With a suspicious and odd smile and a rapid glint in her eyes, her hands trembled to pick up her possession. It was the former possession of her young masters. But it was hers now. She ‘earned’ it.

It was a worn out blanket. The yellow color of the childhood blanket wore away to a pale tan color but the maid held it in her arms like it was a precious jewel. Stroking it gently, the peculiar maid trembled with fervor.

“It’s so soft…the young master was so adorable and still so cute!”

She rubbed her face all over the towel with a look of absolute bliss.

“H-how c-can he be so wonderfully dishonest?! He cl-clearly wanted to be k-kind but it's too adorable when he messes up!”

Squealing a little, she hopped onto her bed and rolled around in pure happiness. Within the opened closet there was a broken wooden training sword, preserved marigolds, baubles of all sizes and shapes, and an angry gash of red paint across an empty canvas. It was a shrine dedicated to the little young master. From the time he was young, until now. Every recollection of his past was carefully collected into a box in Corvina’s room. Well, just little enough to avoid suspicion that something was missing.

“Amazing…brilliant. Lovely! I-I want to keep him in my p-pocket…”

Huffing a little, she breathed in the towel which had once had the young master’s scent. Despite his smell largely fading away, she still grappled for any trace left.

“Ash…Ash, Ash Ash!”

There was a look of satisfaction that was unbeknownst to anyone else besides Corvina herself. Her perfect reserved image that she had utilized to survive had made itself useful to hide her secret admiration for her master.

“Ah… how sinful…”

Corvina wouldn’t be able to stop. She couldn't control the burst of excitement whenever she saw him. His vibrant eyes, his shy demeanor, his blushing cheeks, everything, everything about him…

Yet she didn’t want to trouble him with her overbearing affection. It was embarrassing to herself, as someone who was mostly reserved.

Well only slightly. There were more things that caused her shame, as a weak bystander.

In order to ‘survive’ she long forgot to cling to anything but life. But the face of her mother, Quinn…her father, Jack when they found her all those years ago…

A little indulgence was fine. It was exactly why she had to work harder. To assure she could live a long and wealthy life.

“Reid.”

With a gentle shout a raven flocked to her window. After sitting up, it perched onto her left arm.

“Good boy.”

“Squawk!”

Cooing a little, the bird nuzzled its beak against her face.

“For Lazuli. She’ll be sure to keep around baubles to your liking.”

With a gentle whisper, she petted Reid on his back. It had been a long journey for him, but there was no time to dally.

Corvina slipped a little note out of her pocket and tied it onto the bird's leg. She walked towards the window with a sigh. The wind fluttered her long sleeves in the wind as she launched the raven into the air. With the brush of soft, well maintained feathers against her hand, the bird shot for the skies.

“Sqeeee!”

Corvina would be sure to miss him. His siblings were all busy too, so Reid would be lonely…she needed to spoil him rotten when he came back.

She watched until Reid was just a faint mark in the sky and listlessly stared at the vast blue sky. The two moons of Salaria were glimmering and watching down on her.

She paused for a second, looking suspiciously at the two white crescents. She didn’t recall that there were two moons.. But wasn’t it always there? Her memory was failing her…

It didn't matter.

With a sigh, she collected her bearings and reflected on her conversation with the Kurton head.

There was too much to plan. Little did she know, the moon would also be the reason her obsessive hobby catches the attention of a certain stepmother. But that would be a story for another time.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

—-----

“Listen to me, brat! This is why you have no friends damn! No wonder all the servants keep a wide berth away from you!”

Ash had an imagery of a man clutching the sides of his head and swaying around in dramatism.

“You think I give a shit?!”

Swinging his sword around, Ash decided he was better off minding his own business and continued to swing the wooden training sword in his hand.

He was in the Kurton training hall now with a sizable distance between him and the other knights in the room.

They ignored him as per usual and Ash was more than satisfied to oblige. Being a familiar presence, he was just surprised nothing overly bothersome had happened although so far although there were a few unpleasant stares.

Ash ignored Jackson as he felt an incoming headache.

“Ash. Ash! Excusez-moi! Oui oui baguette! Twinkle twinkle little star, how I wonder…”

“AHHHH! SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

“If you ignore me for too long, I’ll get lonelyyyyy….”

An imagery of a pouting man popped into his head at once. Ash was utterly disgusted by that bastard but refused to look insane talking to himself.

After thinking through it a little more, Ash realized that Jackson had stopped singing after his silent response.

“Oi bastard, can you hear me?”

“Oh, my dear protagonist! Of course of course!”

It seems that he didn’t need to vocalize his words. That would come in handy, as Ash was not ready to add the title of “crazy” alongside “illegitimate bastard” or “monster”. It didn’t seem like he was able to read his thoughts either judging from the dumbasses earlier takeover of his body.

There was something else Ash was curious about.

“You say bullcrap about being a scriptor, but its more logical to believe there’s two possible methods as to how this fucking mess happened. A borrowed authority or a trace ability. Borrowed authority users acquire their abilities from Scriptors for the jurisdiction of Salaria. Those miracles are unable to be explained by either magic or the Trace abilities of beast specters. The second conjecture is that a Beast Specter with the trace ability of mind manipulation decided to use their skills on me.

I’ll be frank. I find it hard to believe that the Scriptors would interfere with my life, when there is nothing remarkable about a bastard son of a noble. There really is only one reasonable explanation. The most likely reason is that a fucking fucked up son of a bitch decided to use their trace abilities to manipulate my memories and trick me into hearing random ass bull. In other words you're a figment of my imagination some pissy bastard decided to curse me with!”

Ash saw the visage of a shadow humming softly as they rested their fingers around their chin, deep in contemplation.

“What a bizarre deduction. Let’s suppose your hypothesis, that Jackson the self proclaimed scriptor is nothing but a figment of your imagination, is true. Only beast specters have trace specter abilities. The reasoning behind the manipulation would be revenge against the noble son of the Kurton House due to their past of slave trading. Or perhaps a personal grudge against a fourteen year old brat.”

With a dramatic gesturing of a hand, Jackson continued his spiel much to Ash’s annoyance and wariness. Jackson knew too much about him. So much so that he wondered if he had possession over his memories.

“But!–this is where your logic fails. You overestimate a beast specter’s abilities. Do you really think beast specter’s are capable of doing such a thing? The penalty of overusing trace abilities for hours on end from a far off distance isn’t something most people are able to bear.”

“You dismissed borrowed authorities but if you ask me it's highly likely going down your train of logic. After all, priests who are the chosen ones of the Scriptors, are also able to request favors from their gods. Maybe someone requested to get rid of you–but it’s far simpler to just make a brat like you go brain dead right off the bat. With a bam! Dead right there. So you have to concur. My dear protagonist, there’s simply no other explanation as to why we. Will. Be– eternally eachother’s for the meantime. It’s god ordained, simply fate.”

Ash ignored his gloating voice as he continued slashing at the training dummy. The dust went flying all around him but Ash took it as further motivation to slash stronger, to put all his weight into his attacks. It was an excellent outlet for his worries and the burning rage that was sitting down at the pit of his stomach. The constant in his tumultuous state of heightened emotions. The guards whispered behind his back all the meanwhile, but his eyes made contact with a familiar face in the crowd. He was a bit older than the rest of the guardsmen, with tanned skin and pale hair that indicated he was of foreign blood. His exhausted dark blue eyes trained on Ash with wariness and concern.

Not that it mattered to or stopped Ash’s reckless slashing.

“Hmmm…seeing as there is no way you’d believe me, how’s this?

Ash pictured a shadowed visage with a mischievous smile. In a smug tone, Jackson stated,

“I will share knowledge that you do not know. Buried under the Kurton mansion, adjacent to your dear dad’s study room in the rightmost corner of the library is a passageway leading to an attic. I believe what’s in that attic will be of interest to you.”

“Bastard. Stop say–”

“Shush. There’s no harm in checking it out anyhow. After All, the Kurton house is essentially your playground, Ash.”

Ash hesitated with his next swing. The next attack on the dummy came at a much weaker pace, before the young teenager slowed his hand and dropped the weapon to the floor. With a grim look on his face, he made a promise.

“If you’re fucking around, I’ll kill you. Fuck!”

An ominous laugh rang out of Jackson’s lungs as the youthling strode off, with the guardsmen parting for him like Moses and the Red Sea.

Ash walked into the library room with a loud slamming of the door. His patience was wearing thin, but he would wait until later to explode. The cryptic hallucination of a voice told him to haul his ass here. He might as well. Standing at the rightmost corner of the library he pushed the shelf over after much effort. He was rewarded with a barren stone wall.

“Oi fucker!”

Just when he was about to explode, the annoying chirping of an all too familiar voice rang inside like the jarring clock tower at noon and sundown.

“Calm down my mini protagonist. There’s a little tab over there, you see that? Well press it.”

Squinting his eyes, Ash saw the rock that Jackson was talking about much to his surprise and distaste.

“Fucker…surprisingly…”

Muttering under his breath, he pressed on the tab with a heavy hand and waited for something to happen. After a brief pause, he was just about to explode when a grating sound rang out in the library room. The door was beginning to open. What was revealed before him was the staircase passageway Jackson had mentioned earlier. With a grim expression on his face, Ash looked in bewilderment at the fact that his words were true.

“Dammit.”

Gritting his teeth, he walked down the stairs in caution.

He was going to be driven mad from stress. If the stairs really were as he said…what the hell was he to consider the voice ringing in his head?

Before that. He decided to see what remaining surprise was waiting before him. He entered a wide room surrounded by a clutter of stored equipment. It was dark for the most part, besides the sole torch at the farthest edge of the attic.

There was a recent visitor. Although the torch was near its end, the flame had yet been extinguished. There were only a few people he could consider walking into this space. Perhaps it was his father. Or maybe his grandfather, not that he knew much about the elusive figure that stayed within his room more often than not.

No matter. He would ponder it later.

What captured his attention was a veiled portrait in the center of the small room. There was a large velvet drape that ran across a wall.

Ash’s curiosity peaked. He clenched onto the drape and exposed what was hidden underneath.