Chapter 166 – Bound by Light
The workshop beneath the Elwood residence was quiet.
Not silent — not dead — but steeped in the kind of living hush that only came when creation itself was taking place. The old floorboards above creaked with morning steps. Somewhere in the distance, a kettle whistled.
And at the heart of it all, Alex stood at his workbench, sleeves rolled, eyes sharp, black hair tied loosely at the nape.
Six rings.
Identical in purpose.
But shaped by emotion.
He held the first between his fingers — a glimmering thread of folded starlight and mana-forged alloy, impossibly fine yet unbreakable. The core was carved with a seal older than language, layered with protective circuits designed to intercept dimensional interference, bloodline curses, and even divine geases.
It would not just defend.
It would defy fate itself.
The surface of each ring shimmered differently, reacting to the intended wearer:
One gleamed with pale gold, its design elegant and curved, like the wind tracing circles on a still lake.Another burned with quiet fire — crimson lines running like breath held too long, fierce and loyal.One shimmered with indigo frost, smooth and refined, edges honed like memory.Another pulsed with deep rose and black lace, ornate yet playful — a crown turned sideways.The final one… was darker. Deeper. Etched with ancient sigils and a single line of text in high vampire script: "To shield what I was too late to save."
Alex looked at them.
Then closed his eyes.
And breathed.
A soft hum spread from his palms — not spellcasting, but resonance. Each ring pulsed once. Then again. A network established. A promise finalized.
They were ready.
They met in the garden just before noon.
Ciel, Hanabi, Airi, Mircella, and Queen Ileana had gathered, summoned without context. Each sat around the old stone table, sipping tea — some with curiosity, others with mild suspicion.
Alex stepped out, box in hand, coat still dusty from workshop ash.
"I made something," he said simply.
Five heads turned.
He walked to the center and opened the box.
Inside — the rings.
Silence.
Ciel's breath caught first.
"Aether-shielded… soul-bound bands," she whispered.
Hanabi blinked. "Those are rings."
Airi's eyes narrowed. "Protection circuits… layered enchantment… and wait, is that your blood in the core?"
Mircella's eyes sparkled. "Are you proposing to all of us?"
Queen Ileana — ancient, poised — said nothing.
But her gaze… softened.
Alex cleared his throat.
"They're not engagement rings," he said.
"Liar," Hanabi muttered.
"They're protective constructs," he continued. "Worn on the left ring finger because it connects most closely to the heart in magical vascular theory."
Ciel looked up. "But… you forged them for us."
"Yes."
"Why?" Airi asked — quietly.
He looked at each of them in turn.
"Because I'm tired of watching people I love get hurt."
The wind stirred.
"I don't care what the world thinks we are," Alex said. "Friends. Family. Rivals. Lovers. What I know is that all of you are risking something just by standing next to me."
He looked at the box.
"So I made these. They'll defend you. Not just from blades or spells — but from interference. Influence. From anything trying to warp who you are."
Hanabi whispered, "You made armor for our souls."
Ciel stepped forward first.
Took the ring meant for her.
And slid it onto her left hand — slow, reverent, like a prayer.
The glow matched her perfectly.
She smiled.
Then kissed his cheek.
"Thank you," she said. "For protecting what matters to you."
Hanabi followed next, less elegant, more fierce. "This better survive a hellfire explosion," she muttered — but her hand trembled slightly when she put it on.
"…It will," Alex said.
Her fire danced briefly around her wrist.
Airi took hers in silence.
But once she wore it, her shoulders relaxed — the faintest smile ghosting across her lips. "You're such a fool," she whispered.
"I know," Alex replied.
Mircella made a dramatic show of slipping hers on — holding her hand up to the sun. "We're technically married in ten cultures now," she said proudly.
"Please stop saying that," Alex muttered.
"I will never stop."
Queen Ileana stepped forward last.
She lifted her ring, studied it in the light — and then, slowly, slid it onto her finger.
No smile.
No smirk.
Just a single word:
"…Mine."
Alex didn't argue.
She had already been watching over him long before she spoke it aloud.
That night, they all wore their rings.
No words needed.
The glow from each band pulsed faintly, linking them across the house like a heartbeat.
Not owned.
Not claimed.
But chosen.
And when Alex lay down — with Ciel beside him, Hanabi clinging to his arm, Airi at his back, Mircella curled against his side, and Ileana watching silently from her seat by the window — he felt it.
For the first time in his life.
A bond.
Not built on fate.
But forged by choice.
By him.
By them.
Together.
The rings were only the beginning.
For the next seven days, they lived without fear.
No attacks. No politics. No divine echoes whispering fate into their ears.
Just mornings wrapped in warmth.
Evenings spent in candlelight and quiet laughter.
And the rings — their quiet glow ever-present — became something unspoken between them. A sign not just of protection, but of chosen belonging.
Day 1.
They picnicked under the pale moons of the Crimson Court. The royal chefs insisted on preparing it, but Mircella snuck snacks from the castle pantry anyway. Hanabi burned the rice balls by accident trying to "reheat them with love." Airi lectured on proper picnic protocol. Ciel made tea for everyone and forgot to make her own cup.
Alex watched them all from the shade of a bloodberry tree, his left hand glowing faintly with five threads of light — each bound to someone he loved.
Day 3.
Airi challenged Queen Ileana to a formal duel — no magic, just swordplay. The queen accepted. The duel lasted three minutes. Neither drew blood. But when it ended, they bowed in silent mutual respect.
Hanabi called it "the hottest, most terrifying thing she's ever seen."
Mircella gave running commentary the whole time.
Ciel offered lemonade.
Alex cleaned up the scorch marks.
Day 5.
They danced.
Not at a ball — just in the empty throne hall, late at night.
Ciel taught everyone the waltz. Airi followed the steps perfectly. Hanabi danced like she was doing fire kata. Mircella refused to follow and twirled in her own chaotic way. Ileana moved like royalty even without music.
Alex held each of them — one by one — and said nothing.
But he smiled more that night than any night in recent memory.
Day 7.
The week had passed like a dream.
But it had to end.
They stood once more in the moonlit garden of Castle Nocturne — the one closest to the teleport seal Alex had carved into the stone himself.
Ciel adjusted her scarf.
Airi crossed her arms, looking away.
Hanabi shuffled her feet, trying not to look sad.
And Mircella?
She clung to Alex's arm.
"You don't have to go," she said, voice softer than usual. "You can stay here. You can have a wing of the castle. Or your own city. Or just… me."
Queen Ileana stood behind her, quiet, composed. Her eyes never left Alex.
He shook his head gently.
"I'll come back. I promise."
Mircella frowned. "You always say that."
Alex smiled — then reached for her left hand.
He touched the ring.
And it glowed, connecting to his.
"I made that bond real," he said. "It's not a goodbye. It's just… see you soon."
"I don't like soon," she muttered, voice wavering.
"I'll teleport here any time you call," he said. "Even just to have tea. Or to fight. Or to listen."
Her bottom lip trembled.
Then she jumped into his arms and hugged him tightly.
"I'll be waiting."
Behind them, Queen Ileana stepped forward.
Alex looked up at her.
They didn't speak at first.
Then she said, quietly:
"You gave her something I never could."
Alex lowered his voice. "You gave her the strength to reach for it."
A pause.
Then, without pretense, Ileana leaned in — and kissed his forehead.
"You are always welcome here," she said. "As consort. As threat. As family."
He nodded.
Then turned.
Ciel stood by the seal already, hand extended. Airi and Hanabi waited beside her.
Alex stepped into the center, the three rings on their hands glowing together.
Then, with a whisper of air and starlight—
They vanished.
Back home.
To a place smaller than a castle.
Quieter than a throne hall.
But warmer.
Because they carried something more precious than titles or vows.
They carried each other.
And the rings upon their fingers pulsed softly in sync.
A quiet promise:
We will always return.
The return to Japan was gentle.
No explosions. No curses. Just the soft hum of the teleportation seal as the four of them arrived at the Elwood household's back gate, their coats fluttering in the late afternoon breeze.
Shoes off. Tea brewed. Coats hung.
For the first time in days, the scent of roasted garlic and tatami replaced the ancient perfume of vampire roses.
Alex stood quietly in the hallway, watching Ciel open the window and smile faintly at the garden.
Hanabi immediately flopped onto the couch, face-down, arms spread.
"Never let me get that emotionally attached to a castle again," she mumbled into the cushions.
Airi dusted off her sleeves. "I prefer my futon and my house's perimeter seals. Castles creak too much."
Alex chuckled faintly. "You didn't seem to mind the royal dueling hall."
"I minded the vampire maid that offered to bloodlet my tea."
Then—
Hanabi's ring pulsed.
She blinked.
Frowned.
Rolled over and pulled her phone from under a pillow.
"...Ugh," she muttered.
Alex tilted his head. "Cinder?"
She nodded, flipping the screen toward him. The message was short, marked urgent.
CINDER-Priority Dispatch
Mission Flag: "Jade Coil"
Location: Namba District, Osaka
Target: Unlicensed hex-transmuter. Children involved.
Priority: Tier 3B
Agent: Hanabi Fushikawa
Response window: 12 hours
Hanabi stared at it for a moment.
Then sighed.
"I said I'd keep working with them when needed," she muttered. "And this one… kids are involved."
Ciel walked over and gently touched her shoulder. "You should go. We'll be here."
Hanabi nodded. "I know. I just—"
She glanced at Alex.
"I just got used to being next to him again."
He crouched beside her and reached for her hand, gently brushing his thumb across the glowing ring.
"I'll come to you when it's done," he said. "No matter how far. You won't need to ask."
Hanabi's eyes softened.
She grabbed his collar.
And kissed him.
Fast. Warm. No regrets.
Then stood.
"Give me ten minutes. I'll pack my fireproof coat."
Ten minutes later, just as Hanabi left through the skyward exit seal—
Airi's phone buzzed.
She glanced at it.
Then went still.
Alex noticed.
"Your family?"
She nodded once. "Father."
Ciel turned. "Is it official?"
Airi read the message aloud, voice clipped:
Tachibana Clan – Immediate Request
Assignment: Kyoto Spiritual Summit Security
Purpose: Artifact retrieval, sealed shrine escort
Participants: Elders, court mages, two heads of house
Required: Heiress attendance
Duration: 3–5 days
Ciel stepped forward. "Do you want us to come with you?"
Airi gave a tiny smile — dry, but honest.
"If you do, my family might faint."
Alex raised an eyebrow. "Wouldn't be the worst diplomatic maneuver."
Airi considered it for a moment.
Then shook her head. "No. I should go alone. This is my role. I've earned it. I need to face them as the heir, not as your girlfriend."
Ciel blinked.
Then smiled.
"You just said girlfriend."
Airi froze.
Then turned away quickly, face pink.
"I said it in a purely structural context—shut up, Ciel."
Alex stepped closer and held out his hand.
She didn't hesitate.
She slid hers into his — fingers tight, controlled, but warm.
"Be safe," he said.
"I always am," she replied. "But if I'm not—"
She lifted her left hand, showing the glowing ring.
"You'll find me."
Alex nodded.
No need to promise.
The bond already spoke louder than words.
That night, the house felt a little quieter.
Just Alex and Ciel now.
The others would return.
But until then…
It was just the boy who had protected too many people, and the girl who had once only been light.
They sat on the balcony together, watching the moon rise over rooftops.
Ciel leaned her head on his shoulder.
"We should do something tomorrow," she whispered.
He smiled.
"Yeah."
"Something peaceful."
Alex nodded.
But deep down… he knew.
Peace never lasted forever.
Still — he would give her that day.
Whatever came after.
Chapter 167 – A Day Meant for Us
They arrived just after dawn, wrapped in the soft gold of a British spring morning.
The teleportation seal opened in the middle of a forgotten field behind an ivy-covered wall, tucked between a crumbling stone barn and an ancient tree that looked like it had once shaded knights. When the shimmer of magic faded, Alex and Ciel stood quietly in the heart of the English countryside — alone, undisturbed, and very far from the world they knew.
Cotswolds, United Kingdom.
Ciel turned slowly, her bare feet brushing morning dew from the tall grass. "This… isn't just beautiful," she murmured. "It feels like the air here was folded by time itself."
Alex let his eyes scan the rolling hills that stretched beyond the hedgerows, the gentle curves of the land rippling like a sleeping poem. "That's because it was," he said. "Nothing here ever tried to be modern. It just kept being itself."
The Cotswolds were alive — not with noise, but with presence.
Golden stone cottages clustered along winding roads, their windows framed by flower boxes overflowing with forget-me-nots and buttercups. Low stone walls split fields of sheep and barley into quiet, meandering grids. The towns — small and reverent — didn't hum with activity. They breathed.
And the sky above?
It was endless.
Like a promise neither of them needed to speak aloud.
They started in Bourton-on-the-Water, known locally as the "Venice of the Cotswolds."
Clear shallow streams flowed through the center of town, crossing under five old footbridges that arched like lazy rainbows. Ducks waddled past shop doors. Locals sipped tea on wooden benches under the bloom of wisteria.
Ciel stopped in front of a small bakery with foggy windows and hand-painted signs that read fresh scones daily and tea served in silence.
She pointed. "There. I want that tart."
Alex squinted. "The lemon one?"
"It's glowing with a destiny I must fulfill."
Inside, the bakery smelled of butter and warm sugar. A sleepy man in his fifties greeted them like they'd just stepped into a dream he didn't mind continuing. They bought two lemon tarts, two cream scones, and a pair of travel mugs filled with honey chamomile tea.
They ate beside the stream, feet dangling just above the water, watching the town quietly move through its morning.
Ciel bit into her tart and paused.
Then closed her eyes.
"…Alex," she said solemnly. "We're never leaving."
He blinked. "Is it that good?"
"This tart could solve most international conflicts."
By midmorning, they wandered down a country lane that led into the fields behind Lower Slaughter, a nearby village older than half the maps that charted it. The path wound through meadows blooming with wildflowers — poppies, oxeye daisies, cow parsley — and the faint scent of honeysuckle wafted on the breeze.
Ciel removed her shoes and walked barefoot along the edge of the path.
She turned toward the sunlight, eyes closed, face tilted upward. Her silver hair shimmered against the green, and for a moment she didn't look divine, or ethereal, or artificial.
She just looked real.
Alex watched her — the way she reached her hand out to touch the tall grass, how she smiled at the wind like it was whispering something only she could hear.
Then, without warning—
She turned and ran.
"Catch me," she called.
He blinked.
"Ciel—?"
But she was already halfway across the hill.
Laughing.
He gave chase — slowly at first, then faster, letting his body relax, the air brushing past him like it knew his name. When he caught her at the edge of a gentle slope, he lifted her easily by the waist, spinning her once before setting her down.
She collapsed into his arms, breathless and smiling. "Told you. You always catch me."
They found a tea cottage near the edge of Stow-on-the-Wold, its sign reading The Lavender House – By Tea, By Grace. The walls were pale stone, the roof thatched with years of careful patience, and the garden overflowed with edible blooms.
Inside, an elderly woman greeted them like they were old friends.
They sat in a sunlit corner with a view of the herb garden. Their lunch was soft — tomato leek soup, rosemary scones, lavender butter, and cold cucumber sandwiches. Ciel tried everything. Twice.
"I want to remember this forever," she whispered. "The taste of lavender. The feel of his hand. The weight of nothing trying to hurt us."
Alex didn't speak.
He only squeezed her fingers gently.
In the late afternoon, they wandered into a hidden bookshop — "The Fox & Feather" — wedged between two overgrown hedgerows, half-swallowed by vines. The bell above the door sounded like a spell: soft, echoing, intimate.
Inside, time paused.
The air was warm with dust, parchment, and forgotten poetry. Books leaned against one another like old lovers. In the corner, a black cat napped on an unread folio beside a flickering candle.
Ciel found a single book and held it to her chest.
Of Quiet Things That Last Forever.
Alex raised an eyebrow. "Is that… a gift?"
She nodded. "For both of us."
They bought it with coins that weren't required — the shopkeeper accepted only intentions — and stepped out into a golden afternoon.
As the sky began to melt into amber, they climbed a hill overlooking the town.
At the top stood an ancient tree, twisted by years, proud and alone.
They spread a charm-woven blanket beneath it and sat in silence.
The sun dipped low.
Ciel leaned her head against his shoulder.
"If I ever disappear again," she whispered, "and you can't find me… look here. This hill. This tree. This sky."
Alex turned his head and looked at her — really looked.
Then gently kissed her hair.
"I won't need to look," he said.
"Why not?"
He raised their joined hands, showing the rings.
"Because I'll feel you. Everywhere."
Ciel closed her eyes.
Then whispered something so soft, even the wind had to hold its breath.
"…I think I'm falling in love all over again."
They stayed until the stars appeared — not in clusters, but one at a time, like shy truths unfolding.
No wars.
No vows.
No future promises.
Just now.
Just them.
Under a Cotswolds sky.
Chapter 168 – She Who Remembers Too Much
The rear gardens of the Astrelle estate were always quiet.
Not because they were sacred, or secret — though in a way, they were both — but because no one dared linger there long. The estate's young heir was often seen seated there, beneath the shade of a white wisteria tree, alone on the garden bench with a book resting in her lap and silence curving around her like a second skin.
Morgan Astrelle was known for her beauty.
Her refinement.
And her silence.
The servants walked a wider arc when she passed. Other children — even those from magical nobility — had learned to smile briefly and leave quickly. There was something in her eyes, they said. Something cold. Not evil. But distant, like a mirror that never fogged with breath.
She never smiled. Never played.
And she never asked anyone to stay.
Today was like all the others — quiet wind, distant bells from the manor's upper balconies, and the soft rustle of pages in her lap.
Until she heard it:
Footsteps. Small ones.
And then —
"Hi."
She looked up.
A boy stood at the garden gate. His black hair was a little messy, and his hands were tucked into the oversized sleeves of a traveling coat. He wasn't dressed like the children of noble families — no crests, no proud embroidery. His eyes were dark. Steady.
Not cautious.
Not mocking.
Just… normal.
"…Hello," Morgan replied, slower than usual.
The boy stepped into the garden path. Past the hedge. Toward the pond.
She blinked once.
Most turned around before reaching the stone bridge.
He didn't.
Instead, he stopped beside the bench and looked at her, tilting his head curiously.
"You're reading?"
Morgan looked at the book in her lap.
"...Yes."
"What's it about?"
There was no fear in his voice. No forced politeness either.
She stared.
Most children her age wouldn't meet her gaze for more than a second.
But this boy did.
Why isn't he afraid?
Her fingers tensed slightly around the book's spine.
"…Myths," she said at last. "Old magic. Welsh sorcery."
He nodded as if she'd said something perfectly normal.
Then sat down on the other end of the bench — leaving space, but not too much.
She turned slightly to look at him.
"…You shouldn't sit there."
"Why not?"
"They say I'm… unpleasant."
"Are you?"
She blinked again.
"I don't think so," she said truthfully. "But I don't care if they think I am."
He looked up at the wisteria branches overhead.
"Seems peaceful here."
"It is."
A few seconds passed.
Morgan expected him to leave.
But he didn't.
Instead, he pointed toward the pond where koi swam in lazy circles. "That one's got a bite on its tail."
She followed his gaze. "…That's Koaru. He gets into fights."
"You named them?"
"…Only the ones that survive the winter."
He chuckled. Not loudly — just a soft, real sound that made something stir faintly in her chest.
They kept talking.
About the fish.
About clouds.
About how cold the water probably was.
She learned his name — Alex — and that he was staying with his parents for a while, "some kind of mission."
"I think I'm just here to be quiet and not blow anything up," he said plainly.
Morgan was quiet for a moment.
Then said, "You're good at it."
"At blowing things up?"
"At being quiet."
He smiled faintly. "You're the first person who meant that as a compliment."
She lowered her gaze.
No one had ever stayed this long.
Not the children of visiting nobles.
Not even the staff, who only came to check the pond before quickly leaving.
But Alex sat beside her for almost thirty minutes.
And not once did she feel the need to push him away.
Eventually, he stood, brushing his hands against his coat.
"I should go."
Morgan stood too, carefully.
"…Will you come again?"
He looked at her, a bit surprised.
Then smiled.
"Do you want me to?"
Her pale blue eyes held his for a long second.
Then she gave the smallest of nods.
"Yes."
That night, Morgan sat at her mirror and brushed her hair in silence.
The servants passed her room quietly. None disturbed her.
But for once, she wasn't thinking about magic circles or formal posture.
She was thinking about a boy who didn't look away.
A boy who didn't try to flatter her, or impress her.
A boy who spoke to her like she wasn't something to fear — just someone to meet.
He's mine, she thought.
Even if he doesn't know it yet.
And somewhere in the gardens below, Koaru the koi flicked his half-bitten tail through the still pond.
A Few Days Later…
Alex returned to the garden the next day.
And the day after that.
Each time, Morgan was already there, seated beneath the same white wisteria tree, book in lap, gaze steady. She never asked if he would come. She never admitted she had waited. But she had.
Each visit lasted longer than the last.
They spoke of quiet things — koi, colors in the clouds, the way some books smelled better than others. Alex asked about spells, but Morgan refused to brag. She downplayed her ability with a kind of practiced silence, but in truth, she was already mastering techniques no other child her age could touch.
The truth?
She didn't want him to see her as special.
She wanted him to see her as his.
One Week In
The estate's staff began to notice.
Lady Astrelle noticed too.
But no one intervened — not because they didn't care, but because… Morgan had never smiled before.
Not even once.
But now, when Alex spoke to her?
Her lips twitched — not into a full smile, but a soft curve of private satisfaction.
It was dangerous.
But beautiful.
Morgan's Journal – Hidden Pages, Age 7
He doesn't know what I am.
That's good.
Everyone else looks at me like I'm a ghost in velvet.
He looks at me like I'm a girl.
He lets me be ordinary.
But he's not ordinary.
He's kind. Too kind. That makes him fragile.
I want to protect him.
…Even if that means protecting him from everyone else.
It was subtle at first.
Another child tried to greet Alex near the guest quarters. A girl — sweet, respectful, only curious.
Morgan watched from the end of the corridor, book held loosely in one hand.
She didn't say a word.
But the girl never approached him again.
When the servants asked why, the girl replied:
"It was her eyes. I couldn't move. I just couldn't."
On the final day of Alex's stay, he sat with Morgan beneath the tree and told her they'd be leaving tomorrow.
"We move around a lot," he explained. "My parents go wherever the missions are."
Morgan said nothing for a long time.
Then, softly:
"Will you come back?"
"I don't know. Maybe."
She turned her head, eyes pale as frost.
"Maybe isn't enough."
Alex blinked. "What do you mean?"
She stood suddenly, stepping closer — not aggressive, but charged with something quiet and intense.
"If you forget me," she said, voice cool and trembling beneath its calm, "I'll make you remember."
Alex didn't understand what that meant.
Not then.
Chapter 169 – The Fear of Being Forgotten
The hall outside the Astrelle estate's third salon was quiet.
Not a noble kind of quiet — not the polite hush of etiquette or distant conversation. It was the kind of quiet Morgan had always known: cold, watchful, untouched. The air in this corridor always felt still, like the house itself held its breath when she passed.
She liked it.
Most days.
Today… she wasn't sure.
Morgan walked slowly, the hem of her deep blue dress whispering against the marble floor. Her ribbon — always tied with precision by her mother's hand — bounced once against her back as she turned the corner.
Then she stopped.
Voices.
Faint, but clear.
One of them belonged to her mother.
The others… she recognized from yesterday's dinner. Guests from abroad.
Mark and Sarah Elwood.
The hunters.
The parents of him.
She hadn't meant to listen.
She would never admit she was curious.
But her feet didn't move.
And when she heard her name—
"She's always been reserved," Lady Astrelle said lightly. "But around your boy, I daresay she's begun to show… warmth."
"Alex?" Sarah laughed softly. "Well, that's what he does. Makes people feel like they're worth something. Even the ones who've been told they're not."
Morgan narrowed her eyes slightly.
Worth something…?
Is that what he thought I needed?
Pity? Or respect? I never knew…
She leaned slightly toward the door, arms still folded behind her back. Her posture remained perfect, but her ears sharpened as the conversation took a new turn.
"He's got a talent, that boy of yours," Lady Astrelle remarked. "That memory of his… remarkable."
Mark's voice dropped a little. "Eidetic recall. More than just photographic. If he reads something once, hears a name once — it stays with him."
Sarah added, "We thought it was a blessing. And in some ways, it is. But…"
Morgan tilted her head.
But?
"It doesn't work the way it should," Mark said. "Or at least… not for everything."
"He forgets things?" her mother asked, puzzled.
"Not exactly," Sarah replied. "He remembers details — exact sounds, patterns, how someone moved, what they wore. But emotions… people tied to magical bloodlines… they fade."
"You're not saying—"
"We are," Mark cut in. "He forgets children he's met. Especially ones from magical backgrounds. Even if he was close to them. Even if he laughed with them. After a while… it just slips."
Morgan's fingers twitched.
"We didn't notice at first," Sarah went on. "Just a few names. Then whole faces. Children from spirit clans, sealed bloodlines, divine domains… he forgets them all."
Mark added, quietly, "Except maybe one or two. And even then, only by name."
Morgan took a single step back from the door.
Not out of guilt.
But impact.
It felt like the floor had cracked beneath her.
All this time…
All these days in the garden. All the times I watched him walk away and hoped he'd come back.
And he doesn't remember any of it.
Her breath remained steady.
Her face, calm.
But behind her pale blue eyes, something fractured.
She turned and walked back toward her room, this time not bothering to suppress the sharp clip of her heels against the stone. A servant appeared in the hallway, froze, then bowed low to avoid her gaze.
Morgan didn't even look at her.
Later That Night
She sat in front of her mirror, just as she had for the last seven years, brushing her long silver-white hair from scalp to ribbon. Every stroke was exact. Deliberate.
Her reflection watched her with impassive calm.
"So," she whispered to herself, "I don't matter."
The words didn't sting.
They echoed.
She stared into her own eyes.
"You forgot me."
"You smiled at me… and then you let me vanish."
Her brush stopped.
"Even now… you're probably smiling at someone else."
Her hand clenched around the handle.
The brush snapped clean in two.
Morgan didn't flinch.
She rose from her seat and walked to her desk, where her journal sat open to a blank page.
She didn't write with ink.
She carved it into the paper with a spell-pointed fingertip — a mark only she would understand.
"I will not be forgotten again."
She traced the words once more.
Then, below it:
"I will burn the world if I must — so long as he remembers my name."
A Flicker of Magic
Outside her window, the pond was still.
The koi swam in slow circles beneath the moonlight.
But one — the one with the bitten tail — darted suddenly to the surface, breaking the calm with a violent ripple.
A breeze rose, colder than before.
And somewhere, deep within Morgan's sealed soul, a name whispered back through time.
Alex.
My Alex.
You may forget everyone else…
But I will not let you forget me.
The spell circle was small — simple in theory, dangerous in practice.
Morgan sat on the floor of her bedroom, candlelight flickering against the stone walls, a single ribbon stretched across her knees — the black ribbon, the one her mother had tied for her every day since she could walk. It was soft. Familiar. Personal.
Perfect.
Her hands didn't tremble as she traced the runes.
They never did.
"A soul-knot," she whispered, lips pale. "To bind a memory to itself. Not to the mind. Not to the heart. To the soul."
It was old magic — not forbidden, exactly, but never taught to children. The type of spell mothers didn't write in front of their daughters. The kind of thing no tutor would let her touch without three wards and adult supervision.
But Morgan was no ordinary child.
And Alex was no ordinary boy.
"Even if he forgets my name," she whispered, "this will stay."
She placed the ribbon in the center of the circle. Closed her eyes. Let her magic flow.
And the circle answered.
Morgan snuck into the guest wing after midnight. Her steps were soundless. Her breath steady.
Alex was asleep, curled in the sheets, one hand poking out from under the blanket.
He looked peaceful.
Completely unaware of the girl who watched him like he was something both precious and perishable.
She knelt beside him.
Held the ribbon in one hand.
And whispered the spell again — quieter this time, meant only for him.
"When others fade, this will stay."
"When memory fails, your soul will still hold me."
She reached forward.
And gently pressed the ribbon to his chest.
The spell activated.
It lit the circle hidden in her palm.
It bound the ribbon.
It began to work.
But—
A pulse of resistance.
Magic shuddered.
The soul-knot twisted back.
Morgan's eyes widened. "No—"
The ribbon flared bright white—
Then snapped.
Energy exploded outward.
The curtains caught fire. The bed shuddered. The magical backlash cracked the protective seal on the floor.
Alex stirred instantly, instinctively reaching for the edge of the bed—
"Morgan—?"
But she was already being pulled inward — into the broken loop of the spell — her own magic turning on her, tearing space into a spiraling knot of memory, emotion, and light.
He saw her body flicker.
Not disappear.
But blur.
"Morgan!" he shouted this time, rolling off the bed.
He reached through the light — untrained, unprotected — and pulled her out by the wrist just before the spell collapsed.
They fell hard to the floor.
The backlash died instantly.
Silence returned.
The spell shattered.
Magic howled through the room like wind through broken glass, and Morgan hit the floor hard, the ribbon torn in two and burned through the middle. Her heartbeat thundered in her chest — not from pain.
But from fear.
She turned to him.
"Alex…?"
He stared at her, sitting upright, blinking like he'd just woken from a dream.
"Are you… one of the staff?"
Her breath caught. Something cracked behind her eyes. She tried to speak, but nothing came out — not reason, not spell, not even denial.
"We met before, didn't we?" he asked, kindly. "You look… familiar."
But it wasn't real. She could tell.
He was guessing.
Searching.
And the truth — her — wasn't there.
Tears burned in her vision. Not from the backlash. Not from pain.
But from the realization that she had done this.
She had cast the spell.
And now… he didn't remember.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, voice trembling. "I didn't mean to—"
She couldn't say more.
Morgan turned and fled — out of his room, down the corridor, away from his confused voice calling after her.
She ran until her legs gave out in the quiet of her tower, curled into herself, and cried harder than she ever had in her life.
The Next Day – Farewell at the Gate
The sky was gentle. Too gentle, Morgan thought.
Alex stood near the carriage, his parents speaking with her mother in low, friendly tones. Everything seemed normal.
Everything looked like it had always been.
But inside, Morgan's chest still ached.
She kept her eyes down as they approached, her expression carefully neutral. She didn't speak. She didn't trust herself to.
And then—
"Wait," Alex said, stepping forward.
She glanced up in surprise.
He reached into his coat pocket.
Pulled out something simple.
A folded, soft black ribbon.
Her breath froze.
"I found this on my bed," he said, holding it out. "I think it's yours?"
She stared.
"It's… not exactly the same," he added. "But… when I saw it, it felt… familiar. Like it belonged to someone I didn't want to forget."
The world went still.
Morgan reached out slowly, carefully, and took the ribbon from his hands. Her fingers brushed his.
"Thank you," she said quietly, her voice steadier than she expected.
He smiled.
"Take care, Morgan."
She nodded once.
And for the first time since the spell broke…
She felt like maybe—
Just maybe—
He hadn't forgotten everything.
Chapter 170 – The Queen Who Waited Alone
The wind that tore across the northern cliffs of ancient Britannia was no gentle breeze, but a biting, salt-heavy gale that seemed to remember war. It howled across the jagged stone towers of Dunhyre Keep, a fortress not carved for elegance or pride but for banishment — a cage without bars, dressed in rain and mist. Lightning split the clouds with the rage of forgotten gods, while the sea below churned endlessly, a tide that spoke of isolation and drowned secrets. Here, far from Camelot and crown, the world had left one woman behind.
Morgan Le Fay.
She moved through the stone halls like she belonged to them. Her long, silver-white hair flowed behind her, tied at the back with a black ribbon — an elegant line of restraint amidst her otherwise regal bearing. She wore robes of deep indigo and midnight velvet, embroidered not with crests of family or kingdom, but with constellations of her own design — stars she had named in silence. Her presence was absolute. The very torches bowed in their flames when she passed.
She had once been Princess Morgan, born of Uther Pendragon, marked by divine lineage and a bloodline meant for destiny. Her magic had bloomed early — too early. At the age of five, she could conjure binding runes. By seven, she was speaking with spirits no priest dared approach. And when her eyes turned cold, even the tutors backed away, sensing something they didn't understand.
To her father, she was not a daughter — but a question. A threat. A reminder that power didn't always come wrapped in a golden heir. While Arthur, born of prophecy and polished in valor, was celebrated and embraced, Morgan was observed with caution. The nobles, too, whispered behind closed doors. She was too still. Too intelligent. Too hard to mold.
"Arthur will rule," Uther had said, never meeting her gaze. "You… will be useful elsewhere."
She was ten years old when they sent her away.
Not to a convent. Not to a council. But to the edge of the known world.
Dunhyre Keep — a castle whose stones knew loneliness better than prayer.
Here, there were no knights. No bards. No festivals. Only wind, ice, and the steady hum of magic left to rot.
Morgan never cried.
Instead, she read tomes older than the kingdom, trained with spirits older than the church, and reshaped the very castle with her will. She wove illusions into walls. Whispered spells into the wind. She became a sorceress that even the stars paused to study.
But not once — not in the dead of night nor in the stillness between storms — did anyone come for her.
She became the Queen of Nothing.
Feared.
Unwanted.
Unforgotten only by the land that held her.
It was on the cusp of twilight, nearly a decade into her exile, that something changed. She had gone to the western courtyard — her preferred place to read the sky — when the wind began to twist unnaturally. It wasn't a storm. It wasn't a spirit.
It was something else.
Magic curled at the edge of her senses like smoke. The air thickened, pulling toward a single point above the cracked stone path.
Then — light.
Not fire. Not lightning. Something more raw. More wild.
A body dropped from the tear in the air, falling fast — a man — collapsing hard against the stone before rolling onto his side in a heap.
Morgan froze, her spellwork already forming in her palm.
The man groaned, face twisted in confusion, pain — but not terror.
He pushed himself up slowly, wearing garments she had never seen: thick-lined, flexible, detailed not in steel or leather but in materials that shimmered strangely in the dying light.
Modern. But she didn't know that word yet.
He looked up — straight into her eyes.
And blinked.
"Where… am I?"
Morgan said nothing. She took in his every detail: the shape of his face, the tension in his posture, the raw disbelief layered beneath confusion. His magic was not foreign — it was absent. No spell aura. No divine blessing. Yet the way the world bent around him told her this was no ordinary accident.
She raised her hand — not to strike, but to bind — in case he moved foolishly.
"Who are you?" she asked, her voice even and sharp, the tone of someone long used to speaking without softness.
The man sat upright. His brows drew together faintly.
"I don't know how I got here," he said, not fearfully, but with the tone of someone trying to solve a puzzle while missing all the pieces.
She narrowed her eyes.
"Your name."
He looked at her then — really looked.
And she felt something cold and ancient shift in her chest.
Not recognition. Not fate.
But attention.
Pure. Steady. And unafraid.
"Alex," he said.
"My name is Alex."
Morgan lowered her hand, just slightly.
The wind slowed.
The clouds pulled back.
And for the first time in years, the Queen who had been forgotten felt the faintest tremor of something she had once buried completely:
Hope.