Alya left the lower docks, utterly drained but triumphant. She had successfully transmuted the sabotaged iron bolts, saving Prince Damon's shipment and securing her first strategic victory. She pulled her dark cloak tighter, her entire body aching from the sheer effort of manifesting Absolute Security across dozens of components. She was running terribly late for Cyril's 'mental log download.'
She took a shortcut through a rarely used garden corridor leading directly to the Ravenshade Research Wing. She was halfway across the courtyard when a calm, authoritative voice stopped her.
"Stellaria."
Alya froze. Prince Damon stepped out of the shadow of a stone archway. He was no longer in his formal academy uniform, but dressed in smart, dark transit clothes, suggesting he had just returned from the docks. He looked composed, charming, and intensely focused, a calculated glint in his blue eyes.
"Prince Damon," Alya replied, her voice shaky with fatigue.
He didn't move closer, maintaining a polite, royal distance. He simply held up a single object: the flawless, gold-flecked iron carriage bolt she had perfected hours earlier.
"My foreman reported an anomaly at Pier 4," Damon began, his tone perfectly even, devoid of anger, but heavy with political weight. "The securing bolts on my most critical shipment were replaced with materials of impossible tensile strength. They were perfect. And they carry a very faint signature of chaotic golden magic."
Alya's heart sank. She had meant to save him. She thought she had succeeded.
"You are under Cyril Ravenshade's personal observation for being an uncontrollable chaos factor," Damon continued, stepping closer. "Yet you manifest, with surgical precision, the exact structural component required to save a shipment you were supposed to be trying to ruin. What is your game, Stellaria? What is your end goal? A person like you doesn't engage in high-utility sabotage without a massive, detrimental motive. Tell me, what is the price of this perfection?"
Alya stared at the bolt, confused. He wasn't grateful; he was suspicious. The charming Prince was calculating her every move, certain that the Stellaria he knew could only act out of malice.
As Alya scrambled for an answer, her exhausted mind snapped under the pressure of his calm condemnation. The Prince's focus, his assumption of her inherent wickedness, triggered a raw, unexpected memory buried deep within Stellaria's original consciousness.
(Memory)
The walls of the Vaelion drawing room shimmered, then solidified into an agonizing past. Stellaria—the original Stellaria—was seven years old, standing rigidly before her father, Duke Vaelion.
The Duke smiled, his hand resting proudly on the young Stellaria's shoulder. "My brilliant Stellaria. My favorite. You are pure Vaelion ambition, daughter. Pure gold."
A door opened. A beautiful, luminous blonde girl, younger than Stellaria, stepped in, holding a wilting flower that immediately bloomed under her touch. It was Lunessa.
The Duke's eyes, once warm, went cold on Stellaria, immediately focusing on the younger girl. "Lunessa! My beautiful, talented Lunessa! Your Light magic is a gift to our house! The purest form of nobility!"
The Duke immediately removed his hand from Stellaria's shoulder, turning his back entirely. "Stellaria, go. Your presence is distracting. Go and try to be as useful as your sister."
A young Stellaria stood there, her small hands clenched, watching her father cast her aside like an old rag, her worth extinguished by a brighter, purer light.
Alya's eyes snapped back to the present. The ornate stone courtyard, the cool air, and the face of the calculating Prince Damon filled her vision.
Tears were streaming silently down her cheeks. The pain of the forgotten past, of the Duke's rejection, was not hers, yet it was so powerful it had broken through her composure.
"I'm sorry," Alya whispered, her voice raw, not for the bolt, but for the original Stellaria's crushing inferiority. "I'm sorry I interfered."
Damon's entire demeanor shifted. The calm, political ice fractured. He saw a seventeen-year-old girl, utterly drained, weeping silently over a question about a shipment bolt. His hidden soft heart, the one buried beneath his charming, guarded exterior, twisted with immediate guilt.
I pushed her too hard, Damon thought, horrified. She has chaotic magic, yes, but I cornered her and demanded a confession of malicious intent. I made her cry.
He instantly closed the remaining distance, his royal composure replaced by genuine distress. He didn't touch her, but he hovered close, radiating awkward concern.
"Lady Stellaria, forgive me," Damon said, his voice dropping to a low, genuinely kind murmur. "I did not mean to cause such distress. I merely sought clarity. Please, calm yourself. You did... well. The shipment is secure. I appreciate the effort, whatever the motivation."
Damon, the future King, found himself stammering, trying desperately to comfort the unpredictable girl he had just unjustly accused.
A hundred yards away, on the second-story balcony of the Ravenshade Wing, Cyril stood rigidly by the window, waiting for his late subject. He was looking down into the courtyard when he saw the entire scene unfold:
Damon, the charming, aloof Prince, cornering Stellaria Vaelion.
Stellaria suddenly crumbling into tears.
And Damon, abandoning his royal posture, leaning in close, his hand lifting slightly as if to comfort her, his face a mask of immediate, sympathetic concern.
Cyril felt a sharp, cold jolt in his chest—a sudden, unwelcome pressure that had nothing to do with mana diagnostics. It was irrational. It was infuriating. The Prince was touching his anomaly, soothing his experiment's unexpected emotional output.
Why is the Prince allowed such unearned proximity? Cyril's jaw tightened. He categorized the feeling: Threat to Research Integrity. That was the only logical explanation for the surge of anger.
He watched until Damon reluctantly backed away, leaving Alya alone to walk toward the lab entrance.
Alya finally entered Cyril's lab nearly twenty minutes late. Her eyes were slightly swollen, and her face was pale from the emotional whiplash.
Cyril didn't turn from the console. His voice was cold, professional, and entirely lacking the subtle flirtation of their previous session.
"You are late, Stellaria," he said, not even looking at her.
"I apologize, Sir Cyril," Alya managed, her voice flat. "I experienced an unexpected external stimulus."
She walked into the Containment Field and closed the door with a quiet hiss. She was distracted, the pain of Stellaria's memory still vivid, and the sheer political exhaustion overwhelming her.
"We continue with the focus suppression test," Cyril instructed, not mentioning the external incident. "I want to isolate the utility trigger. Attempt to manifest a simple, empty wooden box."
Alya closed her eyes, channeling the energy. But the pain, the exhaustion, and the conflicting emotions between Damon's suspicion and his comfort caused her core to spiral. She couldn't focus.
The golden energy surged violently, rattling the Containment Field. The mana spike was immediate and dangerous.
Cyril swore under his breath. The controls were useless; her core was malfunctioning, rejecting all external calibration.
"Stellaria, your core is running critically hot! You're collapsing the containment field!"
Alya gasped, the heat overwhelming her. "I can't stop it! I'm sorry!"
Cyril let out a sharp sigh—a sound of supreme annoyance that masked his sudden, genuine concern. He slammed the console and moved with swift, focused intent. He hit the manual override.
The door hissed open. Cyril walked straight into the Containment Field. He didn't speak. He simply pulled Alya against him, pressing her exhausted body firmly against his own. It felt different....More intimate, he held her like he had just found gold and was not ready to let go. He's left hand tightly gripping her waist and the other holding her hand, he began to stabilize her mana core.
" Hey, Cyril wait-
She pushed him in an endeavour to look at he's face and was cut mid sentence. She was now as bright as her many piles of tomatoes. It wasn't just because of the intimate position they were in but because he's face was beyond seductive. He's glasses were off and he's handsome face was one not to be ignored. He moved forward to her this time holding just her waist, he speaks.
" what where you doing with Prince Damon"
" Oh the Prince. Well.. you see.. I was umm..
She rambled trying to think off a lie but was unable to think straight. Cyril looked at her with an unfazed look , as he sighs before then tilting her chin up to face him on eye level.
" Stellaria.. don't lie to me, your bad at lying. If you say the truth" with saying that he holds her waist more tightly
"I'll let you go easy, or.." He says shifting he's eyes from hers to her lips. Flustered beyond compare she pushed him away.
" we, we, we- were just talking about he's shipment with the eastern kingdom"
" I see.." putting he's hand on his chin and the other on his waist. " and you were crying why..."
" Oh that, I just remembered a childhood memory that's all and it made me emotional hahaha.." bright red. She awkwardly laughs Without looking at him . He looked sceptical but accepted it.
" *sigh* ridiculous." He sleeks he's hair backward with he's hand, before removing he's glasses from he's pocket and putting it back on.
" well if you say so. And also.." She looks up at him to see him smiling.
" next time you try to seduce another man as my anomaly, I hope your ready to get seduced too. So when next you see Prince Damon again why don't you teach him what we practiced today"
" wait , what.."
" hahaha, I'm just playing, you don't have to be so serious for nothing. You can do whatever you like" with Saying that he turns around to leave but not before giving her one last glance.
" your dismissed. You don't have to come tomorrow I have some business to attend too at home. We can continue trying to stabilize your mana core the day after tomorrow. He leaves living her confused.
" what was that about"
Outside the hall where he had just walked out. He's expressionless serious face was now flushed red at what happened, trying to hide how red he was he uses he's hand to hide he's face but was obviously not walking. All he was thinking of was how pretty she looked, so embarrassed.