Cynthia sat before the vanity, the tall mirror reflecting the room's quiet chill. Pale light glazed the surface, revealing her form. She leaned in, eyes tracing the glass. Outside, her face was stone, unyielding; inside, a relaxed smile played, a silent, taunting whisper.
"I thought I could obliterate her in that explosion. "Her nails dug into her lips, gnawing until the taste of iron filled her mouth and red droplets stained her skin. Her eyes rolled with sharp irritation.
"Well, I didn't expect the blast to fail either," said the Cynthia in the mirror—though her voice carried a sly, mocking lilt.
"Reiya! Did you actually summon the fire spirit, Prometheus?" Cynthia slammed her palm against the table, the wood rattled beneath her rage.
"My dear Cynthia, of course I summoned it. What else could you doubt after that fire? Thanks to you slipping my dark essence into the wine bottle, I was able to seep inside."
"Then why the hell is that bitch Leyla still alive?! Even the priest died there! She should've died, or at least been torn apart and left crippled!"
The reflection's smile curved sharper, a chilling visual. Slowly, Cynthia's mirrored image began to shift: hair lengthening, turning jet black, its texture unseen but implied. Eyes narrowed, a predatory sharpness emerging; the irises still burned red, a fiery visual contrast. Now, the mirror revealed not Cynthia, but a tall man draped in flowing black robes, the fabric whispering silently. Silver charms, cool to the touch, dangled against the cloth. His long dark hair, slick and straight, caught the faint light. His grin, a silent threat, was that of a demon.
"You don't know what I saw that moment. That woman, Leyla… light poured from her body. Holy light. That's why she survived—and even dragged Xerta out alive. I don't know her trick yet, but I'm certain she's someone chosen."
"What do you mean?" Cynthia's gaze hardened at 'Reiya'.
"Just my gut… but if she wields holy power, then it explains why she repelled the dark essence so easily. For a moment, I even lost control of Prometheus."
"You're saying she's a saintess?"
"I said I'm not sure yet. But isn't it… convenient? She revealed her power to save Xerta, the one you love. Perhaps she doesn't even realize it herself."
"As if I care! That wretched woman—now she even has holy power. Hah… what doesn't she have? Damn her, she has everything!" Cynthia's fist crashed against the mirror. The glass splintered into cracks, and blood streamed down her knuckles.
"You surprise me," 'Reiya' murmured as his face fractured alongside the breaking glass.
Cynthia pulled her fist back, trembling with fury. Hatred and jealousy swirled hotly inside her chest.
"One more thing intrigues me… that man, Keith. How should I put it…" 'Reiya's' form now peeled itself from the mirror, stepping into the room in solid flesh, his shadow stretching long behind Cynthia. He leaned over her shoulder, voice curling into her ear. "He fascinates me."
"Keith… at first, I thought just having him near me would be enough to make Leyla give up on Xerta. But it didn't. I miscalculated. To her, he's not worth much."
"Xixixi… Regret already? And you used to tell me about him with such glee."
"Not anymore." Cynthia rolled her eyes upward. "Lately, I regret it. Especially seeing how Epsilon keeps watching him strangely."
"I noticed that too. He even panicked because he thought Keith was trapped in my second blast."
"Everything feels… off. For the past year, Epsilon hasn't been the same."
"Still, Cynthia, who else do you have but me? At least praise me after all I've done."
Cynthia turned toward him, her chin tilting upward to meet his grin. "Good work, Reiya."
"As you desire, my lady."
Cynthia left her chamber, still dripping blood from her hand. She opened the door with deliberate calm, stepping into the hall's dim lantern light.
And there—Keith. He wore the insignia the king had pinned on him, the metallic crest gleaming faintly against his chest. His face was as still as ever, yet his eyes softened at the sight of her hand.
"You're injured, my lady?" Keith's voice carried a rare concern. "Wait here."
Before she could speak, he ran—boots striking the stone floor—and returned swiftly with tissues, antiseptic, and a roll of bandages.
"If it hurts, I ask you to endure it for a moment," he murmured as he carefully cleaned and wrapped her hand. His touch was firm yet unexpectedly gentle.
From this angle, Cynthia could see the back of his head, his hair damp with sweat, his neck glistening. He must have just come from training. His presence was steady, grounded, yet something about him pierced deeper, as if he could read into her soul.
'No wonder 'Reiya' finds him so compelling,' she thought.
When Keith finished, he tied off the bandage and exhaled lightly. "It's done, Lady Cynthia. Fortunately, the wound doesn't need stitches. Still, since you know Sir Eliot—the one who healed me back then—it would be best if he checked it."
"Thank you, Keith. As you said, I'll see him later."
Relief flickered across his face, but then hesitation clouded it. Cynthia sensed he hadn't approached her just to tend to her hand.
"Lady Cynthia, may I ask you something?"
"Hm. Very well. As thanks for treating me… ask."
"Were you… the one behind yesterday's explosion and fire at the church?"
For a heartbeat, Cynthia thought her ears betrayed her. A tremor stirred in her chest.
"…What?"
"I need to know the truth. Was it you?" His eyes locked on hers, steady and unyielding, demanding honesty.
'Wahahaha… he asked it outright. Cynthia, this man really is unlike any other,' Reiya's voice echoed in her head.
Her lips curved upward, wider than they ever had before. The smile stretched across her face, so sharp it made Keith's composure flicker.
"And if it was my doing… what then? What would you do?"