Ash hung like a shroud over the skies of Nova, seemingly swallowing even the last glimmer of hope in its endless gloom. The palace bells tolled repeatedly, their deep, resonant chimes echoing like a death knell across the air, each strike seemingly announcing the definitive end of a once glorious era. This was the third day of the coup, a chapter of blood and darkness being inscribed in the annals of Nova's history.
Within the royal city, the fires of battle had just died down, but the bloodstains had yet to dry. Above the high walls, the new king's banner flapped in the wind, crimson as blood, silently heralding an even harsher storm that was about to descend upon this land. Crown Prince Aemond Nova, after personally ending his father's rule, wasted no time in launching his so-called "purge"—a ruthless campaign aimed at eliminating all potential threats to the new regime.
The Skykor family, once the most loyal supporters of the former king, now found themselves the prime target for the new king’s eradication. Matisse Skykor, the eldest daughter of the family, was separated from her kin amidst the sudden chaos. In a single night, she had fallen from the grace of nobility to the status of a fugitive orphan, the wheels of fate turning abruptly, casting her into an abyss of darkness and solitude.
That night, the moonlight fell coldly, like a merciless frost, enveloping the entire city in a deathly silence. Matisse stumbled through the labyrinthine alleys of Nova, each step haunted by the echoes of clashing blades behind her. She knew well that she was now a wanted criminal; if captured, what awaited her would be endless torment and a brutal trial.
Just as her strength was nearly exhausted, she rounded a street corner and encountered Mrs. Alix—a kind-hearted landlady who had recognized Matisse and was aware of her dire situation. Without a moment's hesitation, Mrs. Alix grabbed Matisse and pulled her into her modest yet warm home.
"Who—?" Matisse gasped in alarm, her voice trembling.
"It's Alix, whom you once helped!" Mrs. Alix quickly covered her mouth, her eyes filled with urgency and concern. "You are safe for the moment, but we must be vigilant. Walls have ears."
Once inside the small, humble house, Matisse's heartbeat finally began to calm, though her legs still trembled uncontrollably. The room was dim and cramped, lit only by the flickering light of a small oil lamp in the corner. She almost collapsed onto the tiny wooden bed, her limbs feeling drained of all strength, lying there powerless. Exhaustion and fear washed over her like a tidal wave, her consciousness gradually fading. Yet, the fragments of her memories, sharp as blades, continued to pierce her heart. The harrowing scenes of that night replayed endlessly in her mind—the fall of her family, her father's determined gaze filled with sorrow, her mother's silent farewell as she held her tightly for the last time… All seemed like a beautiful dream that had suddenly shattered, turning into an inescapable nightmare that dragged her into a bottomless abyss of darkness.
Mrs. Alix quietly approached her, gently placing a cup of hot tea into her hands. The warmth of the tea slowly seeped through the cold cup, spreading into her stiff fingers, as if gradually dispelling the chill within her heart. Matisse's fingers trembled slightly as she grasped the cup tightly, as though clutching onto the last thread of warmth and hope. She lowered her head, and the tears in her eyes finally flowed uncontrollably, falling into the cup, merging with the tea. In that moment, for the first time, she truly felt the reality of her situation—that from now on, she would face this cold and treacherous world alone. The shelter she once knew was gone; the path ahead would be filled with thorns and darkness. And she, with only her strength to rely upon, would have to struggle to survive against this merciless fate.
Six months had passed, and Matisse's life had finally found a semblance of peace. Thanks to Mrs. Alix's help, she had secured a teaching position at a local magic school. Although it was only a temporary role, to her, it represented a new beginning, a first step toward regaining her footing.
That morning, a light mist hung over the streets, the air cool and damp. Matisse, wearing a simple cloak, walked down the quiet cobblestone road. Her heart was filled with mixed emotions: a touch of unease, yet also a sense of anticipation for the future. She looked up at the sky, where sunlight was breaking through the mist, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow, as if reminding her that a new day had dawned.
As she was lost in thought, a passerby hurried past and accidentally bumped into her. Matisse stumbled, nearly falling to the ground.
"I'm sorry, miss, are you alright?" The man quickly caught her, his face full of apology.
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Matisse steadied herself and smiled in response. "I'm fine, thank you." Her voice was gentle, tinged with a hint of nervousness, as this was her first day beginning a new life in this unfamiliar town.
The man nodded, quickly bid farewell, and disappeared into the crowd. Matisse continued on her way, but suddenly noticed a glimmer of light at her feet. Looking down, she saw a pocket watch lying there, its silver case gleaming with intricate craftsmanship. She bent down to pick it up, feeling its cold and weighty presence in her hand, her heart stirred slightly. She glanced in the direction where the man had gone, but he was already out of sight. After a moment of thought, Matisse carefully tucked the watch into her cloak's pocket, deciding to hold onto it in hopes of finding its owner later.
She continued toward the magic school, where the headmistress, Ms. Monica, was already waiting at the entrance. Headmistress Monica was a middle-aged woman with a kind face and eyes that shone with wisdom and warmth. Seeing Matisse approach, she gave a welcoming smile and stepped forward to greet her.
“You’re here!” Headmistress Monica opened her arms and gave Matisse a light hug, her warm smile as comforting as sunlight. "Congratulations, Miss Bekara. It is truly an honor for the school to have someone as talented as you join us."
Matisse nodded with a smile, feeling a warmth she hadn’t felt in a long time. Headmistress Monica’s welcome made her feel as if she had found a new home, like seeing the light of a lighthouse after drifting in the sea for too long.
When she left the headmistress's office, the weight of reality settled once more in her heart. She paused at the door, hesitating before finally summoning the courage to speak, "Ms. Monica, could I perhaps receive an advance on my salary? I've owed my landlady rent for too long." Her voice carried a trace of embarrassment and helplessness that she could not hide.
Headmistress Monica looked at her gently, her eyes filled with understanding and concern. She took a bag of gold coins from her desk drawer and handed it to Matisse. "Of course, Miss Bekara. I'm truly sorry for what happened to your family… I hope this will help you in some way."
Matisse took the coins, feeling a wave of warmth in her heart. She murmured, "Thank you, Ms. Monica. I won’t let you down."
Ms. Monica gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder, her voice soft. “Don’t rush yourself. Take it slow. Don’t push yourself too hard with teaching; I know you’ve been through a lot. Come back when you feel ready.”
Matisse nodded, her voice carrying a firm resolve. “I’ll do my best. I don’t like owing anyone anything, and if there’s anything I can help with, I’m ready to start now.”
Headmistress Monica smiled, contemplating for a moment before she replied, “Actually, we just received a batch of new books in the library that need to be sorted. If you’re willing, you could start by helping with that.”
“Of course, I’d be happy to help,” Matisse agreed, feeling a slight sense of relief knowing she could finally do something productive and contribute to the school.
As evening fell and her work ended, Matisse took the pocket watch and walked towards a quiet alley. The alley was old and tranquil, with walls of blue stone bearing the marks of time. At the end stood an unassuming clock shop, with a worn wooden sign hanging above the door, its lettering almost faded beyond recognition.
Inside, the light was soft, and the air was filled with a faint scent of wood. Behind the counter stood an elderly clockmaker, his hair white as snow, engrossed in repairing a watch. Hearing the bell jingle, he looked up, his eyes full of wisdom and calm.
Matisse approached the counter, gently placing the pocket watch on it, her tone calm but firm, “Could you help me find the owner of this watch?”
The old clockmaker took the watch, carefully examining it, admiration evident in his expression. “This watch is finely crafted, a rare masterpiece.” He opened the watch cover and saw an inscription: “Sain Aoelian,” which he read aloud thoughtfully.
Matisse softly repeated the name, her mind filled with questions. She had never heard of this name, but instinct told her that there might be an untold story behind this pocket watch.
The old clockmaker was clearly fascinated by the watch and offered to buy it at a high price, but Matisse shook her head firmly, decisively refusing his offer.
“Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider? This watch is indeed quite valuable, and I doubt any other shop would offer a higher price,” the old clockmaker asked again, testing her resolve.
Matisse smiled slightly, politely declining. “No, this watch should be returned to its owner. It wouldn't be right to pawn off someone else’s belongings.”
As night gradually descended, the city streets were covered by a thin veil of darkness. The streetlights began to light up one by one, their orange glow filtering through the lampshades and casting warm hues onto the cobblestone road, adding a touch of warmth to the ancient city. In the distance, an old lamplighter was busy at work, standing before a streetlamp at the end of the alley. He wore a faded long coat and held a long lighting pole, carefully adjusting the wick to make sure each flame burned steadily. The faint light cast deep shadows on his face, making the marks of time more pronounced in the play of light and shadow.
The lamplighter moved down the long street, lighting each lamp in turn, as if kindling stars of hope in the deepening night. The light gently illuminated every corner of the city, driving away the cold of the night and brightening Matisse's path home.
Matisse walked down the familiar street, clutching the pocket watch in her hands, feeling a sense of indescribable calm. As the lamplighter completed his work, each streetlamp seemed to tell her of the simple warmth of life.
When she finally returned to her modest yet cozy apartment, she saw the candlelight flickering inside, as if patiently waiting for her return. Mrs. Alix was busy in the kitchen, the fire from the stove casting a rosy glow on her face. Seeing Matisse enter, she put down her work and turned around, smiling kindly.
“You’re back, child.” Mrs. Alix's voice was warm and gentle, filled with a motherly concern.
Matisse stepped forward and handed her some of the gold coins, speaking softly, “Mrs. Alix, this is part of the rent. It’s not much, but please accept it.”
Mrs. Alix didn't take the coins but gently patted her head, her voice filled with love and reassurance, “No need to pay me rent, child. The Skykor family has done so much for us. If it weren’t for you, my dear husband would have been gone long ago. Helping you is the least I can do.”
Hearing this, a wave of emotion surged in Matisse’s heart. She removed her hat, holding it with both hands against her chest, her voice trembling slightly, “I’m sorry for causing you so much trouble.”
Mrs. Alix shook her head and interrupted with a smile, “Don’t say that, dear. It’s not your fault, so don’t blame yourself. You must be hungry after such a long day. Come, have something to eat. Today is a day worth celebrating…”