"Seraphine Allore has entered the duel stage," the announcer declared, as if stating the obvious would somehow make this bizarre moment less confusing.

Yeah, thanks for the update, I thought dryly. We all saw her gracefully drop into the chaos like a divine mediator. The real question was: why?

Standing tall and calm amidst the tension, Seraphine bowed toward the king, her every movement exuding grace and authority. "Pardon my intrusion, Your Majesty," she said, her voice clear and composed. "But I believe it is necessary to conclude this match here."

The crowd rippled with murmurs, confused and curious. On the stage, Riley lay unconscious, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths, while the noble swordsman barely clung to his weapon, wobbling like a leaf in a strong breeze. It was supposed to be Riley’s victory—he had just unleashed a powerful spell, after all. So why was he the one sprawled on the ground?

My mind spun, replaying the sequence of events. Did we miss something? Did Seraphine see something we didn’t? Whatever it was, it had to be big for someone of her rank to intervene.

Beside me, Clarisse and Felicity were uncharacteristically silent. Clarisse had a furrowed brow, deep in thought, while Felicity, normally a fountain of endless chatter, was nervously grinding her nails against her teeth. If someone like her was anxious, it couldn’t be good.

"Why do you deem it necessary?" the king asked, his voice measured but curious.

Seraphine turned to face him, her expression unwavering. "While the audience may not have noticed, during this match, I sensed a demonic energy emanating from within the arena."

The arena had fallen into an uneasy murmur. Some voices rose in fear, others in curiosity, but the word "demonic energy" hung in the air. For the first time, I felt the weight of those words—something dark and wrong, like a stain on the natural order of things. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

“May I ask,” the king’s voice carried over the din, calm but sharp, “if you sense it among the duel participants?”

Seraphine, the mage standing beside him, bowed her head briefly, her expression unreadable. She hesitated, then looked up. “No, Your Majesty. It’s not coming from the fighters. It’s… someone in the audience. Demonic energy doesn’t just appear without a source,” Seraphine continued,“If it’s here, it means someone—or something—is trying to disrupt the balance. And that’s a danger we cannot ignore.”

Well, that just made everything worse.

I exchanged glances with the people near our seats. Clarisse looked tense, and Fely’s usual cheer was replaced with a rare seriousness.

“I didn’t think a demonic caster could even enter the arena,” Fely muttered, her voice low.

“It would be best if we stayed here,” Clarisse said firmly, her grip tightening on my arm. I didn’t bother protesting; she wasn’t about to let go.

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So, we stayed put, waiting as the royal guards and mages began sweeping through the crowd. An hour passed, dragging on like days. Tension hung so thick in the air you could practically taste it. Everyone was on edge, watching and waiting for someone—anyone—to be dragged out in chains.

But no one was.

The official announcement came through Seraphine herself, her voice steady but unconvincing: “The demonic energy has dissipated. Whoever—or whatever—was responsible is no longer present.”

I wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be reassuring. It wasn’t.

“That was… unexpected,” Clarisse said as we stepped out of the arena, her tone carefully neutral.

“Unexpected? That was completely ridiculous!” Fely threw up her hands. “Honestly, I think it was all just a tactic to save face for that noble Riley was fighting.”

I glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. “You think they made up the demonic energy thing? Just to cover up for the noble?”

Fely shrugged, her usual grin creeping back onto her face. “Wouldn’t be the craziest thing nobles have done. Convenient, isn’t it? Riley’s unconscious, they can’t finish the match, and now everyone’s talking about a demonic caster instead of how badly that guy was losing. Seriously, Riley wasn’t just fighting for himself. He was proving that someone without a noble title could stand on equal ground and now...demon there, demon here.”

It wasn’t the worst theory. Still, something about it felt too neat, too easy.

“They did say Riley collapsed from the impact of an uncontrolled chant,” Clarisse said, frowning slightly. “That’s what they’re claiming, anyway.”

After all that chaos, we finally managed to leave the arena. It felt like we could actually breathe again—no mysterious warnings, no lurking threats, just the hum of the festival around us.

"You sure you don’t want to grab a snack with us?" Clarisse asked Fely, her tone hopeful but casual.

"I’d love to! But my family’s waiting for me," Fely said with her usual energy. "Next time, though, for sure!"

"For sure," Clarisse said with a small smile.

They exchanged goodbyes like best friends do, with promises of future meetups. I just gave Fely a polite nod and a wave. Honestly, her boundless energy was impressive, but I was ready for some quiet time.

As we started walking toward the food stalls, Clarisse broke the silence. "That whole thing back there? It was so confusing."

"Really was," I agreed, hands shoved in my pockets. "First time I’ve ever heard about demonic energy."

She shot me a teasing glance. "Don’t say it too often. What if it possesses you, Vonn?"

"Good point," I said, nodding solemnly. "Possession doesn’t sound fun."

She laughed, clearly enjoying her own joke. Then her tone shifted, more curious now. "Are you learning magic yet?"

"Yup, little by little," I replied, keeping my tone light.

Complete lie. Only you and I know that I’ve been practicing magic for years now. I don’t even remember when I started—probably as soon as I could string words together. I’ve chanted spells that could knock out more higher level monsters, though I still don’t know my true limits. Best not to mention that to Clarisse, though.

"Do you remember when I first chanted a spell and accidentally blew our roof away?" she asked, a nostalgic grin spreading across her face.

"Hard to forget," I said dryly. "Father didn’t stop grumbling about it for weeks."

"I was eight then," she said, her voice tinged with pride. "Think you could pull that off?"

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"Probably not," I said, scratching the back of my head. "I’m still at the phase where making a flame slightly bigger than Flicker feels like a major accomplishment."

Another lie. But, sometimes it’s easier to play the role of the clueless little brother. Let them think I’m just fumbling through basic spells while secretly testing chants that would make even seasoned mages raise an eyebrow. It’s not about being dishonest—it’s about keeping things… uncomplicated.

Clarisse just smiled knowingly. "Well, you’ll get there eventually. Just don’t blow anything up, alright?"

"I’ll try my best," I said, matching her smile.

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When we made it back home, Clarisse had picked up some snacks for us to share while we watched the rest of the celebration from the comfort of our little space. Even though the day had been exhausting, there was something about being with my family that recharged me. It wasn’t just the food or the laughter—it was the feeling of safety.

It’s strange how that works. You can go through all sorts of messy, confusing situations—like ominous warnings about negative energy or the threat of Predators—and still feel at peace when you’re with the right people.

Home, I realized, isn’t about a place. It’s about the people who make you feel like you belong.

Looking back, I’d say the Days of Renewal celebration had been a mixed bag so far. The first day was a whirlwind, packed with surprises, reunions, and enough emotional highs and lows to make me feel like I’d been on a roller coaster. Seeing Clarisse again after so long, eating together as a family, and catching up felt like putting a missing piece back into the puzzle.

The second and third days were quieter—rest days, not just for us, but for most of the merchants and sellers in the capital. The streets weren’t as crowded, giving everyone a breather. We even met up with Fely again, which turned into another lively meal filled with stories about the academy and the journey to the capital.

Honestly, I didn’t mind the slower pace. After everything that happened on the first day, a little calm was exactly what I needed. Quiet moments like these were a reminder that even in the middle of all the chaos, there’s always time to breathe, reflect, and just enjoy being with the people who matter.

On the fourth day, we ventured out again, this time to the night market with Clarisse tagging along. If Dunvaris was lively during the day, its night view was on a whole other level. The streets were alive with laughter, the hum of conversation, and the tantalizing aromas of street food wafting through the air. Lanterns hung above the stalls, casting a warm, flickering glow that made everything feel magical.

"Why don’t you try the dynamite again?" Clarisse teased, a mischievous grin spreading across her face as our parents chuckled.

Ah, the dynamite. That infamous dish from a food stall we’d stumbled across a few nights ago. The name wasn’t just for show—it set your mouth ablaze, and not in a poetic or delicious way. It was a fiery experience I regretted immediately but somehow found funny in hindsight. A bad decision, sure, but a memorable one.

"Why don’t you try it this time?" I said, pointing my wooden sword dramatically toward the stall.

Clarisse waved me off with a smug look. "I’m already used to it, Vonn. Nice try, though."

"Then why don’t you both give it a shot?" I said, turning the point of my ‘blade’ toward our parents.

I didn’t think they’d take the bait. But, lo and behold, my father stepped up like the brave—or foolish—man he was. "I can handle it," he said confidently, puffing out his chest.

Mother shot him a doubtful look, but before she could protest, he was already at the stall, ordering the dreaded dish. The result? Let’s just say the proud man who claimed he could handle it ended up walking beside us the rest of the night, clutching a gallon of milk like it was his lifeline.

"Not bad, huh?" I asked, trying to suppress a grin.

Father grunted, his voice slightly hoarse. "Could’ve been spicier."

Clarisse burst out laughing. "Sure, Father. Let us know when you’re ready for round two." Even Mom couldn’t help but laugh.

The laughter from my family faded into the background as I stole glances at the stalls we passed, the tantalizing aroma of sizzling meat mixing with the lively chatter around us. Among the many colorful displays, one particular stall caught my eye. Something about it felt… familiar.

Paintings and sculptures lined the vendor’s table, some weathered, others vibrant. My feet moved before my mind could fully process, breaking away from my family as they wandered toward another stall. It was the kind of moment you couldn’t ignore—a pull you didn’t entirely understand.

When I reached the stall, the vendor, a balding man with a tired but friendly demeanor, greeted me. "Hello, kid. You lost?"

"No," I replied, shaking my head. "Just looking."

That’s when I saw it.

My chest tightened as my eyes landed on a painting that stopped me cold. The scene depicted was painfully familiar—the same peaceful townscape I’d painted for Harlan, the late landowner. The details were unmistakable: the gentle curves of the hills, the scattered houses, the golden hues of the fields at dusk. But this… this wasn’t my canvas.

The texture was wrong—painted on cheap cotton, and the technique was basic, even sloppy compared to the original. A copy. A cheap imitation of my work.

I pointed at it, trying to keep my voice steady. "Where did you get this?"

The vendor raised an eyebrow. "Why? You planning to buy it?"

"No, just curious. My father has a painting like this back home," I said, trying to sound casual.

He shrugged. "Bought it off a merchant. Cheap deal, though not many people here seem interested."

"Do you know where the merchant got it?" I pressed.

"Lyscaris," he replied. "Kingdom of Lyscaris."

Lyscaris—far from Dunvaris, but a place known for its light scenery. The pieces clicked together. Harlan’s belongings, including the original painting, had been passed to nobles after his death. Somehow, that painting had made its way to Lyscaris, and now here it was—reduced to knockoffs sold at markets.

I nodded, feigning polite interest. "Did the merchant say anything else about it?"

The vendor scratched his head. "Well… yeah, now that you mention it. Said the painting was popular in Lyscaris. Famous, even. That’s why I bought it, figured I’d make a profit. Turns out no one here cares about fancy art, so I got stuck with it. Felt scammed, to be honest."

Famous? My painting? A mixture of pride and panic swirled in my chest. If the original painting had gained attention in Lyscaris, then someone must’ve noticed the technique I’d used—techniques from my previous life that didn’t seem to exist in this world. It was only a matter of time before word spread among artists or collectors.

I glanced over at my family. They were still busy browsing other stalls, unaware of the storm brewing in my head.

"Thank you," I said, stepping back from the stall. My mind was racing. If the painting was gaining traction in Lyscaris, then I couldn’t ignore it. Someone there had the original, and with it, the key to understanding how far-reaching my work—and by extension, my past life’s knowledge—might go.

The question wasn’t just where the painting had ended up. The real question was, how long before it started drawing attention I wasn’t ready for?

Damn. Before I could even retrace my steps, a surge of people swept through, blocking my path. I looked up, scanning for my family, but they were gone.

"Now that’s a mistake," I muttered, smacking my forehead lightly. Great job, Vonn. Separated from your family in the busiest market of the capital. Genius.

I sighed, deciding the best course of action was to keep walking straight. “Stick to the basics,” I told myself. “Forward, then left, maybe?” The murmurs, shouts, and bustling chatter of the market drowned out most of my thoughts. And here I was, wandering alone, pretending not to be a lost child.

To an adult mind like mine, being separated wasn’t the end of the world. But to my parents? Well, let’s just say I’d have to come up with a convincing excuse if I wanted to avoid a lecture.

After what felt like several minutes—and far too many wrong turns—I stumbled upon a massive white estate. Its towering gates loomed above me, and the bright lights from within spilled out like it wasn’t even nighttime.

“Great. Now I’ve wandered into the rich people’s territory,” I muttered, half-expecting some guard to shoo me away. I exhaled deeply, resigning myself to finding my way back to the inn.

I cast a few cautious glances around, weighing my options. Returning to the inn seemed like the safest choice—or so I wanted to believe. But then, just as I was about to leave, I heard it—a sharp voice cutting through the night air, followed by the unmistakable sound of a slap.

“Oh, look at this poor little elf. Did you think coming here would somehow make you human?”

Curiosity tugged at me. "Now what?" I whispered, moving closer to the gates. The lights were blinding, but I could make out figures inside. A boy’s voice, loud and filled with arrogance, echoed through the estate.

“You think anyone cares if a little elf vanishes? My father owns half this district. Who would you even complain to?"

Another slapped sound echoed.

"Maybe we should stop, she's not worth our time…" another boy said.

"You’re too soft. Let’s see how much she can bleed!" A different boy responded.

The sound of laughter followed—snide, cruel, and unmistakably coming from a group of boys. They were enjoying this, feeding off each other’s malice. I couldn’t see the victim clearly yet, but then I heard her voice. Soft. Shaking. Trying to hold back tears.

"You… Your father killed my sister!" the elf girl cried out.

That wasn’t just anger in her voice—it was pain, raw and unfiltered. And here I was, on the outside looking in, caught between the pull of curiosity and the nagging voice in my head telling me to stay out of it.

But then again, when have I ever been good at ignoring things?

"Hahahaha, so is that bitch slave your sister?" the boy sneered, his laughter echoed by the group behind him. They laughed like they owned the world, like no one else mattered.

Huff.

"Oh, so she was your sister, was she? That wretched bitch deserved everything she got. Ugly as sin, wasn’t she? That’s why Father and Brother kept her buried in the mud, starving and breaking her. She earned every bit of it. That's why they said elves are only good for labor, why should we treat your sister any better?"

I moved. No, it’s not like I suddenly scaled the walls like some hero. I couldn’t just stand by and listen. It triggered something in me when I heard those words—something familiar, something hurtful, like the words my mother used to say in my previous life. It reminded me of how hopeless I was, clinging to the only family I had before I chose to leave and fend for myself. That memory pushed me to act.

It wasn’t just about the elf girl this time. It was about every time I’d been powerless to stop something horrible in my past life. And I wasn’t going to stand by once again.

"Is bullying an elf really that entertaining?" I said, stepping through the front gate. It surprised me that there were no guards around. Inside the courtyard stood three boys. The one in the center wore noble clothes, clearly the ringleader, while the others looked like second-rate lackeys trying too hard to impress him. On the ground was an elf girl, her clothes in tatters, her body trembling as she cried. She looked utterly broken. They turned to me as I approached.

"And who are you?" the noble boy asked, his tone full of disdain.

"I hate elves, really," I replied, deadpan. "I’ve always wanted them gone from this land, but, you know, genocide is kind of a hassle. So, is punishing them more efficient?"

That caught them off guard. For a moment, the noble boy didn’t respond. Then he laughed—a sharp, amused sound that grated on my nerves. He leaned in to whisper something to one of his cronies, who nodded and opened the gate wider, letting me step in.

Idiots. Literal idiots.

"Why don’t you try it?" the noble boy said, his grin as slimy as a wet eel as he fake to kick the elf.

I walked closer, taking in the elf girl’s condition. She was covered in cuts and bruises, her face stained with tears. Her eyes… they looked hollow, like she’d been abandoned for so long that she’d given up on hoping for rescue. She didn’t need to say anything; I could feel it in the way her shoulders sagged, in the way she flinched at the sound of their laughter. She wanted to disappear. She wanted to die.

And there was no way I could leave her in their hands.

"Yeah, I think I will," I said, letting my wooden sword drop to the ground as I shrugged off my sweatshirt.

"That’s the spirit!" the noble boy cheered. "Do it, and I might even reward you. Who knows? Maybe you’ll earn a spot with us."

I ignored him. Instead, I crouched down next to the elf girl and draped my sweatshirt over her shoulders. She froze, staring at me like I’d just handed her a piece of the moon.

"You’ll need this more than me," I said softly.

Her lips parted, but no words came out. She just looked at me, confused and wary, as if kindness was the last thing she expected.

Then I stood up, picking up my wooden sword, and turned back to face the boys.

"What are you doing?" the noble boy asked, his voice sharp with disbelief.

I rolled my shoulders, gripping the sword tightly. "I was thinking," I said, my tone light, "how about we play a game?"

The noble boy smirked. "A game, huh? And what kind of game is that?"

"Something fun," I said, the weight of my wooden sword familiar in my hands. "Beating up some kids in the middle of the night sounds like a good start."

I didn’t know if this was a smart idea. If these boys’ families were as powerful as they claimed, Stepping in could cause more problems than it solved. But then again, could I really just walk away?