The courtyard was calm that morning, cloaked in the gentle hush of falling leaves and the soft trickle of water from the koi pond. A breeze carried the faint fragrance of jasmine, making the air feel fresh and clean.
On the raised tea porch overlooking the pond, a girl sat alone, her slender form upright, her posture immaculate as though the very air demanded reverence from her.
She looked no older than eleven or twelve, yet there was a peculiar weight in her aura, a stillness that did not belong to children. A porcelain teacup rested delicately in her pale fingers, steam curling from its rim in soft tendrils.
With her other hand, she held open a heavy tome... Advanced Magic Theory. The gilded letters gleamed faintly in the morning light, though the words within seemed far too complex for her age.
Her long silver dress flowed gracefully around her, a garment of unmistakable craftsmanship, sewn with the care reserved only for nobility. The fabric shimmered faintly, reflecting light like moonlit water. Yet it was her hair that drew the eye most of all.
Midnight black.
So deep and consuming it seemed to swallow the morning sun itself. Against the radiant glow of her dress and the porcelain fairness of her skin, it made her look otherworldly, an ethereal child not meant for this mundane world. Her ruby red eyes only made her appear more otherworldly.
She was like a porcelain doll crafted by the gods themselves.
Every so often, when her teacup ran dry, the servant at her side stepped forward with silent grace, pouring fresh tea into the cup before retreating just as quickly, never uttering a word. The girl gave no thanks, no acknowledgment, yet neither did she need to. It was understood.
For a time, only the faint sound of pages turning broke the silence.
Finally, the girl's lips parted, her voice as soft and clear as a silver bell. "This theory is flawed. The flow of mana around us cannot be shaped by such rigid principles; it is alive, like a river. To confine it to structure is to lose its nature."
Her words were spoken not to the handmaid, nor to anyone in particular, but to the air itself.
The servant's eyes lowered instantly, but a fleeting shiver passed through her spine. The lady was only a child. And yet, when she spoke, she carried the cadence of scholars ten times her age, the certainty of someone who had peered far too deeply into truths best left untouched.
The simple words her lady had just said had helped the maid gain a hint of understanding and achieve a minor breakthrough. Though only a maid to the young noble lady, she was also not so simple herself.
The girl closed the book, placing it gently upon the table. She leaned back slightly, her gaze lifting from the pages to the waters of the pond below. Her reflection wavered on the rippling surface, but the dark curtain of her hair did not lose its oppressive depth. It was as though the pond itself refused to hold its image.
For the briefest moment, her expression softened. Her pale lips curved into something that almost resembled a smile.
"Mother," she whispered, so faintly that even the servant at her side could not be sure if she had spoken at all. "I wonder where you are now."
The koi swam lazily in circles below, oblivious to the strange stillness that lingered in the air.
Somewhere deep within the castle, the sound of a distant gong echoed, breaking the morning calm. The girl did not move, did not stir. She only lifted her teacup once more, sipping with quiet elegance, her obsidian hair catching the light, and devouring it whole.
...
Later in the morning, the sound of boots striking stone echoed faintly against the walls of the courtyard.
Jasmine lifted her gaze for the briefest of moments, her eyes as calm and unreadable as still water. A tall figure approached, golden hair glinting in the sunlight, features sharp, handsome, yet stern.
He carried himself with a weight befitting his station, every step radiating authority. And yet, before the girl sitting so delicately on the tea porch, he seemed strangely subdued.
She lowered her eyes back to her book. Only when he reached the porch itself did she look up again, snapping the tome closed with practiced grace.
"…Father," she acknowledged coolly.
"Jasmine." His voice was steady, but softer than the tone he probably reserved for generals and courtiers.
His eyes flicked toward the handmaid, and he nodded to her. With a low bow, she retreated from the porch, leaving the two alone. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint trickle of water from the pond.
He cleared his throat. "How have you been?"
"I am alright."
"…And your studies? I see you are reading."
"Yes."
"And your training? No difficulties?"
"No."
He tried again, reaching for something, anything, to bridge the gap. But every question met a wall, every word he cast returned with only the faintest ripple. She replied to every question with a one-word answer, like his efforts to make conversation were a bore.
The emperor, feared across the realm, unbending even in war, found himself at a loss before his twelve-year-old daughter.
Finally, he exhaled slowly, straightening his back as though steadying himself. "You will be thirteen soon. That means you are coming of age. It is customary, expected that we hold a ceremony for you, as is done for all noble children."
Her eyes lingered on him for a moment, searching, before drifting back down to the book in her lap. "I would rather not."
"You must." He had come prepared, expecting her to decline the celebration, it was well within the expectations of her usual actions.
She closed her eyes briefly, as though weighing his words. "Are you asking me, or telling me?"
He was silent. But silence was answer enough.
Her lips curved into the faintest frown, her voice sharpening as she finally raised her head to meet his gaze. "Then why pretend? Why tread around the matter as if I had a choice?"
The words struck harder than she intended, lingering in the air like a blade half-drawn. But then she sighed, her shoulders softening. "Very well. I will do as you wish."