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Mary was still holding his hand, his breath was ragged, and his shoulders trembled like a child who had lost his way. He seemed like someone trying to gather the shattered pieces of himself, while the morning light timidly crept through the tall buildings.
But the screeching of heavy boots on the stone floor shattered that moment.
"Stop!"
A stern, dry voice came from the commander of the Royal Guard, pointing his sword at André.
"Step away from him, Miss Queens! He is a suspect in sabotage and attempted explosion during the knights' ceremony."
Four armed soldiers, equipped with swords and spears, quickly surrounded the area.
One of them raised his voice:
"By order of the Internal Security Council, the saboteur is to be arrested immediately!"
André didn't move. The trembling returned to him, and his eyes widened with fear, as if the shackles removed just moments ago were now tightening once more.
But Mary raised her hand steadily, standing directly in front of him, like an unbreakable wall of light.
"Stand down."
The commander snapped, "Do not interfere, miss. This man carries a mark of explosive magic. You cannot shield him from the law."
She replied with clear coldness and a firm tone:
"The law doesn't rule without understanding. Listen closely, if you touch him, you might explode yourselves."
The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances.
"What do you mean?" the commander asked, halting.
Mary took a step forward and pointed at André:
"His body is booby-trapped. The bomb he carried isn't physical, but woven with spectral internal magic, based on the element of concealment and biological fusion. This isn't a bomb you defuse with your hands. It's connected to his emotions, his heartbeat, and his energy state."
Then she gave them a piercing look:
"Any shock, any resistance or rough handling could trigger the remaining magic… and turn you to ash in less than a second."
Silence fell. One of the soldiers stepped back involuntarily, while the commander clenched his fists, trying to keep his composure.
Mary spoke more calmly, leaning slightly toward André:
"We stopped him. By his choice, not anyone else's. Don't turn his wound into another bomb."
André was still staring at the ground. He heard everything, but didn't comment. Everything felt heavy… even the air.
Mary approached the commander and whispered seriously:
"If you fear for the capital's safety, record the incident, write what happened, but don't go near him now. Let him be transferred specially to an energy hospital. There are those who know how to dismantle such enchantments without taking a life."
The commander finally nodded, though hesitation was still written across his face. He said:
"But this doesn't prevent an investigation. We will submit a report to the council."
Mary answered quickly:
"Submit it, but add this: someone chose life over explosion. In all this darkness… someone decided not to become a killer."
Then she turned to André, extended her hand again, and said gently, only for him to hear:
"Get up… it's okay. They won't be your enemies this time."
He looked at her slowly, his eyes still filled with tears, then moved, like a man emerging from beneath rubble. He didn't resist when he was bound with soft energy chains, designed specifically for unstable magical cases.
As the soldiers led him away, his eyes remained fixed on Mary, while she stood there, as if she were the only light he saw as salvation.
The light was dim, emanating only from a single hanging lamp above a metal table. In the cold room, André sat bound by transparent energy chains, restraining him not only physically but mentally. Every movement, every attempt to think about using energy, was met with sharp pulses that made him immediately retreat.
In front of him sat an elderly man in elegant gray clothing, holding a crystal tablet that recorded every word. Beside him, a military court observer, and the coldest voice in the room: Counselor Erith, judge of the Magical Security Unit.
Erith:
"André Ethan, do you realize the danger you were in? You nearly caused a massacre during the initiation ceremony of the new knights. The bomb inside you, even if not detonated, remains a complete crime in terms of intent and preparation. Do you deny this?"
André didn't look at her. His eyes were fixed on a point on the floor, as if trying to bury everything that happened in that spot.
The investigator said:
"We have traces of lethal magic inside you, documented by three experts, and the magic pulse detector confirmed the presence of a coercive fusion spell. Only advanced assassination organizations can plant this type in people without their knowledge or under mental manipulation."
A moment of silence.
Erith, with a decisive tone:
"One final question, and we will issue judgment: did you plant it willingly?"
He finally lifted his head, eyes half-empty, and said in a low voice:
"I don't know when I began wanting it all to end. But… I didn't plant it alone. They exploited a moment of weakness, a moment when I wasn't myself anymore."
The investigator recorded the statement, then Erith and the observer exchanged looks, and everyone stood.
Erith:
"It has been confirmed that the accused did not activate the bomb, and that rapid intervention helped dismantle it without casualties. However, he was found complicit with unknown forces, and his failure to report the danger in time constitutes negligence that threatens state security."
Heavy silence.
"Accordingly, in the name of the Supreme Court of the Internal Security Unit… André Ethan is sentenced to three years of disciplinary imprisonment in Taldar High-Energy Prison."
"His mental and magical behavior shall be monitored, and he is forbidden from using any kind of energy throughout his sentence."
Later – Gate of "Taldar" Prison
Mary stood outside the prison gate, watching the magic carriage take him away, while André sat without resistance, hands bound, head lowered.
She did not speak, nor wave.
She knew… this wasn't his end, but his true beginning.
The struggle now wasn't against the killers, but against what they had planted inside him.
Three years passed like another lifetime.
Every day, Mary woke before sunrise. She was no longer the noble, dreamy girl who asked her teacher about classism… she had become a voice to be reckoned with within the academy halls. Books, swords, spells, and reality… all had become her tools not only to understand the world but to confront it.
In the training yard, her wooden swords clashed with Franco's, her old friend, eternal rival, who no longer smiled when he lost. He now fought her with everything he had, as if searching for an answer.
With every clash, Mary grew more. Her muscles strengthened. Her thoughts crystallized. Her goal became clearer.
She had become a "Protector of the Elite Knight"—a rare title, granted only to those who repeatedly stood on the edge of danger without retreating.
At the appointment ceremony, she stood beside Franco, who received the "Elite Knight" medal, at a small, humbler event than royal ones. He stood next to her, silently watching her, then said in a voice only she could hear:
"Three years… and you're still one step ahead, iron flower."
Mary looked at him and smiled—not with arrogance but gratitude. She said:
"And you still chase me, forcing me to keep going."
Another week of training—but this time… something changed.
Mary no longer trained to prove herself, but to endure more.
The instructors increased the pressure, and the "special trials" for elite knights were ruthless. Leaps over danger, simulated real battles, facing artificial beasts summoned from books sealed for a century.
"They're not preparing you for war… they're testing your ability to survive after losing everything," her friend Laura told her one evening as they wiped the clotted blood from their faces.
With the first light of dawn, Mary was summoned for a secret mission.
Location: The village of Hilmar, far south, near ancient ruins.
Companion: Laura, her childhood friend who remained by her side through everything.
Before departure, while preparing the saddles, a girl wearing a shiny green armor approached, her brown hair swaying in the wind, and on her shoulder the command insignia of the "Shadow Squad"—a noble family.
"Carla Brown?" Mary muttered in surprise.
Carla replied with a sarcastic smile:
"Yes, Mary Queens, the Iron Flower… we've heard a lot about you. Don't disappoint me."
Days passed, trekking through dense forests, chasing reports of a mysterious group exploiting remote villages for experiments.
But the mission ended unexpectedly. No trace of the enemy. No confrontations. Just… an unnatural silence.
On a cold night, Mary and Laura entered a nearly abandoned village to report the end of the operation. But there, on the village's edge, appeared an old wooden cabin not marked on any maps.
Laura asked:
"Who builds a cabin by moonlight?"
But Mary, driven by a strange instinct, approached.
The door opened by itself. The smell was like ash and sage.
Inside, an old woman sat staring into an ancient mirror. Her hair was white as bone, and her eyes gray without pupils.
The old woman said, without turning:
"The girl has come—the one who bore the guilt without committing it."
The cabin was silent as a grave. The wood creaked beneath Mary's steps, and the air grew heavier with each breath.
In a dark corner, the old woman sat—no clear features, only shadows dancing on her face.
In a whisper like wind through graveyards, she said:
"I've been watching you since birth, Mary Queens… you've lit paths that weren't yours to walk."
Mary took a step forward…
"What do you mean? Who are you?!"
The old woman smiled, then raised a frail hand wrapped in black threads like dried roots, and whispered a word in a language Mary had never heard:
"Vor Ita Nishar."
Suddenly, a dark gray flash, like smoke but deeper—more like a shadow that didn't need light to appear—burst from her hand.
It struck Mary's chest!
She stumbled back, then again…
Her eyes widened, then she bent forward and began vomiting thick, dark blood that evaporated before it touched the ground.
Laura screamed behind her:
"Mary!! What is this?! What did you do to her?!"
But the old woman didn't respond. She kept muttering in a strange tongue, each word thickening the air in the room, as if the walls themselves began to weep.
Mary fell to her knees, feeling something scraping her bones from the inside. Blood poured from her mouth, her nose, her fingernails darkening.
The old woman approached, whispering near Mary's ear:
"Finally… the Curse of the Silent Moon has found its vessel… now we'll see if you're the one who breaks… or the one who breaks everything."
"This is not a curse, but a gift… from the legacy of the old witches. We give it to only one each generation, to the one who bears the spark of both downfall and ascent."
"You will die, Mary… yes, someone will steal your life… but your death is not an end—it is a gateway. A gateway to the nightmare realm… there, you will be tested, and you will decide."
"Your descendants will be born with red eyes, pulsing with the mark of blood, seen by all but understood by none. They will live without dreams… for their dreams will be consumed in your nightmares."
"But… you can pass on the curse. Inherit it. Your eyes have the right to choose whom to protect. One person only. If you truly love them… sincerely, to the point of death… the curse will pass to them, and you will be free."
"It is a curse chosen by fate… no one escapes it. No one… except the one who sacrifices."
Then she vanished.
No door opened, no smoke… only emptiness.
Mary remained there, trembling… and her first tear didn't fall from pain, but from a silent fear of something she didn't yet understand—yet could feel growing inside her… slowly, like the planting of shadows.