The morning before her departure to the capital, Elestia quietly began to pack her belongings. She folded each dress neatly, placing them into her small trunk.
Since the incident with Mina, she'd refused to take another personal maid. It was the perfect excuse—and a shield. She had no intention of letting her enemies plant another snake at her side.
"Better to do it myself," she murmured, brushing a speck of dust from her robe.
She glanced at her reflection in the mirror. The woman who stared back looked calm… but her eyes still carried the shadow of old wounds.
Even after being given a second life, she thought, I still see the world through the same eyes.
Her hands paused mid-fold.
You can't change your nature overnight. I've lived too long with this temperament—quiet, cautious, always observing. I want to live because I want to breathe, not because I want to please anyone.
Her lips curved faintly into a sad smile.
Maybe I've grown gloomier… less trusting. I hate socializing with serpents in silk robes. But even so, I can't deny it hurt—when the Duke refused to call me his daughter.
She sighed softly.
Still, life must go on. Perhaps I can find one or two friends in the army this time. I shouldn't repeat my past mistakes, right? Forget about winning over the royal family. I nearly met my doom doing that.
Her eyes softened with distant embarrassment. How pathetic I must have looked—chasing after people who despised me, throwing away my dignity for scraps of affection.
Sirene fluttered around her, silently collecting the rest of her things into her spirit space.
"Thank you, Sirene," Elestia said absently. "You always make things easier."
Sirene twirled midair, pleased. Spirit masters with strong bonds often shared a spatial realm with their contracted spirits—a small pocket dimension to store things. Elestia wasn't sure if it was rare or not; she'd never met another spirit master long enough to ask.
That afternoon, she wandered through town, hood drawn, blending with the common crowd. For once, no one recognized her. It felt… freeing.
"Do you sell spices here?" she asked at a small market stall.
The vendor nodded cheerfully, showing her jars of fragrant herbs. Elestia smiled—genuinely, without effort. It felt strange on her lips, yet somehow nostalgic.
So this is what I used to be, she thought. Before the Duchy, before betrayal. Just a woman who liked to cook, talk, and smile.
Then, a whisper from somewhere behind her—
"Eh? Isn't that Lady Elestia?"
Her smile froze. Without turning, she stepped away from the stall, her cloak swaying lightly behind her.
"Troublesome," she muttered under her breath. Fortunately, her errands were done. She returned home, intending to rest for a moment… but exhaustion claimed her completely.
Morning came too quickly.
Elestia stood outside the manor gates, dressed not in noble finery but in the uniform of the Wizard Association's auxiliary army. It was simple, practical, and—most importantly—comfortable.
"Lady Elestia!" Lucian's voice carried across the courtyard. She turned to find him arguing heatedly with Sir David, one of the Duke's retainers.
"This is a wagon, not a carriage!" Lucian snapped.
Sir David bowed stiffly. "The order came from Lady Carmila herself. Only she may use the carriages for this journey."
Carmila, the ever-graceful "Saintess" of the Duchy, once again making her point clear.
"It's fine," Elestia said calmly. "I'll take my horse."
She unhitched her steed, Hisui—a sleek black stallion with an intelligent gaze—and mounted him in one smooth motion.
"Wait—Lady Elestia!" Lucian called, half flustered, half alarmed.
But she was already riding off, wind tangling her silver hair.
"Sirene," she said softly as the road stretched endlessly ahead.
The tiny spirit appeared, yawning. "Already time?"
"Yes. A blessing, please."
Sirene twirled midair, scattering motes of blue light that shimmered like stars. The spell of safe travel—small, but comforting.
Elestia smiled faintly. "Thank you."
The journey from the Ronin Territory to the Imperial Capital usually took two weeks by carriage. On horseback, she could arrive in half the time, but she chose not to rush.
After all, this time she wasn't running away or chasing anyone. She just wanted to breathe.
"Let's rest here," she said as the sun dipped low.
They stopped beside a clear lake surrounded by birch trees. Elestia removed her cloak and set up a small camp.
In her previous life, her travels had always been filled with danger—assassins, beasts, poison. Never peace. But this time, it was different.
"She calls herself a saintess," Elestia muttered while gathering twigs. "Yet she acts more like a villain."
Sirene giggled. "You're not wrong."
Elestia grinned faintly. "Now, let's see… fish soup? Or something with a bit of spice?"
She caught a few fish from the lake and began preparing her meal. The aroma of frying herbs soon filled the air.
But before she could stir the pot, Sirene tugged her sleeve. "Elestia—look."
A small boy stood at the edge of the trees, watching her with wide eyes. His clothes hung loosely on his tiny frame, his face pale and thin.
"W-who?" Elestia blinked, setting the ladle down.
The boy hesitated… then whispered, "Mama."
Elestia nearly choked on her own breath. She hurried over, kneeling to his level.
"You're so thin…" she murmured, touching his cheek gently. "Where are your parents?"
He pointed weakly toward the forest.
Following his gaze, she found the source of the foul stench before she saw the body. A man lay motionless, his chest torn open—a fatal wound, likely from a beast.
Elestia knelt beside him, her expression softening. "He must've used his own life to protect the child."
She gave the man a proper burial before searching through the remnants of his pack. Inside, she found a cracked merchant's badge.
"Philip," she read aloud. "Then this child must be… Kale."
The name struck a faint chord in her memory. Philip—the wandering merchant who'd died under mysterious circumstances. In her previous life, both father and son had perished.
Elestia looked at the boy again. "So… fate changed for you too, hm?"
Kale only blinked, not understanding her words.
"Come on," she said softly. "Let's eat first. You must be starving."
She handed him a cup of water, then stirred the porridge on the fire.
"Mama…" he whispered again, clutching her sleeve.
Elestia froze. A bittersweet ache bloomed in her chest.
"I… had a child once," she said quietly, her voice trembling. "But I'm not your mother, Kale. My name is Elestia."
He began to cry, small shoulders shaking.
"Ah—don't cry, don't cry. Alright, alright," she said quickly, panicking a little. "You can call me Mama if you want, okay?"
Kale hiccuped, then smiled—a bright, half-moon smile that made Elestia's heart clench.
"There we go," she whispered, brushing his hair.
When the porridge was ready, she fed him spoon by spoon until he finally fell asleep beside the fire, warm and full for the first time in days.
Elestia watched him quietly. The moonlight reflected in her eyes—soft, almost maternal.
"Let's bathe him before dawn," she told Sirene.
Later, as she washed the dirt from Kale's skin, her mind wandered. She remembered the child she'd lost, the husband who had never truly loved her, and the saintess who had stolen everything.
Carmila… Lucia… Brahm.
The names tasted bitter on her tongue.
She had once been kind, naïve, desperate to belong. But in this second life, as she looked at the sleeping boy beside her, Elestia knew—she would never let the same tragedy repeat.