She had almost decided to head to the dining hall when her gaze paused on her desk. On it was an almost controlled mess—notes, scrolls, and books she had left open the night before. Without hesitation, Marina began tidying up. She put the volumes back in their place and quickly arranged her notes into neat piles.

One notebook, in particular, caught her attention—a folder filled with notes on Cragar’s children, which she had left open in a rush, interrupted by the sudden wave of sleep that had overtaken her the previous night.

She flipped through the pages, scanning the information she had gathered during her time spent with her best friend.

Cragar, god of the dead and the Underworld, had offspring of devastating potential. His children were rare, often bearers of chaos and change—like calamities that altered everything in their wake.

And you, Shirei, are exactly that, aren’t you?

She closed the notebook with a sigh, pushing those thoughts away for a moment. Letting herself fall onto the bed, she stared at the ceiling as her mind spiraled into a vortex of reflections. Being a daughter of Ien had always filled her with a deep sense of pride, but sometimes she wondered what it truly meant. What did it imply to bear the weight of wisdom? She had never been the kind of person who got lost in the thrill of power or physical strength.

Yeah, I’m growing up… I need to understand what to do with the gifts I’ve inherited.

She was happy to be a guide for newcomers. Every day, confused and frightened Blendbreeds arrived at the park, torn from their ordinary lives and thrown into a world of monsters, gods, and supernatural powers. It was her duty to help them find their way, to make sense of it all. Yet, she had never experienced that same sense of disorientation.

Since she was a child, she had known she was different—just not in that way. Gods, monsters, and legends had always been part of her daily life. She had immediately grasped the dynamics of the supernatural world, growing up with the awareness that she was meant for something greater.

Or at least, that’s what I was raised to believe.

Marina shifted on the bed, sitting up with her back against the wall and her legs crossed. Despite her responsibilities, despite the respect and admiration she received from others, there was a part of her that felt profoundly alone. Few truly understood what it meant to carry the burden of being her.

To smile, to teach, to be the bright presence everyone sought in times of difficulty. Yet deep inside, there were moments when loneliness struck her with force.

She thought a lot—perhaps too much. Often, when her thoughts grew heavy, they turned into a storm that pulled her in.

“Being a Lupi…”

Her gaze drifted back to the walls.

Architecture and art had become her mental escape.

When she lost herself in designs or structures, when she envisioned palaces, cities, bridges defying gravity, her mind freed itself from worries. Every detail of a column, an arch, an engraved window allowed her to detach from that oppressive weight, to find order in the chaos. The precise lines and structural calculations gave her a sense of control that, in her life, always seemed to slip away.

She wondered which of her parents had passed down those passions to her and unconsciously smiled.

But despite those moments of escape, her mind always returned to the bond that tied her to her mother. Ien, the goddess of wisdom, was a distant figure, yet present in her every thought.

Being attentive meant seeing what others did not, anticipating the consequences of one’s actions and those of others, being aware of possibilities and dangers.

That awareness, however, had distanced her from her peers. While others lost themselves in games and jokes, Marina felt she always had to maintain a certain seriousness—a responsibility she could not afford to ignore. She couldn’t be as carefree as the others, and to many, that made her seem distant, perhaps even cold at times. Even though, deep inside, her soul was filled with complex, often conflicting emotions.

Maybe that’s why I feel so comfortable around other outcasts… I see myself in them, and I feel at ease.

She wondered if Ien was watching her at that moment. Perhaps the goddess was always there, lurking in her thoughts, ready to intervene if necessary. What would she think of her? Marina often pondered that question.

Had she lived up to Ien’s expectations? It was hard to say.

I wonder if she even considers me special… I’m not her only daughter, after all.

Sometimes, her mind didn’t offer clear answers—only more questions. On one side, there was the duty to be a leader for others, a good daughter for her family, and a source of pride for her mother. On the other, she would have thrown it all away just to fulfill the desire to simply be herself—a girl with dreams and aspirations, with uncertainties and fears.

Just a teenager…

Where did she belong? Was she destined to follow in the footsteps of those before her, to be a guiding light in a world in constant turmoil? Or could she choose a different path? One that might take her away from her inheritance, perhaps.

It was in moments like these that the days passed more quickly, and yet Marina felt trapped in a kind of stasis that distracted her.

It had happened before.

She wondered, for a moment, if Shirei, like her, felt like a prisoner of a fate he had never chosen. Maybe he was searching for a way to escape his legacy as a son of Cragar.

If he really is his father, that is.

She stepped inside, immediately breathing in the familiar scent of fresh hay and animals. She paused for a moment at the entrance, listening to the delicate sound of hooves scratching the floor and the calm breathing of the horses resting in their stalls. Walking down the rows of boxes, she finally reached Nebula’s, her rust-colored horse.

As soon as the animal saw her, it lifted its head and huffed softly, as if recognizing her immediately. A small smile crept onto Marina’s lips.

“Hello, Nebula,” she murmured, finally feeling a bit of peace return to her heart.

Marina watched the thoroughbred, losing herself in the slow movement of its breathing. The animal’s deep eyes observed her with silent calm, almost as if it could understand what she couldn’t put into words.

Nebula was a majestic horse, one that did not belong to the Mortal World. It was more than just an animal—the only memory she had chosen to take with her when she left.

I would never have abandoned you there for anything in the world.

Nebula let out a small neigh, as if greeting her. Marina smiled, more out of habit than true joy, and grabbed a brush hanging on the stable wall. She began running it over the horse’s coat, a gesture so automatic it felt second nature. The bristles glided lightly over Nebula’s sleek fur, and as she repeated the motion, she felt the tension slip away, as though her thoughts could find momentary peace in that simple, affectionate act.

“It’s been a strange morning, you know?” she asked rhetorically, as if the horse could truly understand her.

“I can’t stop thinking about this new guy, about where he might have gone and why he disappeared so suddenly. Maybe it’s stupid to worry so much, but I can’t help it.”

Nebula seemed to listen, its steady breathing and slight shake of its mane the only response. Marina continued brushing in silence, finding comfort in the tranquil interaction.

Then, like a whisper carried by the wind, something tried to catch her attention.

At the edge of her vision, beyond the golden woods surrounding the park, a sudden glow flickered between the trees. Marina kept brushing without turning, her heartbeat quickening slightly.

Among the foliage, an ethereal figure took shape. It wasn’t clearly visible, but it seemed almost like a wolf made of light—an apparition both translucent and radiant, moving with grace through nature.

The mana resonated in the daughter of Ien’s chest, awakening a fraction of the powers she preferred not to use.

Marina’s heart began to pound as she tried to imagine what—or who—could be behind her.

She wasn’t sure what it meant, but she knew it wasn’t a coincidence.

Ien. It had to be her mother.

The goddess of wisdom had sensed her state of mind and was trying to communicate with her, even if not directly. That strange sensation was merely a manifestation of divine power and presence—perhaps a reminder that she was never truly alone, even in moments of doubt.

The apparition vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, dissolving into the shadows of the trees before Marina could decide whether to turn and look at it or not.

Perhaps her mother was watching her.

Perhaps, in some way, she had always been watching over her.

Marina lowered her gaze and continued brushing Nebula, her movements slow and deliberate.

“That’s probably all I need,”she whispered to the creature, «to know that my efforts don’t go unnoticed.»

Nebula huffed again, as if confirming her words. That reaction made Marina smile, and she clapped her hands before announcing, “Alright, girl! It’s time I tell you about this morning’s lesson!”