate about the most pointless things.

“I didn’t say that it was better. Just that a more refined palate is needed to handle deep honey apples.” The taller boy—Brom, her third half-brother—said. Dressed in a simple white robe, he leaned against the marble wall with a calm smile. His short blonde hair swayed gently in the wind as he shook his head. “I mean, be serious. What is there to enjoy about something as basic as a sour bean?”

Claymore’s face tightened as he puffed out his cheeks. Emela, stepping closer, called out to the two before her younger brother could dive right into a diatribe. “Claymore, don’t tell me you’ve been eating sour beans behind mother’s back. What will she say when she finds out?” Emela said with a light chuckle.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Claymore froze and turned to her like a deer sensing a predator. His mouth fell open, and he stammered. “I-I haven’t been eating any. I was just talking to Brom about them. That’s it,” the boy said, gripping the sleeves of his white dress shirt.

Brom shook his head. “Emela, our younger brother, seems to be adamant about liking such base foods,” Brom said, waving a bejewelled hand—he was one of the more flamboyant members of the family.

“Oh. But was it not you, Brom,” Emela said, “who said, one’s taste is a gateway to one’s heart and thus no one should judge it?”

Brom turned to her and tilted his head, then tilted it again. He looked to the ceiling as if in careful thought, and Emela smiled. She’d caught him out once more—it wasn’t hard to catch someone who loved to act as if they were an intellectual. That wasn’t to say he wasn’t smart, just not as smart as he thought.

“You raise a good point, sister,” Brom said before turning to Claymore. “While I think your palate could use some work, it would be wrong of me to assume to know a better taste when I am not you. I hope you can forgive me, dear brother.” He folded his arms, resting one elbow on the back of his other hand, and brought a finger to his lips as he waited for a response from Claymore.

The young one looked at Emela, and she inclined her head to Brom. Her brother knew what to do. She wouldn’t have to tell him twice. Claymore stomped his little feet and turned to Brom with a look of defeat—it wasn’t like he’d actually lost. If anything, her younger brother appeared more upset that he didn’t get to say his piece.

“While I don’t fully understand what you said…” Claymore’s gaze flickered to her, and Emela urged him on. “We shouldn’t judge each other.”

“There, we go,” Emela said. “Isn’t that better?” She stepped forward and hugged her brother from behind, giving him a soft kiss on the head. “What are you doing out here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be studying?”

“I was, but the master Ulgan was called away,” Claymore said, chuckling as Emela tickled him. “Stop that—But then I ran into Brom, and he wasn’t doing anything, so I started chatting with him.”

“I’ll inform you that, in fact, I was doing something,” Brom said, rolling his eyes. “It just wasn’t that important, and I felt you looked a little lonely, so I acquiesced.”

“You weren’t doing anything.” Emela and Claymore said in unison.

“Oh, Nyx, you’re here,” Claymore said, wriggling out of Emela’s grip and stepping over to the maid. “Did you go with Emela out to the city today?”

“Yes,” Nyx said, giving Claymore a bow. “I did.”

“So what were you doing before our dear brother stopped you?” Emela asked Brom. It wasn’t that she wanted to pry, but there were very few places that you could find Brom in the manor that wasn’t the library or his jewellery room.

Perhaps I should ask him if he’s heard of those creatures—no, that would expose the fact that I was near the festival, at the very least.

“Oh, nothing important. I was just running some errands for Drion.”

“Errands?” She asked. Down the hall, a maid exited one of the rooms with a stack of towels in her hands, her face one of frustration. What was wrong with her? Not that the worries of the help were her problem. “Why would he send you on an errand?”

“I wasn’t sent. I was asked,” Brom said, adjusting himself against the marble wall. “And if you must know. He asked me, as it seems the city council is in quite a huff at the moment. He didn’t say why, though.”

“Oh.” Emela turned to Nyx, and they both shared a look before Emela turned back to Brom. “When did he leave?” Drion being the oldest, it made sense that he’d go—the city could hardly expect a Mana Ignition cultivator like her father to heed their call.

“Not long ago.”

“I see.”

I wonder if the family will have to get involved in this matter. Surely, the Phoenix Company can handle it themselves. If anything, the Flamelights would want that to be the case.

“Anyway, where are you two going?” Brom brought a bejewelled hand up and ran his fingers through his hair. “I feel I haven’t seen you in the library as much as I should have as of late.”

“Well—”

Before she could answer, heavy footsteps falling in unison sounded down the hall. The maid, still carrying the towels, pressed herself against the wall before she could turn the corner as a column of guards rounded it. They marched quickly down the hall. Spears in hand and shields on their backs. The blue crystal-like helmets they wore shimmered in the sunset, and they moved through the hall.

Emela and the group stepped aside—they wouldn’t hurt them, but it wouldn’t do to get in the way of the manor guards when they were marching somewhere.

“I wonder where they are going,” Emela muttered as the group of nine men and women marched by. The thundering of their boots caused several doors along the hallway to open as curious maids stuck their heads out to look.

“If I had to take a guess, I’d say they’re heading to the main hall,” Brom said, craning his neck down the hallway. I mean, it is in that direction.

----------------------------------------

Hector smiled as Mirae took a seat on the edge of his bed. It didn’t creak under her weight like it did his own; evidently, she didn’t weigh nearly as much as him. He strolled across the creaky floorboards, avoiding the loose wooden plank as he did. A cool breeze blew through the room, the scent of the sewer tickling his nose. Had it not been cleaned yet?

I suppose with the festival on. They had other priorities to deal with.

“So, what are these Talents?” Mirae asked as Hector took a seat on his bed. It creaked under his weight, the wood groaning in protest. What sounded like a snap came from the back of the bed, but it held firm. He let out a sigh. Should he have stayed in the workshop?

“I don’t even know where to start, sis,” he said, rubbing his sweaty palm on his pants. “It’s not really something that you can just jump into. Or maybe that’s just the easiest way to do it.”

Mirae nodded, perking up as he spoke. Her purple eyes almost sparkled as she looked at him. She absent-mindedly smoothed out his sheets—even now, she was still trying to take care of him.

“Alright, here we go,” he said, letting out a deep breath. “Also, what we talk about right now has to be kept a secret between the two of us. You understand.” The cool breeze gently brushed across his ankle. Was it wise to leave the window open?

Mirae nodded as Hector stood up and closed the window. Dimming the noise coming from outside. “Okay, let’s talk about your talent. [Dreams of Time]”