Mira's bedroom window on the third floor of Ashart Mansion was tightly locked. That was standard procedure. Henesa had placed a level four Ward security spell on every ventilation gap to ensure her new child wouldn’t escape or be kidnapped.

  But to someone who understood the structure of the Intians, it was just an ordinary lock.

  Mira was sitting at her study desk, staring blankly at a thick book titled "Royal Dinner Etiquette: Volume 7," when she heard the knocking sound. Not at the door. At the window glass.

  Two knocks. Mira didn’t turn around. She flipped the page of the book roughly, pretending to be very interested in the diagram of the salad fork placement. This was really very different from etiquette as a noble in the south.

  Three knocks. The knocking grew louder and more impatient.

  Mira let out a long sigh, slammed her book shut with a loud thud, and then stomped toward the window. She unlocked the latch and pushed the window open.

  The cold night wind rushed in immediately, carrying the scent of wet leaves and... a man crouched in the window frame, smiling unabashedly.

  "Two days," Mira said flatly. She didn’t step back to give way. She let Kars stay crouched there like a lost handsome monkey.

  "Beautiful night, isn’t it?" Kars replied, ignoring Mira’s cold tone. He jumped into the room, landing silently on the thick carpet. His clothes—a long black coat with a high collar—were slightly damp from the night dew.

  "Two days, Kars," Mira repeated, this time with her arms crossed over her chest. "You left me in a dragon's cage named Veinara, then disappeared. I thought you had died choking on fish bones at the harbor."

  Kars chuckled softly. He strolled over to Mira's study table, picked up the ethics book, and winced at its contents.

  "I didn't disappear, princess. I... was observing from afar. And taking care of some boring matters."

  Kars put the book back, then looked at Mira.

  "Besides, you don't seem like someone in need of help. I heard there's a Fire element student who now has a fear of sewing threads because of you."

  Mira snorted, turning her face away. She was still upset. Not because she was afraid to be alone, but because she felt abandoned without guidance in this unfamiliar world. In the forest, wolves don’t leave their young when hunting season begins.

  "Change your clothes," Kars suddenly ordered.

  "Huh?"

  "Wear something warm. And not something that looks like that expensive clown uniform," Kars pointed to Mira’s school blazer. "Autumn is dying out there. The north wind is starting to blow. We’re going for a walk."

  "I have History homework," Mira refused, though her eyes glanced at her old leather jacket hanging in the corner of the closet.

  "History is written by the victors," said Kars, walking back to the window and sitting in its frame, one leg swinging in the empty air outside. "And the victors are usually the ones who know when to stop learning and start enjoying life. Come on. Before Henesa realizes I broke into her Ward and turned me into a frog."

  Mira stared at Kars, then at her boring ethics book. The choice didn’t even take a second.

  ***

  Everiven at night is a different creature from Everiven during the day.

  If the day is about trade, the clamor of merchants, and the dust of horse-drawn carriages, then the night is about shadows, gas lamps, and the vapor of breath.

  Mira and Kars walked along the banks of the Sarpant River. The cobblestone streets were slippery from the drizzle earlier in the afternoon. Crystal-powered street lamps cast a warm yellow light that reflected in the puddles, creating the illusion that the streets were made of molten gold.

  Mira wore a thick gray wool coat that she had borrowed from the 'civilian clothes' closet provided by Henesa, paired with a knitted scarf that covered half of her face. Her nose was red from the cold. Winter had not fully arrived yet, but she had already sent out her invitations through the bone-chilling wind. Fallen tree leaves spiraled on the sidewalk, rustling with a dry sound.

  "You're still frowning," Kars commented without looking at her. He walked with both hands in the pockets of his long coat, his steps relaxed yet quick.

  "I'm not frowning," Mira muttered behind her scarf. "My mouth is frozen."

  "You are frowning. Your left eyebrow is two millimeters lower than usual. That's a sign you want to hit someone but don't dare."

  Kars stopped in front of a street vendor's cart that was releasing a sweet steam. An old man was roasting chestnuts on a large iron pan heated with small charcoal pieces.

  "Two packs, Old Man," said Kars, tossing two Kluppe coins.

  That man handed a warm brown paper bag to Mira. Mira accepted it. The heat from the bag spread through her gloves, giving her an instant sense of comfort.

  "Eat," said Kars, starting to peel the charred shells off the nuts.

  Mira opened the hard shells. Inside, the nuts were soft and sweet. She chewed while gazing across the river. There, the Golden Palace—the royal family’s residence—was still brightly lit, contrasting with the deep purple night sky.

  "So," Kars broke the silence again. "Tell me. What's it like to be Rhea Ashart? Have you learned how to drink tea with your pinky raised?"

  Mira swallowed her nut. "Terrible. Everything feels fake. Their smiles are fake. Their compliments are fake. Even the food tastes fake because it's too perfect."

  "That's politics, princess. The art of lying with a smile."

  "I dueled Lysandra," Mira said suddenly.

  "I know. The news reached my ears even before I entered the city. 'Princess Ashart Slaughters the Heir of Eriallve with a Sewing Thread.' Dramatic headline."

  "I didn't slaughter her," Mira defended herself. "I just... gave her an anatomy lesson. A little scratch on the neck."

  Kars laughed. The vapor of his breath swirled white in the air. "Good. You established dominance. In a school like that, you either eat or get eaten. But..." Kars looked at Mira seriously. "...you used Glass. Dalt said you only have 60 seconds. You took a risk."

  "That’s the fastest way," Mira replied. "And I don’t have time to play around with fireballs."

  They kept walking, passing a quiet arched stone bridge. Beneath them, the black river flowed swiftly, carrying trash and dead leaves to the sea.

  "And you chose Laich Klippenberg," Kars said. His tone wasn’t a question, but a statement of fact.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Mira turned. "You know him?"

  "Who doesn’t know Laich?" Kars said with a crooked smile, gazing at the moon veiled by thin clouds. "The only Grandmaster who refused a position on the Magic Council because the 'meetings are too early.' He’s a genius, Mira. But he’s broken. Just like you."

  "Broken?"

  "He sees the world differently. Others see walls, Laich sees a canvas. Others see war; Laich sees a color composition. You picked the right mentor. Arithmos would bore you to death, and Lylia would drive you crazy with poetry."

  Mira felt relieved. Part of her had feared Kars would be angry at her for choosing the 'Art' major, which was considered trivial.

  "He’s weird," Mira said. "He made me draw hunger."

  "And what did you draw?"

  "I didn’t draw. I went to lunch."

  Kars laughed heartily. The uncontrolled, loud laughter made a few passersby turn around in surprise. "For Star's sake, Laich must like you. That's the most honest answer he's ever given in ten years."

  "I thought you were going to be my mentor?"

  "Plans change. I can't go to the academy. I have to take care of something else."

  "What is it?"

  "You'll find out later."

  They arrived at a quiet city park. The park benches were already covered with a thin layer of ice. The bare trees stood like skeletal fingers reaching for the sky. The atmosphere was melancholic. The changing seasons always brought a strange sense of loneliness.

  Mira sat on the backrest of one of the benches (not on the seat because it was wet) while eating her last nut.

  "You know," Mira said softly, staring at the tip of her shoes, "I... have been imitating you."

  "Imitating me? How? My handsomeness?" Kars raised an eyebrow.

  "No. Your attitude," Mira snorted. "At the academy, I didn’t know how to behave as a northern noble. Henesa told me to be confident, but I don’t have that kind of confidence. So... I pretended to be you."

  Kars leaned against a lamppost, intrigued. "Oh? Go on."

  Mira straightened her back. She changed her facial expression. Her amber eyes became drowsy, half-closed. Her lips formed a thin line that looked slightly condescending. Her posture became relaxed, lazy, as if gravity didn’t apply to her.

  "I walk like this," Mira said, imitating Kars’ slouchy yet elegant style of walking. She put one hand into her coat pocket, and her other hand made a lazy swiping gesture.

  "Then if someone talks to me," Mira lowered her voice, trying to imitate Kars’ baritone, "I just stare at them for three seconds without saying a word. Let them get confused on their own. Then I say something short that sounds mysteriously cool. Like… 'You’re blocking my light' or 'Your efforts are boring.'"

  Mira switched back to her normal mode and looked at Kars with a mischievous grin. "And it worked. They’re all scared. They think I’m a cold, untouchable genius. When in fact, I’m just copying your ‘cool’ act."

  A moment of silence. Then Kars covered his face with one hand. His shoulders shook. He wasn’t laughing out loud this time. He was laughing silently.

  "Trying to act cool?" Kars asked with his fingers. "You call my majestic Stealix style 'trying to act cool'?"

  "Very much trying to act cool," Mira affirmed. "You always stand where the lighting is good. You always speak in riddles, even though the answers are simple. And you love wearing a flowing cloak even when there’s no wind."

  "That’s called aesthetics, Southern Kid," Kars protested, but he smiled broadly. There was a trace of pride in his eyes. "But... good strategy. If you can’t be yourself, be the person you admire the most."

  Kars stepped closer, ruffling Mira’s neatly arranged hair, making it messy again.

  "That mask is useful, Mira. Wear it to protect yourself. But don’t let that mask stick permanently to your face. In front of them, be the cold Rhea. But in front of me, be the hungry Mira."

  The wind blew stronger. Dry leaves swirled around their feet like small whirlpools. Mira tightened her coat. The chill began to bite. Not just the cold of the weather, but the cold of premonition.

  "Winter will be harsh this year," Kars murmured, staring at the dark northern sky. His smile faded. His face returned to its original 'trying-to-look-cool' expression—cold, vigilant, and sharp.

  "Why?" Mira asked.

  "Because the King Winter Worm you killed... he wasn't the only season guardian. His death disturbed the balance of the Intian in this area. Storms will come faster. And storms always bring bad things from the deep sea."

  Kars looked at the Igniter bracelets on Mira's hands. The bracelets wasn't there; it wasn't active.

  "Your training with Laich will train your mind. But your body... we need to improve that. That bracelet only gives you 60 seconds. You have to make sure that within those 60 seconds, no one is left alive to fight back. And of course, you still have to learn star magic."

  "When do we start training again?" Mira asked. Her eyes lit up. This was what she was waiting for. Not tea and dancing, but sweat and progress.

  "Tomorrow night," Kars promised. "I found a good spot. Under the city gutter. It smells awful, but the acoustics are perfect for the screams of pain."

  "Sounds fun," Mira grinned.

  "Let's go home. Henesa will kill me if you have a cold tomorrow morning."

  They walked back toward the noble district. The city lights began to go out one by one as the night grew late. Shadows stretched long.

  Along the way, Mira gently bumped Kars's shoulder. "Hey, Mr. Know-it-all."

  "Hmm?"

  "Thanks for the peanuts. And... thanks for coming back."

  Kars didn't turn around, but he slid his hand deeper into his pocket, hiding a faint smile. "Don't get sentimental. It ruins your cold reputation."

  "Whatever. So pretentious."

  They disappeared around the street corner, two figures who somehow found a home in each other's quirks, under the slowly freezing sky of Everiven.

  ***

  Mira had just locked her bedroom window again and tossed her wool coat onto the chair when a soft click sounded from the direction of the front door.

  Mira's heart leapt. She froze. The smell of roasted nuts and river breeze still clung strongly to her hair and clothes. If it were the servant, she could make an excuse. But if it was...

  The door opened. Not with an angry slam, but with silent caution.

  Henesa stood in the doorway. She wasn’t wearing her stiff Headmistress robe. Tonight, she was simply a tired mother, wrapped in a long silver silk nightgown with a knitted shawl over her shoulders. Her black hair cascaded freely, making her look much younger and more fragile than the iron woman who had led thousands of students earlier that day.

  Henesa's eyes immediately fell on Mira, who was standing stiffly in the middle of the room, then shifted to the window, whose glass was still slightly fogged, and finally landed on the leftover peanut shells in Mira's coat pocket that were sticking out.

  Mira swallowed, ready to receive a lecture about breaking curfew, failing Ward's spell, or the etiquette of a princess who should not climb walls.

  “You smell like charcoal smoke and river water,” Henesa said softly. She closed the door behind her without a sound.

  “I can explain,” Mira began, her defensive instincts kicking in. “I just needed some fresh air, and Kars—”

  “Your hands are red.”

  Henesa cut her off not with a shout, but with quick steps across the room. She reached for both of Mira's hands, still frozen from the autumn wind. Henesa's touch was warm. Not magically warm, but human-skin warm. She gently rubbed the backs of Mira's hands with her own palms.

  "You're freezing, Rhea. The night wind of Everiven carries damp Intian. It can get into your lungs and make you sick for a week."

  There was no anger in her voice. Only a subtle tremor that Mira recognized as... fear.

  "I'm fine, Henesa. I mean, Headmistress," Mira corrected awkwardly.

  "Henesa," the woman corrected firmly, yet gently. She guided Mira to sit on the edge of the bed. "In this room, working hours are over."

  Henesa sat beside her. She glanced at Mira's face intently, tucking a stray strand of hair from the girl's forehead. Her gaze traced Mira's Amber eyes, as if searching for a crack in the mask she wore.

  "When I saw your Ward inactive earlier..." Henesa took a deep breath, her voice trembling slightly. "For a horrible second, I thought you were gone. Maybe, because the pressure at the academy was too much, and you decided to run away. That you were leaving us."

  Mira fell silent. She looked at Henesa's hand, slightly trembling as it held hers.

  "I didn't run," Mira said softly, squeezing Henesa's hand back. "I just... went for a walk. Ate some peanuts. Saw the city."

  Henesa exhaled in relief, her shoulders sagging. Her perfect noble mask cracked completely, revealing genuine fatigue and affection.

  "Forgive me if I've been too hard on you these past two days," Henesa whispered. She raised her hand, then hesitantly wrapped her arms around Mira's shoulders, pulling that girl into an awkward but warm hug. The scent of lavender and warm milk wafted from her.

  "I just... I don't want to see you crumble out there. The noble world is cruel, Mira. They can smell blood. And I've seen the light in someone's eyes go out because of caste-driven ambition before."

  Mira stiffened for a moment, unused to hugs. But slowly, she rested her head on Henesa's shoulder. It felt... safe. Different from the alert safety she felt with Kars. This was a calm safety, like a ship finally docking.

  She couldn't even remember the last time her mother hugged her. It felt like ten years ago. No, actually, it was eight years ago. Now, for the first time, even if false, Mira could feel a mother's sense of concern.

  "I won't crumble," Mira murmured into her adoptive mother's shoulder. "I've got glass nails now. Remember?"

  Henesa chuckled softly, the vibration felt in Mira's chest. She loosened her hug, then gently patted Mira's cheek.

  "Yes. And you have a wild courage that scares me half to death."

  Henesa stood up, straightening her nightgown. She snapped her fingers, and a glass of warm milk with a little honey appeared on the table.

  "Don't worry, it came from my Dimension Pocket. Original. Drink it. Go to sleep."

  Henesa walked to the door. Before leaving, she looked back once more, a gentle smile on her face.

  "Oh, by the way. Those bracelets of yours already include a dimension pocket, just use it because it’s all yours. Good night, Rhea."

  "Good night... Mom."

  The door closed. Mira stared at the wooden door for a long time. That last word came out just like that, unplanned, without any pretense. And when she drank the warm milk, it tasted sweet. Far sweeter than any roasted nuts.

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