Book 1: Chapter 15 - Results
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The dreams we have when awake are the ones we are more likely to remember.
- Attributed to the playwright Vlan di Panoli.
Seraphina had lost track of time. Days bled into one another, the sun rising and setting in a relentless cycle of toil. Perhaps a week had passed; perhaps more. Each day mirrored the last—a grueling morning practice that left them too exhausted to do anything in the afternoons but collapse in a haze of fatigue. Kellan was merciless in his instruction, pushing them beyond their limits with a brutality that bordered on cruel.
The exercises were punishing—a relentless assault on their bodies. Yet somehow, the old man knew precisely how to push them to the brink without shattering them completely. More often than not, the girls would stagger away from practice, muscles quivering, stomachs churning, their skin slick with sweat. Seraphina's high Strength attribute could not compensate for the sheer lack of raw stamina required to sprint around the sprawling grounds of the estate.
Yet, despite the physical strain, it was the mind-numbing monotony that wore on them most—especially Eloise, whose complaints became as regular as their heartbeat. The same drills, the same stances, the same movements repeated ad nauseam until their bodies moved mechanically, devoid of thought. Which ironically was what Kellan’s intent.
When they dared to question Kellan's methods, his response was always the same: "You cannot build a mighty tower on a flawed foundation." His steely gaze brooked no argument.
Seraphina might have doubted his methods were it not for the undeniable proof of her own progress. Blessed—or perhaps cursed—with the ability to view her Status, she watched the numbers climb ever so slowly, each point a hard-won victory. The simple act of witnessing her own growth, quantified and irrefutable, fueled her determination. Under Kellan's relentless tutelage, her Constitution had risen by a full two points and her Dexterity by one which bolstered both her Health and Stamina. Not to mention that she was also gaining in experience points. Overall, it was a subtle, but exhilarating empowerment.
Watching Seraphina's unyielding resolve, though quite unsure of its source, stirred something within Eloise. A spark of rivalry ignited, flickering to life beneath her constant fatigue. If she could never match the blonde noblewoman in social standing, then perhaps she could stand beside her as an equal in Strength and skill. It became a silent vow whispered to herself amid labored breaths and aching muscles.
Intrigued by the recent changes in her, Seraphina had begun to discreetly peruse Eloise's letters to her family—a small invasion of privacy she justified as necessary. The girl was undeniably homesick; she wrote almost daily. But something had changed. The bitter undertones and veiled complaints that once colored her words had softened. In the graceful curves of Eloise's handwriting, Seraphina detected a budding warmth, a subtle shift from resentment to acceptance. Perhaps, just perhaps, a fragile thread of friendship was weaving itself between them, delicate yet promising.
Naturally, the de Laneys were elated by Eloise's new position as lady-in-waiting to the rumored future queen of Aranthia. The merchant-turned-nobles were drawn to power like moths to a flame, their ambitions burning brightly. Proximity to the crown was a coveted prize—a gleaming emblem of their burgeoning influence and prestige. Their daughter's association with the illustrious de Sariens would undoubtedly make them the envy of the court and solidify their status as genuine aristocracy. Like the nouveau riche in Seraphina's own world, recognition was the nectar they thirsted for, a craving that had even led them to court favor with the Empire, Aranthia's neighbor and geopolitical rival.
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Seraphina's unwavering dedication to her training had not gone unnoticed. It earned her a glimmer of pride in the Duke’s eyes—a rare and precious acknowledgment that warmed her heart more than she cared to admit. Though her mother in this world remained a despondant, trapped in her own melancholy, Anatoli, despite the weight of his own burdens, made a point to commend both Eloise and Seraphina when they managed to drag themselves into the grand dining hall for dinner, muscles protesting and spirits worn thin. His words of praise were brief but sincere.
She was also wrestling with an unforeseen challenge—one that had nothing to do with swords or stances. In this new body, she sorely missed the modern convenience of a sports bra. For Eloise, slight and petite, it was a non-issue. But for Seraphina, a young woman blossoming into her figure, certain aspects of her anatomy were becoming a literal hindrance. The discomfort during training was both frustrating and, at times, embarrassing. To combat this, she resorted to wearing a heavy steel cuirass. The rigid armor pressed her curves firmly against the unyielding metal, minimizing unwanted movement and aiding her battle against gravity. The added weight strained her shoulders, but it came with an unexpected benefit: the acquisition of a new skill—Medium Armor. And, perhaps most importantly, it made running a far more bearable endeavor.
So absorbed was she in the relentless cycle of physical training that Seraphina had completely overlooked a crucial aspect of her abilities: magic. How could she have been so blind? She clapped her hands together, a wry smile tugging at her lips as a wave of realization washed over her. There was a surefire way to alleviate the mounting tension knotting her damnable shoulders. It was certainly worth a try.
Figuratively rolling up her sleeves, she summoned the arcane energies within her. She cast Heal on herself. Ancient words, fragments of a song older than the marrow of the world, flowed from her lips. Instantly, a soothing warmth blossomed within her chest, spreading like liquid gold through her veins and into every aching muscle. A thousand and one little pains she had not even been aware of dissolved, washed away in a cleansing torrent of pure magic.
At last, it seemed she might finally enjoy a good night's sleep.
Just as she moved toward her bed, Seraphina's gaze fell upon Eloise, sprawled unceremoniously across the sofa of her bedroom, utterly spent and deep in slumber. A pang of something—perhaps concern, perhaps mere curiosity—stirred within her.
An idea sparked, and a smug smile curved Seraphina's lips. If Eloise was to be of any real use in the future, the newly minted Earthmage needed to begin practicing her own magic. This perpetual state of exhaustion would only hinder that progress. Perhaps a little assistance was in order. It would help her in her own advances in healing magic, as well making sure her lady-in-waiting was kept in tip-top shape. What use were miracles if you did not employ them? Also, she reminded herself, this was strictly a selfish act of self-interest.
Still, she had to be cautious with her magic; only two others knew she could wield the magic of the Covenant, and secrets were a dangerous currency. Well, only two others knew for certain. Eloise was a smart girl and could probably put two and two together. What was one more?
Shrugging, she nudged Eloise gently, testing the depth of her sleep. The girl murmured something unintelligible but did not stir. Only the soft rhythm of her breathing filled the room.
Summoning her magic once more, Seraphina invoked the spell again, this time employing her Silent Casting skill. The euphoria of the holy energy surged within her, muted now but still potent. She channeled the raw healing power away from herself and into the slumbering girl. A soft glow visible only to girl touched by the Holy enveloped Eloise briefly, then faded. Brusquely, Seraphina draped a blanket over her sleeping form. As she turned away, she could have sworn she saw a peaceful smile soften Eloise's features. Satisfied, Seraphina slipped into her own bed, snuggling under the covers, a sense of quiet accomplishment lulling her toward sleep.