Three months later, very little had changed in the household.

The harvest came without incident. At Everie’s insistence, she’d finally attained the right to eat regular food with her parents. The taste of actual grain on her tongue - she’d never tasted food this fine in her previous life - was barely insufficient to distract her from the din of uncomfortable silence that permeated the room whenever her two parents were present in the same room.

After Haswalth’s return, Briar too had grown increasingly reticent. She refused to speak about Haswalth with Everie, despite her needling. Cherry, too, had grown tightlipped - though Everie sensed she was as exasperated with the situation as she.

Everie didn’t understand. Her assessment of Haswalth told Everie that he didn’t seem to be an especially iniquitous or rude person - the first impression she’d gotten from Briar’s constant avoidance of matters including him.

So clearly, there was something more going on here.

And logically, Everie also thought, as they descended the grand stairway, I shouldn’t care.

But something compelled her to find out. It was irrational, Everie knew, but she’d resigned herself to the knowledge that her new life was going to be filled with irrationality, no matter what.

Is this the consequence of having a family? She thought, frowning. I’ve never felt anything like this. Well, nothing quite like it.

Like usual, she and Daphne paused before the Ancestor-portrait. Something about it still ticked Everie off, but at this point she had learned to ignore it.

Not like there’s anything I can do about it, though, she sighed. One step at a time, Everie.

“Hello, father,” Everie said, as they entered the library. “I’m here to use the library.”

After Haswalth’s return, Briar had vacated the library. As far as Everie knew, the woman was using her bedroom’s desk exclusively for her administrative work.

At least Haswalth’s taking part of that burden from her, Everie thought. Though I’ve heard he doesn’t do a very good job of it. Not compared to Briar.

“Ah! Daughter,” Haswalth said, dropping his pen. It sank into the Library’s carpet. “Of course. Just- don’t overwork yourself, alright?”

Everie blinked. “I will make sure not to do so.”

Haswalth seemed to sag a little at her words. But by then Daphne had given a customary bow, and they were off-

“Wait,” Haswalth said. “You. Daphne, was it?”

Everie frowned. She glanced at Daphne, but the girl gave her a reassuring smile - if a bit pale.

“Yes, my lord?” Daphne said.

“I’m...” Haswalth swallowed. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Daphne froze. Everie stiffened, and Haswalth had the decency to look embarrassed. It was as if the atmosphere itself had stilled - something that seemed to happen with increasing prevalence in the Manor these days.

And I don’t like it.

“...it’s alright,” Daphne squeezed out, after what felt like an eternity. “I’m sure you did your best to save them.”

Haswalth grimaced. “I see. I’m glad you’ve adjusted to the Manor, at least,” he said, quickly changing the subject.

At that, Daphne gave a genuine grin. “Oh, I like it very much here, sir. It’s mostly due to the young miss, though.”

Both Everie and Haswalth blinked. “Is that so?”

“Indeed, sir,” she said. “She’s been an absolute scoundrel, but she brightens up the place, she really does.”

Everie pouted. Fine, she did have a tendency to run around the manor, but she wasn’t that bad. Despite her accelerated growth, it wasn’t like she was capable of outrunning Daphne, a Chanter. And Everie made sure to never leave the manor grounds when she explored, anyway.

“Well,” Haswalth said, stuttering. “Ah- uh, I suppose that’s a good thing? Good work, Daphne.”

“Thank you, my lord,” she said, bowing. “Though it’s all due to the young miss that I overcame my past.”

She has done a remarkable job at recovering, hasn’t she? Everie thought, pride filling her heart.

“That being said, sir,” Daphne said, “the naming ceremony is in a few weeks, is it not?”

Outside, the winds of the permafrost howled. Haswalth blinked, and Everie tilted her head questioningly.

“Ah, that’s right,” he said. “That’s what I’m working on right now, actually. I’m writing legalese for the binding contracts I’ll have to put all the staff under for the ceremony.”

“Binding contracts?” Everie interrupted, eyes widening. “For my naming?”

It’s odd, she thought, that people get names a year after their birth, here. And on the solstice closest to their birthdate, too. But I’ve never heard of a binding-contract being needed, nor have I ever imagined such a thing being necessary.

Binding contracts were powerful magical spells that literally bound the cores of the contracted individuals in self-activating runic algorithms. Everie didn’t understand much about the process, but they were essentially unbreakable covenants - otherwise, the chains of the contract would constrict, killing the offender.

“Yes...” Haswalth said, wincing. “It is quite unfortunate. Though thankfully, it looks like I won’t have to prepare very many.”

“Wait,” Everie said, frowning. “Father, what do you mean binding contracts are needed for the ceremony? I wasn’t aware the ritual was anything magical.”

Haswalth opened his mouth to reply, but Daphne had already interjected. “The naming-ceremony for House Medea is pretty unique, lil’ miss. What with the Blessing and all.”

Everie blinked. Oh. Of course.

The Blessing was something Everie had heard much about - both from her studies, and from auditory osmosis. It was supposedly what lent her new homeland of Medea its beauty and general affluence. It was also a secret - and that was what the binding contracts were probably for.

The final magic of my... Ancestor, Everie thought. And I’m the next bearer of it.

At least that confirmed not everything about this new world was absolutely sunshine and rainbows. Everie had simply had the good fortune to be born in one of the best parts of it.

Wonder if the Crying-Demon had a hand in that, thought Everie, nibbling at her lower lip. That does remind me. That’s what I came to the library for today anyway, isn’t it?

“Daphne,” Everie called out. “We should begin.”

“Ah! Of course, lil’ miss,” Daphne said, flinching. She twisted, facing back towards Haswalth. “Thank you for... everything, my lord.”

Haswalth blinked. Then what, to Everie’s muted surprise, was a genuine smile spread across his face.

“I’m glad to hear it, Daphne,” he said, still beaming. Though Haswalth already looked young for his supposed age of thirty-four years, the expression now on his face made him look even more youthful - wiping away what little wear and tear remained from the stresses of political and military life. “Take good care of my daughter, won’t you?”

Daphne curtsied, and Everie, awkwardly, bowed in suit. “That is my vow, my lord.”

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

Everie scowled, curling up atop one of the library’s velvet pillowcases. Her added height from her accelerated growth in these three months helped, but it was still annoying that she couldn’t really lift the heavier tomes without Daphne’s help. And she always had such a patronizing expression on her face whenever Everie inevitably had to ask her for assistance.

...Not that she really disliked it, though. Try as she might to deny it, Everie was warming up to the girl. And to Briar, as well. Maybe even to Cherry - though the old maid was usually busy with overseeing the Manor’s maidstaff, she always made sure to dote on Everie whenever possible in that stern, no-nonsense fashion of hers.

Haswalth... was different. Everie couldn’t figure him out. All she could tell about him was that he was a person of great power - and that alone was enough to make her wary.

He’s strong, Everie thought, eyes narrowing as she glared at the pages of the book she was reading. And there’s too much about him I don’t know.

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

Once again, the thing that was her Well roiled, asking to be touched - to be used. And once again, Everie refused it.

Not happening, she thought, suspiring. At least, not ‘till I finish reading those.

Her gaze wandered to Daphne’s side - the nanny herself was currently sprawled lazily across two pillows haphazardly stacked to create a makeshift bed - where a veritable mountain of books lay. Each and every one of them were on magical theory: a field of study Everie had only just begun to penetrate.

Books like Elegy of Ether; Layer-theory, by Annalis; or The Art of Actualization, by the Physiologist. That one in particular looked especially old; covered in golden filigree and musty binding as it was, the tome reeked of an absolute ancient origin.

She’d begun some of them. Most, though, were too full of jargon and esoteric terminology for Everie to understand in her novice state. Daphne had reminded her, amused by Everie’s frustrations, that even a single branch of magic was a field that took most decades to fully master.

Daphne had said this, of course, while levitating a cup of tea in front of her while reading a sheaf of papers frozen mid-air. And she was only Seventeen.

Granted, Everie grumbled, she’s not exactly a master, either. Her core only has one layer.

But Daphne was a researcher, not a warrior, the other, pettier side of her argued. She was a prodigy in her field. We’ve got a head start, being born with rational thinking capabilities. What’s stopping you from doing the same?

The answer was that she had some sort of ‘Well’ - or at least, something that was decidedly not a Core.

Individuals in this world relied on a self-made Core to use magic; as far as Everie could tell, this was the same across all fields of magic. The number of ‘layers’ that each Core had - as well as the number of stages each of those Layers had progressed through - represented not only the amount of ether one possessed within them, but their strength of will.

For ‘Chanters’ like Daphne, the number of Layers also apparently represented the number of spells one could reliably cast - specifically due to the fact that it influenced how potent their perception of the actual world was. But that was still a subject far too advanced for Everie to even comprehend.

The problem was that Everie didn’t have a core. She had a Well - and the spider webbing fragment that surrounded it.

I’m not sure how that makes things any different, Everie grumbled, but none of the circulation methods I’ve read about apply to my current situation.

As far as she could tell, Everie had already awakened. She remembered the sensation of the Core forming within her - then shattering, before being sucked into the void that was now her Well. There was energy within; she just didn’t know how to access it.

And until that changes, Everie thought, sighing, I’m not even going to try.

Of course, she would have to try her hand at magic eventually. But now that she had time, Everie wanted to be prepared.

She was also now feeling the odd sensation that something about her magic was incomplete. That it wasn’t time yet - an odd feeling, that contrasted heavily with the desire-to-be-touched emanating from the Well.

Everie flipped the book she was reading to the next page, before groaning and leaning back.

The tome itself was called the Demonologues. Most of it was fairy-tale, though a few had descriptions of demons that plagued the world in the past, before the Fragmentation, and their banishment.

The problem was that there weren’t really any substance to what superficial descriptions had been offered by the author.

Looking for a story about an eyeball-demon? Sure; maybe one of the twenty-four described, each in very different ways, would be a match.

And no mention of a Crying-Demon, Everie thought, sighing heavily. Was that thing even a Demon in the first place?

When it talked to me, it had a distinctly female voice...

She snapped the book shut. Everie closed her eyes, then exhaled.

Whatever. It was dark out, and the library was getting cold. Haswalth had already headed upstairs - presumably to the dining hall - earlier.

Daphne was sound asleep, her cup of tea wobbling haphazardly midair as her subconscious struggled to maintain it. Everie sighed, before reaching out and dragging the cup down to earth.

Dinner comes first. Everie was looking forward to sampling one of those apple-pastries again. Hells forbid if Everie ever found out why no one in her old world had never seen fit to produce them.

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

“Happy birthday!”

Everie blinked. Ahead of her, in the massive Medean dining hall, was a bona-fide feast set out along the obscenely long table. Apple-scented candles had been lit, carried by each of the numerous maidstaff.

At the table sat Vernas, who gave her a little wave; Haswalth, who gave her a weak smile; Briar, who, distracted from the tension between her and her husband, positively beamed. Cherry stood behind her much like Daphne did to Everie. She was as stern-faced as ever - and had been moreso these past few weeks - but Everie saw the hints of a smile curling at her lips.

“What is this?” Everie whispered.

“It’s your birthday, lil’ miss!” Daphne exclaimed, prancing ahead of her. There was a joy in the girl’s eyes that had been absent these past few weeks, despite her ‘peppin’ up’ after Everie’s talk with her.

“We spent the whole day preparing this for your ladyship,” the chef - a portly man that Everie rarely saw around the manor - said, bowing deeply. It was positively ridiculous to Everie - a massive man like that bowing to an infant, albeit already toddler-sized, girl like her.

The maidstaff and butler bowed, in suit, sending yet another wave of confusion over Everie.

I don’t understand, Everie thought, frowning, taking a step back. What’s going on?

Everie knew what a birthday party was, of course. It was just jarring to see one being held for herself.

After all, the Sisterhood had never held birthdays.

Then Daphne pulled her forward, dragging her to the head of the table - where Haswalth would normally sit - and plopping her down atop it. Pillows had been stacked atop it to bring Everie up to the correct height, allowing her a view over the entire spread.

There were foods here that Everie had never seen before. Pitchers of juice and beverage - sans alcohol, of course, due to her age; spreads of bread and pie and other pastries; enormous salads, each of idiosyncratic variety; wheels of cheese ranging from minute to enormous; roasts, of species most of which Everie couldn’t even recognize.

And of course, there was the cake - a monster twelve stories high, embroidered with black-violet icing and decorated with the Medean Crest in regular intervals. Everie had no idea how it was even standing.

“...Thank you,” she whispered. At her words, the chef puffed up, his already crimson face turning an even deeper shade of red.

“Ah, thank you, your ladyship!” he exclaimed. “The- the kitchen staff would do anything for you. We hope you enjoy yourself!” He thumped his chest.

“And that she shall,” said Briar, finally breaching her silence. Then she turned to Everie.

“We normally don’t do feasts for children until they turn three,” she said, smiling. “But you’re special, Everie. After all, you’re just so big already-”

She reached over and rubbed Everie on the head, to which she yowled and snapped back. Briar laughed, shaking her hand as if it had been scratched by a cat.

Then her smile slipped off her face - but, unusually, Briar looked softer. Less vehemently tense. “Do you have anything to say about your part in this, husband?”

Haswalth blinked. “Right. Everie, I wanted you to know that I’m sorry for not being with you for... those past few months. And with recent events, it’s looking like I’ll be out of the house for longer and longer periods of time.”

Everie blinked. “I see,” she said, softly.

“So...” he swallowed. “I wanted to prepare this for you. To let you know that I love you.”

Haswalth sighed. “Thank you for being patient with me. I know I’m not the best father, but I’ll do my best for you.”

From across the table, Briar narrowed her eyes. But there was a ghost of a smile on her face, nonetheless.

“How long will you stay, then?” Everie asked. There was something odd going on in her chest - and for once, it wasn’t in her abdomen. It was closer to her chest area, but that-

-it was probably the food. It had to be.

“Until a bit after your naming,” Haswalth said, closing his eyes. “The Solurus Confederacy - it’s this... alliance, that countries in the continent have - is holding a diplomatic-” he paused. “But I won’t bother you with political nonsense like that. For now, just enjoy yourself.”

“And that she shall, my lord” Cherry said, taking over. Haswalth gave her a relieved smile. “Let us start the birthday chant, shall we?” “Ooh!” Daphne said, perking up. “Right! What song should we-”

Everie watched, bemused, as the feast devolved into a hubbub of conversation and joviality. Daphne was singing with the other maidstaff. Briar was whispering something to Cherry, her face conflicted. Haswalth was talking with Vernas - the former’s face grim, the latter cajoling him into a lightened state of mind.

In the midst of all that chaos, Everie picked up the spoon in front of her - forged specially for small children - and dipped it into a soup. She brought it to her lips, blowing at the hot steam, before swallowing.

It tastes good, she thought.

And for the first time that night, Everie smiled.

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

That night, with Daphne by her side, Everie held out her arm in front of herself, watching the starlight filter through her fingers.

That was fun, she thought, a smile spreading across her face. I didn’t know Haswalth was the type of person to pull something like that off.

But then she tensed.

“The naming ceremony,” Everie breathed.

Her birthday was on December the second. That meant the Winter Solstice was in roughly three weeks.

In response, her Well thrummed.

There was just too much mystery around her. It infuriated Everie; she hated not being in the know. Survival relied on vigilance. Vigilance relied on confidence. Confidence relied on knowledge. And while things might not have been as dire for her in this new world in contrast to her past, that was still a tenet Everie ascribed to.

Something told her, though, that her naming would be more than just a trite ceremony. The Blessing was involved, yes, but the event felt significant beyond just a passing of a torch. It was a magic - and it was to be hers. The fragment within her remained incomplete - and there was what the Crying Demon had said.

Seek my other half.

And that made Everie feel nervous - and very curious. But for now, there was nothing she could do but wait.

So she clenched her fist, then let it fall. With her fetal, infant form, Everie was soon fast asleep, draped in silverlight.

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

But that night, when the clock struck midnight, and the groundskeepers finally went home to their wives, something changed.

Through the Grand Entranceway of Medea Manor, atop the landing of the Grand Stairwell, the Portrait of the Ancestor twitched.

And at long last, she opened her eyes.