The night passed in restless quiet.
Shiro woke to warmth — not the flickering light of their crumbling hideout, but a feather mattress beneath him, silk curtains drawn against the morning sun. For a moment, he forgot where he was. Then he remembered the gates, the marble halls, Selene's steady hand pulling them through the storm.
Across the room, Elira and Mirielle sat curled together on a cushioned bench, still fast asleep. Their faces were calm, untroubled — the first time in days. Shiro lingered on that sight, his chest easing just slightly.
A knock at the door startled him. Before he could answer, Selene stepped in, her golden hair tied loosely back, her noble dress traded for a simpler gown.
"You're awake," she said with a faint smile. "Good. Father will want words with you."
The dining hall of House Archlight was vast, but only one figure waited within. Lord Archlight sat at the head of a long oak table, untouched food laid before him. His gaze was sharp as glass as Shiro entered, Elira and Mirielle trailing close, Selene just behind.
"So," Lord Archlight began, voice low but heavy. "The anomaly finds refuge in my halls."
Shiro flinched. The word burned in his ears, heavier coming from the lips of someone who clearly believed it.
"I… I never asked—"
Selene cut in smoothly. "I invited him. As I told you last night."
Her father's eyes flicked to her, unreadable. Then back to Shiro. "Know this: your presence here places my house in danger. Rumors spread like wildfire. Already, tongues whisper of heresy, of corruption in the Cycle itself. The Temple watches. The Knights hunt. And now the son of Ashvale sleeps under my roof."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Shiro's fists clenched, but before he could speak, Lord Archlight leaned back, steepling his fingers.
"…Yet my daughter insists you are worth the risk. For now, I will trust her judgment. But do not mistake this hospitality for blind protection. Prove yourself useful, or you will not remain long."
The words cut deep. But then, just as sharply, Lord Archlight rose, leaving the hall without another word.
Selene exhaled. "That went… better than it could have."
Elira nudged Shiro's arm. "He didn't throw us out. That's something, right?"
But Shiro's chest still burned with unease.
Later, as the morning stretched on, the estate began to breathe again. Servants bustled through the corridors, too polite to stare but unable to hide their curiosity. Elira and Mirielle vanished into the gardens, their laughter ringing faintly through the halls.
Shiro found himself with Selene in the study, sunlight slanting across shelves heavy with books. For a moment, it felt almost normal.
"So," Selene said, folding her hands in her lap. "You vanish for months, then show up at my estate with half the Temple ready to skin you alive. Care to explain what happened since we last spoke?"
Shiro leaned back against the window frame, his voice low. "The ceremony. Nothing happened. No lives… no past… nothing. The priest called me an anomaly. The next day, my parents were taken in chains. I barely escaped with Elira and Mirielle."
Selene's brows knit, her expression softening with something dangerously close to pity. "…I'd heard whispers. But out here, rumors take weeks, sometimes months, to reach us. Most nobles don't care unless it threatens their coffers. And the Cycle? Well—" she gave a bitter laugh. "That's more of a word to them than a law."
Her eyes searched his. "You turned eighteen. Have you started to learn magic yet?"
Shiro's throat tightened. "No. I never got the chance. I was supposed to start at the academy after the ceremony. But without a past life… I don't even know if I can."
The words sat heavy in the air, a confession and a fear rolled into one.
But before Selene could respond, the door burst open. Elira and Mirielle leaned in, their faces bright with mischief.
"Not true," Elira said, hands on her hips. "You already used magic!"
Shiro blinked. "…What are you talking about?"
Mirielle crossed her arms, nodding fiercely. "The alley. When we escaped the knights. You teleported us, remember?"
He froze. His mind reeled back — the heat in his chest, the sudden wrenching light, the world twisting. And then darkness.
"That wasn't… I didn't…" His voice faltered. "That wasn't me."
Elira smirked. "Then how else did we get here? We didn't walk."
Selene's eyes widened, her lips parting in surprise. She leaned closer, voice lowering. "Teleportation? Shiro, that's advanced magic. Not something an untrained student could do."
The silence pressed down, thick and suffocating. Shiro stared at his own hands as though they might reveal something, some hidden truth about what he was or wasn't.
"If I don't have a past life," he whispered, his voice breaking under the weight of the words, "then what am I?"
The air shifted. For an instant, the study felt smaller, colder.
A voice — that same voice, sharp and silken, familiar as the dream — brushed against his thoughts.
Empty? The laugh that followed was soft, amused. No, boy. Not empty. You are more than they can imagine. And less than they can comprehend. You've already tasted what sleeps inside you. You only need to stop denying it.
Shiro stiffened, his breath catching. His eyes flicked around the study — Selene, Elira, Mirielle — none of them reacted. Of course they didn't. The voice was his alone.
Power isn't borrowed from the past, the voice whispered. It's carved from the present. And yours is waiting.
Then the presence vanished, as if it had never been.
"Shiro?" Selene's voice pulled him back. She was watching him closely, concern flickering in her eyes. "You went pale just now."
He shook his head quickly, forcing steadiness he didn't feel. "I'm fine. Just… tired."
Her lips pressed into a line, unconvinced but unwilling to press further. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, her tone shifting. "If it's true that you used magic — even unconsciously — then maybe you aren't as powerless as you think."
Shiro gave a bitter laugh. "I wouldn't even know where to start."
Selene's smile returned, faint but determined. "Then you'll need a teacher. Fortunately, my family has more than a few. Some mages owe favors to House Archlight. And… there's my father."
Shiro stiffened at the thought of Lord Archlight's cutting gaze, his warning. Prove yourself useful.
Selene caught the tension in his shoulders and softened her voice. "Don't think of it as a burden. Think of it as… an opportunity. If you really are different, then this is how you'll show it. Not with words, but with strength."
Elira chimed in, smirking. "Yeah, and maybe then Father Archlight won't look at you like you're going to eat his gold plates."
Even Mirielle giggled, her small voice breaking the heaviness of the room.
Shiro exhaled, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself. But inside, the question still gnawed: Was it really him? Or was it that voice — that magician — moving his body like a puppet?
The answer didn't come. Only the echo of her laughter remained.
And though Shiro couldn't know it yet, the promise of proving himself — to Selene's father, to the world, to the Cycle itself — would soon cost him more than he could imagine.