The bed was warm. For a moment, Reith thought she was still trapped in a fever dream. But the warmth was not hers.

Her eyelids fluttered open, and the carved beams of the Valdy manor ceiling loomed above her. The silk canopy drifted faintly with the draft, threads glowing with weak mana light. The faint smell of herbs and incense clung to the room, heavy, grounding her in the present.

Her chest ached with every breath. Her body felt hollowed out, like someone had scooped her insides clean. Yet her mind was sharp, clearer than it had ever been.

One command thundered through her skull like a hammer striking steel:

Protect Sinclair.

Her gaze shifted. Ciel was slumped in the chair beside her bed. His black hair hung messily across his face, strands stuck to his cheek with dried sweat. His fist supported his chin, but his eyes were half-lidded, bruised with sleeplessness.

When she stirred, his head jerked up. Relief washed across his pale face, raw and unguarded. His violet eyes shimmered as though he had been drowning and just found air.

“Nahi,” he whispered, voice shaking. “You’re still here.”

Reith’s chest tightened, but this time with warmth. He was alive. Whole. Not broken on temple stone, not gone in a storm of blood. She had another chance—this time, she could protect him.

Her lips curved faintly, not just with a forced smile but with real relief. “Yes,” she murmured softly. “I’m here.”

She wanted to tell him everything, that she wasn’t Nahida, that she had already watched him die once, but the words stayed in her throat. It was enough, for now, just to see him breathing. Enough to know she could still keep him safe.

She let her lashes lower, her voice gentle. “I’ll rest,” she promised. It was easier than saying: I’ll fight for you. I won’t lose you again.

By dawn, the halls of the manor were still.

But before she slipped away, Ciel had been the one at her side.

When she first tried to sit up, pain lanced through her ribs. Her body trembled, still weak, and the world tilted. Ciel was there instantly, steadying her with both hands.

“Don’t push yourself,” he said firmly, his voice low but warm. “You’ve been unconscious for days. Your body isn’t ready yet.”

Reith met his gaze. His violet eyes were stern, but beneath the hardness was fear, fear of losing her again. The sight struck her deeper than any blade.

“I can’t just stay in bed,” she whispered, clutching at the sheets. “If I do… I’ll lose everything.”

His brows furrowed. “Lose everything?” he repeated softly, suspicion flickering across his face. He searched her expression for the meaning she didn’t give. For a moment she thought he would press further, but instead he fetched a basin of warm water, wringing out a cloth.

He brushed it gently against her forehead, her cheeks, and even her hands where the skin was cracked from strain. His touch was careful, almost reverent, as though she might shatter.

The warmth of his care softened something in her chest. This man, this brother, was alive. She would not let him break again.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. The words trembled, but she meant them.

Ciel gave a faint smile, though his eyes still searched her face. “Rest more. I’ll bring you broth later. And if something weighs on you… you can tell me. You don’t need to carry everything alone.”

Her throat tightened at that. She wished she could tell him how true his words were, that she carried not just her own burdens but the weight of lives already lost. Instead, she only nodded.

When at last his exhaustion pulled him back into sleep in the chair by her bedside, Reith rose. She dressed quietly, pulling Nahida’s robes across her shoulders. The fabric was heavier than it looked, lined with cedar and the faint smoke of incense, as though even clothes here were pressed with memory.

She slipped past Ciel’s door, pausing for one heartbeat to glance inside. He slept with his arm draped across his chest, face turned toward the bed as though to make sure she was still there even in his dreams.

Her chest ached, but she turned away.

The manor gates groaned as she pushed them open. They shut behind her with a sharp clang, echoing in her chest like judgment.

The Stillwood loomed ahead.

At the edge of the forest, she paused.

The Stillwood was different than the rest of the land. The air grew quiet, too quiet. Mana’s hum weakened the moment she crossed the threshold. The birdsong that had filled the morning vanished. Only silence stretched through the trees, thick and endless.

She tightened her robe and stepped forward.

Her feet followed the path she remembered. The first time she had walked this way, there had been moonlight on water. She remembered uneven bread shared between two strangers. She remembered a boy with ember-red eyes that glowed steady and warm, like coals that could never die.

Soran.

Her chest tightened with longing.

The trees parted at last, revealing the clearing.

The pool was still. Its surface was smooth as glass, reflecting the pale light of dawn. A willow tree stood at the edge, but its branches bent the wrong way, east instead of west. The moss was thicker than she remembered. The air felt heavier.

She stopped. Her stomach dropped.

This wasn’t right.

She stepped into the clearing, scanning everything. Her boots pressed into soft mud, leaving faint prints. She searched for the indentation she knew should have been there—the mark of his boots where he had stood waiting.

Nothing.

She waited. Minutes passed. Then hours. Shadows shifted, mist curled low around the pool, but the clearing remained empty.

No footsteps. No boy with red eyes.

Soran never came.

Her knees buckled. She hit the mud hard, cold seeping through her robe. Fingers dug into the soil until grit wedged under her nails, until the sting in her palms was the only proof she hadn’t turned hollow.

Her breath came ragged, too fast, as if her ribs had forgotten how to hold air. The world blurred, not with tears at first but with the dizziness of grief that had nowhere to go. She pressed her forehead to the earth, teeth clenched, fighting the sound rising in her throat.

Why wasn’t he here?

The thought tore through her like a blade, raw and merciless. The hourglass had shattered. Time had not erased him; it had misplaced him. Fate’s road had forked, and he had been pushed somewhere else, somewhere she could not reach.

She clenched her teeth. She had a choice. Either fall apart here, or cling to the one thread that remained unbroken.

Sinclair.

Her body trembled, but she forced herself to her feet. She straightened her robe and stared at the still pool.

Her voice was hoarse, but steady.

“Wait for me, Soran. I’ll keep Sinclair breathing. I’ll build the future you can walk to. Even if it kills me, I won’t lose you twice.”

The words left her lips like an oath. The vow settled inside her chest, heavy but unshakable, like a blade seated firmly in its hilt.

A sudden sound cut through the silence.

A crow flew low over the pool. Its wings shimmered strangely, feathers flashing green for a heartbeat, oily, unnatural. Its shadow stretched long across the moss before vanishing into the trees.

The soil beneath her boots pulsed faint crimson, veins flashing across the moss like blood vessels. Then they dimmed, vanishing back into dead earth.

Reith’s fists clenched. She raised her chin and spoke to the empty woods.

“I know you’re still moving pieces,” she said coldly. “So am I.”

By the time she slipped back into Valdy Manor, the sun had climbed high.

Her robe was torn at the hem from branches. Her palms were raw with bark. Mud clung to her boots.

She had expected Ciel to be waiting with questions, ready to scold her for leaving her bed.

Instead, she found him in the study.

He sat stiffly at his desk, a sealed letter lying on the polished wood before him. The wax shimmered faintly, runes carved into it glowing silver in the sunlight. The crest was unmistakable: a tower entwined with seven stars.

Aetherion Academy.

Her heart stopped.

Ciel’s eyes lifted to hers. Relief was nowhere to be found. His expression was hard, edged with disappointment.

“You were gone this morning,” he said quietly, not asking but stating. His gaze lingered on the mud streaking the hem of her robe before rising back to meet her eyes.

Reith’s breath caught, but she stayed silent.

His voice lowered, sharper now. “Where did you go, Nahi?”

Her throat tightened. She felt the weight of his stare pressing against her, demanding an answer. But she did not give him one. Instead, she stepped closer, her eyes fixed on the letter as though nothing else in the room existed.

“The Academy?” she asked softly, her voice trembling just enough to sound fragile.

He nodded once. “They’ve summoned you back. Nahida Valdy was never meant to disappear for this long. Not when you…” His gaze softened, heavy with something close to awe. “…Not when you carry the highest resonance they’ve seen in years.”

Her hands curled at her sides.

So it was true. Nahida had belonged there, among the chosen. And now Reith was expected to step into that life, to carry her name into the Academy’s halls.

Ciel looked down at the letter. His voice dropped, strained. “They won’t forgive another absence. If you refuse…” He hesitated. His lips pressed into a thin line. “…They’ll strip you of your place. Of everything our house has.”

The silence between them was thick, filled with more than just expectation. The weight of the Valdy name. The power of the Academy. The eyes of the empire.

Reith stepped forward slowly. Her fingers hovered over the letter’s seal. She didn’t touch it yet.

Protect Sinclair.

The words beat inside her chest like a drum.

If Sinclair was bound for the Academy, then she had no choice. To protect him, she had to go there too. If she wanted to survive this path, if she wanted even the faint hope of finding Soran again, she needed strength. She needed power.

Her gaze lifted to Ciel’s. Her throat was dry, but her voice came out firm. “Then teach me. Before I set foot there, I need to know how this world’s magic breathes.”

Ciel’s eyes widened. For a moment, he only studied her, searching her expression. There was a steadiness in her voice now, a clarity he wasn’t used to hearing. The sister who once avoided the weight of responsibility was suddenly asking for it.

“You want me to train you?” he asked slowly, as if weighing the strangeness of the request.

“Yes,” Reith answered without hesitation.

Ciel’s brow furrowed slightly, though he tried to hide it. “That mana surge… it may have affected you more than we thought. Sometimes it frays memory, makes even familiar things feel foreign.” His tone softened, careful, but his eyes stayed fixed on hers, unblinking.

“You’ve been… different since you woke. The words you use. The way you hold yourself.” His voice dropped lower, steadier, like iron beneath silk. “Don’t lie to me, Nahi. Not to me.”

Reith’s throat tightened. Heat surged under her skin, like the air itself had turned against her. He was watching too closely—closer than she had expected, closer than she could afford. One wrong word, one hesitation, and the world she was borrowing would shatter in his hands.

She forced herself to nod. The motion was small, almost stiff, but it was the only shield she had. The lie tasted like iron on her tongue.

For a long moment, he studied her face, suspicion flickering in the violet of his eyes. Her chest stayed tight, every beat of her heart threatening to betray her. Then, at last, he exhaled and let it go, though not fully. His gaze lingered, sharp and lingering, as if committing her to memory.

“Very well,” he said finally. “Tomorrow, we’ll begin.”

Reith pressed her thumb into the wax. The seal cracked with a sharp snap. The silver runes flared once, then faded, as if the letter itself had acknowledged her choice.

The parchment inside was crisp, the ink bold. She read aloud softly:

“You are hereby commanded to return to Aetherion Academy. Present yourself at the Archmages’ Circle on the first moon. Only those who endure shall ascend.”

Her hands shook, but she steadied them.

Her lips shaped the words into a whisper, a vow no one else heard.

“Then I’ll endure.”

The days that followed settled into a quiet rhythm.

Each morning, Reith dressed in lighter noble gowns, silk skirts brushing her ankles as she followed Ciel into the library. The shelves became their battlefield.

On the first day, he tested her on resonance theory. Her answers came halting, uncertain. Ciel’s gaze lingered too long on her face, suspicion faint but present, though he never voiced it.

By the second, he pushed history texts toward her. She stumbled on names Nahida should have known, and his expression tightened, though he only said, “We’ll go over it again.”

By the third, she dared to ask her own questions, and his explanations were patient, precise, laced with the quiet warmth of an older brother. Yet every so often, when her words faltered, his violet eyes narrowed, searching her for cracks.

Even so, there was care in everything he did. When her hands cramped from copying runes, he poured her tea. When she nodded off, he draped a cloak across her shoulders.

Reith’s chest ached. She wasn’t Nahida, no matter what he saw, but if wearing that name, if learning all this knowledge, meant protecting Sinclair, then she would.

By the fifth day, her quill no longer shook when she traced a rune, and the faint glow that sparked across the parchment drew a small smile from Ciel.

“That’s more like the sister I remember,” he said quietly.

Reith lowered her eyes, hiding the storm in her chest. I’m not her. But I’ll become whoever I need to be, if it means I can protect them both.