Raid walked the hospital corridor, steering towards the opposite end of the building on a different floor, specifically, the first floor. Despite the morning hours, a weariness clung to him, prompting him to absentmindedly massage his neck as his heavy steps announced his passing. The routine visit to Nova's room unfolded in its customary blend of heated arguments, and biting insults. Reflecting on the time when she first arrived bedridden, Raid couldn't help but acknowledge a certain nostalgia for those quieter moments. Nova, now radiating with an excess of energy, presented a challenge beyond his capacity to manage single-handedly. She has never been one to remain idle, and now, still confined to her room despite her clear health to at least walk, seems to have only antagonized her urge to venture. He empathized with the nurses responsible for her care.

His feet led him as his mind wandered, long familiar with the route, ignoring the occasional glance from passing nurses and visitors alike due to his unusual hair. Raid's destination was Condor, who stayed in one of the larger rooms, accommodating 8 to 12 men each, depending on the size. This hospital's layout varied inconsistently from place to place, numerous renovations and improvements over the centuries have made it quite confusing to navigate, not ideal for a hospital. But any building as large as this one often and naturally becomes its own maze.

While sharing the same building, Raid's visits to Condor remained infrequent. The constraints of Condor's rank denied him a private room, a luxury Raid suspected he wouldn't have desired even if granted. Notably, Condor's accommodation occupied the opposite end of the sprawling building from Nova's, compounding Raid's reluctance to undertake the journey regularly.

If there was a reason Raid had to give for his infrequent visits, it would be that their relationship had been professional from the very start. Unless duty necessitated their interaction, neither of them anticipated much from each other. This visit, characterized by duty and courtesy, was prompted by uncertain information: he had heard that Condor's discharge had been confirmed, and come to verify its accuracy.

Another factor was Raid's limited time. Even finding time to visit Nova alone has already increased his workload. The administrative tasks he needs to process and review have piled up since the breakout. Detailed reporting of the casualties from both the 3rd Knights and the 4th Forward Advance Group is essential for both administrative and families of the deceased. Possessions and remains, only applicable to nobles, are typically returned, but in this instance, it's not feasible as said remains are now in enemy-controlled territory. The soldier's savings, if any, are disbursed, accompanied by appropriate compensation, in accordance with their service.

These tasks, combined with managing rank reforms, promotions, and replacement requests, have taken up a significant portion of his time. In summary, extended hours in the office, staring at letters until sentences blur and blend together, necessitating breaks before the cycle repeats for days on end. At least until Raid completes all the work this hell requires, and his administrative duties return to normal. Now, would there be a significantly lighter personal workload if Nova, his vice, were able? Yes. Would he blame her for this mental crucible? No.

“Nothing has changed for the worse I hope,” said Raid, with a curious gaze, addressing the nurse closing the door to the room he intended to enter.

"Ah, Sir Raiden. It's been a while. I see you've finally decided to journey from the second floor," the nurse smiled. "I just finished my check in, nothing of concern, they're all recovering nicely. Are you passing by or visiting?"

"I wouldn't be here if I was just passing by."

"Try not to cause too much of a ruckus this time. Some patients actually sleep during the day. Have a pleasant morning, I have a few more rooms before I finish my shift."

"Busy morning?"

"Aye, could be worse. Most of the problems are superficial, thank the maid's grace. We have a few new inexperienced cooks, which we just found out lack a lot more than we thought, causing a minor food poisoning incident last night. Inadequate storage, made some of the potato's rot, said cooks with their damned eyes used them. If you were to ask for my opinion, those cooks might fare better as saboteurs. I've never seen patients acquire such severe intestinal problems, to put it lightly."

"You need new cooks if they can't tell where's the rot," Raid smirked.

"I'll say... Needless to state there's been a lot of cleaning, I can still smell the stench."

"I don't smell anything, must just be you."

"Maybe, but I do feel filthy. Sorry for taking up your time, I'll get going now. Remember, if anything happens, yell, we're always somewhere nearby. I'll see you again, fate guide us."

Raid nodded, bidding her a brief farewell. Upon opening the door and stepping inside, he found himself greeted by the watchful gaze of eight pairs of eyes. "No formalities, pretend as if I'm not here," he said. The words flowed instinctively from his lips, preempting any attempts at salutes, at least from those who could.

They all donned the standard-issue hospital gowns, each embellished with a haphazardly sewn patch gracing the left shoulder, bearing the inscription '4th AG R No.231,' the official identification of the 4th Forward Advance Group. Technically, any modifications to hospital gowns were not allowed, except for medical complications. Nevertheless, the act of sewing a patch onto one's sleeve found acceptance within military hospitals. The sole condition being that the soldiers executed the task personally, and upon their discharge, remove the patch, lest bother nurses from unwarranted additional work.

Why the importance of patches for soldiers? Pride. The tradition had its roots in a bygone clan from Delcasa. The narrative unfolds with an account of two fiercely rival divisions undergoing treatment within the confines of the same hospital, sparking not only intense rivalries but also giving rise to frequent and heated brawls. In the absence of their usual identifiers, the ingenious solution of sewing unit markings onto sleeves emerged, providing a means to distinguish friend from foe in an environment that lacked their customary cues. This practical measure transformed into a lasting tradition, weaving its way eastward to the Kundishelm.

“I didn't expect to see you today, sir,” Condor grinned, reclining on the bed to Raid's right, nearest to the door.

“Why not?” Raid asked, pulling a nearby chair to Condor's side.

“I figured the paperwork would be treating you more kindly.”

“It's been giving me nightmares that's for sure. I don't understand why the military requires so much. Sometimes, I have half a mind to think like a bureaucrat in some forgotten town by the far borders."

“May I ask the reason for your visit?”

“Why? Do I need one? Is seeing your face not enough reason?”

“I do not believe we're close enough for that, if I may be so rude. I've always believed our relationship has been formal, unless I've misjudged.”

“No, you're right. But you're too modest sometimes for a man my senior."

"It's rank before age here sir. You tend to forget."

"I'd rather play both, out of respect. I heard about your discharge, it's been confirmed, yes? I've also been told it's not the good kind. I don't have the details down, so I came here to hear from you in person.”

"Well," Condor said, scratching his cheek in reluctance, "I still have my final assessment tomorrow, but I don't think that will change anything. I've been deemed unfit for service. The battlefield has finally taken its last toll on my body."

"I understand you're having trouble with your left, but that shouldn't be enough cause to forcefully retire an experienced sergeant like yourself. You're right-handed, and it's not like your left is completely immobile. I am sure you can convince the doctors otherwise."

Condor slowly moved his right hand to cover his heavily bandaged left forearm, his face solemn. "I have much worse scars from the Rain War, it's biting me back now. The seer said my body is all torn, beaten too much. I am an old man now, can't take a pack without my joints being all pissy."

"It's that bad?"

"You wouldn't know, you're a knight. Your healing keeps you young. Us, it just accumulates. Doc said joints don't heal, ain't no muscle tear. If I go on another march now, I'll come back with a cane, hunched back and all."

"Why wait? I'll procure you a cane now," Raid quipped, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Play some competition with the elders, a 34-year-old already on a cane."

"My father wouldn't like me taking after him so soon," Condor chunkled faintly. "Truth be told, I've been offered a few options, back line, training new recruits, logistics, all that. But nah, I joined for the fight. If combat is no longer an option then better retire."

"No regrets?"

"Nah, I got all my limbs. I think this is for the better. This place is like a mill, best depart before my body breaks entirely. The military isn't my entire life, I played my part, and I am proud of that."

“Well fuck, this puts me in a tight spot. Your assumed replacement is dead, and I'll be forced to handle your workload until I find someone suitable.”

"Aren't you already doing my work?”

“Partly. Gastrul is helping, but he's buried in paperwork himself. Hey, really, I’m serious, don't give me that look. Gastrul can read now, enough for some personal quiet, if able, because the scribes still hound him every hour, it's quite funny. And as you know, my dear support officer is also lazing around, too busy injured to handle her own workload. So I have to do hers as well.”

“Lady Fable, is she recovering well?”

“Oh, don't worry about her. If they force her to stay here another week, half the building will blow. You know us, as long as we don't lose a limb or die, we'll heal from anything but scars. So, what's the plan now? Becoming an instructor or something? I hear the private side is lucrative nowadays.”

"For what? A cripple? The kids will run errands around me."

"Pretty sure they hire for the experience mostly. With good management, you can teach without so much as a run, just stand there and shout."

"You jest, an instructor needs to be able. I have no such plan."

"Then what? Head home? Sit in a chair all day sun gazing by the front, wondering where you went wrong?"

"Yeah, head home... to my wife. Maybe even start a family, she deserves that much. The woman has been dealing with my bullshit since before our marriage.”

"That's a long ride. You'll forget your time here with the winds. I'm sure you'll be able to put down your sword with ease.”

“Can't say it would be that easy to sheathe my sword, not with the Lemfords occupying our south.”

“You're from Lancaster, right? Good distance away from the war for now. I don't see any reason for the Lemfords to target it, at least not unless Astra falls. But I don't see that happening until hell descends.”

“I'll be alright. It's a peaceful place, a land with little value but its lumber and livestock, and a strong garrison too.”

A soft, fluttering noise interrupted their conversation. Raid's gaze shifted towards the center of the room, revealing a deck of cards scattered across the floor.

“Lead Serge, 2nd Officer sir,” uttered a soldier, slowly rising from his bed, his head heavily bandaged. “Care for a game of cards? An invitation of courtesy, in case I am intruding.”

"Ain't no fun if there's no wager," Condor responded immediately, laboriously rising from his bed with a groan. “Spending all day and night lying down makes you weak.”

Raid rose from his seat, joining the group forming in the center of the room, "You can move about you know. This hospital has a courtyard. You can stroll."

"I'd rather not."

"Then don't complain about it. So, how much are we betting?"

"Life is short, let's make it shorter. Enough for a barrel of fine blue-milled whiskey from the distilleries of Kandahar!" bellowed an older, scruffy man, already shuffling the cards. His left hand, notably bandaged and missing a thumb.

"Pass me the cards Pikey," demanded another, seizing the cards from the old man's hands. "It'll be noon by the time you're finish shuffling. I'll handle it."

“Condor,” Raid said. “I have the courtesy to make sure you come home broke with no tune. What do you say? Has your wife considered a divorce yet?”

Condor grinned. "Bet. I hear your salary is lively. A knight and an officer, what a blessing."

“You ain't getting a coin from me.”

“We'll see. Pass the cards. Gather the coin. Let's play.”

Meanwhile, back on the second floor, in room 117, Nova lay sprawled on the bed, facing the ceiling. A pocket watch, suspended by its chain, swayed gently from her hand, in an almost rhythmic back and forth against the backdrop that was her boredom. With a prolonged sigh, she released the watch, dropping it beside her in further lethargy. Rolling to her side, she stared at the ticking watch as it lay cushioned against the white bed sheets.

The timepiece held a story. It was a token of apology from Alice for her abrupt departure. The Kolba had demended Alice's return to Astra immediately and under indefinite leave. Nova learned of her departure via letter, accompanied by the delicate ticking of the watch. The Kolba family's influence on the military remained as strong as ever. Without such power, Alice's almost immediate promotion to vice-captain, and her now indefinite leave at the inception of her military career, lacking clear justification despite her active duty, would have been impossible.

Nova absently chewed on her nail, deep in thought. Did they uncover the truth? Perhaps Alice's words had unwittingly cast suspicion on her involvement in Emily's disappearance. Was Emily's corpse discovered, or were they merely exercising caution due to Alice's newfound independence? It could also be a strategic move to prevent any further personal influence. The success of the rearguard was a significant achievement under those circumstances, such feats had the tendency to gift all involved some recognition, especially the lead. If there was anything more important for a soldier than rank, it was fame.

Too much speculation. All this worrying and daydreaming served no purpose other than to worsen her mood. The facts were out of her reach, and guessing paid no dues. She resolved to question Alice directly when the opportunity arose. All this boredom has made her mind wander far too much. They say the void drives insanity not because of its stillness but the human mind.

Her gaze shifted to a stack of books carelessly arranged atop the cabinet situated on the left side of the bed's head. The allure of literature, and Raid's selections, a mix of randomness from nearby bookstores, libraries, and the hospital's book storage, failed to captivate. Some were chosen for their perceived relevance to Nova's interests, while others he just brought in simply because he found it funny, often and purposely to Nova's annoyance.

The hospital's book repository room was designed to entertain patients and keep their minds at ease and preoccupied during their stay, particularly nobles. Unless one couldn't read, a significant problem for many patients, as it was the only source of entertainment in the hospital, that and the chatter of other patients. Nova, for one, knew for sure she wasn't too fond of the stranger friendship aspect of her stay, if it was even an option to begin with. She wasn't allowed to leave her room. While the thought had crossed her mind and the door was never locked, she knew that if she ever tried, Spencer would rip off the door and replace it with iron bars if he needed to.

Any self-inflicted injury, where a knight's aura rampages to the point of losing access to their reserves, is a serious occurrence, albeit incredibly rare. A user's own aura doesn't naturally harm its user. It has to be intentional, and even that is difficult. Apparently not so difficult in Nova's case. She badly wanted to question the sanity of her artform’s creators. Why did they feel the need to create a technique capable of killing its own user? Then again, if they were sane to begin with, her artform wouldn't be artificially constructed.

She rolled onto her back, and again, was greeted by the ceiling, this time without the presence of the watch obstructing the view. A grand view… a blank, annoyingly pristine, white fucking ceiling. A whole lot of nothing. She was never the type to stay in one place for long. Constant movement, anything that drives away complacency was her calling. It didn't matter what it was, so long as it felt like she was never stuck. Her fingers dragged through the air, her right hand floating back and forth above her.

The Blood Spider. It has been a little over a month since that day. The day she lost herself. It still bothered her greatly; she still felt sick at the memories. One recollection, in particular, tainted the entire incident with nothing but nausea. Body Intrusion, never in her life would she ever dream of committing such a crime. Even her loss of control over the Blood Spider wasn't anywhere near as awful as that. The bloodlust and the possibility of dormancy were expected consequences, more than she'd like to admit. But the act of mortal intrusion was something else entirely.

What should she do? Report herself? It would be the right thing to do. But how was it possible to begin with? Has her artform always been capable of this? Nowhere in the manual did it even mention this. Or is this a consequence of having an artificially constructed artform? Unless her artform was tainted to begin with? But then why would Marcus give her the manual? Why would the Anyi use the artform? They had to know, right? The Water Spider Art was created by the Anyi after all.

But which clan would knowingly embrace an artform veiled in heresy? It would undoubtedly shatter their reputation, spawn countless enemies. As far as Nova knows, the Water Spider has no ties to heresy, but such assurance held little weight given her limited knowledge. Much has been lost since the fall, those who once mastered and held the historical knowledge of the Water Spider among them. She found herself without anyone to turn to, unable to identify a suitable confidant. Both Marcus and Raid possessed, at best, a superficial grasp of her artform, making it futile to seek in-depth guidance from someone who could never truly comprehend it.

Yet, an unsettling thought lingered. What if it wasn't tainted? That her artform was perfectly fine? It wouldn't make sense otherwise. And that... it was her own actions? Could she have, in a state of madness, warped her own artform from its principles? And committed intrusion?

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

The question now was what should she do. Ask for help? Let the others know of her troubles. But how? This is not a topic she could just simply bring up, even to Raid, no, especially not him. There was no one else in the world she was more afraid of rejection from. What about her code of honor now? Was she now technically a rogue-knight? But she hasn't betrayed her clan yet… right? Or does the taboo alone count?

Nova felt an urge to cry that came alongside the self-loathing and doubt. This is the worst time to be spent alone and in isolation for the most part, with no distraction. She has been trying her best to hide the distress, but her resolve and confidence in herself were still shaken from that last fight, making it difficult. She was still arguably in what was a small crisis from the crime she committed while under the effects of the Blood Spider. The time spent alone didn't help her ease down as she instead, completely processed all the bad memories she had received from her other self on replay countless times.

Like many others, Nova held the rules of ethics in high regard, in combination with her code of honor as a knight. It was the foundation of her morals. It also led her to regard those who broke it with little room for empathy, ruthless in her judgment. The realization that she was now a part of a group that she so indiscriminately despised wasn't taken well.

When it came to shock or trauma, Nova could handle many things, but when it delved into matters of morality, intertwined with principles and, more significantly, her sense of identity, she faltered. Identity was a hard-fought treasure, the cornerstone of her desires and personality, forming the weight of her confidence, the iron wall that took all abuse. She could endure chips and cracks, those were repairable, for no person could escape the inevitable transformations brought by time and experiences, a fundamental truth of life.

Living naturally entailed evolving with the ebb and flow of time, a continuous process of change. Yet, questioning her identity, even in part, felt like breaching the protective wall she had painstakingly built around herself.

Even with all her intelligence, her awareness of nuances in all aspects of life was far from developed, but fitting, for someone her age. One can even say her morals were still child-like, black and white, idealistic. A quick flash of memory of her moving a man against his will ran across her mind, the very intimate remembrance of how her body moved to make it happen. Her complete enjoyment of his suffering. Even torture has the decency to maintain its victim will, control over their own body. Not her. She didn't allow that. Nova had a sudden urge to puke; she felt sick. Rejection from others was something she has grown used to, even ignored, excluding a precious few. But she never rejected herself, not until now. And this self-loathing drove the anvil of pain much deeper into her soul than anyone else.

The sound of a doorknob turning dragged her out of her misery. Startled, she jolted upright, driven by the fear of being caught in this pitiful state. Swiftly, she composed herself, brushing away her nascent tears with a determined swipe and deep inhales. As the door slowly inched open, she wondered if Raid had returned, maybe Marcus, but it seemed too early for the old man's arrival. Spencer, perhaps, ready to sentence her to another surprise appointment with the seer?

A petite, unfamiliar woman, in the unmistakable uniform of a nurse, revealed herself, casually entering with a square, empty metal tray in her hands. The nurse wore a white, long-sleeved buttoned shirt paired with a black ankle-length skirt, accentuated by the emblem of Hospitania on dark gray gloves in stark white. A much more traditional and fitting color palette for someone of her profession than the more vibrant and modern blue and whites worn by the doctors.

"I am here for a routine welfare check and to retrieve the utensils..." her words tapered off in a hushed tone upon spotting the shattered plate beside the wall. Her gaze lingered, eventually drifting to the large bits of bread strewn across the floor beneath Nova's feet.

"It just slipped," Nova remarked with feigned nonchalance, offering a faint smile.

The nurse's eyes flicked from the wall to Nova's bed, a distance of about two and a half meters, casting doubt on the explanation. "Were you eating right next to the wall?" she inquired, her head tilting slightly in confusion.

"No, but—oh! The fork is still intact though." Nova hastily pointed to the fork, placed next to the haphazard stack of books on the cabinet.

"Right... Lady Fable, is there anything, perhaps, troubling you? Or any issues with your accommodation? We would gladly strive to make your stay as comfortable as possible," the nurse expressed, revealing subtle signs of concern.

"Perfectly fine, thank you," Nova responded warmly, now smiling more graciously before falling backward onto her bed, closing her eyes.

The nurse, prioritizing the cleanup of the shattered plate, ensuring she addressed the most likely cause of injury before it bring any harm. Gracefully, she lowered herself, deftly tucking a portion of her skirt behind her, ensuring it didn't impede her movements or become disheveled as she squatted down.

"Where's Mia?" Nova inquired. She'd grown accustomed to these daily check-ins, a routine that unfolded three to five times a day. However, only one nurse had undertaken this responsibility thus far.

"In the past two days, we've seen an influx of new patients. Mia is among those addressing the accommodation and intensive care needs of those severely injured," the nurse explained.

Nova, satisfied with the response, lapsed into silence, signaling the end of her obligatory small talk. She didn't wish to disrupt the nurse, who will soon enough, depart. As Nova began to drift back into her thoughts, fully intending to dismiss the nurse's presence, an unexpected inquiry disrupted the tranquility.

"Do you have anything to report to the family, my lady?" The nurse's tone shifted, losing its warmth, adopting a distant and impersonal quality.

Nova's eyes snapped open, resisting the instinct to jolt off the bed. Instead, she elegantly lifted herself upright again with confidence, as if anticipating the question from the outset. From that inquiry alone, Nova discerned the nurse's identity. The initial internal discomfort brought by the surprise question dissipated, replaced by a resigned acknowledgment. They always appeared when she least expected them, a reminder just when she thought she could forget their existence. The servant staff of the Kadalis family.

While she now enjoyed some freedoms, otherwise, she would be back in Astra, confined within the cage that is her family's mansion. It didn't mean that she wasn't under possible watch, how frequently or if at all, she didn't know. A family as old and enduringly powerful as the Kadalis was not naive enough to blindly trust even their own kin.

So, this is where the game starts? Nova thought. Questions would be asked, both sides would answer. Neither would rather lie because truths were safer, while also trying to reveal as little as possible, a game of judgment, initiative, and tricks. This is why she always hated dealing with servants, the intelligence arm of the household.

In moments like this, she truly considered her adoption a curse. Well, if she were honest, with the knowledge she had now, she wished to have never been adopted. If only she had his luck, Raid’s luck. While both were technically adopted into the Kadalis, Nova was officially adopted while Raid was put under the status of an affiliate family member. Unlike Nova, Raid didn't have any obligations to the family. They fed and sheltered him, that was it. While he still owed the family for that care and now used the family name and influence to help their repute, it wasn't binding. In short, he had the family's support as long as he considered himself a part of the household and could leave at any point, cutting off ties and going his own way, something Nova couldn't do. The key word here is household, he is a part of the household, not the family. Nova, however, is a part of the family, even if she didn't bear the name.

Nova's cold, dispassionate voice cut through the room like a knife, "What does the family wish to know?"

The sounds of broken ceramics landing on the metal tray filled the small silence between them. The servant fully intended on playing her role as she slowly and meticulously picked up a shard of broken plate and dropped it onto the tray. “Would you believe me that your father has raised concerns about your health? It has been so long since you left the house.”

“I would answer you, but I am unsure to whom you serve. Is it my father? Or perhaps someone else? It would be a shame if my words were to reach someone other than my dear father first.”

The servant smiled faintly, turning her head slightly to stare at Nova with her dark, dead, and cold eyes. A doll, Nova thought. There were always some within both the maids and servants who seemed a little broken, less than human even. They might speak, they might act like a person, but it was all impersonation. Their role was their entire personality, and nothing else. Nova assumed she stared into the eyes of one now, the physical manifestation of the servant's staff will and ideals. A person who had died within the training process and was now just a shell to carry the will of someone else. How brutal must their indoctrination be for their entire identity to be erased? Even Emily had a will. A girl that could still cry.

“I am ashamed to say I currently serve no lord,” the servant said. “I follow the will of the Kadalis, by the highelder’s grace. But your father did send me. Yet I cannot say to whom my words would reach.”

“Then tell my father his concerns are highly regarded,” Nova answered cautiously, her eyes gleaming with suspicion.

What is the servant attempting to do? The father in question, as described by the servant, existed only in dreams, with Nova's actual relationship with him scarcely standing. Nova is seen more as a tool for his social standing. In his eyes, news of her death would likely be considered trivial, comparable to other casual business discussions over tea.

Approaching with the last fragments of ceramics on the tray, the servant moved closer. She bent down once more, this time at Nova's feet, displaying a charm of quiet patience as she now gathered the scattered pieces of bread.

“If possible, I'd like to know why you're here. The primary reason,” Nova asked, glaring at the servant, who, focused on clearing the floor, seemed oblivious to Nova's murderous gaze.

“Do you know about the current relationship between us and the Kolba? Everyone knows you're close to Lady Alice Kolba. She is, after all, your cousin in some sense. Are you aware of our history with the Kolba 24 years ago?”

“If you're asking if I have received any information, suggested or otherwise, that could be of use to our household or put the Kolba at a disadvantage, then I have none.”

“Are you absolutely certain? Perhaps take a moment to reconsider. Oversight is beyond someone of your stature I’m sure.”

“My interaction with Alice during the battle has been minimal, only once in fact, and under duty. I was also unaware of her presence until the rearguard. If you're still uncertain of my words, then you're more than welcome to ask the servants of the Kolba who were present and watching, no doubt.”

The servant's smile deepened, twisted even, as she glanced upward to ensure that Nova noticed. “How can I not trust you, my lady? You are one of us after all. Regrettably, I cannot verify your statements with the Kolba, as you well know. So, I advise you not waste your words again. It would save your breath.”

“If it's information from Alice you seek, why not consult Lord Kaiden, her father?”

“Oh dear… what did I just say? Wasting your breath. You know why, don't you? If only Lady Alice talked with her father.”

“This insolence,” Nova uttered, a hot edge to her words. “Regardless of my influence, I am still a part of the family you serve. Can I consider this an insult to the Kadalis? A blatant disregard of your duty? I've never heard of a servant that even dared to show such an attitude to their masters. For what reason should I not punish you here and now?”

With the last of the crumbs, the servant rose and glided towards the bed's foot, circling gradually to the other end before pausing in front of the cabinet. Her eyes lingered on the fork, a brief contemplation preceding a graceful lift and release into the tray. The resulting sound, a crisp and resonant clink, echoed briefly, its resonance fading away, signaling the completion of her task.

“Let us cease this charade, my lady. I'd prefer to conclude this swiftly rather than prolong this tedium that has shadowed my entire career.”

“You truly are broken, aren't you?”

“Then how would you have me behave? Would you prefer this, or the submissive tone and attitude that is often expected of us? To never offend, only to please.”

“That depends. Is this the real you, or your impersonation of my preference after what I can only assume is your investigation of my history?”

“Who knows... What is certain is that we both desire a swift resolution, do we not?”

“What do you want?”

“I've already told you. It was my initial question, or shall I pose it again? What valuable information have you gleaned, if any, since departing the house?”

“None,” Nova asserted with confidence. “Is that all?”

“No, it is not. While that is what I desire, it is not why I am here.”

“What? You dare lie?"

"I dare not. You asked what I wanted."

"I asked you earlier about your primary business."

"A question I did not answer."

"You did. You asked if I knew of our relationship with the Kolba."

"That is trivia, not an answer."

"So you're admitting that you deliberately ignored my earlier question? That's a serious transgression, servant," Nova's words carried a distinct edge.

"How can it be ignored if I am answering it now? If you would allow me."

"And what happened to ending this charade? These mind games? Are you also going to say it never ended because I never agreed?"

The servant nodded, slowly. "You asked if I was broken in reply. And allow me to remind you, these mind games you spoke of, all happened before I asked for the end of this charade. I have never lied to you."

Nova expressed a prolonged sigh. "Enough, I'll grant you the hill for the lack of my influence. I assume you're only allowed such behavior because you're aware of my position. Still, this attitude is a first for your kind. What are you here for?”

“I've come to alter said position actually. Rejoice, for henceforth, you may mete out my punishment at your discretion, with or without my disobedience. I shall comply,” the servant bowed. “A gift, from the family. My true purpose here.” The servant circled back to Nova, placing the tray on the bed as she did so. Then, the nurse unbuttoned the top of her shirt and retrieved something from a concealed inner breast pocket. “Extend your hand, my lady.”

With obvious caution, as if expecting poison, Nova did as instructed. The servant rewarded her compliance with a brass signet ring, carrying the Kadalis emblem, a round shield depicting a phoenix, with wings spread wide.

“Wherever one goes, their name follows. Reputation and prestige are gestures given from others, irrespective of one's own wants and needs. The family regrets its oversight of your potential and seeks to make amends. Your exploits at the Battle of Hill 46 have brought great esteem to our name, particularly the breakout. Thus, by declaration, the family confers upon you the influence of the household,” The servant executed another bow, this time with even greater deference, lowering herself further.

Nova scrutinized the ring, her expression revealing a conspicuous lack of enthusiasm. “How did you determine my size?”

“How could we not? Other rings grace your possession, even if dormant. Should the fit prove amiss, adjustments can be made.”

“Do you monitor every fabric I wear, day by day, hour by hour?”

“Absurd. It's a simple observation that you've never adorned one, publicly or privately. Forgive my assumption.”

“You assume correctly…”

“Is something wrong, my lady? Your reception seems less than joyful. A signet ring is the prerequisite for any self-respecting noble seeking influence. Your brother Dion practically danced with joy upon receiving his.”

Nova's subdued reaction to the gift had a reason. The servant likely understood, no, she must have known. Among those privy to information, the servants held a unique position. Rather than a genuine inquiry, her question seemed more like a playful jab.

Influence through power, the most ancient decree. The cornerstone of all codes of conduct. It didn't matter if you agreed with it, rejected it, or held other beliefs and ideas, submission to strength remained the prevailing principle. You could be ignored by the world, cast aside, yet even the world has to offer a measure of respect, acknowledgment, and submission upon realizing your ability to obliterate them and their cherished world in an instant.

For It is not by man's greed that compels him to go so far as to slay his own god upon the revelation of the divine's loss of power, fueled by the sheer desire that if he can, he will.

Hence why the ring's arrival wasn't a surprise. If anything, it came late, very late. It should have accompanied Nova's official knighthood, for at that time, as she does now, wielded a power they couldn't and shouldn't have ignored. It was her rightful claim. The family's delayed bestowal now indicated compulsion. They reluctantly yielded due to her recent feats, it was unignorable. She knew why she was adopted, to be a useful asset, an investment that paid dividends with meager cost. A cost they begrudgingly paid now with the ring.

Although merely brass, the lowest of seals, the ring bestowed some measure of control over Kadalis’s assets. Still, some control was better than none. Official adoption implied identical treatment on paper to their own. In this instance, it was the compelled admission of power to Nova. And it felt unexpectedly gratifying.

“I am sure the family expects me to properly conduct my obligation now that I have this ring,” Nova said. “Were my previous contributions lacking?”

"Nonexistent, you mean. The family is greatly displeased in your lack of participation. Your father hopes this changes that mindset."

Caste obligation encompasses contributions to the family, aimed at elevating one's standing in its hierarchy and influence. This old system fosters competition within noble households, as it remains the foundational step in initiating one's life and significance as a noble. Reputation and treatment are outcomes dictated by one's actions in this web of societal expectations.

Participation in such a system is not merely a choice but a necessity, given the vital importance assigned to one's status. Leaving one's family is often deemed impossible, making active involvement the key to self-protection and prosperity, lest one be relegated to being misused and forgotten.

The parameters for participation are broad and undefined, encompassing various aspects such as business, politics, and marriage. As a general principle, any action that elevates one's status and, by extension, the family's counts as contribution. There is a saying that there are no weak lambs in the upper crust. Nobles in the highest ranks, even those who seemed feeble, had invariably fought tooth and nail to attain their positions. Visibility is a testament to their struggles, for the truly weak seldom surface, and when they do, it's apparent they have become pawns in others' schemes.

“I shall abide by the family's will,” Nova declared.

The servant grabbed the tray and turned toward the door, signaling her departure. "Beware the Kolba. Given your two-month absence from the capital, you might be unaware that tensions are rising again. Gathering any insights from them would be valuable, although that’s typically our job. There are, of course, certain tasks we servants can't perform, like engaging directly with nobles as friends, such as your association with Alice," the servant conveyed with a subtle smile.

“I'll keep that in mind. What are the chances of there being another feud? Why are we breaking the peace?”

“The war of ascension is a likely cause in part, it's still raging despite the invasion, if only more privately. We are still neutral, for now, and would like to remain so. You can only guess how.”

“Neutrality is best on strength. I can only assume we're aggressively acquiring assets to help with our leverage. Are we clashing with the Kolba's earnings?”

"If it were only. If we are forced to pick a successor, what are the chances we support the same one?"

"I don't see it happening. The blood is too bad between us."

"Which means a clash is likely. Which is why we're weakening their earnings now, where possible."

"Isn't that just an escalation? Shouldn't we avoid this?"

"I am not the one that makes the decisions, nor you."

"But the ascension war alone doesn't seem sufficient to warrant all this. Considering how both the Kolba and us maintains a neutral stance, the extent of these preparations appears disproportionately severe. Unless, the Kolba changed their stance?"

"No, they haven't. Your information isn't all that outdated, excluding the war, everything has remained pretty much the same since you left."

"Then..."

“I mentioned the ascension as a likely part, not the cause. There are too many people involved in the escalation, they all have their own intentions. Also, it seems you're unaware, the business clash between us and the Kolba is old news, so pay it no heed without schemes, it has never actually ended since the feud, intensifying in recent years. The rise in tensions was predictable and bound to happen sooner or later.”

“I see. Then I appreciate the warning.”

"It's my duty my lady," the servant replied before slowly making her way to the door, eventually opening it.

"You know, another servant would have apologized for the earlier offense by now, even if only as courtesy."

"A shame she isn't here then. I suppose my rudeness is precisely why my sisters ensured my duties kept me far from the family, months to years at a time, in disguise, with barely any contact with my own kind beyond letters. It has been years, you know. You are the first Kadalis I've met in a very long time, even if you lack the blood."

"Really? Not so broken then, my mistake. You seem to have developed quite a distinct personality so far from the house, unsuitable even, for that of a servant. How does it feel to meet a member of the family you've sworn your life to?" said Nova mockingly, smiling. "I apologize if I lack the blood, even the name. It seems my dear father forgot to add the Kadalis to my name."

"You're still the true one, that's all that matters. The papers state so. Would you believe me if I said it makes me happy, to see my master in the flesh,” the servant replied as she entered the hallway, turning for one final glance at Nova. "Oh, and I almost forgot. Do write letters to your father occasionally. He worries when his daughter is absent for so long, without any words of comfort, no less."

"I'll make sure to write one as soon as possible," Nova lied.

The servant's smile appeared genuine this time as she offered a slight bow. However, in an instant, her face turned stone cold as she resumed her nurse persona, closing the door behind her.

Nova cradled the ring delicately against her chest, her gaze unwaveringly fixed on the door. As her fingers tightened around the brass band, there was an unspoken threat, the potential to shatter the Kadalis symbol beneath her quiet strength.

“What should I do?” she murmured, her voice a fragile echo.

Should she assist Alice as promised? Or perhaps surrender herself as a false seeker? And be punished as she well deserved for such a breach in heresy. What about the obligation? Aligning herself with a family that never truly accepted her. Contribution would be required to gain influence and aid Alice. Alternatively, should she prioritize her military career amidst the war? And lead a life built on deception, concealing the truth of her transgression, never having confessed to her crime.

Nova had never held a central goal in her life, she simply drifted, a practice she continued. At times, she followed her whims, those of her family, or that of Raid. In the current moment, uncertainty clouded her, leaving her directionless and in need of guidance. Yet, fear held her back from seeking help, leaving her adrift in a suffocating sea of escalating anxiety that was her mind.