"Year of the Golden Meadow, Sunpetra, Day 11"

"Just as a rautilgalla watches its newborn closely, I am under constant observation. I am a bizarre trinket of desire, power, and status. They all behold me as a prodigy… or a savior, and yet if I fail, I know how they'll treat me. I walk on the edge of a mountain- if I stay on my path, I'll continue rising to the top, but if I fail I fall to nothingness. It's amusing… if I plummet, it'll be their hands dragging me down to hell."

The writer pauses, letting her pale fingers subtly rap against her diary.

"I have been tasked with 'dealing' with Absinthe il Salinger, Heir to Veiler, the cult. This information came from our Nocturna Divinists, only a scant few know about it. Mother mentioned that the methods are up to my discretion.

It's unknown why Headmaster Eon allowed a plague like him to pass the first Examination. An Unorthodox Cultist in Vivil Sanatoria… the idea is so farcical.

"On my name, Seraphina vi Rosenfeld, I will not let filth enter the halls of my mother's alma mater!"

Seraphina holds her pen on the exclamation mark, trying to squeeze out any more words to write.

Her mind gives her nothing else, so she rises from her wooden chair, pushing off of the cushion.

Her heart beats as she feels antsy, desiring to practice despite the moon already high in the night.

She observes the moon casually, and studies its permanent crescent. It's technically a full moon, and yet there's still a large portion left unlit. Legends have it that long ago, in the Celestial War, the right edge of the moon was cleaved off in battle, forever altering the night.

She brushes aside the old fairy tales her maids used to tell her and grabs a sheathed longsword by her window.

Attaching the sheathe to the belts of her long dress coat, she opens the hatches of the window, allowing the evening air inside.

Because it's still the Solar months, the air is a little warmer than what she would prefer, but such is life.

Her icy-blue eyes stare out into the horizon, into the great city of Magdellien. It's been only a week since she arrived in the city, temporarily staying at one of her mother's manors.

Her personal favorite part of her lodgings is the view of Vivil Sanatoria, sitting beautifully on a mountain peak.

She would like to appreciate the view more, but her heart beats faster, beckoning her to leap out the window and into an expansive courtyard of grass and stone pavings. Her platinum-silver hair, with hints of pale-blue, billows like a waterfall of ice as she falls from the windowsill.

With her boots clicking against the ground, Seraphina makes her way to the central stone platform, passing by a statue of her mother. As she approaches the statue, the moonlight casts an eerie glow on her mother's likeness, making Seraphina's eyes narrow slightly.

She can't help but feel a sense of competition, of expectation, weighing upon her shoulders. Seraphina's gaze lingers on the statue, the crescent moon hanging low in the sky like a celestial blade, its silvery light dancing across the courtyard. The air is heavy with the scent of blooming flowers, their delicate petals swaying in the gentle breeze. The sound of crickets and the distant hum of the city provide a soothing background melody.

She reaches out a hand, her slender fingers tracing the contours of her mother's face, the marble cold beneath her touch. As her fingers graze the statue, the sound of her own heartbeat grows louder, synchronizing with the rhythm of the crickets, creating an unsettling cadence that resonates through her very being.

The moon, a silver crescent, casts an otherworldly glow on the statue, imbuing it with an ethereal presence that seems to watch her every move.

The courtyard transforms into a stage, where Seraphina's every action is under scrutiny, and the statue of her mother serves as a reminder of the weight upon her shoulders. As Seraphina's fingers retreat from the statue, the sound of her heartbeat slowly fades, leaving the crickets' gentle chirping to dominate the night air once more.

The moon's silver crescent continues to cast its eerie glow, but Seraphina's attention is drawn to the distant hum of the city, a reminder that beyond the secluded courtyard, the bustling metropolis of Magdellien awaits.

Her gaze drifts toward the mountain peak, where Vivil Sanatoria's layered grandeur rises like a challenge.

Seraphina turns away from the statue and the mountain peak, her gaze settling on the longsword at her side. She unsheathes the weapon, the cold steel gleaming in the moonlight.

Holding the sword with reverence, she strikes a combat pose, her muscles tense as she waits for an invisible opponent.

The courtyard's ambient sounds and the breeze brushing against the grass serve as the perfect stage for her training session.

The air grew thick with anticipation as Seraphina shifted her weight, her eyes narrowing in determination. With a swift, fluid motion, she swung her sword in a resolute arc, slicing through the darkness that enveloped her.

Each strike was precise, powerful, fueled by a deep-rooted desire to prove herself worthy of the legacy she carried. As the night wore on, Seraphina's movements became more confident, her skill evident in the fluidity and grace of her technique.

The moon continued to cast its soft, silver glow upon the courtyard, watching over Seraphina as she danced with her sword, lost in the rhythm of combat. As the final swing of her sword dissipated the last wisps of mist, Seraphina froze, her chest heaving with exertion.

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The sword, now still, seemed to pulsate with a life of its own, its frosty sheen gleaming like a beacon in the moonlit courtyard.

As Seraphina's sword arm relaxed, the tension in her shoulders eased, and the courtyard's nocturnal serenity reasserted itself.

The moon, witness to her solitary dance, cast an argent glow upon her face, accentuating the determined set of her features.

Seraphina's gaze remained locked upon the grand edifice of Vivil Sanatoria, the greatest magical academy in Adaemos. Nestled within the terraced heart of Magdellien, the school loomed monumentally against the starlit sky, its turrets etching intricate silhouettes against the crescent moon.

With a deliberate slowness, she raised her sword, its frosty sheen seemed to shimmer in tandem with the starlight, casting an ethereal glow upon the courtyard's dark, polished stones.

The rasp of steel against leather echoed through the stillness.

With a single, fluid motion, Seraphina assumed a stance, her feet shoulder-width apart, her weight evenly distributed between both legs. The sword, now an extension of her being, seemed to hum with an icy energy, its presence palpable as she began to weave a intricate pattern of intricate, glacial magic.

Shards of frozen mist erupted from the ground, swirling around her in a mesmerizing dance of crystalline beauty. As the crystalline shards pirouetted around Seraphina, their delicate, lace-like patterns reflected the moon's argent glow, casting an otherworldly luminescence upon the courtyard.

The air was heavy with the promise of winter's chill, the misty tendrils curling around her like tendrils of frost. With each delicate motion of her sword, the shards responded in kind, their glacial beauty weaving an intricate fusion of ice, magic, and martial skill.

…

The sound of her breathing was the only audible heartbeat in the stillness, a soft cadence that accented the rhythm of her movements.

The sword, an instrument of her will, guided her as she orchestrated the symphony of frozen mist.

She twists her right elbow, angling the sword directly horizontal to an invisible target.

With her left offhand, the palm is faced outwards as a guide for the blade and any extra offense or defense.

"Frostwarden, Lady Nivalis of the Ice and Cold, I ask for your blessing. Bestow me the power of a blizzard, freezing everything in my path."

The air around Seraphina shivers as the water vapors near her body turn to ice, dropping like hail. She grits her teeth and thrusts her sword forward.

A heartbeat later, massive waves of ice erupt, crashing forward and rising like a tsunami of frost from the tip of her blade.

As the icy waves crested, Seraphina's sword remained poised, its tip still quivering with the residual energy of her invocation.

The frozen mist, now a churning vortex, swirled around her, its crystalline tendrils crackling with an otherworldly intensity. The moon above seemed to pale in comparison to the radiance of her magic, its silvery light refracted through the icy shards like a kaleidoscope of frost and starlight.

With a subtle adjustment of her stance, Seraphina began to shift the focus of her magic. The waves of ice, now a turbulent sea, began to coalesce into a series of glacial pillars, each one towering above the courtyard like a frozen sentinel.

As the last of the glacial pillars solidified, Seraphina lowered her sword, its frosty sheen glistening with a faint, ethereal glow. The courtyard has completely transformed into a tundra under her authority.

The air was heavy with the promise of frost, the shards of frozen mist still swirling around her like a vortex of pale beauty.

With a final, deliberate motion, Seraphina sheathed her sword, ending her dance with a satisfying click.

In the silence that followed, the only sound was the soft crunch of frost beneath her boots as she walked towards a frozen throne risen from the frost.

As she approached the throne, the crystalline structure seemed to shimmer in the moon's silvery light, its delicate facets glinting like a thousand icy eyes. In one swift motion she sits on the throne elegantly, her eyes surveying the frozen courtyard as if it were her realm.

As she settles into the throne, the frozen mist swirling around her begins to calm, its tendrils untangling like delicate fingers. The glacial pillars, now sentinels of her domain, stand vigilant, their crystalline structures reflecting the moon's pale light.

The silence that enveloped the courtyard was a testament to Seraphina's mastery over the elements.

Her sword, now sheathed, seemed to hum with residual energy, as if it too were basking in the aftermath of her majestic display. The frozen throne beneath her, adorned with delicate facets that refracted the moon's light, appeared to be an extension of her own presence, a symbol of her dominance over the winter wonderland she had created.

Seraphina exhales softly, her breath turning to frost.

"My blade and my ice will strike down Absinthe il Salinger!" Seraphina donning a bitter expression and brimming with hatred, declares resolutely.

As the moon casts a silver glow upon the courtyard, Seraphina's figure stands out against the frozen shards of mist that swirl around her. The echoes of her practice fade into the silent night, save for the distant hum of Magdellien's nocturnal life. She watches the horizon, eager for the dawn. Her resolve is unyielding, reflecting the unwavering temperament of the Nivalis goddess herself.