Scarlett’s gaze darted between Arlene and the woman’s two siblings. Had she been transported to another point in time? Into another memory, or whatever this was?
Her eyes moved across the room, noting the opulent furnishings and the ornate paintings lining the walls. The parlour boasted several large windows that offered a view of what appeared to be extensive estate grounds, complete with a manicured garden and winding paths.
A small crease formed on Scarlett’s brow. Why did this place feel familiar?
“Again, my lady, I apologise for my unannounced arrival,” the man standing before Scarlett said. “Though time was not of the essence, I felt it improper to delay with formal correspondence. This news is…important.”
Scarlett studied him, taking in his neatly combed salt-and-pepper hair and the quality of his dark robes. He carried himself with the confidence of an experienced wizard, but Scarlett had never heard his name before.
“News so important that it called for Elystead Tower’s Vice-dean to come all the way here in person?” Delmont almost drawled from his seat. He lounged with a breezy nonchalance, idly tossing a wooden die into the air and catching it with practiced ease. His attention seemed only half on the conversation, the other half lazily aimed at the ceiling. “Seems a touch excessive, don’t you think? A message would have been enough. By the way, who’s the lady attendant behind you?”
Scarlett’s frown deepened. Attendant? Was he referring to her? And what was with the attitude? Delmont looked to be somewhere in his early twenties now, around Evelyne’s age, but his demeanour was far more carefree than when Scarlett had just seen him.
A sudden yelp interrupted her thoughts as Delmont’s die erupted in a flash of azure crimson, crumbling into fine ash that scattered over his hands and clothes.
“Must you harass every woman who crosses your path, you cad?” Arlene’s voice cut through the room, sharp as a blade despite her seemingly casual tone. She didn’t bother to look up from the leather-covered book resting on her lap. “This is precisely why Elisa refuses to speak to you. One would think you’d have learned your lesson by now.”
Delmont brushed ash from his clothes, grimacing as he blew on his fingers. “Was that really necessary?” he muttered, throwing a glare Arlene’s way.
“You don’t learn otherwise,” she replied without looking up.
“I was just asking a question,” Delmont grumbled, straightening in his seat. “Elisa doesn’t have anything to worry about, and I’ve already told her that. I didn’t mean anything beyond being curious. Besides,” he motioned towards Scarlett with a tilt of his head, “doesn’t that lady look a little familiar?”
Arlene glanced up, her pale green eyes flicking to Scarlett with a sharpness that felt similar to her younger self, but even more confident. After a moment, she returned to her book. “You’re most likely imagining things,” she said curtly.
Scarlett watched the exchange, trying to get a better grasp of what was going on here. Why was this the time and place she suddenly found herself in?
“Imagining what? How would you know what I’ve—” Delmont began, but Liane cut him off.
“Enough, both of you,” the woman declared. She fixed each of her younger siblings with a steely look before turning to the man in front of Scarlett. “Vice-dean Fletcher, I apologise for their unseemly display. We appreciate your efforts in bringing this news personally to Freybrook. Now, what matter is so pressing that it required your immediate attention?”
“Think nothing of it, my lady,” Fletcher said, his formal tone softening slightly. “Your father and I were acquainted long before I assumed my current position. I still recall meeting all of you when you barely reached my waist. A bit of spirited discourse is hardly cause for offense.” He hesitated, and Scarlett could see subtle tension creeping into his shoulders. “…However, I’m afraid the news I bring is of a grave nature.”
The shadow of a scowl passed over Liane’s face, and the atmosphere in the room shifted. Both Arlene and Delmont turned their full attention to the Vice-dean, their earlier squabble forgotten.
“There has been an incident near the eastern frontiers,” Fletcher began, his voice heavy. “Our offensive against the Tribe of Sin’s Heartlands has caused their incursions into imperial lands to grow more erratic and vicious. They’ve started targeting estates and convoys of several prominent figures, and…” He paused, as though the weight of what he was about to say physically weighed upon him. “Among those attacked…were Lord and Lady Hartford. Their carriage was ambushed near Silverborough. I was in the vicinity when word reached me, and I rushed to the scene, but… I regret to inform you that there were no survivors.”
“…What did you just say?” The words escaped from Scarlett’s lips before she even realised she’d spoken. Her eyes locked on the man’s back.
The wizard glanced back at her, brow furrowing briefly in confusion before turning back to the siblings. Their expressions contrasted starkly with each other: Liane’s face had hardened into a full-on scowl, Arlene stared with wide, unblinking eyes, and Delmont’s earlier breezy composure had crumbled into one of disbelief warring with dawning horror.
“You… You can’t be serious, can you?” Delmont said haltingly. “Hey, Arlo, tell me this is some sort of cruel joke.”
Vice-dean Fletcher shook his head soberly. “I wish I could, Master Delmont. From the depths of my heart, you have my deepest condolences. Your father was a great man, following in the footsteps of your illustrious grandfather, and there were few as generous and kind as Lady Hartford. The empire has lost two of its brightest souls.”
Scarlett only half-registered his words as her mind reeled over what had been said. She couldn’t have misheard, could she? He’d said ‘Hartford’—her name—while referring to…what? Arlene’s parents?
Her eyes moved to Arlene, who sat frozen, gaze fixed on Fletcher. It couldn’t be, could it? Was Arlene a Hartford…? Scarlett shook her head, trying to make sense of it. How could that be the case? What were the odds? There had to be some mistake. Perhaps the man was simply informing them of this era’s Hartfords’ demise in connection with their own family’s loss.
Fletcher reached into his robes, withdrawing a small, ornate box. With deliberate care, he opened it, revealing its contents. Scarlett’s eyes narrowed. Inside lay a single garnet ring — a thin gold band supporting a deep red stone that appeared to pulse with a faint inner fire.
[Hartford Garnet Ring (Unique)]
{Blessed by an unknown power, this ring was passed down from the progenitor of House Hartford to his son, and now it awaits its next bearer. There appears to be a slumbering flame burning within}
She glanced down at her own hand, where an identical ring glinted on her finger. There was no doubt about it, then…
“I believe your father would have wanted you to have this, Lady Liane,” Fletcher said. “Or perhaps I should address you as Baroness Hartford now.”
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A heavy silence descended upon the room, the ring’s presence seeming to carry its own gravity. Liane regarded it with an inscrutable expression for several seconds, then rose slowly from her seat. She approached the man with measured steps, stopping before him. For a long moment, she simply stood there, continuing to study the ring, then reached out and slipped it onto her finger.
“You have my gratitude for returning this to me, Vice-dean,” she said, her voice distant.
“It’s the least I could do, my lady. Your father was a mentor and friend to me. I owe him more than I could ever repay.”
“Hey, Liane, you can’t be serious,” Delmont interjected, looking at his sister incredulously. “You’re going to accept it? Just like that? That Mother and Father are dead?”
Liane turned to face him. “This is not the time for childish denial, Delmont. We gain nothing by refusing to face reality, no matter how painful it may be for you.”
“But—!”
“Are you suggesting the Vice-dean is lying?” she interrupted. “Do you doubt the significance of this ring?”
Delmont opened his mouth, but no words came. His jaw tightened until finally, his eyes dropped to the floor. “No… I don’t.”
The oppressive silence returned, thicker than before. None of the siblings spoke as Liane cast a final glance at Vice-dean Fletcher before returning to her seat.
Scarlett had her attention aimed at Arlene, tangling with all the questions and implications in her head.
Arlene was a Hartford. And she always had been.
Scarlett had always wondered about the woman’s past, about the parts of her life she seemed so determined to keep shrouded in mystery and that had never been part of the game. She had even accepted that there were answers she might never get. However, not even in her wildest imagination had the possibility struck her that Arlene herself might be a Hartford. That they shared a connection like this.
The sheer improbability of it all was what made her pause the most. What was the likelihood that of all the characters she could have possessed in this world, and of all the mentors she could have encountered, both she and Arlene would hail from the same family?
She thought back to every interaction she’d had with the woman, analysing it under this new lens. Why would Arlene never have brought it up? Had there been signs she missed? Every time Scarlett had introduced herself at the start of a new loop in Freymeadow, Arlene acted as if she didn’t recognise her name. But maybe Scarlett had gotten that wrong. Maybe Arlene didn’t recognise Scarlett, not the name Hartford.
…Even if that was the case, wouldn’t most people find it odd if a stranger introduced themselves with your own family name? Especially if you were a noble? You wouldn’t just be ‘Oh, that’s a new name’ and accept it, would you?
Scarlett’s thoughts flitted to Gaspar.
Gaspar Hartford.
The man had insisted there was no relation between them, dismissing their shared name as coincidence. He’d said his family had been on the Rising Isle for generations. Scarlett had also heard from Magister Penney that the Hartfords on the Isle had produced one or two arch wizards over the generations.
Scarlett’s gaze landed on Delmont, the young man she knew was destined to become an arch wizard and eventual resident of the Rising Isle. Scarlett’s jaw tightened as the pieces began to fall into place.
Gaspar, that bastard. When he had spoken of investigating the successors of Delmont’s legacy on the Isle, he’d been referring to himself. Was this the real reason behind his opposition to Scarlett’s presence on the Isle and her inquiries into Delmont’s past? Because he didn’t like an imperial noble prying into his family affairs?
Her eyes moved past Delmont, roaming the parlour and noticing details that now seemed glaringly obvious. The view from the windows, the room’s layout, the very bones of the estate itself — that was why it felt so familiar. This was her mansion, as it had been more than two centuries ago. Though it had likely gone through several renovations since then, the essence of the place remained unchanged.
Her thoughts drifted back to the previous ‘memory’—if that is what she should call it—where Arlene and her siblings had been taught by Deacon Emberwood. From what she’d been able to tell, they had been somewhere in the countryside northwest of Freybrook. Then, had that been Stagmond Keep? The one that was supposed to be her ‘ancestral seat’?
How ridiculous that her first sight of it had to come through someone else’s memory.
As her focus returned to Arlene, Scarlett couldn’t shake the feeling that all of this was part of some grand design. That it couldn’t all be random coincidence. The sheer number of accidents and connections seemed too perfectly aligned for that to be the case. She’d had similar suspicions before — moments when the world appeared to operate with an underlying logic that defied mere happenstance. As if some unseen hand was guiding events and manipulating circumstances to create these confluences. But to what end? And who—or what—was responsible? Was this what fate was, or was this something else?
Her thoughts scattered as her gaze locked with Arlene’s for a fleeting moment. All her musings and concerns about cosmic machinations and the like evaporated in an instant. The look in Arlene’s eyes sent a chill down Scarlett’s spine. It wasn’t grief, nor sorrow, but cold fury. A restrained, smoldering anger that Scarlett had never seen from the woman before. In fact, it was the first time she had ever seen Arlene angry.
The intensity of the moment lingered, even after Arlene broke the glance and turned back to Vice-dean Fletcher. Outwardly, she remained composed, but the woman was far from calm.
…Right. Scarlett had almost lost sight of where she was. This wasn’t the time to get caught up in her own contemplations, no matter how shocking things were. Arlene and her siblings had just been informed of their parents’ murder at the hands of the Tribe of Sin. Scarlett still didn’t understand why she was witnessing this moment specifically, but there had to be some meaning to it.
Fletcher’s voice broke the tense silence. “Do you wish for me to take my leave?” he asked.
“That may be best if there is nothing more for you to say,” Liane replied.
“Wait,” Arlene interjected, stopping the Vice-dean in his tracks. Her voice was low. “Are you certain it was the Tribe that ambushed them?”
The Vice-dean seemed to hesitate briefly, as if sensing the dangerous undercurrent in the question, but he nodded slowly. “There is no doubt about it.”
“…I see.” Arlene’s gaze fell to the floor, and the silence returned, heavier than before.
“Then I shall depart now,” Vice-dean Fletcher said, somewhat awkwardly this time. “Please remember that if there is anything you require, you need only ask. Your parents were extraordinary in many ways, and their loss will be felt far beyond these walls.”
He turned, motioning subtly towards Scarlett, as if indicating she should follow. Before she could move, Liane’s voice rang out.
“…No, one moment,” she said, halting the Vice-dean mid-step. Her sharp gaze locked on to Scarlett now, scrutinising her closely, arms folded across her chest. “You never gave my brother a proper answer earlier. That woman — who is she?”
Scarlett tensed slightly, meeting Liane’s eyes that bore into her. Had she finally been recognised? She still wasn’t entirely sure whether they retained any memories from their previous ‘memory’, though Delmont’s initial comment suggested they might have some level of recollection.
“Ah, Griffiths here?” Fletcher replied, seemingly caught off guard. “She is an adjunct wizard, currently apprenticing under my guidance.”
Scarlett resisted the urge to frown. Adjunct Wizard? Where had that come from? Could that be how he recognised her within the constraints of this scenario? Was this the framework of this memory trying to integrate her presence?
“Griffiths?” Liane repeated, tapping one finger against her arm, eyes narrowing as she studied Scarlett. With deliberate steps, she rose from her seat and crossed the room, coming to a stop directly in front of her.
“My lady, is there a problem?” Fletcher asked with slight confusion.
“You tell me,” Liane replied coolly. She lifted her hand to display the [Hartford Garnet Ring] on her finger. “Why is she wearing an identical ring?”
The Vice-dean’s gaze snapped to Scarlett’s hand, his eyes widening with alarm as he spotted the matching ring. “Griffiths, what is the meaning of this?”
Scarlett remained silent, meeting Liane’s scrutinising stare. Would they believe the truth? Was there even any point in trying to tell it? Or should she just straight out lie?
“Would you care to enlighten us, ‘Griffiths’?” Liane asked, her tone sharp as a razor’s edge.
Scarlett slowly raised her own hand, holding it beside Liane’s. The rings really were alike, despite the generations of time that separated them. It spoke to the craftsmanship of whoever had created it.
Just as Scarlett opened her mouth to respond, her ring began to emit a faint, pulsing glow. The garnet shimmered, the light growing in strength quickly. Both she and Liane frowned, their attention drawn to the phenomenon, and Scarlett’s breath caught as she recognised it.
“What is—?” Liane began, but before she could finish the sentence, Scarlett found herself enveloped by a blinding sphere of radiant energy that turned her world white. She squeezed her eyes shut against the searing glare, and when she opened them again, she found herself in another familiar setting.
The courtyard of the Freybrook mansion.