image [https://i.imgur.com/eY2gF5l.png]
Mila emerged from the depths of unconsciousness, her gaze swiftly sweeping across the unfamiliar room that enveloped her. Her senses absorbed the novel atmosphere that surrounded her.
Upon regaining consciousness, Mila found herself nestled in the embrace of a plush and inviting bed, positioned beside a sunlit window. A gentle breeze wafted into the room, bearing with it the delicate fragrance of blossoms dancing in the wind. As she settled onto the bed's soft surface, a subtle rustling of her hair mirrored the graceful movement of her thoughts, now awoken and adrift in a sea of questions.
How long have I been asleep? Hours? Days?
What happened to me...?
While lost in contemplation, the door to the room swung open, heralding the arrival of a vibrant young woman. Her eyes danced with an exuberant mixture of excitement and anticipation, fixated on Mila and her silver hair. With swift and eager steps, she traversed the space, drawn to Mila like a magnetic force, her fingers reaching out to graze her hair, her face, her attire.
Mila found herself engulfed in a haze of unfamiliarity. The sudden intrusion caught her off guard, leaving her utterly bewildered.
Frustration surged through Mila's veins, propelled by the invasive touch of the stranger. Instinctively, she pushed the girl's intrusive face away, her voice erupting in a sharp command, "Get off of me!!"
Startled, the girl's eyes widened, and she swiftly descended to her knees, a gesture of repentance and humility. "Mila Ashenhaul! I am honored beyond measure to be in your presence! The honor of meeting you, the daughter of the illustrious Michael, is simply delightful! "
SHE'S CRAZY!
The mention of Michael's name stirred an unpleasant taste in Mila's mouth. "There's nothing illustrious about Michael," she retorted, her voice laced with disdain.
"Forgive me! My words were ill-chosen! Please accept my sincerest apologies, Miss Ashenhaul!"
"Mila is just fine..." she replied curtly, though the discomfort still lingered in her chest.
For a brief moment, Mila takes a close look at her. She was as young as her, perhaps even younger than her, garbed in church-like attire. Yet she showed such enthusiasm. Her eyes of emerald gleamed in excitement with each breath, serving only to cause discomfort her.
With a composed stance, the girl straightened herself, executing a subtle bow before meeting Mila's gaze anew. "I am Priestess Yarine, a devoted servant of the Church of Michael. The holy and esteemed order has dispatched me to ensure your safety."
Mila's brow furrowed at the revelation. "You have an entire church devoted to an archangel?"
"Not just any archangel, but Michael himself! The epitome of justice and unparalleled power among them all!"
The torrent of information swirled around Mila, overwhelming her ability to immediately respond. Despite her resentment towards Michael, she had yet to fathom the complete truth behind the complex history between him and her mother. Wearied and drained by her recent tribulations, any inclination to counteract the current situation seemed to have dissipated, leaving her with a sense of resignation.
Collapsing onto the bed, Mila allowed her face to sink into the soft pillow, seeking solace in its comfort.
"Miss Mila!!!"
"Whaaaaaaaaaaat?" Mila shouted into the pillow.
"Miss Mila, you must rouse yourself!"
"Really?! I fail to see why!"
"Because Lady Grismala is waiting for you!"
"Lady Grismala? What is this about?"
"We are presently within the abode of Lady Grismala. It's thanks to her that the king granted your release from the confines of his prison. At the very least, a modicum of respect is due. Please comply!"
Modicum?! is she a damn dictionary? What the hell does that even mean?
Mila shifted her head slightly, casting a single eye towards Yarine.
"She is expecting me?"
"Exactly so! She is currently in her office and instructed me to inform you to visit her upon waking."
Mila rose from her recumbent position, swiftly arranging her attire with a dismissive gesture.
"Fineee, I'll go..."
An appreciable smile adorned Yarine's countenance.
"Beeeeefore I leave, mind telling me where we are?"
If things go astray, I should at least know where in the hell I am so I can escape.
"As I mentioned, we are situated within the mansion of..."
"I don't mean the building!"
"Oh... Well, we are in Octavia of course... Surely you knew...?"
OCTAVIA?
Why the hell am I in Octavia?
And why is she here? Last I recall, the Church of Michael are far south... Did she really come all this way for me?
Mila managed to rise from her bed, her legs betraying a hint of weakness that she defiantly overcame with sheer determination. Though her steps were unsteady, she was resolute in her stance.
"And where might this... office be located?" she inquired, her voice tinged with curiosity.
"Just down the corridor, the first door on your right," Yarine responded promptly.
Without sparing any further attention to Yarine, Mila began to navigate her way toward the door. Yarine instinctively extended her hand, a gesture-driven by the desire to assist, yet she swiftly withdrew it. Mila's tenacity, evident even in her current state, made Yarine realize that intervening would only undermine her resolve. Mila was forging ahead with all she had, and any interference might mar the sincerity of her efforts.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
image [https://i.imgur.com/7fgH3qs.png]
Within the confines of her office, Lady Grismala occupied her seat, flanked by two rectangular windows that provided a view of the gardens below. Despite the streaming sunlight, her desk stood as a boundary between the beams, casting her in a partial shadow that accentuated both her sides. Positioned thus, her desk faced the entrance, poised for the person she awaited.
Amid her perusal of documents, Grismala's attention shifted at the sound of approaching footsteps. Swiftly, she concealed a specific document within a drawer, her actions marked by a subtle anticipation.
Mila entered the room, her legs quivering slightly as she grasped the door for support, her gaze fixated upon Grismala.
"Please, take a seat."
"Witch..." Mila muttered under her breath as she approached the designated chair, her voice barely audible.
Sinking into the seat, Mila's gaze remained locked on Grismala, who leaned slightly on her desk, her unwavering eyes trained upon Mila's figure.
"Tell me, are you feeling well? Priestess Yarine tended to your injuries... But your emotional state is a different matter."
"What do you want from me?"
"Quite direct, I see."
Grismala reclined, her tone casual. "It appears you've recuperated nicely... That's a relief."
"Just who are you? What's the purpose behind all of this?"
Grismala's lips curved, her words laced with a subtly venomous quality, yet strangely effective. Mila's retort remained unspoken.
"I was once a close friend of your mother's..."
"A friend?"
"Indeed. We shared a deep bond in the past. Your mother was an extraordinarily talented magic caster, her power surpassing even my own. A radiant and gifted woman. Those amethyst eyes of yours mirror her allure. However, your temper seems to be a distinctive trait of your own."
Grismala lets out a faint chuckle as she smiles at Mila.
"A magic caster? My mother was a witch?"
"Not a witch."
"How can one be a magic caster but not a witch?"
"It seems you lack clarity on the matter. Allow me to explain. The term 'witch' pertains to individuals who have invoked spells from the infernal scripture. Your mother never engaged in such practices throughout her life, and out of respect for her, I refer to her as a mage."
"The infernal scripture... Black magic..."
"So, you're familiar with spells from the infernal scripture."
Mila's realization struck her like a cold wave, a stark truth she had not fully comprehended until now. Grismala, however, met her reaction with a smile, seemingly unperturbed by Mila's internal turmoil.
"Yes, I've cast spells from the infernal scripture."
A gulp betrayed Mila's apprehension, her knowledge of the infernal scripture's significance still incomplete.
"Your release was orchestrated as a tribute to your remarkable mother. In her memory, I believe her legacy shall live on through you."
"Thank you, but—"
"Before you interject, let me finish," Grismala asserted with an unyielding tone.
With Mila's attention firmly in her grasp, Grismala rose from her desk, striding towards the window with her hands folded behind her back.
"Your liberation was not devoid of terms. I secured your freedom due to a vow I made to your mother. However, I will not stand idly by and witness you squander this chance."
"What chance?"
"The opportunity for retribution, of course."
"Revenge? Against whom?"
"Arbious, naturally."
Revenge against... him...?
While her gaze surveyed the gardens below, Grismala continued to speak. "Our intelligence indicates the emergence of a new adversary, a faction of fanatics or perhaps more aptly described as madmen. Humans driven to deranged extremes, pledging their allegiance to Arbious."
"Why would anyone in their right mind do that?"
With a swift turn, Grismala's eyes bore into Mila's, sharp as honed blades.
"Do madmen need reason to serve evil?"
An unsettled feeling took root within Mila. "No, you're right."
"If they were merely ordinary humans, I wouldn't burden you with this task. But alas, they are not. We face a cult of considerable scale, led by several individuals, each as unhinged as the next, and all of them eager to spread chaos in the name of their lord."
So they are... I can't believe I'm comparing her to them... But they are much like the church of Michael.
"King Julius, the ruler of this nation, deemed you worthy of joining the holy knights. I believe, this will be an excellent opportunity to hone your skills."
The holy knights... They were the same people who killed my mother... If I can join it perhaps, I can find the truth of what happened.
"The holy knights...
"Mila... I hope you realize there is no room for negotiations. You WILL join them. That is your only option. I have already made arrangements for your smooth transfer into their order."
Grismala opens her desk drawer, reaching in to take out a peice of paper.
"This is the official edict of the King himself. It will place you as a lieutenant of the Holy Knights."
A what?!
"A... A LIEUTENANT?"
The nervous sound escapes in a loud gasp from Mila, the implication of her rank weighing on her.
"You possess power far beyond that of an ordinary holy knight, thanks to your angelic abilities. Assigning you as a mere soldier would be a waste of your potential. Instead, you'll command your own regiment, with the option to request additional troops should the need arise."
"WAIT... hold on a second! I'm not qualified to lead anything!"
"Skills can be acquired, and you will adapt. I believe this course of action is in your best interest."
"In what way is it..."
"If you want Graybeard to continue living, you will follow my instructions."
Rage surged through Mila's veins as she retorted, "Where is Graybeard? What have you done to him?"
"He currently resides on the outskirts of Octavia. Safe and unharmed, but the very villages in that area are the primary targets of those fanatics we discussed."
"Then I will shield them! With every ounce of my strength!"
Mila surged from her seat, striding forcefully towards the door.
"Should you depart now, I can assure you their deaths, including Graybeard's, are inevitable. Is that a risk you're willing to take?"
"Then what can I do to save them?"
"Take this edict and journey to the capital. The king will meet with you, and upon approval, you will be officially inducted into the ranks of the holy knights."
"Fine then."
Mila reached for the document, securing it in her grasp as her eyes swept over its contents. It essentially reiterated Grismala's explanation.
"Do we truly have the luxury of time for all this?"
"You have no alternative."
With a revitalized determination, Mila advanced towards the door. The vulnerability that had enveloped her upon entering had receded, replaced by a fiery determination fueled by her unwavering commitment to Graybeard's protection.
Exiting the room, Mila seemed to carry a newfound radiance. For reasons not quite clear, the room fell into darkness and silence. She had brought a kind of light with her, even though her disposition wasn't conventionally bright. As she departed, the room embraced the shadows once more, leaving Grismala behind in its obscurity.
"If Lady Gray's assessment of her is accurate, there may still be hope for victory... Yet, how can Mila stand against Arbious? The sheer difference of power between them is immense; he's a being even feared by the Gods. How can a half-angel confront him?"
"Ugh... This responsibility keeps escalating... Gray is truly testing my limits with all of this... But I am curious... Will HER daughter truly meet my expectations? Only time will reveal the answer."