“My dy, we’ve arrived.” The coachman spoke through the tiny window in the front of the carriage as they came to a stop.

  “Thank you.” Scarlette pced the book she was reading down on the seat beside her and raised her gaze just enough to acknowledge him.

  The carriage had arrived before a sprawling but modest manor, nestled away from the city’s noble quarters. Just a few turns off the main avenue. A well-curated garden, stone walls covered in ivy, subtle touches of extravagance. Fitting for the owner of the home, the person Scarlette had come to see. It was exceptionally bnd compared to her family’s estate, but she found it admirable. Homely. Opulent shows of wealth were never a pastime of hers after all.

  She stepped out and looked around. An aged butler was waiting for her just outside the carriage door. “The Mistress has instructed me to bring you directly to her boratory.”

  “Very well,” Scarlette said. She began the ascent up the steps. “Lead the way.”

  She followed the butler, passing beneath rays of sunlight pouring in from the massive arched windows that lined the halls. Light refracted off the polished marble floors, illuminating the numerous pieces of art and tapestries.

  The manor was intentional outside and in. Not nearly enough to be impressive, yet just enough to be a reminder. The owners of the house clearly understood appearances.

  It wouldn’t fool Scarlette. She knew very well what type of woman the mistress really was.

  The butler brought her before a forbidding set of iron doors, far removed from the grandeur of the main corridors.

  “Here we are,” he said, pcing a hand on the handle. “The Mistress will see you inside.” He opened the door and gestured for her to enter.

  The contrast of the elegant home to the room beyond those doors was... unpleasant.

  Specks of dust drifted about. Bookshelves lined the walls, with books shoved in wherever they fit. Tools, medical devices, and random objects littered the pce—most of them repurposed as paperweights pinning down the countless piles of parchment. Everything was unorganized.

  Scarlette’s nose tickled as a sneeze threatened to escape her.

  At the center of the colossal mess was a woman, hunched over a table, with her spectacles barely clinging to the edge of her nose. She was furiously scribbling across a page with one hand, while the other still held a crumpled-up ball of notes she’d seemingly already discarded. Her hair, which might have once been neatly kept, was now hanging down past her face as her bun came loose.

  “Ahem,” Scarlette gently cleared her throat to get the woman’s attention. “Lady Bliss...” Scarlette stood in the center of the room waiting for a reply.

  It never came.

  When she still didn’t look up after an uncomfortable minute of waiting, Scarlette decided to shout from across the room. “Maribelle!”

  Maribelle quickly looked up, too quickly, accidentally flicking her gsses off her face.

  “Huh?” She squinted, trying to focus. Then her eyes widened in recognition. “Oh. Lady Zahrasia,” she said as she fumbled around the table in search of her gsses. “Didn’t see you come in. Please—take a seat. I’m almost finished. One second.”

  Scarlette scanned the area for the seat Maribelle was referring to. Off in the corner was a set of furniture that looked like no one had sat on it in at least a decade.

  She approached it, grabbing a stray coat off the chair and wiping it down before she sat. The cushion was softer than she’d expected, sinking beneath her as she sat. She crossed her legs, ced her fingers in her p, and waited.

  Maribelle eventually managed to locate her missing gsses and quickly finished the notes that had all of her attention. The quill clinked as it dropped into an inkstand.

  Maribelle stretched, turned, crossed the room, and flopped down onto the couch beside Scarlette with a vocal sigh.

  “Ahhh. My apologies. They’ve been burying me in work ever since I got back.” She waved a hand vaguely toward the chaos throughout the b. “Would you like something to drink?”

  Scarlette was immediately reminded of what it was about Maribelle that had always managed to get on her nerves. The woman had no sense of tact. She did whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted, with no regard for the people around her.

  Why, of all the avaible pces, did she choose to sit right beside me?! There’s an open chair right across from me! She thought as her cheeks grew warm.

  Scarlette awkwardly scooted away from Maribelle before calming down and answering. “...Juice, please.”

  Her intentions were to answer with confidence, but she ended up sounding meek and unassertive.

  Maribelle’s demeanor lit up anyway. “Perfect! You’re in luck.” She pushed herself back to her feet with renewed energy. “We restocked our juice supply just yesterday. My niece has been draining it dry.” She beamed as she spoke. “She’s got an insatiable sweet tooth, just like you. Actually... you both have quite a lot in common, now that I think about it.”

  Scarlette lowered her gaze, biting her upper lip in mild embarrassment. Me. Countess Scarlette Zahrasia. A forty-six-year-old Fre stage archmage, requesting juice, and being compared to a child. Incredibly embarrassing.

  Still—she didn’t retract the request. Maribelle had a special way of disarming her every time they met. She had no expnation as to why it happened, but it always happened.

  “The niece that caused you to abandon all your work at Hytul?” Scarlette asked.

  “The very same! Anyway, I’ll have them bring it in. Just a moment.” She walked over to the door, cracked it open, and quietly sent the request to the person outside.

  Scarlette leaned against the backrest, giving the cluttered room another scan.

  Maribelle returned and, without hesitation, dropped back down onto the couch beside her again.

  Scarlette scooted over. Again.

  “Alright,” Maribelle settled in comfortably. “What did you actually come here to nag me about, Scarlette?”

  Scarlette’s fingers tightened in her p. “I came for an expnation.”

  Maribelle looked at her, confused. “An expnation for what?”

  “You know exactly what happened at Hytul after you left. You were the one who ordered the investigation into the Bck Pools. You were the one who concluded the Pureborn were the source of the mimic threat.”

  “Yes,” Maribelle replied. “I’m aware.”

  “Then expin it,” Scarlette said. “Because what we encountered—what killed Hadrun—was not a mimic. Not anything we’ve catalogued. Not anything we were prepared for.” She sighed and took a few breaths. “...Did you read the full reports?”

  “Yes, I did. That Captain Rian has sharp eyes. I’m gd he survived long enough to make good use of them.”

  Scarlette bounced in her seat, turning her body to face Maribelle. “Then answer the question. Please.”

  Maribelle leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees. “Up until recently, we believed the Pureborn were little more than malformed corrupted,” she said. “Weak. Directionless. Barely a threat. Slimes that eventually grew to mimic, nothing more.”

  “Yes,” Scarlette said. “That’s what we taught our soldiers.”

  “And that assumption was wrong,” Maribelle continued.

  Scarlette scowled and lowered her gaze.

  “The Pureborn aren’t mimics,” Maribelle said. “Mimicry is only one expression of their growth. What they’re actually doing is adapting. No... maybe evolving is a better word.”

  Scarlette couldn’t help but chuckle at the nonsensical situation before taking a deep breath. “Yes... But, evolving into what?”

  “Into whatever they perceive as strong,” Maribelle said. “Whatever combination of predators they happen to devour.”

  Scarlette dragged a hand through her hair. “The two that killed Hadrun—”

  “Were most likely not finished forms,” Maribelle said. “They are the confirmation we needed to conclude that Pureborns are alive and they are changing. Rapidly.”

  “So not only do we have to deal with the corrupted energy infecting every being, living and dead, and turning them into walking corpses. But you’re telling me those fucking slimes grow into that?! Fucking Chimeras...? We wrote them off. How do we even handle this?”

  The room went silent as they both mulled over the new implication.

  “That’s not all. From what I read,” Maribelle went on, “The two Pureborn you saw showed something the rest of the corruption cks. Pattern retention. Decision-making. Intent.”

  “...Intelligence,” Scarlette whispered. “If these two were truly thinking... that would make them the first confirmed cases.”

  Maribelle nodded.

  “That’s why they fought together,” Scarlette muttered under her breath. “That’s why they adapted mid-combat.”

  “Yes,” Maribelle said. “And that’s why treating them like the mindless corpses we’re familiar with will get more people killed.”

  “But what about the horde?” Scarlette pressed. “How did it grow that rge so quickly—right under our noses? Some of the Pureborn are smart. Fine. But that doesn’t expin how that entire horde seemed so... organized.”

  “I don’t have any answers for you.” She locked eyes with Scarlette, her expression sober. “The momentary peace we’d managed to cw ourselves into might have just ended.”

  “Bu—”

  BOOM.

  The iron doors behind them flew open, and a white-haired blur burst through.

  “BIG SIS MARI! Mama sent me over to py again!”

  A girl stood in the doorway with one arm held out, frozen mid-step as her brain registered the scene before her. Her eyes flicked from Maribelle, then slowly to Scarlette.

  “Oh...” Her arm dropped. “Oops. Sorry! I’ll come back ter!”

  “No need, dear,” Maribelle said immediately, already shifting to make space. “Come. Sit with us,” she said while patting the spot beside her.

  “Okay!”

  The girl skipped across the room and plopped herself down beside Maribelle, curling in and casually wrapping her arms around the woman’s waist. She leaned in closer and used Maribelle’s p as her personal pillow, cheek pressed against her stomach. Both of them looked completely at ease with no regard for Scarlette, who was seated next to them.

  The couch—which had already felt uncomfortably compact—was now narrowed further by an extra person.

  A child. A very rge child. Close enough that Scarlette could feel the warmth radiating off her. And Maribelle had just... folded her into the conversation. Into the already tight space. Into everything.

  Scarlette went rigid, wishing the juice had arrived earlier so she had something, anything, to occupy her hands.

  She considered standing, retreating to the chair across from them, but she perished the thought halfway through. She could already imagine the question. Why? And she had no answer that wouldn’t sound rude or ridiculous.

  Maribelle rested a hand on the girl’s head and absently ruffled her hair. “Scarlette,” she said, the urgency in her voice evaporated. “This is my niece, Luna.”

  The girl tilted her head back, peering up at Scarlette with open curiosity, still draped across Maribelle’s p. Bright violet eyes. Unkempt, stark white hair.

  “...Luna?” she repeated slowly.

  Her stomach sank as recognition settled in. The name. The hair. The eyes. The age. The ludicrous stories that had spread through the Alliance Headquarters.

  This girl fit them perfectly.

  “Is that not,” Scarlette asked, still reeling, “the name of the standout cadet from the Apex Bde Summit?”

  “Yeah!” the girl chirped immediately. “That’s me!”

  “You?”

  “Me!”

  She turned slowly to Maribelle, disbelief flooding into her voice. “Lady Bliss... this is your niece?”

  Maribelle chuckled in amusement, patting the girl’s cheek. “She’s cute, isn’t she?”

  “Well—” Scarlette began, then stopped herself. Her carefully assembled composure wavered, scrambling to reassert itself before her image was ruined. Cute was not the word she’d describe the young girl as. She’d only observed her for a minute, yet somehow the word Arming was the only thing that came to mind.

  She was just about to come up with something more fttering, but before she could, a soft knock sounded at the door.

  It opened, and a maid entered, pushing a small cart den with a gss pitcher, cups, and an excessive assortment of sweets. The maid’s eyes lit up the moment she spotted the girl.

  “Oh! So it is true—you’re here again today,” the maid brightly beamed from the doorway. She maneuvered the cart inside with swift movements. “They told me you’d arrived, Lady Luna, so I brought extras. Just in case.”

  Luna jumped off Maribelle’s p.

  “For me?” she asked, already hovering over the cart.

  The maid smiled at her. “Of course. All your favorites.”

  “Yay!” Luna crowded the maid, nearly clipping the stack of napkins as she bounced on her heels. “You’re the best!”

  Scarlette watched the exchange, stunned.

  This... this is the girl? The Alliance’s hopeful hero. The anomaly. Maribelle’s niece. Half the continent is whispering her name, and here she is excited about pastries. And they say she’s only sixteen or seventeen, maybe even that was an overestimation? But she’s already taller than the average male soldier. Has this research-crazed woman snuck something into her food?

  Scarlette fidgeted with her knuckles in her p.

  The maid finished setting the small table in front of them, only managing to get a single step back before Luna lunged forward and snatched a cookie with each hand.

  “Sho—mmf—who’re you, ny-way?” Luna asked with stuffed cheeks, dropping crumbs onto her coat.

  “Luna dear,” Maribelle said. Her voice was too gentle for an attempt at discipline. “Finish chewing. That’s very rude. The Countess is an important woman, so mind your manners.”

  You’re one to talk. Scarlette internally scoffed.

  “Shorry,” Luna replied while still chewing and making absolutely no attempt to slow down.

  Scarlette cleared her throat. “Ahem. I am Countess Scarlette Zahrasia.”

  “Oh.” Luna struggled to swallow the mass of food in her mouth. “...I’m Luna.”

  Scarlette stared at her. That was it? No pause. No awe. Just a common introduction.

  The young girl heard her name. Her title. And still her response was so... curt? As if the entire exchange was a social chore with no future importance whatsoever.

  Scarlette reached out for the gss of juice pced before her and chugged it, savoring the cool, sweet fvor of grapes. The sensation was just enough to stop her from visibly reacting to the frustrating predicament she’d found herself trapped in.

  It barely worked. She could already feel the wrinkles forming on her face.

  She set the cup down, unintentionally pcing it with far more force than necessary. She straightened, gathering herself to stand.

  This is absurd. Completely absurd. I have meetings to attend. Reports to review. A professional image to maintain—

  “Scarlette,” Maribelle cut into her spiraling thoughts. “How about giving her a demonstration?”

  Scarlette paused in an awkward bent position, halfway standing, and caught between escape and dignity. “A demonstration?”

  Maribelle smiled, hollow eyes somehow glinting beneath her gsses. “Well, Luna is very interested in Magic. And I can’t think of anyone more suitable than Archmage Scarlette Zahrasia to show her what... proper spellwork looks like.”

  Scarlette slowly straightened herself. “Hmph.” She folded her arms beneath her chest and turned her nose up. “I suppose there’s no harm in showing a promising cadet some... fundamentals.”

  Maribelle’s tired face brightened immediately. She cpped her hands together, pleased. “Wonderful. Thank you, Scarlette.”

  And Luna.

  She was too busy sitting sideways on the couch, feet tucked beneath her and a mess of crumbs in her p. She was hoarding the entire juice pitcher, drinking from it directly with both hands, only stopping long enough to shove more pastries into her mouth.

  “Sweetheart,” Maribelle reached over and tried to take the gss from her hands. “Don’t drink straight from the—”

  Too te.