The window latch made a soft clicking sound as Mira closed it again.

  She leaned her back against the cold wall beside the window, letting her body slowly sink until her butt touched the carpeted floor. Her breath still formed thin white vapor in the warm room air.

  Kars's large cloak was still wrapped around her body, heavy and smelling of tobacco, hiding her silk blouse whose back had already turned to ashes. The pain in her back began to throb again as the adrenaline faded.

  "You're late, Rhea."

  The voice did not come from the door. It came from the velvet chair in the corner of the dark room, right next to the fireplace, whose embers had dwindled to a dim red glow.

  Mira flinched. Her hand reflexively searched her waist for the dagger she wasn't carrying. The crystal lamp on the nightstand slowly illuminated, dimmed to its lowest setting. The soft orange light cast over Henesa Ashart's figure.

  That woman wasn't reading a book. She wasn't drinking tea. She was just sitting there, hands clenched in her lap, eyes fixed on Mira with an intensity that made Mira's knees buckle.

  Henesa rose to her feet. Her long nightgown swept the floor. She didn't scream. She didn't ask, “Where have you been?” She walked straight toward Mira, her steps quick but silent.

  When they were just one meter apart, Henesa wrinkled her nose slightly. “Smell of burning,” she whispered. Her voice trembled. “And ozone. And... blood?”

  Mira tried to step back, pulling Kars’ cloak tighter. "This isn’t my blood. I mean, there’s no blood. Just... a little practice."

  Henesa’s hand reached out, touching Mira’s shoulder, covered by the thick cloak. "Take it off."

  "I’m cold," Mira dodged.

  "Take it off, Rhea. Or I’ll burn it with a snap of my fingers."

  The threat was empty, Mira knew. But Henesa’s tone—a mix of the Headmaster’s command and a mother’s panic—made Mira give in. Slowly, Mira unbuttoned the trench coat. She let the heavy fabric fall to the floor.

  Henesa gasped sharply. That woman covered her own mouth with her hand.

  Mira's back was exposed. Her white silk blouse was burned, with a large hole in the middle, the edges blackened. Beneath the destroyed fabric, Mira's back skin looked dark red, blistered in three spots forming an inverted triangle. Although Kars had given her a first aid potion, the wounds still looked horrifying on Mira's pale skin.

  "For the ancestors..." Henesa's voice broke.

  She did not scold Mira. She did not lecture her about the dangers. Henesa moved behind Mira. Her trembling fingers touched the edge of the wound, very gently, as if afraid Mira would fall apart if pressed.

  "Sit," Henesa commanded. This time her voice was soft, wet with restrained tears. "On the bed. Lie face down."

  Mira complied. She felt like a little child caught playing in the mud, except the mud was solar plasma. She lay face down on her soft bed.

  Henesa disappeared briefly into the bathroom, then came back carrying a basin of warm water, a clean towel, and a jar of jade-green ointment that exuded the scent of mint and aloe vera.

  "This will sting," Henesa whispered.

  The wet towel touched Mira's back. It wiped away the remaining soot and cave dust. Mira hissed softly.

  "Sorry," Henesa whispered again. "Hold still for a moment."

  Henesa began to apply the green ointment. Her hands were deft yet full of gentleness. Every movement of her fingers was meant to heal, not just provide first aid. There was a faint healing magic she channeled through her fingertips—a dim green light that seeped into Mira's skin pores, accelerating cell regeneration.

  "Kars took you to the Old Cistern?" Henesa asked softly, still rubbing the ointment.

  "How did you know?" Mira mumbled, her face buried in the pillow.

  "Only there can you release this much heat energy without being detected by the watchtower," Henesa replied. "And you smell like old moss."

  A brief silence followed. Only the sound of their steady breathing.

  "He was hard on you," Henesa said. Her tone was not accusatory, but rather a sad observation.

  "I asked him to," Mira defended. "I need to be strong, Henesa. The tournament…"

  "I know," Henesa cut in softly. She finished applying the ointment, then pulled the silk blanket over Mira's body up to her waist, leaving her back exposed so the ointment could soak in.

  Henesa sat at the edge of the bed, stroking Mira's hair still damp from melting snow. The motion... was incredibly soothing. Mira felt her eyelids grow heavy. The physical exhaustion from five times gravity and the mental burden finally demanded their toll.

  "You're not a weapon, Rhea," Henesa whispered, her voice sounding distant. "Dalt sees you as a successful experiment. Kars sees you as a talented woman. But tonight... when you came in with a pale face and a burned back..."

  Henesa's hand stopped on Mira's head.

  "...I just see a girl who should be dreaming of party dresses, not dreaming of ways to kill."

  Mira wanted to respond. She wanted to say that she didn't like party dresses. She wanted to say that freedom was something she deeply longed for. But her mouth was too tired to move. The warmth of Henesa's hand, the comfort of the bed, and the healing side effects carried her away.

  "Sleep," Henesa whispered, kissing the top of Mira's head. "I’ll stay here until your wound heals."

  And for the first time in her life, Mira slept not with one eye open. She slept soundly, watched over by a lioness who would not let anything touch her cub.

  ***

  The scorching midday sunlight slapped Mira's face, forcing her awake from her brief nap.

  She blinked, confused. The wall clock showed eleven in the morning. Eleven?! Laich's class started at nine!

  Mira jumped up and immediately regretted it. Every muscle in her body screamed in protest. Her back felt stiff, even though the soreness had already faded thanks to the Henesa ointment from this morning.

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  On the nightstand, there was a sheet of paper with Henesa's neat and elegant handwriting: 'I turned off your alarm. You needed rest. Don’t worry about Laich; I’ve sent him a sick note (and a gentle threat so he won't torment you today). Eat the porridge on the table. Don’t forget to take your vitamins. Come home early this afternoon; Dalt and I want to take you out.'

  Next to the paper, there was a bowl of chicken porridge that was still warm and a glass of orange juice.

  Mira gave a slight smile. Skipping classes legally. She finished her porridge in three minutes, took a long, hot shower to loosen her muscles, and then put on her new academy uniform. She wasn't going to Laich's class. That man was probably still sleeping. But she remembered her schedule. At one in the afternoon, there was a general class. "Advanced Magic Usage Theory."

  Mira looked at the mirror. The bags under her eyes were slightly visible, but her eyes looked more alive. "Alright, Rhea," she whispered. "Let's pretend to be smart."

  ***

  The Sophia building is the opposite of the messy eastern tower. This building is a temple of knowledge. Its floors are polished white marble, the walls are covered with moving magical diagrams, and the atmosphere is quiet, with only the sound of flipping book pages.

  Lecture hall 112 is shaped like a giant amphitheater. Hundreds of students from various departments sit in rows. Mira entered through the back door, trying not to draw attention. She sat in the very back row, in a dim corner.

  In front, an old Professor with a monotonous voice was explaining about 'Intian Fluctuation Dynamics in a Vacuum Environment.' Mira listened for five minutes, and her brain immediately decided to shut down. This language is strange. She didn’t understand what an 'Intian Coefficient' or 'Resonance Vector' was.

  Ah, this is pointless. Mira sighed in boredom, twirling her feather pen. She looked out the window, watching crows flying around the tower.

  Mira's feather pen slipped from her hand, rolling onto the floor, then sliding under the chair in front of her.

  Mira leaned down to pick it up. As her hand reached the floor, another hand had already grabbed the pen first.

  A young man sitting across from her turned around. He handed the pen to her with an awkward smile.

  "This is a standard type Golden Eagle Feather pen," that young man said quietly. "Its balance is a bit off in the middle. It tends to roll if not placed on a flat surface."

  Mira took the pen, frowning. "Thank you. You... remember the specifications of the pen?"

  The young man adjusted his slipping glasses. He had light brown hair that looked very soft, pale skin that rarely saw the sun, and a pair of bright green eyes behind thick lenses. Those eyes reminded Mira of fresh forest moss.

  "Not just pens," he replied shyly. "I like analyzing stationery. My name is Ulric. Ulric Nrewyn."

  "Rhea," Mira replied briefly.

  "I know," Ulric smiled, revealing a small dimple. "Rhea Ashart. The heir of the legendary Artificer. Everyone in the front row is talking about you, but I prefer to sit at the back."

  Mira was cautious. Is this a fan? Or a spy? "Why?"

  "Because the front is too noisy with their egos," Ulric whispered, glancing at Lukas's group sitting far below. "And... I'm severely nearsighted. Actually, I can't see the board from here."

  Mira stifled a laugh. "Then why sit here?"

  "Because it's quiet here. And I've already memorized the textbook, so I don't need to see the board."

  That answer caught Mira's attention. "You've memorized it? That thick book?"

  Ulric nodded innocently. He opened the notebook on his desk. Its contents were not ordinary handwriting, but complicated schemes, flow diagrams, and very detailed footnotes. His handwriting was small and neat.

  "Professor Gideon is wrong on the third point," Ulric pointed out at the diagram in his book. "He said which resonance occurs at a frequency of 40Hz. But according to the latest journal from Mattheus Spire, stable resonance only occurs at 42.5Hz. But I don’t dare to correct him. He could turn me into a rat."

  Mira looked at the young man. He seemed harmless. There was absolutely no aura of a fighter or an assassin from him. He was purely… a brain.

  "Ulric," Mira said, leaning forward slightly. "Do you understand what he was talking about?"

  "Of course. It’s the basics of vacuum manipulation theory."

  "Can you explain it to me?" Mira put on her best pleading face. "In human language? Not dictionary language?"

  Ulric looked surprised, then his face lit up. Apparently, it was rare for someone to ask him to teach. "Oh! Of course! So, here’s the thing… imagine that the Intian are like water. And the vacuum is like a dry sponge…"

  For the rest of the lesson, Mira didn’t listen to Professor Gideon. She listened to Ulric. That young man had a strange talent. He could simplify complex magical concepts into everyday analogies that made sense to Mira’s pragmatic mind. He used examples of bread, water, slingshots, and cats to explain magical theory.

  "So," Mira concluded at the end of class, "Resonance Vectors are just a fancy way of saying ‘the right reflection’?”

  "Exactly right!" Ulric clapped softly, his glasses slipping down again. "You learn quickly, Rhea. People say you got in through the back door, but your intuition is really sharp."

  "My intuition is sharp because I often have to guess which mushrooms are poisonous and which aren’t,” Mira joked. But it was true. In the south, she had to do that at the academy and while hunting.

  Ulric laughed–a crisp, genuine laugh. "You’re funny. Not like other starchy nobles."

  They walked out of the classroom together. Mira noticed that Ulric was a little taller than her, but he walked with hunched shoulders, as if trying to appear smaller. He hugged his books to his chest like a shield.

  "Where are you going now?" asked Ulric as they reached the crowded main corridor.

  "Go home," Mira replied. "My parents... I mean, Lord and Lady Ashart want to take me somewhere this afternoon."

  "Ah, the Winter Market?" guessed Ulric, his eyes shining. "Today is the opening. I heard that there are merchants from the Eastern continent who bring new items."

  "Maybe," Mira shrugged. "I'm just going to go."

  "Nice to meet you, Rhea," Ulric said sincerely. He extended his hand, then awkwardly pulled it back, unsure if it was appropriate to touch an Ashart.

  Mira caught the young man's hand and shook it firmly. Ulric's hand was smooth, with no calluses. The hand of a writer. "See you tomorrow, Ulric. Get your bread analogy ready again. I’ll need it."

  Ulric blushed, nodded quickly, and then walked off toward the library, almost bumping into a stone pillar out of sheer excitement. Mira shook her head with a smile. A new friend. And this one wasn’t trying to kill her or torture her with gravity, a refreshing change.

  ***

  In the late afternoon in Everiven, the sky turned into a canvas of purplish-red. The leftover snow from last night still covered the rooftops, but the main streets had already been cleared by the city's warming magic.

  Mira went down to the ground floor of the Ashart Mansion. She was wearing a new winter coat prepared by Henesa—a cream-colored wool coat with thick fur on the collar, paired with comfortable brown leather boots.

  In the living room, activity was underway.

  Lord Dalt was standing in front of the mirror, trying on a tall hat with a small windmill spinning on its side. "How is it, Nesa? Too much?" Dalt asked, twirling around. The windmill emitted a little puff of steam.

  "Way too much, dear," Henesa replied patiently. She was adjusting the silk scarf around her own neck. She looked graceful as always in her dark blue velvet coat. "You'll scare children."

  "It's a cooling system for the head! So my brain doesn’t overheat while bargaining!" Dalt defended himself. But he took off the hat and replaced it with a more normal beret.

  Mira descended the last step of the stairs. Henesa turned around. Her smile bloomed when she saw Mira.

  "You look beautiful," said Henesa. She walked closer, examining Mira's face. "Still a bit pale. But much better than last night."

  "Thanks to your magic ointment," replied Mira. "My back doesn't hurt at all anymore."

  Dalt clapped his hands. "Great! Because we're going to walk a lot. This year's Winter Market is supposed to have rare material traders. I need pure Moonstone for my new project."

  "What kind of project now?" asked Mira suspiciously.

  "Secret," Dalt winked with his amber-colored eye. "Something related to... enhancing the output capacity of your bracelet, maybe?"

  Mira's eyes widened. "You can make it last longer than 60 seconds?"

  "Working on it. But I need materials. And materials need money. And money needs ruthless bargaining." Dalt clenched his hands dramatically.

  The main door of the mansion opened. The chilly but refreshing evening wind blew in. Outside, the Ashart family's carriage—the sleek black one—was already waiting. But this time, its roof was half-open, allowing them to see the city views.

  “Come on,” Henesa invited, taking Mira's arm on one side and Dalt's arm on the other. “Tonight, we’re not talking about the academy. Not talking about training. We’re just a family spending money.”

  Mira felt a warmth in her chest that had nothing to do with Star magic. Surrounded by a caring mad scientist and a protective headmaster, Mira felt... normal. For a moment, the tournament, the threat of the Golden Angels Order, Eaver, and the secret of her identity all felt far away.

  “I want to eat grilled squid satay,” Mira said suddenly as they stepped out toward the carriage.

  "Squid satay?" Dalt laughed. "That's a specific request. We'll buy ten skewers."

  "And caramel apples," added Henesa.

  The carriage rolled out of the mansion gates, carrying them toward the city center, which was now beginning to light up with thousands of colorful lanterns, signaling the start of the winter festival. Mira sat inside the carriage, watching the city lights rush by. She knew this peace was temporary. But she would enjoy it to the last drop.