A sharp knock jolted Valeryon awake. She blinked, groggy and disoriented, as the pale light of dawn filtered through the open window. A cool breeze tugged at the edges of her blanket, carrying with it the faint scent of salt from the distant sea. She groaned softly, sitting up and wiping a streak of drool from her chin with the back of her hand.
Her gaze drifted to the stuffed dragon clutched against her chest. The soft fabric bore a damp patch where her face had pressed against it. With a faint sigh, she extended her hand, her hand flaring with a subtle green glow as the moisture lifted from the plush toy, evaporating into nothingness. Once the dragon was dry and pristine, she smoothed its wings and returned it to its usual place on the bed.
The motion brought her Celestial Receiver to her attention and the events of the previous night rushed back with clarity.
Reflecting on her behaviour, she realised that it had been a mistake to indulge in her playing as she had the night before. An action intended to regulate her emotions had resulted in her falling into a deep, unintended sleep.
Her jaw tightened. Such carelessness was unacceptable. Next time, she would be more mindful.
The knock at the door came again, louder and more insistent.
Valeryon glanced at the door, then swung her legs over the side of the bed. The spikes embedded in her ankles bit into her flesh as she moved, making her wince, but it helped shake off the last remnants of sleep. She stretched, her shoulders rolling back and took a moment to straighten her posture.
“Enter,” she called.
The Shrouded glided in, their dark silk gowns whispering against the floor. Glyphs etched into their veils shimmered faintly in the morning light. They moved in unison, wordless and efficient, ushering her into the bathing chamber. Their touch was brisk but precise, scrubbing away the remnants of sleep and preparing her for the day.
Once cleansed, she was guided to the dressing room. The Shrouded worked seamlessly, moving like shadows around her. One draped the ankle-length coat dress over her, fastening the gleaming gold buttons with precision.
Next came the white boots. Valeryon stiffened as they slid them over her ankles, the sharp spikes of her anklets catching on the lining. Pain flared, hot and precise, but her magic surged, stitching the wounds before any blood could stain the pristine leather. Her breath escaped in a slow, controlled exhale, as the boots were finally secured.
The gloves followed, their silk cold at first before warming to her touch. They slid over her fingers like a second skin. Finally, the Shrouded placed the pointed ivory hat atop her head, its veil cascading down her shoulders in folds of opaque silk.
Dressing complete, the Shrouded stepped back, leaving Valeryon to confront her reflection. The white-clad figure staring back felt like a stranger.
The white uniform should not be unfamiliar—she had worn it once before at the fitting—but it had felt abstract then, a mere promise of things to come. Now it was real.
“This is Fiore,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Not—” the words caught in her throat as the Ban flared, silencing her before the thought could escape fully. She coughed, trying to dispel the unsettling sensation, but it lingered.
Drawing a deep breath, Valeryon straightened her back and extended her hand. One of the Shrouded stepped forward, helping her down from the pedestal. Her feet touched the ground with a crisp clack. Her shoulders sagged briefly, but she quickly corrected herself, standing tall once more.
They led her to the adjoining chamber, where a modest breakfast awaited. The dishes were arranged with meticulous care—flaky pastries, fresh fruits glistening with dew, and a steaming pot of porridge.
Valeryon sat down, her eyes gliding over the meal briefly with disinterest. Then she picked up her cutlery and began methodically working her way through it until the last crumb was gone. Reaching for her glass of water, she drank it in one smooth motion, savouring the coolness.
Glass drained, Valeryon rose.
Crossing the room, she reached for the bedside table. Her fingers found the cool metal of her pocket watch on the bedside table. She picked it up, turning it over in her hands. The Valeryon coat of arms was engraved on the smooth gold surface, catching the light.
Opening it, she took a moment to read the inscription within: "To my dearest Val, made with the utmost care and love, Laurel." Her expression softened, a fleeting smile ghosting across her lips. She closed the watch with a quiet snap and fastened its gold chain to the waist of her gown, tucking the timepiece into one of the pockets concealed within the voluminous folds of her dress.
As her gaze swept over the room one last time, and paused on the oversized plush dragon sprawled across her bed. Her hand twitched, hovering uncertainly. She bit her lip, pressing it into a tight line, before exhaling deeply. She stepped forward and took the creature into her arms. A soft flash of light surrounded the plush, and it vanished, absorbed into her storage space.
With nothing else left to concern her, Valeryon took a moment to straighten her gown, smoothing out the folds before decisively exiting her chambers. The door clicked shut behind her, the quiet finality of it settling over her.
She had walked these halls countless times over the years, each step a part of her routine. Every detail of the architecture—the arches, the marble floors, the chandeliers—was familiar. However as the years passed, the beauty that once captured her undivided attention had long become background noise, something to be passed by on the way to more pressing matters.
However knowing that she would no longer be able to take these sights for granted made her pause and take everything in with fresh eyes. Valeryon let her gaze wander over the murals that decorated the walls, each brushstroke telling a story, the rich colours pulling her in. The statues that had once blended into the background now held her attention, their stoic expressions seeming to speak to her in a way they never had before. The tapestries, carefully woven and hanging with pride, reminded her of stories she hadn’t thought of in years, memories of childhood lessons she had long since forgotten.
The air around her was perfumed with the scent of flowers. Vines crept up the walls and arches, their blossoms perpetually in bloom. Valeryon slowed her steps, drawn in by the quiet beauty of the plants. Her gaze drifted to the windows, and she caught sight of the gardens beyond. They stretched out in every direction, vibrant and full of life, perfectly tended.
She continued her walk, allowing herself to linger on these familiar sights until at last, she reached her destination, the Entrance Hall. The grand double doors opened before her, revealing the expansive space within. There, at the centre of the hall, stood Knight Commander Marcellus and the newly appointed Chamberlain, Elora who both bowed upon Valeryon’s entrance.
Though his armour gleamed and every strand of his dark hair was meticulously in place, the faint pallor of his complexion and the shadows beneath his eyes betrayed sleepless nights.
Beside him Elora seemed similarly frayed. Her attire, though immaculate, could not disguise the fatigue etched into her pale face.
“Your Highness,” the Knight Commander began, his voice steady but underpinned by a subtle unease. “Everything is prepared for your departure.”
Valeryon’s brows furrowed. “I trust the arrangements are completely secure?”
“Yes, Your Highness. Every contingency has been accounted for.”
Elora took a step forward, drawing Valeryon’s gaze. “Everything is as it should be, Your Highness. We have ensured that all precautions are in place.” She hesitated, then added with quiet resolve, “We will be ready to step in at a moment’s notice, should the need arise.”
Valeryon regarded her for a moment, then nodded. “I appreciate your diligence. Both of you.”
The Knight Commander straightened, a flicker of relief crossing his features. “All matters will be resolved by the time you return for the Yule holidays, Your Highness. You have my word.”
Valeryon inclined her head.
As a brief silence descended over them, and Valeryon prepared to bid them farewell, when Elora held out a package wrapped in plain brown paper to her. Valeryon’s eyes narrowed as she accepted the parcel, feeling its weight and the familiar contours of something rectangular. A book, perhaps?
“It is probably best if you open it when you are alone, Your Highness,” Elora said. Valeryon probably would have been deceived by the confidence she portrayed if it was not for Elora’s hands retreating behind her back immediately after handing the item to her.
Valeryon raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth twitching imperceptibly.
Though Elora’s composure had improved greatly, small tells like this still remained to betray her unease. The irony was not lost on Valeryon—Elora’s attempt to conceal her anxiety had become one of the very signals that revealed it.
Suppressing a huff, she slipped the package into her storage rune without further comment. Valeryon trusted Elora enough not to press her for details now.
Elora bowed once more, her hands returning to their usual position beside her. “Safe travels, Your Highness. Weekly reports will be sent to keep you updated of the palace’s situation.”
Valeryon pursed her lips. Tradition dictated that she distance herself from such matters, yet Elora and the Knight Commander’s earnestness in keeping Valeryon up to date with palace matters made refusal difficult.
She mulled over it for a moment.
Technically, it wasn’t as though she would act on the reports. Merely reading them couldn’t hurt, and the knowledge she gained from it would be useful for when she began her official duties.
Finally, she gave a small nod. “Very well. Ensure they are thorough.”
Elora’s posture loosened ever so slightly. “Thank you, Your Highness. I will make certain of it.” Excusing herself, she turned sharply on her heel, her boots echoing against the polished floors as she exited the Entrance Hall briskly, no doubt eager to resume her duties once more.
The Knight Commander stepped forward, offering his arm. “May I escort you to the carriage, Your Highness?”
Valeryon accepted the offer with gratitude. While she was accustomed to walking on her own now with minimal issue due to her regular practice, that did not mean it was a pleasant experience to do so. Any reprieve, no matter how slight, was a relief she would accept with gratitude.
The castle's main entrance opened onto a grand marble staircase that descended into the sprawling courtyard. Morning sunlight spilled over the polished steps which gleamed like ivory. On either side, colossal statues of past rulers stood vigilant, their stoic gazes fixed on the horizon. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of sea salt mingled with sweet honeyed scent of asphodels blooming along the edges of the path.
At the base of the steps, a magnificent carriage awaited. Its sleek, obsidian-black exterior gleamed like polished onyx, reflecting the sunlight in dazzling arcs. Gold filigree adorned the edges, curling into delicate patterns. The insignia of the royal family—a phoenix in mid-flight clutching a blooming asphodel branch—was prominently emblazoned on the doors, the design rendered in vivid detail with inlaid mother-of-pearl and silver seemed to glow softly in the light.
The carriage’s wheels were crafted from enchanted steel and engraved with intricate runes that glowed faintly with a soft, steady light. Through the partially open door, the interior revealed itself: plush emerald-green velvet lined the seats, accented by gold trim. Crystal sconces shaped like blooming flowers emitted a soft, warm glow, infusing the space with an inviting radiance.
Hitched to the front were a team of horses, their presence purely ceremonial rather than actually functional as the carriages of the Archipelago had long developed past the need for creatures to manually draw them. Their coats shone like burnished bronze, each muscle taut and perfectly proportioned. Their manes were braided with golden threads, and their bridles bore miniature versions of the Valeryon insignia.
As the Knight Commander guided Valeryon down the staircase, the murmurs of gathered onlookers rippled through the courtyard. The people—visitors, guards, and attendants—bowed deeply as she passed. Their attention was burdensome, but something Valeryon had grown to reluctantly tolerate in the decade she had resided here. A feat made easier by her recognising most of these people: the knights who patrolled the halls, the attendants who rushed about the palace completing their tasks, and the rare visitors granted permission to step onto the palace grounds.
Soon, Valeryon was no longer thinking about them as Valeryon’s gaze was drawn to the two knights standing sentinel beside the carriage doors. Dame Fray and Sir Lowell, clad in gleaming silver-plated armour, were unmistakable.
Presented with such a familiar sight, her breath caught, and for a fleeting moment she found herself paralysed, but she quickly managed to overcome it before she could make a scene as the Knight Commander continued to escort her down.
Valeryon had not seen either of her companion knights since the events in Asua. With everything that had transpired since, their absence had faded into the background of her thoughts—or perhaps she had pushed it there deliberately, afraid of what she might discover if she looked too closely. But now, seeing them stand before her again, unscathed and unchanged, looking steadfast and dependable as always, she felt an ache in her chest she could not ignore.
“It is good to see you both well,” she said quietly. She swallowed again, trying to ease the tightness in her throat. “I am… grateful you could join me today.”
The knights exchanged a brief glance, and Valeryon felt her cheeks warm. Had she said too much? She was not accustomed to extending such personal sentiments, and for a fleeting moment, she regretted saying anything at all. But her unease ebbed as Dame Fray’s lips curved into a small, pleased smile.
“It is an honour, as always, to serve you, Your Highness,” Dame Fray replied, her tone warm.
Sir Lowell’s stoic demeanour softened too. “We are at your service for as long as you will have us.”
The sincerity of their words eased some of the tension knotted in Valeryon’s chest.
Not wanting to dwell on the matter any further, knowing that it would be best to be on their way soon, Valeryon turned back to the Knight Commander. There was one final formality to attend to.
As she released his arm, Knight Commander Marcellus stepped back, dropping to kneel before her, the heavy plates of his armour clinking against the ground. Valeryon extended her hand to the man, who clasps it with both of his, lowering his head and pressing his forehead against it.
His voice rang out, clear and unwavering.
“I swear,” he began, “to lay down my life for the safety of the castle and all else that you hold dear in your absence, Your Highness.”
As the words left his lips, a flash of golden light surrounded them, sealing the oath.
Goosebumps rose along her arms, and an unwelcome shiver traced her spine. For a heartbeat, the world around her faded. In its place came flashes of terrible clarity: fallen bodies in the snow, blood staining the earth, vacant eyes staring into nothingness.
She closed her eyes and willed the images away, drawing in a deep breath. When she opened her eyes again, her expression was composed, her voice steady.
“See that you do.”
As Marcellus rose from his kneel with a deep bow and stepped back, Dame Fray's voice broke through her thoughts. "Your Highness," she said softly, "shall we proceed?”
Valeryon nodded once, and she was guided her toward the carriage. As she settled inside, the door clicked shut behind her. Moments later the carriage rocked slightly as the knights took their places in front, electing to settle into the coachman’s seats rather than joining Valeryon inside the carriage, perhaps due to more attention being needed to be paid outside due to the presence of the horses.
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Valeryon leaned her head against the cool glass of the carriage window, letting out a soft sigh. Her breath misted up the surface, and she watched it fade as the carriage began to move. Outside, the morning light bathed the world in a golden glow, but her gaze remained distant, unfocused, as the scenery blurred past. Rolling hills, dense woodlands, and shimmering lakes—none of it truly registered.
As the carriage neared the city, the scenery shifted. Vinora’s streets buzzed with early morning life. Carriages loaded with crates and barrels lumbered through the crowds. Vendors shouted their wares, and children’s laughter mingled with the chatter of students in crisp white Forester Academy uniforms, tugging heavy trunks toward public carriages bound for Viré.
However the royal carriage’s appearance disrupted the lively scene. Heads turned as it rolled past, conversations trailing off mid-sentence. Some pointed openly, others whispered behind their hands, and a few bowed in respect.
The murmurs from the crowd filtered through the narrow crack in her window, left open to let in the cool air. Valeryon listened absently to the voices as they blended into the usual hum of the city’s chaos, her mind half elsewhere until a nearby child’s voice caught her attention.
“Who’s in there, Mama?” a boy asked, his voice bright with curiosity as he tugged on his mother’s sleeve. His wide eyes were fixed on the carriage.
"That's the Crown Princess, Her Highness Princess Valeryon the Second," the woman replied.
“The Evil Princess?” The boy’s voice dropped to a horrified whisper as he clutched his mother’s skirts and shrank back. “She’s here?”
The woman’s smile faltered. Her eyes darted to the carriage, then back to her son. After a moment, she laughed lightly. “Yes, my dear. So remember, if you don’t do your homework and eat your vegetables, Her Highness might come for you—just like she did with Golden Girl.”
The boy’s face went pale. “No, Mama, no! I’ll be good! Don’t let her take me away!”
Valeryon’s jaw tightened, her hand snapping the window shut with a sharp motion.
The carriage continued to rattle through the bustling streets of Vinora, the wheels jolting over uneven cobblestones. Valeryon kept her gaze fixed outside, watching the crowded market stalls and hurried townsfolk blur past. Tension coiled in her chest, a taut string threatening to snap.
Only when they left the congestion behind and entered the quieter outskirts did she allow herself to sigh, shoulders briefly hunching forward before straightening back out again.
Reaching into the storage rune etched into her wrist, Valeryon retrieved the parcel Elora had handed her earlier. Elora’s only instruction had been cryptic: “Open it when you’re alone.” Now, with nothing pressing to occupy her and the journey to Viré stretching ahead, it seemed as good a time as any.
She carefully tugged at the string binding the parcel, peeling back the wrapping to reveal a slim book bound in smooth black leather. Gold lettering embossed on the cover read: The Last Phoenix Monarch.
Valeryon tilted her head, her cerise and green eyes scanning the title. A fictional narrative. She hadn’t expected that. With plenty of time before their arrival, she cracked open the book and began to read.
The story drew her in immediately.
The kingdom of Elaris teetered on the brink of ruin, torn apart by divisions between magical and non-magical factions. Suspicion and fear poisoned every interaction, fanned by rulers who thrived on chaos. At the heart of the story was Serenya, who was known as the Phoenix Monarch—an immortal being reborn from flame with every death, though at great personal cost. Her role as a leader due to her phoenix birthright was was reluctant at best, forced at worst.
Valeryon’s brow furrowed slightly as she turned the pages.
The people she fought to protect saw her as a monster. The kingdom she sought to save viewed her as a necessary evil. Even her own allies hesitated to trust her.
As Elaris spiralled into chaos, Serenya faced insurmountable challenges. A magical plague spread like wildfire, decimating the populace. The non-magical faction plotted subjugation and genocide, while a powerful magical family exploited the turmoil for personal gain.
Then Serenya discovered the cruel truth of her power. Her immortality wasn’t infinite. Each rebirth eroded fragments of her humanity, leaving her less and less whole. In the end, she made the ultimate sacrifice, surrendering the last remnants of her soul to save Elaris. She became pure flame, a force capable of burning away corruption but at the cost of her very existence.
Valeryon closed the book, her fingertips lingering on the embossed gold lettering of its cover. Her thoughts churned. Why had Elora given her this book? Was it a message? A lesson? A warning?
She glanced again at the cover: The Last Phoenix Monarch.
The selection felt deliberate, yet its exact purpose eluded her. Perhaps with more time and reflection, she would understand what Elora wanted her to grasp.
The slowing carriage jolted her from her thoughts. Outside the window, the streets of Viré buzzed with activity. Colourful banners adorned with house crests fluttered in the wind, their bright hues vivid against the grey stone buildings. Merchants shouted over one another, peddling their wares to the jostling crowds on the cobblestone roads.
The carriage turned off the crowded main road, and Valeryon who worried over how they would be able to get past the dense crowds of people dominating the streets felt some of the tension leave her body. The noise of the town faded, replaced by the steady clip of horses’ hooves against cobblestone. Soon, the towering iron gates of their destination came into view. As they approached, the gates swung open smoothly, revealing a private lot filled with luxurious carriages.
Valeryon leaned forward slightly, peering out at the orderly rows. Each carriage seemed more extravagant than the last. She noted the fine details—gold trim catching the light, bespoke designs etched into lacquered wood, and even enchanted sigils glowing faintly in some corners. Many bore the crests of the Twelve Vassal Houses, their emblems wrought in polished metal and enamel. Others, simpler yet elegant designs, marked carriages belonging to notable yet minor nobility of the Archipelago. The entire scene exuded wealth and power.
Straightening her posture, she prepared herself for what lay ahead.
As the carriage came to a smooth halt, the doors swung open to reveal a group of uniformed attendants. However before they could act, Sir Lowell and Dame Fray brushed past the attendants to personally assist Valeryon.
“Your Highness,” Sir Lowell said, extending his hand. Valeryon took it, her boots clicking softly against the polished stone pavement as she stepped down.
The lot was pristine. Marble underfoot gleamed in the sunlight, and ornamental lampposts cast faint shadows over the path. The air carried a subtle jasmine fragrance, perhaps a deliberate touch to mask the underlying earthy tang of nearby stables.
“Lead the way,” Sir Lowell ordered, his tone clipped. He gestured to the attendants, who moved quickly to guide them. Valeryon fell into step between her guards, Sir Lowell at the front, Dame Fray close behind.
Instead of the grand entrance they had used on during their prior visit, the attendants led them to a smaller, less conspicuous side door. The heavy wooden panels creaked open, revealing a hallway that radiated quiet opulence.
High ceilings soared above in awe inspiring arcs. Suspended from these heights, golden chandeliers dangled like luminous constellations, their crystal pendants casting a warm, diffused glow across the space. Polished marble floors gleamed underfoot, reflecting the intricate carvings that adorned the walls. Constellations swirled into maps, tracing the vast network of trading routes that connected the Archipelago to the magical world beyond.
One wall featured the Valeryon crest prominently. The phoenix’s wings unfurled toward two smaller crests flanking it, belonging to the Aerwyna and Lunarys houses. These two houses, pillars of martial strength guarding the borders of the Archipelago, held a place of honour here in the Terminal that no other Vassal House could claim.
The footsteps of the group echoed softly as they walked the length of the hallway. At the far end, ornate doors swung open—not to another room, but to a pristine beach. The sound of gentle waves breaking on the shore filled the air, and standing on the sand was the familiar shape of the Etheric Arch.
Having done this once before, Valeryon knew the routine. As they stepped beneath the arch, the runes flared to life, casting vibrant colours across the space. An iridescent sphere of magic materialised, enveloping them in its shimmering embrace. It lifted them effortlessly off the ground, gliding weightlessly over the turquoise waters below.
Valeryon leaned back against the curve of the sphere, her eyes fixed on the horizon. The expanse of turquoise waters stretched endlessly beneath them, the beauty of it all lost on her. The awe she once felt at this magical journey had long since been replaced by a tight knot in her stomach which tightened with each passing moment.
For better or for worse, the trip was over quickly. The sphere descended, delivering them to the shore where another group of attendants waited. Without delay, they were ushered into a waiting carriage. The vehicle set off, rumbling along a dirt road that wound through rolling farmland and sunlit meadows.
Valeryon stared out the window, her eyes catching on the imposing structure looming ahead—the Nexus Gate. She felt the hairs of her arms raise as the concentrated magical output in the area increased the close they got to their destination. The feeling was heavy but not as oppressive as it had felt on the first exposure.
Then the carriage lurched to a sudden stop, snapping her from her thoughts. She leaned out the window, frowning. A long line of identical carriages stretched ahead, all the way up till the Nexus Gate in the distance.
Of course. She should have expected this. Every single human-presenting child over thirteen from across the Archipelago—Vesperia, Viridia, Adhe, Venom, and Varic—would be travelling to Asua today. Viridia’s Nexus Gate was the quickest and safest route, which meant carriage congestion was inevitable, just as it had been in Vinora and Viré.
Thankfully, the staff manning the Nexus Gate were efficient. Despite the sheer volume of traveler's, the line moved steadily, and the wait, though long, was tolerable.
Eventually, Valeryon’s carriage creaked to a stop at the base of the Nexus Gate. The crisp air outside stung her cheeks, sharper than she expected, and she shivered. Dame Fray extended a gloved hand to help her down. She accepted the gesture, stepping onto the cobblestone ground.
The attendants nearby, cloaked in dark hooded robes, bowed deeply at her arrival. Without a word, they gestured toward the long stone staircase leading up to the Gate’s platform. Valeryon tilted her head back, staring at the structure that seemed to scrape the clouds. The Gate was a marvel, an intricate web of steel and light, pulsating with a faint, otherworldly glow.
She inhaled deeply, steeling herself for the climb. The stone steps were sturdy beneath her boots, but the higher she went, the more her chest tightened. Her breaths grew short, uneven. She curled her fingers into fists, letting her nails dig into her palms for focus. It barely helped.
By the halfway point, the world around her began to blur. The clouds above and the glow of the Gate melted into a swirling haze. Her steps faltered, and when her foot caught an uneven patch of ground, her body pitched forward. Before she hit the ground, a firm hand caught her arm.
“Your Highness?”
Valeryon blinked rapidly, trying to find her voice. It didn’t come. Her throat felt like it was closing, her hands trembling uncontrollably. The weight in her chest pressed harder.
Dame Fray’s grip shifted to hold her hands, firm and grounding. “Breathe, Your Highness,” she said softly. “Slowly now. In and out.”
Focusing on the warmth of her touch and the steady rhythm of her voice, Valeryon forced herself to follow the instructions. One breath in. One breath out. Again. Slowly, the tremors in her hands subsided, and the world began to sharpen into focus.
When she glanced up, Sir Lowell was standing nearby, his sharp eyes scanning the growing crowd. His posture was tense, and his lips moved in hurried, hushed words she couldn’t make out. He turned abruptly and snapped at someone in the distance, though the specifics of his words were lost to her.
She tried to stand upright, but her legs felt unsteady. Before she could process what was happening, she was lifted effortlessly off her feet. The motion startled her, and she instinctively straightened her back, the ingrained teachings of royal etiquette kicking in even now.
Time blurred as she was carried away from the crowd. The faint murmur of voices faded, replaced by the sound of her own uneven breathing. Then, a familiar scent broke through the haze. Lavender.
Cold hands slipped over hers, their chill deep enough to seep through the enchanted fabric of her gloves. They lingered briefly before moving to her face. The cold palms cupped her cheeks, bypassing the veil she wore, meeting her damp skin.
She leaned into the touch without thinking, the tension in her body melting away. Her lips brushed against the hand that steadied her, and a long, shuddering sigh escaped her.
“Laurel,” she murmured, her voice soft, almost disbelieving. “You’re here.”
“I’m here, Val,” came the reply.
Her eyes fluttered open, meeting Laurel’s lavender gaze which carried an uncharacteristic seriousness.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
“I am now,” she said, though the words felt fragile as they left her lips. Her hands moved to rest atop his where they still cradled her face.
Laurel’s brows furrowed. “If I ask you what happened, will you be honest with me?”
The excuse she had prepared crumbled before she could even voice it. Her fingers curled into the gaps between his. “I… I don’t know” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
She hesitated, debating whether to stop there, to hide behind ambiguity, but the concern etched on Laurel’s face made her reconsider. The dam broke, and she slumped forward, her head lowering as fresh moisture welled in her eyes with a sting adding to the dampness on her cheeks.
Laurel made a quiet noise, somewhere between a soothing hum and a distressed sigh. His hands twitched as if he wanted to pull away but stayed firm at her cheeks. Valeryon’s grip on him tightened.
“You are…cr— Val, you’re definitely not okay.” he said softly.
She pressed her face into his palms. “I s’pose not.” Then, after a shaky breath, she whispered the truth that had been clawing at her chest for a while now. “I don’t want to go back there.”
The confession hung in the air between them, heavier than anything Valeryon had ever admitted aloud. Laurel’s expression softened, and his thumb brushed away a drop of moisture trailing down her cheek.
He rested his forehead lightly against hers, his voice soft as he said, “You know, we don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”
Valeryon’s eyes fluttered open to meet Laurel’s steady gaze. “We?”
“Yes, we.” He smirked faintly. “You didn’t think I’d leave you to deal with this alone, did you?”
She shook her head. “It’s not that simple. The mission—”
“Means nothing,” he interrupted. “There’s no real consequence for failure, is there?”
After a pause, she sighed. “No. There isn’t.”
“Then it is that simple.”
Valeryon lowered her gaze. It wasn’t just the idea of returning to Asua that bothered her, but the memories of the Junior Academy that clung to her like a shroud.
The eyes always following her.
The whispers that cut sharper than blades.
Her forceful separation from Laurel and subsequent isolation that left her questioning her very place in the world.
Even so the idea of not attending did not appeal to her whatsoever, but for Laurel to suggest such a thing…
She glanced at Laurel and narrowed her eyes with a faint sniffle. Without warning, she reached out and pinched his nose.
“What was that for?” he exclaimed, startled.
“You’re just looking for an excuse to skip classes, aren’t you?” she accused.
Laurel’s confusion lasted only a second before his expression softened. A dimpled smile spread across his face as he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Darn, you got me. But admit it, Val—you thought about it for a second, didn’t you?”
Valeryon let out a soft huff, releasing his nose. She turned her attention to their surroundings, unwilling to engage further. But as she took in the scene, her stomach dropped.
Around her and Laurel shimmered a transparent golden bubble, likely a sound-dampening barrier. Whether it was powered by runes or conjured by an Abjurer was hard to tell.
Around them shimmered a transparent golden bubble—a sound-dampening barrier, likely powered by runes or conjured by an Abjurer. Beyond its protective radius, a tense standoff unfolded. Sir Lowell and Dame Fray, their armour gleaming in the platform’s sunlight, stood rigid near a hooded Nexus Gate attendant. They seemed to be locked in a terse exchange with two figures whose capes bore winged key insignias. Knights, undoubtedly Laurel’s escort. From their scowling faces, they clearly weren’t thrilled with the subject matter being discussed.
But the knights weren’t what truly caught Valeryon’s attention.
It was the spectators.
On the far side of the platform, a small crowd of people had gathered.
Students in crisp uniforms clustered together, whispering and casting not-so-subtle glances. Even the adults, some accompanying the students, made no effort to hide their interest. A few feigned busyness, fussing with luggage or exchanging hurried words, but their eyes kept darting back to them, betraying their true focus. Others abandoned all pretence, gawking openly at them.
Hooded attendants moved through the throng, urging people to disperse. A few complied reluctantly, but most lingered, stubbornly ignoring the instructions. The platform—intended for orderly transit—now felt like a stage, with Valeryon as its unwilling star.
Her stomach churned. Had they seen everything? The thought made her nauseous. Strangers witnessing her moment of weakness was bad enough, but knowing many of them were likely her future peers and their families was worse. Her grip tightened on the armrests of the chair she had been placed to rest on, knuckles whitening. She wanted nothing more than to disappear.
“Val?”
Laurel’s voice pierced her spiralling thoughts. She blinked, her vision refocusing on him, finally taking him in properly. Laurel’s snow-white hair, tied back in a loose ponytail, had a few rebellious strands framing his face. His uniform—an ivory trench coat with gold buttons—was immaculate, though his gloves and hat lay carelessly discarded nearby.
“Val, Are you all right?”
“Mhm,” she managed, barely audible.
Laurel’s brow furrowed slightly. He studied her for a moment before speaking again. “Before we go any further, I just wanted to ask…” He took a measured breath. “Do you understand the meaning behind the gifts we’ve exchanged this past week?”
Valeryon shook her head. “No. You weren’t very clear in your letters,” she admitted.
Laurel sighed, pulling a small wooden box from his pocket. He held it out to her. “I need to explain something.”
Valeryon accepted the box, her fingers brushing the smooth wood. She made to open it, but Laurel placed a hand over hers, stopping her.
“Not yet,” he said softly. “Let me explain first.” He straightened, taking a deep breath. “Val, the gifts were intended as a courtship.”
Her mind stalled.
Courtship?
The word was familiar—dredging up half-forgotten lessons from Governess Sachar.
Courtship… presenting gifts… intention of establishing betrothal… concluding in…
Her eyes widened. “Marriage.”
Laurel nodded.
“Oh,” she said, tightening her grip on the box.
Laurel scoffed. “That’s it? Just ‘oh’?”
Valeryon considered her response carefully. “I think it’s a brilliant idea.”
His smile faltered. “A… brilliant idea?”
“Yes,” she replied simply. “Once we are married, there would be no reason for anyone to separate us.”
Laurel stared at her, his mouth agape. A flush crept up his neck, blooming across his cheeks. He groaned, covering his face with a hand, muttering something entirely unintelligible.
Valeryon waited patiently, accustomed to Laurel’s tendency to react… strangely whenever too much blood rushed to his face. Thankfully it did not take too long for Laurel to get his emotions under control.
“Val.”
She blinked. “Yes?”
He cleared his throat. “Listen, I… That’s not exactly—” He hesitated, sighed deeply, and then smiled. “Alright. Let’s do it your way this time.”
“My way?” she echoed, confused.
Laurel laughed. “Yes, your way. Now, open your present.”
The moment he said that, Valeryon’s curiosity took over. She carefully unlatched the metal clasp of the box and lifted the lid.
Her breath caught as she saw what was inside. She didn’t try to pull the object out immediately. Instead, her hands hovered over it, hesitant, afraid to damage something so delicate.
“Do you like it?” Laurel asked, his voice quieter now.
Valeryon closed the lid gently and re-secured the clasp. With a flick of her fingers, the box disappeared into her storage space. “I do not believe there is a word sufficient to express how much I do,” she replied.
Rising to her feet without any issue, she extended a hand to him. “We should go. I believe I have wasted more than enough of everyone’s time.”
Laurel laughed, accepting her assistance and rising to his feet. “As you wish, my dearest Val,” he said, dimples deepening with his grin.
The shimmering bubble of silence around them dissolved as they stepped out. The world’s noise rushed back in—a chaotic symphony of voices, distant footsteps, and the hum of magic. The sudden onslaught of sound made Valeryon falter for a moment, the overwhelming stimuli blurring into a faint static in her ears.
Laurel moved ahead without missing a beat. His voice carried a calm authority as he addressed the waiting knights, informing them of their readiness to depart. With the situation now clear, the group moved past the onlookers and toward the shimmering Nexus Gate.
As they approached, the magic within the structure awakened. The air vibrated with energy, the runes flaring to life as the Gate opened.
Stepping through was like entering a living current. The air thickened, pressing against their skin, only to lighten moments later. An invisible force pulled them forward, unraveling the world in a whirl of sensations. Valeryon felt a fleeting weightlessness before reality reassembled itself around them.
The event which had previously felt like an impossible hurdle to overcome, passed without any issue.
And just like that, they were through.