No one knew why the once-glorious Gravekin family was dispossessed of their aristocratic title.
Along with two other prominent families, the Relfog, whose ancestors founded the Rune Arts Federation, and the Marshall, a family with a rich history of producing powerful Rune Artists, the Gravekin family disappeared from the public eye in the span of one night. Nowadays, everyone seemed to have forgotten that they used to be nobles.
Fortunately, compared to the Relfogs and the Marshalls, the Gravekin name remained relevant in the system of Runalond. Everything aside, Joshua Gravekin's position as the president of the Fifth Department in the Rune Arts Federation could not be disregarded.
However, this was more of a liability than an asset. The constant absence of the family head was like a handful of salt spread on their former wound, hindering them from ever reclaiming their position. No one could blame them for their desperation. The fame that the family gathered for hundreds of years vanished in a split second.
Only the temporary leader of the Gravekins, Elder Janice Gravekin, understood that their dispossession was the best possible outcome, taking what happened 60 years ago into account.
She stood before the gate of the Imperial Rune Arts Academy of Runalond, unable to tell whether the blurry scene was the negative effect of her old age or her eyes had lost focus. Other citizens avoided her hunched, dwarfish figure with concern in their eyes. Even in moments of her youth, others always seemed uncomfortable being around her, not because there was anything wrong with her appearance or personality, but simply because of the aura she gave off.
They said she was like a swamp, one that, if you approached without caution, would bog you down with its stagnant putrefaction. They said staring into her eyes sent chills down their spine, even though they knew for certain that she meant no harm. Janice used to feel troubled by such remarks, but as she matured, she began to embrace it as a part of herself, something she didn't need to feel ashamed of.
The familiar surroundings triggered a switch that flickered her memories, bringing her back to the day that she would carry in her mind even into her grave. Even though decades had passed, her feeling when walking inside this academy, accompanied by two of her closest friends, felt as if it had happened yesterday.
"Janice… You are here." She heard a bright voice that spoke before her, softly powerful. The girl standing before her radiated rays of calming elegance. No words were worthy enough to describe her beauty; her face seemed as if it were sculpted into being, except her lively, big eyes were more than persuasive enough to disprove that assumption.
"Clara…" Janice blinked in desperation. She wanted to see the face of her old friend more closely. But after the fog amidst her eyes faded, all that entered her sight was an equally elderly woman, whose sleek silver hair and lustrous skin had been worn down by years.
Clara Marshall stepped forward and gave her a hug after Janice obliged her spine to straighten. The two old friends met up with each other frequently, but Janice still saw Clara as the girl who caught all the attention 60 years ago, the girl who wasn't afraid of her gloominess and was there for her when she needed someone the most.
However, another girl, whose appearance had almost completely faded in her memories, never showed up in any of their gatherings. All she could recall was her mischievous smile, which was present even in the very moment of her death.
"Clara, let's go," she whispered.
The two walked off toward the horizon, accompanied by the dimming light of an unusually beautiful dusk. They almost walked against each other, exchanging a couple of sentences here and there.
"How's my grandson?"
"Rest assured. Joseph is an excellent Rune Art student; it is almost predetermined that he will enter my class next year."
"No, I mean, how has he been getting on with his mates?"
"He's made some… interesting friends… If there is anything more impressive than his grades, it would be the people he interacts with."
"I really can rest assured, then… He… he inherited my frightening ambience."
"I've told you multiple times… It's just something wrong with the heads of the others around us. You are perfectly normal, and exceptionally cute too."
…
"Janice, have you thought of my proposal? You don't have to continue living like this."
"I'm too old for a change. Life right now is sufferable; I don't want to ask for trouble."
"You are never afraid of trouble, Janice; you are afraid of what others would think about you. It is never too late to change things."
"I don't want to really become the threat that the kingdom believes us to be."
"They should be afraid of us! Not the other way around. I proved to you with my life already, neither royalty nor the Rune Arts Federation are as commanding as they seem. Fear is present in their hearts too."
"The secret that we discovered… It could tear down Runalond in seconds. I don't want there to be more conflicts."
"Do you not remember? There are two requirements needed for the mechanism to successfully react, and the latter ensures that this power will never be abused by evil hands."
"Shhhhhh! Don't talk about it in public!"
"... Sorry."
They stopped by a cemetery not too far from the royal palace. Cemeteries in Runalond carried their own unique culture and decorations. People's ashes were not shackled by the grave but blown away with wind-element Rune Arts on top of a high place. It was said that divine beings would carry the ashes to locations that the deceased connected to the most, and before their eternal rest, they could be provided the opportunity to take one last glimpse of this world.
There aren't many methods for people of Runalond to leave a trace in the world to prove that they existed. This was the major motivation why certain individuals tried so hard to create their personalized Rune Arts.
Other than that, their death was marked by a statue of themselves in replacement of a tombstone, and of course, within the memories of people who cared about them.
Of course, not everyone in the kingdom deserved such an honor. The production of these statues wasn't difficult for Rune Artists who had learned the specific Rune Art to do so. The cost was affordable, but "affordable" is a relative term, dependent on the situation rather than a generalized fact.
Standing before one of these statues, Janice lifted her head toward the familiar face. It seemed oddly young compared to the other statues present in the cemetery, bringing a sense of suffocating grief despite the smile on the figure's face.
"At least her beauty was sealed within our memories," Janice commented, both to herself and Clara. "She's freed from the curse of ever-flowing time."
"Time didn't take her life away, people did." Clara's pronunciation was intentional and deep.
Janice walked forward and dusted the name carved on the foundation, a rather meaningless action, considering there was no dust that covered the name itself.
"Isabella Relfog. Feb 1, 459 – June 18, 475."
"Isa… We've come to visit," Clara continued. "Momentarily for now, for eternity in the near future."
The statue couldn't reply; it simply smiled at them.
Beside them, a middle-aged man approached and lifted his eyes toward Isabella Relfog's statue, his eyes hollowed by a brink of despair and emptiness. The accessories on the man showed that he was noble, or at least rich to an extent, but there was no pride in his stance. Before a treasured one's death, even aristocracy didn't excuse one from pain.
"What in life can be more agonizing than death at a young age?" The man shook his head, his words drowning in sorrow.
Neither Clara nor Janice could recognize this stranger, but in the solemn yet suffocating atmosphere of the cemetery, they silently nodded in dread agreement.
The man sighed and walked past, as if he never intended for any reply. He walked toward another statue, whose appearance was also young in age, except its newness added another shade of darkness to the already present desolation.
"Alisher… Death of the innocent isn't a novelty in life. I just never thought… never thought it would be in my life." He sobbed, not knowing whether he was crying for the death of his son or something greater. The despairing faces of certain individuals in his memories never seemed more suffocating.
"What wrong did you do? Nothing… You did nothing wrong. Misfortune just happened to fall on you, at the most precious, happy moments of your life. But misfortune isn't intended by divine beings, is it? Misfortunes are only caused by people."
"Do not worry, my son. Father won't do anything stupid. The Vester family will persevere… I won't have it ruined in my hands." He tried to sound as casual and hopeful as he could, as if he were truly talking to his son.
Clara Marshall froze. The face on the statue before the man was familiar to her.
She never believed that Nathan Modernson was the culprit behind this. Not because she believed Nathan was a pacifist or anything, but as his teacher, Clara knew more than anyone that Nathan's reflexes in drawing Rune Arts in an emergent scenario were certainly much worse than what was displayed in the record.
She wondered who the true murderer was, to the point that Henry Nox would construct false evidence to protect them. To the point that even someone as significant as Nathan Modernson would stand out as a scapegoat.
Arthur Paradox? No, even he wasn't worth that much.
"What's wrong?" Janice Gravekin asked, seeing her friend zoning out in concern.
Immersed in possibilities, Janice's question was filtered out by a sudden desire in her heart. Clara Marshall's personality had never changed from 60 years ago. If there was a question she could not answer, she would never give up an opportunity to uncover the truth.
"Excuse me…" She walked to the man in wide steps after she made up her mind. Janice followed behind in slow, weary steps that were still quite exhausting for her age. She had spent most of her life trapped in the Gravekin Manor, a potential cause of her current build.
Clara waited patiently for him to conclude his conversation with his deceased son. The man turned around, surprised to see them behind him, and asked in confusion, still soaked in sorrow:
"Greetings, is there anything I can do to help?"
Clara shook her head. "No, Mister Vestor."
"But I can do something to help you."
The man froze momentarily and replied defensively, "You are?"
"My name is Clara Marshall. What's important is, I'm a professor in the Imperial Academy."
"I'm Janice Gravekin, and my grandson is currently a student in the academy, too." Her 60-year-long friendship with Clara had already erected a firm connection between them. No matter how little each hinted, they would always know what was happening, and what they intended to elaborate and support.
However, Clara's commanding, powerful vibe mixed with the gloominess of Janice clearly didn't bring a good impression to the man. He took a few steps back in concern. Thinking about their names, something suddenly lit up in his mind.
"You… You are…!"
Clara and Janice exchanged glances. They were already used to this. A select few aristocratic clans, especially powerful ones or those in close touch with royalty, knew what happened 60 years ago. What caused the exile of three prominent aristocratic clans, what caused the execution of a young girl who was innocent at heart but couldn't be allowed to remain in the kingdom.
"I believe in your abilities, but I don't want to ask for trouble." The man uttered with a trembling voice. "You don't want to either, right… right?"
Clara and Janice exchanged glances again, this time, less serious and more amused. On an occasion like this, the look on their faces even seemed slightly cruel and terrifying.
They hadn't changed; they never had. They might be old and futile, but the brilliant excitement in their hearts would never decline, a craziness that could make them ignore any consequences.
"We? Afraid of trouble?" Janice grinned.
"See what I'm talking about? You are not afraid of trouble, only what people think about you." Clara shrugged and turned to the man with respect and seriousness.
"Trust me, Mister Vestor. We will give you an answer, a truth, to the death of your son."
The fear inside the man's eyes faded slightly. When Clara Marshall tried to sound reliable, she could really make a scene of it.
"Knowing the truth won't resurrect my son."
Clara and Janice didn't reply; they simply smiled at him.
"But it could resurrect my soul," he added in sorrow, "Please, Mrs. Marshall and Mrs. Gravekin."
"No problem."