The morning sun bled faint golden hues through the obsidian-framed windows of the Rotschy estate, spilling fractured light over the dark velvet curtains and glossy marble floors. Silence reigned throughout the vast halls of the manor, broken only by the occasional flicker of mana humming faintly through embedded sigils in the walls. Within one of the many chambers, nestled high above the ground, Rena stirred.
Her crimson eyes opened slowly, gazing blankly at the ornate ceiling of her room. The first breath she drew was deep and heavy, as if the act of waking itself weighed upon her. Her long white hair—soft and silken—spread beneath her across the plush pillows, the ends tipped with flickers of deep red, like burning embers fading in the snow. The room smelled faintly of moonflower and incense, a lingering trace of her own subtle mana signature.
With a quiet exhale, she sat up.
The sheets slipped down her bare shoulders as she swung her legs over the side of the bed, her movement slow, deliberate. Her limbs protested with gentle stiffness, not from exhaustion, but from the weight of everything she was becoming.
She rubbed at the corner of her eye, wiping away the last traces of sleep, and let out a quiet yawn. The palace was still as death outside her chamber, yet she did not feel alone—she could never be alone in the Rotschy Palace. Something always watched.
She stood, the silk of her night robe clinging briefly to her skin before she pulled it closer around her frame. Her bare feet padded softly across the cold floor as she made her way to the adjacent bathroom, a room of dark polished marble and silver fixtures. As she faced the mirror, her reflection met her: pale skin that had grown fairer under Rotschy moonlight, red eyes that no longer shimmered with warmth, and lips that curled into an unreadable line.
She washed her face slowly, letting the cold water splash her skin and trickle down her neck. Then came her teeth, brushed with a mint paste from the east wing apothecary—bitter, almost metallic. The rituals of morning felt mechanical, but comforting.
After finishing, she let the robe fall to the floor and stepped into the grand obsidian bathing pool sunk into the floor. Hot water, infused with violet mana stones, steamed gently into the air, wrapping her in a warm fog. She submerged herself completely once, eyes closed, and allowed her mind to quiet.
A long silence passed before she emerged, dripping and silent, and stepped out without wrapping herself in any towel. She walked across the bedroom, body bare and unashamed, as if it were just another day of war rather than rest. She opened her wardrobe and scanned the rows of garments hung meticulously in color order, until her fingers found it: the black royal gown.
It was elegant, regal—stitched with fine silver thread that curled like vines and stars. She slipped it over her body slowly, the cold silk caressing her skin like whispers in the dark. Then she sat before her vanity, her crimson-tipped white hair falling around her like a veil of snow kissed by blood. With deliberate strokes, she brushed it, coaxing it into its natural, elegant waves.
A hint of makeup followed: crimson lipstick, soft black liner that emphasized the eerie glow of her eyes. Finally, she reached for the black ribbon—tied with frayed edges, worn and precious. The ribbon Jin had given her, the one that had once belonged to his sister. It still carried the faintest trace of his mana. She pressed it gently to her lips before tying it around her hair, securing it in place.
Her heels clicked softly as she stepped out of her room.
The hallway outside was cloaked in shadows, lit only by distant chandeliers flickering with pale blue flame. The Rotschy manor breathed dark elegance—its walls etched with runes, its floor polished obsidian that mirrored every step like black water. As she walked, her presence echoed down the corridors, regal and unyielding. Her gown trailed like a shadow behind her, the ends glinting with dark light.
She walked not like Rena Amberhart, but like Rena rotschy.
Every movement was poised. Every step deliberate. The weight of the name "Rotschy " now draped over her like a crown of ice.
She pushed open the tall black doors of the dining hall. The air inside was cold—unnaturally so. The mana was thick, stagnant, and silent.
At the head of the long obsidian table sat Naoko Rotschy.
She was seated with one leg elegantly crossed over the other, a porcelain teacup held loosely in her fingers. Her silver hair spilled like moonlight down her back, glittering faintly with a celestial glow. Her eyes—those infamous, soulless silver eyes—lifted slowly as Rena entered, and for a moment, the entire hall felt like it exhaled.
Naoko wore a black royal gown of her own, one embroidered with silver moons and sigils older than most could remember. Her face was unreadable, her beauty suffocating in its cold perfection. Her skin, white as snow, glowed like polished porcelain under the dim chandeliers. No emotion touched her face. Not curiosity. Not interest. Only a void.
Rena walked to her seat with dignity, though her heart pounded beneath her ribs. She lowered herself into the velvet chair across from her mother-in-law and folded her hands atop the table.
"Good morning, Lady Naoko," Rena said, voice calm but carefully measured.
Naoko didn't answer right away.
She took a slow sip of her tea, her silver lashes unmoving, her gaze cutting straight through Rena like a blade. Only after setting the cup down did she speak, her voice colder than the wind beyond the castle walls.
"Good morning, Rena."
There was no warmth in it—no welcome.
Only acknowledgment.
Rina tried not to shrink beneath it.
She inhaled through her nose, straightening her spine. "Lady Naoko… may I ask—about Jin"
But before she could even finish, Naoko's voice sliced through her words like a scythe.
"Jn is occupied with something far more important than breakfast," Naoko said.
Her tone was flat, final, devoid of all humanity.
"You will not see him for another fifty-nine days. Perhaps fifty-eight, if things proceed favorably. Is that understood?"
Rena blinked.
Fifty-nine days?
Her lips parted, but no sound came. Her throat tightened.
She wanted to ask why. To understand. But something in Naoko's eyes told her that to question further would be both useless and dangerous.
So instead, she lowered her gaze and nodded.
"Yes, my lady," she said quietly.
Naoko resumed drinking her tea without another glance.
For a moment, the silence returned, heavier now. Thicker. Rena stared at her own untouched tea, her fingers curling around the handle to steady herself.
Then Naoko spoke again, her voice as chilling as ever.
"You may return to the academy tomorrow. That will be best—for everyone."
The way she said it, it wasn't a suggestion.
It was a command.
Rena nodded quickly this time, her words rushed.
"Yes. Of course. Thank you, Lady Naoko."
She didn't dare meet her gaze again.
The silence held for several heartbeats before Naoko stood, her gown cascading around her like a sea of shadow. Without a word, she walked past Rena, her heels striking the floor like clock chimes—sharp, deliberate, absolute.
Rena remained in her seat, her fingers still trembling faintly.
It was strange. For all the horrors she had faced, all the fires she had conjured, all the enemies she had struck down—none of it had ever made her feel so small as a single conversation with Naoko Rotschy.
She sat there alone in the vast obsidian dining hall, staring into the silence and wondering—not for the first time—what exactly she had stepped into.
And if, one day, she would be able to climb out again.
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Heat: I know I only post a few chapters but trust me I have a reason.
Trust me, bro. 🍑