The neglected pantry behind the Varein Manor kitchens smelled of dust, dried herbs, and neglect. Aria rolled up her sleeves, her hair escaping its braid, and looked around her makeshift laboratory. It was filled with a chipped ceramic bowl, a wooden spoon, beef fat cooling in a jar, a small sack of precious potash, and her bundled herbs: chamomile, mint, and the star of her plan, fragrant lavender.
"Step one: Don't poison myself," she muttered, recalling her chemistry classes and vague memories of historical soap-making. The Genius Survival System was ready to assist:
> `[GSS: SAPONIFICATION PROCESS INITIATED.]`
> `[CAUTION: ALKALI SOLUTION HIGHLY CAUSTIC. USE GLOVES (UNAVAILABLE). PROCEED WITH EXTREME CARE.]`
*Gloves. Right.* Aria sacrificed a pair of her thinnest stockings, wrapping her hands like makeshift bandages. She slowly mixed water with the potash. The mixture warmed up and released fumes that stung her eyes and nose. *Lye water. Check.* She added the melted fat, stirring vigorously. The mix thickened, becoming opaque and unpleasantly greasy.
"Now the hard part," she breathed, crushing dried lavender buds between her palms to release their calming scent into the tense air. She sprinkled them in, stirring until the mixture became a lumpy, grey-purple mass. Pouring it into her rough wooden mold, carefully carved from scrap wood, felt like sealing her fate. "Three days to cure. Then Vale decides my future."
The next two days were a tightrope walk. She endured meals under Drusilla's watchful eye and Elara's sharp comments like, "Still smelling of the stables, Aria? Or is that… desperation?" Silas watched her with narrowed, suspicious eyes, clearly annoyed by her presence and eerie calm. She spent stolen hours studying the Vermilion Academy prospectus via the GSS, with the 500 Gold Crowns requirement weighing heavily on her mind.
On the morning of the third day, anticipation filled her. The soap had hardened, its surface smooth and cool, infused with the pale purple color and sweet scent of lavender. She carefully unmolded it, cutting off a small, perfect sample. It felt solid, promising. *This could work.*
She wrapped it in clean linen and slipped it into a hidden pocket beneath her cloak. As she exited through the herb garden gate, she scanned the busy Merchant's Way. The walk to The Gilded Quill seemed shorter today, with hope fluttering in her chest. She turned down the familiar side street leading to the bookshop.
A shadow loomed in her path. Silas Varein leaned against the grimy brick wall of a chandler's shop, flanked by two burly companions she recognized as his usual lackeys—minor nobles with more strength than sense. His handsome face twisted into a familiar smirk of cruel amusement.
"Well, well. Little Aria, sneaking out again?" Silas said, pushing off the wall and sauntering closer. His eyes darted to the slight bulge in her cloak where the soap sample rested. "What secret are you hiding this time? Stealing silver to fund your… *escapades*?"
"None of your business, Silas," Aria replied, keeping her voice steady. She tried to step around him, but his companions shifted, blocking her way. The few passersby hurried past, avoiding eye contact. *No help coming.*
"Oh, but it *is* my business," Silas said, stepping uncomfortably close. The scent of expensive cologne and stale wine surrounded him. "Father wouldn't approve of his daughter mingling with… unsavory people. Or smuggling contraband." He reached out, his fingers brushing the fabric over her pocket. "Let's see what you've got."
Aria slapped his hand away. "Don't touch me."
Anger flashed in Silas's hazel eyes. "You insolent little—!" He grabbed her wrist, his grip painfully tight, yanking her toward him. His other hand darted for her pocket. Panic sliced through Aria. *The sample! Her proof! Her ticket out!*
"Let go!" she hissed, twisting violently to wrench her arm free. Her cloak tore at the shoulder.
"Hold her!" Silas ordered his companions. Rough hands seized her arms, pinning them behind her back. Aria kicked out, making weak contact with a shin, earning a grunt but no release. Silas's fingers closed around the linen-wrapped soap in her pocket. Triumph lit his face.
"Ah, what have we here? Smells… common." He unwrapped it, holding the pale lavender bar up with disdain. "Trash. Just like you." He raised his hand, ready to throw it onto the filthy cobblestones.
*No!* Despair and anger warred within Aria. All her effort, her fragile hope, was about to be crushed under Silas's boot. The helplessness she'd felt since waking in this gilded cage surged like a tidal wave, threatening to drown her. She focused on that bar of soap, on everything it represented—escape, knowledge, power. *Not like this!*
Something *shifted* inside her chest. Not her heart, but something behind it, where the GSS had marked a 'heart core'. A sudden, intense pressure felt like a spark igniting dry tinder. A warm sensation flooded her veins, followed by a sharp tingle in her fingertips.
> `[GSS EMERGENCY ALERT:]`
> `[LATENT MANA IGNITION DETECTED!]`
> `[UNCONTROLLED ENERGY SURGE!]`
> `[WARNING: CIRCLE FORMATION INSTABILITY! MANIFESTATION IMMINENT!]`
Before she could register the warnings, a sound like tearing silk ripped through the air. A jagged bolt of blue-white energy, no thicker than a finger, shot from her outstretched palm—the one Silas wasn't holding. It wasn't directed; it erupted in pure panic.
*CRACK!*
It struck the cobblestone a hair's breadth from Silas's expensive leather boot. Chips of stone flew. The air filled with the sharp scent of ozone and scorched earth. Silas yelped, staggering back and dropping the soap bar in shock. His companions immediately released Aria, stumbling away with pale faces.
Silence fell, thick and stunned. Aria stared at her own hand, trembling violently. Wisps of smoke curled from her fingertips. Her chest felt hollow, scraped raw; the strange warmth was replaced by deep fatigue. The pressure behind her ribs vanished just as quickly.
"Witch!" one of Silas's companions gasped, pointing a shaking finger.
Silas recovered quickly, turning his shock into furious disbelief. "You… you *freak*! What unnatural—"
"Problem here, Lord Silas?"
The voice was calm and icy, cutting through the tension. Leon Alberecht stood at the mouth of the alleyway. He wore simple dark clothes, his silver-blond hair tied back. He looked ordinary, except for his eyes. They scanned the scene—Aria's trembling form, the scorch mark on the cobbles, Silas's fury, the dropped soap—with unsettling speed and no surprise. His hand rested casually near his sword hilt.
Silas spun to him. "This is none of your concern, Alberecht! The little witch just tried to kill me!"
Leon's gaze flickered to Aria. For a brief moment, something like recognition crossed his eyes—not shock at her magic, but a profound understanding, as if he'd witnessed this exact scene unfold countless times before. Then it was gone, replaced by a calm detachment. "I saw no attack, Lord Silas. I saw you and your companions restraining Lady Aria. And I heard a loud spark. Perhaps faulty alchemical reagents?" His gaze fell meaningfully on the dropped soap bar. "It's unwise to handle unknown substances so carelessly."
Silas sputtered, his face reddening. "That was *magic*! She—"
"Lady Aria possesses no known magical ability," Leon replied flatly, his voice leaving no room for debate. He stepped closer, his presence commanding despite his calm demeanor. "It was an unfortunate accident. Best not to make a scene. The city guard often asks… inconvenient questions, especially when noble sons are involved in troubling their sisters in back alleys."
The threat hidden in his polite words was clear. Silas glared, hatred burning in his eyes as he looked from Leon to Aria. He saw the unwavering determination in the knight's stance, the potential scandal, and the lingering terror in his companions. With one last venomous look at Aria, he snatched the soap bar off the ground.
"This isn't over," he spat, then shoved past Leon, his lackeys scrambling after him.
Aria stood frozen, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Panic and a strange energy drain left her legs feeling weak. Leon watched Silas disappear into the crowd before turning back to her. He didn't approach right away, his gaze sweeping over her torn cloak, pale face, and trembling hands.
"Are you injured, my lady?" His voice was low, lacking any emotion.
Aria shook her head, unable to speak. Her mind whirled—power surging, terror, Silas's fury, and Leon's uncanny timing. Then there were his eyes… that fleeting look of *recognition*.
Leon bent and picked up the scrap of linen that had wrapped the soap. He offered it to her silently. As she accepted it, their fingers brushed. His were calloused, strong, and ice-cold.
"You should return to the manor, Lady Aria," he said, his voice a low murmur meant only for her. "The streets grow unpredictable. Especially for those who attract unexpected sparks."
His gaze lingered on her face, not directly meeting her eyes but looking lower, near her collarbone. Or perhaps… her chest, where her heart core had sparked? Then his eyes flickered upwards, past her shoulder, towards the rooftops. Aria followed his gaze but saw nothing.
"Death wears many faces, my lady," he repeated his cryptic warning from days before, his voice barely above a whisper. "Some are loud, like steel. Others are silent, like a crack in time. Be vigilant."
Without another word, he turned and blended into the crowd, leaving Aria alone in the alley with the scent of ozone, scorched stone, and lavender. The scrap of linen clutched in her shaking hand held her fragile hope, and the echo of her unleashed power still crackled in her veins. The path to the Academy had just become infinitely more complicated, and the silent knight watching over her secrets seemed to know far more about the storm brewing within her than she did.