The Vreisz estate had begun to feel more like a home.

Not because of the carved halls or silken curtains or the jeweled combs in her drawers, but because of the people. Sventius Vreisz, her father, who now laughed more often when he was with her. Ramona Vreisz, the Viscountess, who braided her hair in the mornings and kissed her forehead like she'd always been hers. And even the staff, who once regarded her with cautious formality, now smiled when she passed, like she truly belonged.

She was no longer just a girl without a name.

She was Vyrilleya Vreisz, the only daughter of the house.

And now, she was learning.

It began on a sunny morning near the end of summer, in the garden pavilion where ivy climbed the stone columns. Her father laid out a large map across a marble table, the golden sun glinting off the inked lines of borders and kingdoms.

"This," he said, tapping the center, "is the Fillemina Empire."

Riley's eyes widened. It sprawled across the parchment, a land of mountains, rivers, forests, and cities. But Sventius didn't speak of its lands. He spoke of its strength.

"The Fillemina Empire has endured for centuries," he said, "not because of how large it is, but because of its people. And most of all... the Four Pillars."

He pointed to four crests scattered around the capital.

"Sweinz," he said, tapping a crimson shield bearing a silver lion rampant clutching a flaming sword, a silver scale in the corner, and a sunburst-moon beneath. "They are the Sword of the Empire. Their territory lies in the east, bordering Azkania-our Empire's greatest enemy."

He glanced at Riley before continuing. "They value honor and loyalty, befitting of a knight. Their crest reflects their principles, and they are known for their legendary swordsmanship."

Then his finger moved to the west, over an emerald-green shield bearing a golden stag standing guard before a radiant white tree.

"Shiellyd. Their crest symbolizes noble sacrifice, unwavering truth, and the steadfast defense of the realm. Their lands border the Dark Forest, home to creatures long believed extinct."

Riley gasped. "Is the Empire in constant danger?"

Sventius chuckled, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. "No, sweetheart. The Empire and the Dark Forest are separated by the Giant's Rock Mountains. The terrain there is so harsh that even the fiercest beasts can't cross. The last time a creature did was a decade ago-and the Sweinz and Shiellyd dealt with it quickly."

Riley let out a relieved breath. "What about the South and North?"

Sventius pointed to the southern region, tapping a parchment-gold shield bearing a black raven-winged book beneath a sapphire eye.

"Ingentyas-the Empire's Wisdom. Keepers of knowledge, laws, and Macht records. Their crest symbolizes knowledge preserved, truth pursued, and vision guiding the empire's path."

Finally, his finger landed in the north. His tone shifted-slightly heavier.

"And Desillix-the Empire's Right Arm." A black and steel-grey shield. A crow biting a black rose, over a crescent moon. "Their strength lies in politics, diplomacy, and secrets. They are... dangerous, if crossed."

Riley stared at the map in awe.

"And us?"

"We are not a Pillar," he replied with a warm smile. "Our territory, Reverie, is small-bordering the west and just half a day from Liberia, the capital. Strategic, but quiet. A trade hub more than a battlefield. We serve beneath their shadow-and we've done so peacefully."

That evening, Ramona brought her to the drawing room. Soft tea, embroidery, and moonlight spilled through the lace curtains. Her voice was gentler than Sventius's, but it carried a different weight.

"Do you know what Macht truly is?" she asked.

Riley shook her head.

"It's a gift some are born with. A power rooted in magic and spirit. Most who have it awaken between ages eight and twelve."

She stirred her tea thoughtfully.

"Some Macht are easy to live with. Healing. Strength. Speed. Control over the elements-fire, wind, water. Useful, respected. But others... are not."

Her gaze found Riley's.

"Like yours. Memoria."

She reached for Riley's hand.

"You remember what I told you about your mother, Cana?"

Riley nodded slowly.

"The Empire reveres Macht-but only when they can control it. Your mother's power... terrified them. Because everyone has a memory they'd rather keep hidden."

Riley shivered.

"Memoria doesn't just let you see memories-it can erase them. Alter them. Change what a person believes. And that is what the Empire calls unforgivable."

"But... not every Memoria user would do that," Riley said.

"True," Ramona agreed. "But they don't care. The moment you possess it, you're a threat."

She paused.

"Cana once tried to erase memories. We were on the run. Mercenaries found us. She feared they knew too much. She reached into their minds-to remove their knowledge."

Riley leaned in, dread creeping into her chest.

"When the city guards found them, they weren't angry. Or even confused. They were empty. Blank stares. They'd forgotten not just their plan, but their names. How to speak. How to walk."

Ramona's voice trembled.

"Cana never forgave herself. Worse-she inherited their memories. Saw their past. Felt their sins. And over time, she couldn't tell hers apart from theirs."

Riley's hands were clenched in her lap.

"She stopped sleeping. Started whispering things no one understood. Cried at random sounds. Smiled at strangers. She was breaking. And then Sven found us. He never turned away. He helped her come back."

Silence filled the space.

"She was strong," Ramona said softly. "But Memoria broke her in ways no sword could."

She squeezed Riley's hand.

"Use it wisely, or not at all. Understood?"

Riley nodded.

Ramona smiled gently. "Good girl. Now rest. Tomorrow your assigned tutor will teach you about the full Macht system-but remember the rule."

Riley smirked. "Never mention Memoria."

The days that followed were a blur of lessons. History, politics, noble etiquette, languages, embroidery, dance, geography. Sventius and Ramona never pushed her-but Riley pushed herself. She owed them that.

Her dreams continued, too.

The boy still appeared. The same cruel training. The same ruthless drills. But the more she dreamed, the more she noticed something new: a fire in him. A will.

He didn't break.

He endured.

And that quiet, burning determination lit something in her chest.

Compared to him, these lessons were nothing.

Sometimes, she wondered who he really was. If she'd ever meet him.

And maybe, deep down, she hoped she would.