“Vulnerability… Sometimes, it is merely an illusion, a veil for an unfathomable darkness. Yet even in the deepest dark, one can find something alluring.”

  [ 11th Lumiran 1749 | Eltar | 12:47 | Lenford Estate ]

  The day after the theater, the tension that had hung in the air did not dissipate. It had merely changed its form, condensing until it was almost tangible, like heavy velvet that smothers you in its embrace. When Nova and I entered the sitting room, we were met with a silence—heavy, oppressive, the kind that follows a battle with no victors. The final ember in the hearth lost its structural cohesion, collapsing into itself with a soft hiss. It released a single, elegant ribbon of smoke—a quiet testament to the inevitable victory of cold over heat, of stillness over chaotic energy. The scent of cooling ash mingled with the frost seeping through the window frames, a mixture that smelled of defeat.

  Evelina was not waiting by the window as she usually did, catching the first rays of light. Instead, she was in a deep armchair, sinking into its shadows as if they were her allies. Wrapped in a heavy woolen blanket, she looked like a fragile statue carved from ivory—still, cold, perfect. Her skin was a translucent white in the gloom, her hands resting limply on the armrests. Only the glint of the dying fire dancing in her honey-colored eyes betrayed the storm raging within. It was not the dance of a flame; it was the feverish gleam of a besieged fortress, the last pocket of resistance in a world that had already fallen.

  “Sumerenn is no longer safe,” she said as Nova and I entered. Her voice was level, devoid of emotion, but it carried the weariness of a monarch fighting a losing war. “The rumors about Frederik and his… disappearance… have already spread far beyond the palace. Eriar Greyhant is demanding an investigation. A loud, public one.” Evelina frowned, a thin line creasing her brow. “My mother… she has locked herself in her chambers. She will see no one. We are leaving. Tomorrow, at dawn. We are returning to the Academy.”

  “The most efficient path to de-escalation would be the calculated release of Frederik,” I observed. It was the simplest, cleanest move. The elimination of a variable causing instability.

  Evelina slowly shook her head, her gaze fixed on the fire. “I don’t think so. As long as he is locked away, the kingdom is not threatened by schism.” She turned a cold, measured gaze on me. “We can make everyone believe that Frederik was abducted by minions from the Anix Empire.”

  “But they haven’t made a single demand,” Nova countered, her voice quiet but insistent. “Evelina, I understand your pain, but all of this… it looks terrible.”

  Evelina abruptly threw off the blanket, and it fell to the floor in a heavy wave. She sprang from the chair, her fragility instantly replaced by a fierce, almost predatory energy. “Terrible?!” she cried out, her voice breaking and echoing off the high ceilings in a way I had never heard before. “Do you understand that because of him, the country could be torn to pieces? That thousands of people will die in the flames of a civil war?!”

  “I understand, but…” Nova froze for a second, her hand instinctively clenching into a fist. “But what if things only get worse? What if this provokes them into open action?”

  “Worse?!” Evelina laughed—a short, bitter sound without a trace of mirth. “How could it possibly get worse! They tried to poison me, to kill me within the walls of the Academy! I don’t care if it was Frederik’s order, or Eriar’s, or even that witch Vespera’s! The fact remains! The schism has already begun, and only my ascension to the throne can stop it!”

  “But… maybe there’s a chance to negotiate with Frederik?” Nova tried to argue, though her voice had lost its earlier confidence.

  “Why are you so worried about him?!” Evelina demanded, taking a step toward her. “Shouldn’t you be happy that he will no longer interfere with your relationship with Reina?!”

  Nova flinched as if struck and took a deep breath. “If you had asked me that at the beginning of the school year, I would have answered without question: ‘Yes, I’m happy.’” Nova shot a quick glance in my direction, seeking not support, but a baseline—a logical constant to measure her own chaotic response against “But now I have my own point of view. We are risking too much… risking the entire country… for the sake of your throne.”

  “My decisions are not up for discussion,” Evelina cut her off coldly, her face once again a mask.

  “And what if your mother is poisoned tomorrow? Like your father?” I asked. The question was risky, but necessary. I had to understand the limits of her resolve.

  “Then I will ascend the throne as a bloody queen.” Her answer was quiet, which only made it more sinister. “One way or another, I will not let Valtheim be destroyed. My conscience will be clear.”

  “And if Frederik escapes and raises a rebellion?” I continued, testing the next variable.

  “Then he will never get out,” Evelina retorted, a cold fire flashing in her eyes.

  She was too naive. Too self-assured. She saw only the pieces on the board, oblivious to the player’s hand. Chaotic-Darkness knew everything in advance. Otherwise, there would have been no observers, no Liam, whose course of action had likely been reprogrammed long ago.

  “Very well, I understand. I have no more questions,” I replied, deciding to leave her to her confident recklessness. To interfere now would be to disrupt the natural course of decay.

  Evelina stood like a pillar for a few moments more, her breathing heavy. Then she slowly turned to Nova, and her gaze softened. The fury was gone, leaving behind only a scorched emptiness. “Nova. Today is the eleventh of Lumiran. Your birthday.” Evelina walked over to the writing desk by the window and, opening a drawer, took out a heavy box, carefully wrapped in white paper with a scarlet gift bow.

  Nova raised her eyebrows in astonishment at this abrupt, almost painful change of subject. “Oh... thank you. I didn’t think you’d find the time…” Nova said, her voice joyful and a little dazed. Then, giving in to an impulse, she stepped forward and hugged Evelina.

  Evelina froze for a moment, then coldly, almost mechanically, accepted the embrace and handed her the gift.

  “I haven’t prepared anything tangible, Nova,” I said, breaking the awkward silence. “But I would offer you training with the spear, if you’re interested, of course. I know many effective techniques for wielding that weapon.”

  Nova turned to me, a flicker of surprise mixed with… hope? in her eyes. “You really… want to train me? Just like Catherine, but… with spears?”

  I nodded. “Yes. I think you would find it useful.”

  “Thank you, Arta!” she smiled, and that smile was the first real light in that dark room.

  “Alright, now let’s go to ‘Duchess Amarets’ and celebrate your birthday,” Evelina said, gently freeing herself from Nova’s embrace.

  Nova flinched as if she hadn’t expected such a suggestion. “I think that’s unnecessary…” she protested. “This is hardly the time for celebrations.”

  “It is precisely because it is not the time for celebrations that we must celebrate,” Evelina countered, a note of steel in her voice. “This will be our small act of defiance. Our last quiet evening before the storm.”

  Her decision was not a whim, but a strategy. To show that even on the edge of the abyss, they could still afford a moment of life. To show herself not only as a cruel ruler but also as an understanding cousin. A predator who knows how to wait, but also understands that maintaining an illusion of normalcy is a vital part of the long game.

  The evening arrived as quickly as the conversation ended. Evelina, at Nova’s suggestion, made me wear one of the evening gowns she seemed to have bought specifically for this occasion. Nova was the most delighted of all when I dressed in the blue gown with silver embroidery in the shape of sea waves. She even asked me to spin around a few times. I decided not to refuse the birthday girl and obediently complied with her request. It seemed she got exactly what she wanted.

  Evelina chose a gown the color of old gold, made of heavy silk that fell in severe, almost architectural folds. A high collar emphasized her royal posture, and the only adornment was a small ruby on a thin chain, smoldering like a cold fire at her throat. She moved as if she already carried an invisible crown on her shoulders. Nova, for her part, wore an evening gown of silvery fabric that flowed like liquid moonlight with every movement. It resembled armor—elegant but impenetrable, emphasizing the perfect severity of her lines and the inner steel she was just beginning to discover in herself.

  When we stepped outside, the cold evening air touched our faces like a sobering slap. We silently entered the carriage. Inside, it smelled of leather and wood. Evelina sat across from me, her silhouette frozen by the window. Nova sat next to her, but a space remained between them—a thin but palpable boundary of unspoken words. The carriage set off, and the lights of the palace were left behind, giving way to the shadows of the night city. We rode in silence, each lost in our own thoughts, on what was perhaps the last quiet evening before the storm I could feel in every breath of air.

  『 ?? 』━━━???━━━『 ? 』

  [ 11th Lumiran 1749 | Eltar | 17:48 | Restaurant “Duchess Amarets” ]

  The “Duchess Amarets” restaurant greeted us with a web of muted light from hundreds of candles, the quiet, melancholic melody of a violin, and the aroma of mountain herbs, baked apples, and melted wax. We were led to a private room on the second floor with a panoramic window overlooking the night city of Sumerenn. Behind the glass, a cool spring rain fell slowly and lazily, enveloping the city in a silvery veil. The table was set for three: a snow-white tablecloth, silver cutlery, and crystal glasses that caught and fractured the light into dozens of sparks.

  “Just the three of us,” Evelina said as the waiter brought a bottle of expensive, strong “Aluren Vines” wine. “No prying eyes or ears.”

  She poured the wine herself, her movements as smooth and precise as a priestess performing a ritual. Handing a glass to Nova, her fingers brushed against hers for a moment. The look they exchanged was full of unspoken words—support, anxiety, and a promise to be there for each other. Then Evelina turned to me. Her gaze lingered on my face, a cold calculation in it.

  “Arta, you look too serious today. Even for you. Perhaps you’ll relax a little with us?”

  It was at that moment that I caught it—the subtle, barely perceptible scent that had seeped through the thick window frames. Vanilla, incense, and burnt sugar. Chaotic Light. She was near. Watching my interaction with Nova. She stood invisibly in the far corner, watching our every move. This was not the moment to display perfect control. This was the moment for a flawless performance. I knew that CL saw in me only Artalis Nox—a product of a harsh upbringing, a broken but strong figure, an ideal instrument for her games. And my task was to reinforce that illusion.

  “Why not,” I replied, accepting the glass. My voice sounded a little softer than usual, with a slight hoarseness that could be attributed to simple fatigue.

  Evelina and Nova exchanged a faint, conspiratorial smile. They wanted to see my vulnerability, to loosen my tongue. They didn’t know that I was about to give them exactly what they were waiting for.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “How do you find Sumerenn after the icy expanses of Troysk?” Evelina asked, taking the first, tentative sip. “It must seem too… noisy.”

  “There are too many superfluous lines here,” I replied, allowing the warmth of the wine to spread through my body, relaxing the muscles in my shoulders. “And sounds. In Troysk, silence has weight. Here, one must search for it.” I looked at them; they were listening attentively. “In Troysk, or as it used to be called, ‘Taroyaskarin,’ rough stone, forged metal, the perfect geometry of the streets, and battle towers that rise above the city like titans prevail.”

  “It must be very different. I’ve never been to Troysk, but I promise to remedy that as soon as I ascend the throne,” Evelina replied, attempting a smile.

  Nova, having already drained a third of her glass, joined the conversation more boldly. Her cheeks began to flush.

  “I like this noise. It’s alive. Arta, do you really never miss something… warm? Home?”

  “Home…” I began, “Home is a structure,” I finished, gazing at the candle flame dancing in my glass. “It cannot be warm or cold. Only correct or incorrect.”

  Evelina smiled upon hearing my answer.

  “Your father, General Nox,” Evelina continued, her gaze sharpening. “Even here, his name is known. What is it like to live in the shadow of such a figure?”

  “A shadow is the absence of light,” I blinked slowly, as if focusing my gaze. “It does not crush. It merely defines the boundaries. In any case, I love my father and have never felt like his shadow. He taught me a great deal, and I am grateful to him for that,” I said, more for CL’s benefit than for theirs.

  Soon, the appetizers were served: tartlets with smoked river eel and avocado mousse, venison carpaccio with truffle oil, and cheese croquettes with a berry sauce. The aromas mingled, creating a complex, intoxicating composition. Nova, whose cheeks were already flushed, refilled the glasses again.

  “Since we’re on the topic of things left unsaid…” Evelina picked up, her tone softening, almost becoming ingratiating. “What do you think of Nova? No, not as the heiress of the Cross lineage. Just… as a girl? What was your first impression?”

  I slowly raised my gaze to her, then shifted it to Nova, who was waiting for my answer with a mixture of curiosity and slight embarrassment.

  “First impression?…” I drew out the word, touching the stem of the glass with my finger. “She was… bright. Like a flash of lightning in the night sky. And direct. Like a blade.” My body failed me, and I hiccuped, covering my mouth with my hand. “Very… vertical.” I smiled deliberately. “In any case, our first meeting was at knifepoint, and I’m pleased that we are friends now.”

  Nova raised an eyebrow in surprise. She leaned slightly over the table, her hand almost touching mine.

  “Vertical…” she repeated thoughtfully, trying a tartlet. “And is that… good or bad? Sometimes I feel like I’m more of a weapon than a person. Do you see that too?” Nova looked me straight in the eye, and in her gaze, softened by the wine, was a sincere vulnerability. “And yes, I haven’t apologized for that incident yet… In the dormitory… If I had known what you were like then, I would never have acted that way.”

  I looked at her, my eyes wide like a child who had been asked too difficult a question.

  “That’s… very sweet!” I smiled, giggling slightly, feigning a loosened tongue. “As for your question, any weapon… is beautiful. A perfect line, a perfect purpose.”

  Evelina sipped her wine, watching us with a thin, almost maternal smile. “It seems our wine is working wonders.”

  Nova propped her head on her hand and tilted it in my direction.

  “And if you had a choice, would you become a weapon? Or… a flower?” Nova asked again, her gaze growing more serious.

  “A flower…” I shook my head, “it has too complex a structure. And it dies. A weapon… it simply waits and is always useful.”

  Evelina, who had been silently observing until now, decided to steer the conversation.

  “Artalis, your knowledge of magic, of tactics… it goes far beyond the curriculum. Who was your real teacher?”

  I looked at her, then at Nova, and suddenly burst out laughing.

  “A teacher? I… I had the best teacher! Silence! It… it explains everything. Without words.” I smiled again.

  My answer was the absolute truth, disguised as drunken nonsense. I, Order-Darkness, learned from the very structure of being, where words are merely a distorting, unnecessary noise.

  “Silence?” Nova frowned. She moved even closer, her knee brushing against mine under the table. Accidentally or on purpose—it didn’t matter. “But how can it teach? Don’t you need words, books, mentors?”

  “Words… lie,” I whispered, looking out the window at the silently falling snow. “But silence… it just is. It shows… how everything is arranged. Without mistakes.”

  When the main course arrived—roasted partridge with juniper berries and parsnip puree—Nova drank her second glass faster than the first. I allowed myself only half, feigning a slowed reaction. The atmosphere grew warmer, more intimate.

  “Arta…” she stumbled, suppressing a hiccup, “…are you real?” Nova suddenly asked, moving a little closer. Her shoulder almost touched mine. “Or are you just… a very complex illusion that Evelina created to annoy me?”

  I blinked, as if trying to understand the word, and poked myself in the cheek.

  “Real… I think so. Soft. But inside… hard. Like… like a stone.”

  “And why are you… like that?” Nova continued, her voice becoming quieter, more intimate. She leaned even closer to me, almost whispering. “Like… like a statue. Beautiful, icy… but if you touch it, it’s not cold. Why?”

  I looked at my hands, then at her.

  “Because… there’s a fire inside.” I giggled, masking my lie as drunken nonsense. “It keeps me warm. But it… can’t be let out. Or everything… will burn.”

  Nova raised an eyebrow in surprise, as if trying to peer through my drunken mask. Her gaze slid to my hand, resting motionless on the tabletop. For a moment she hesitated, then her warm palm cautiously covered mine. Evelina, who had been silently observing my every word until now, leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing, fixing on this gesture with an interest as sharp as a needle.

  “And your mother?” Nova’s voice became quieter, more intimate. “You never talk about her. Is she also… like a stone?”

  “Mother… she taught me… boundaries,” I mumbled, not pulling my hand away. My gaze unfocused, as if I were trying to recall something distant. “Where chaos ends and… form begins. She loves straight lines and order, she is very… very smart.”

  Nova nodded slightly, her fingers barely perceptibly tightening on my hand, as if she were trying to grasp not only the words but also what lay behind them.

  “And your sisters? You have sisters, right? Were you close?” Her questions fell like the first snow outside—quietly, but persistently.

  “There are sisters and brothers. As for the sisters… they are different. They have… soft corners. They are… for another world. A world of weddings and balls,” I waved my hand, as if dismissing an insignificant thought.

  Nova frowned slightly, as if the answer didn’t satisfy her, but she didn’t insist, merely continuing her quiet interrogation; it seemed she needed to ask everything that was on her mind.

  “What did you do in childhood when other girls played with dolls?” Nova asked, her eyes full of sincere curiosity.

  “I… I studied.” I awkwardly waved my free hand, nearly knocking over my glass. “A lot, for a long time, and correctly… it was necessary.”

  Nova looked at me sadly. Her thumb began to slowly, almost unconsciously, stroke the back of my hand. The touch was warm, almost comforting.

  “Have you… have you ever cried?” Nova asked again, her voice trembling. “I mean, really cried. With sobbing, and red eyes… the whole mess.”

  I frowned, feigning deep thought, trying to remember.

  “Cried? Well, everyone cries when they’re babies… To get their parents’ attention. But otherwise, no…” I smiled a hazy drunken smile, deliberately tilting my head to the side. “It’s hard to move me… And crying for no reason solves nothing…”

  This was another cosmic truth, served with a sauce of alcoholic absurdity. Balance is the foundation of my existence. Nova watched me with a mixture of pity and admiration. She leaned a little closer, her warm breath touching my cheek.

  “Are you ever lonely, Arta?” she whispered.

  “Lonely… is that when you’re alone?” I looked at her with exaggerated childlike bewilderment. “I… I’m not alone. There are… structures around me. Lines. They are always near.”

  Nova sighed quietly, her fingers tightening again on my hand.

  “But I’m not talking about structures…” Nova continued. “I’m talking about the people around you…”

  “People…” I pretended to think. “People are already around me, you, Catherine… So I don’t have to be lonely…” My tone was light, almost dismissive.

  Nova froze for a moment, as if expecting a different answer, then finished her glass and immediately reached for the bottle. Evelina did not stop her.

  “Tell me honestly…” Nova poured herself more with her free hand, the wine splashing over the rim onto the pristine tablecloth. She didn’t notice or pretended not to. “You… you don’t like Ren at all? Not even a little bit? She’s… she’s like a firework. Loud, yes. But beautiful.”

  Evelina took a sip from her glass, her gaze sliding over me—expectant, appraising.

  “A firework…” My body betrayed me again, and I hiccuped, once again covering my mouth with my hand. “It… it goes out quickly. And what’s left… is smoke.”

  “And Catherine?” Nova wouldn’t let up. Her voice became more serious, more insistent. “You care about her. It’s very obvious. Why?”

  “Catherine…” I smiled a hazy smile. “She’s… straight. She has a beautiful… structure. Like… like a good blade. It must be… protected.”

  Nova leaned even closer, almost touching my shoulder with hers.

  “What are you afraid of, Arta?” her voice became almost a whisper. “What are you truly afraid of?”

  “I’m afraid… of disorder,” I breathed out, as if confessing a terrible secret. “When… the lines get tangled. When everything… falls apart. It’s… not beautiful.”

  Nova silently watched me for several seconds, her drunken gaze unexpectedly piercing.

  “Your father… the general,” Nova almost whispered, her warm breath touching my cheek. “Did he hit you? No, not like that… Did he… ever hug you?”

  “Hug me?” I feigned deep thought, shaking my head so the light strands of the wig fell across my face. “He… he taught me to stand straight. It’s… almost the same thing.”

  It was the perfect phrasing, reflecting the essence of my “mortal” father, Fed Nox—a cold and calculating warrior for whom emotions were a sign of weakness. Nova sighed quietly, her hand on mine tightening slightly, as if in silent sympathy.

  At the end of the dinner, the waiter brought a dessert for Nova—a white chocolate mousse with saffron, decorated with a candied violet. Evelina gestured for him to pour us more wine. The third glass. Nova drank hers almost in one gulp. Her cheeks were burning. So was her courage.

  Evelina set down her glass. Time for the final question. Her eyes, sober and attentive, bored into me.

  “Artalis. What is your true goal in Valtheim? What did you plan to do before I took you into my service? Do you think we are doing the right thing?”

  I looked at her, and for a moment, my drunken gaze became piercing. I saw right through her. Although she believed she was doing everything “right,” her principles generally ended with a stable kingdom, obedient subjects, and secure borders. It was just a small human structure that did not touch upon the global. My “right” began precisely when cosmic equilibrium was observed, when everyone consciously understood that in the real world there is no place for the chaos of emotions and wars. Every day, she saw in me only an instrument. And I saw in her only a temporary fulcrum for correcting a universal anomaly.

  “My… My true goal?” I whispered. “My true goal… is to learn something new and bring a little order to this world. A perfect, beautiful… order.”

  She nodded, satisfied. She had heard what she wanted to hear: the ambitions of a useful ally. She didn’t understand that I had just voiced my divine mission.

  “And what is ‘order’ to you?” she specified, delivering the final, decisive blow. “A perfect state? Or something… more?”

  “Order…” I smiled, closing my eyes. “It’s when… everything is in its place. And doesn’t move. Ever.”

  Nova, now completely drunk, giggled and reached for her glass, but her hand “accidentally” missed. The glass teetered, ready to fall. My hand shot forward—the movement was so fast and precise that it contradicted my state—and caught the glass by the stem a centimeter from the table.

  “Perhaps that’s enough for today,” I said, addressing Nova, copying her caring tone.

  Nova blinked, trying to focus, but the moment was already lost. She just pouted like an offended child.

  “But… but we’re celebrating!”

  The evening ended with me being led out of the restaurant by the arm. Evelina, pale with exhaustion, left us at the carriage, throwing to Nova: “Make sure she gets to her room.” Nova, whose own walk had become unsteady, just nodded. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the “Ice Snake” again; they probably wanted to discuss something important in private, without me and Nova.

  The ride back was a fog of my feigned mumblings and Nova’s quiet, drunken laughter. She led me to my room, almost stumbling inside with me. I allowed her to put me to bed, obediently closing my eyes.

  “There now…” Nova mumbled, covering me with the blanket. She sat on the edge of the bed, her breath heavy with wine. “You’re… you’re funny when you’re drunk, Arta. Not at all… vertical.”

  She sat in silence for a few moments, looking at my “sleeping” face. Her drunken mind seemed to be wrestling with one last, most important question.

  “Can… can I hug you?” she whispered, more to herself than to me. “Just… once. To see if you’re real.”

  Without waiting for an answer, her hand carefully rested on my shoulder. Her body, relaxed from the wine, swayed, and she lay down next to me, right on top of the blanket, burying her face in my hair. Her warmth, the smell of wine, and something elusive, something that belonged only to Nova, enveloped me. A moment later, her breathing became even and deep. She was asleep.

  I slowly opened my eyes. My smile was gone. My body was still under the influence of alcohol, but my mind was as cold and clear as a winter night. The mask had been flawless, but the script had changed slightly.

  The performance was a success. The observer in the shadows got exactly the picture I had painted for her: the picture of a broken but powerful mortal whose coldness was merely a defense mechanism. Evelina was convinced of my manageability. Everything was going according to a meticulously planned script.

  But this… this was not part of the calculation. The warmth of another’s body. The weight of another’s head on my shoulder. Chaos in its purest form. Uncontrolled. Close. Too close. This variable disrupts the equation.

  I am the architect of equilibrium, the one who calculates trajectories and corrects deviations. My strength lies in absolute control. But now, next to me, lay an anomaly that I myself had provoked. I had created an illusion of vulnerability, and that illusion had attracted a real, unpredictable, chaotic intimacy.

  This night promised to be far more interesting than I had anticipated. And, perhaps, far more dangerous. In the perfect architecture of my plan, another crack had appeared. Its name was Nova Cross.