Quincey saw no one, and though he knew that a simple raise of his voice would suffice to summon aid, something inside urged him not to draw attention to his presence. He chose to follow that instinct and moved through the rest of the house, changing the direction of his path.

Originally, he had intended to go straight to the front door, but something pulled him toward a part of the home where guests were not typically permitted. Quietly, he descended a flight of stairs to the lower level and stepped lightly toward wherever his instinct guided him.

He did not know where he was going, but he knew he was on the right path, for something in the air gave him the sense that everything around him was alive, as if every speck held something supernatural, something unseen by ordinary eyes, yet for some reason calling to him.

Before entering the room that drew him most strongly, he felt his scar tingle fully and instinctively laid a hand over it. 

The first thing he heard was childish babbling, nonsensical sounds of joy, likely born of play. The knight knew the lady of the house had two small children, so there was nothing unusual in that. Or so he thought.

When he finally stood at the threshold and looked inside, he froze in place.

Two small children on the floor, a boy and a girl, were clearly twins. They could have been no more than three or four years old, and like the rest of the household, they were dressed in black. But it was not their appearance that shocked the knight and left him rooted to the spot.

Sunlight streamed through a window, falling directly on where they sat. The rays traced the shape of the windows, passing through the glass onto the floor, forming perfect edges… or nearly perfect.

Quincey watched the giggling boy reach toward a beam of light, illuminating his tiny palm. But then the boy clenched his fist and extended it toward his sister. When he opened it, the trapped light rose upward, briefly forming a small orb, like a soap bubble. The girl grabbed it, and the orb dissolved before her eyes, sparking delight in both children.

Their giggles were the exact opposite of what the knight felt inside.

Magic.

It was magic. There was no doubt.

Quincey was certain he had never before been able to see magic—or rather feel it this way—but suddenly his entire being was drawn to it, showing him what to look for. He quickly concluded that if these little children had such abilities, whatever he sensed from their older sister was undoubtedly magical as well. They were mages.

The two children on the floor still had not noticed him and continued playing with the light. It was an innocent game, yet in the lands of Valerion it would be considered a sin. Quincey, not just as a Messenger-at-Arms but as a knight sworn to the crown, had a duty to report them, condemning them to death.

His heart began to pound so violently he felt it might burst from his chest, and a sudden wave of nausea overwhelmed him, panic taking hold.

“My Lord Messenger,” came a voice behind him, and in the tone of the children’s older sister he heard the same alarm he felt inside. She must have guessed what he had seen; there was no doubt, as the babbling and laughter of her siblings were the only sounds echoing around them. Moreover, his rigid stance spoke for itself.

Quincey did not answer. He did not know what to say. He did not know anything.

“My Lord Messenger,” Lady Edris addressed him again, daring to step closer.

The moment she was just a step away, he forced himself to tear his gaze from the twins and turned to her, halting her with his look.

“They are…” he began, leaving the sentence unfinished, but judging by her expression, she knew exactly the word he meant.

Her face was pale, and her eyes carried visible fear, but her lips remained stubbornly pressed together, as if she would not yield without a fight.

Quincey did not even realize that he had instinctively moved one hand to the spot where his sword hung at his belt. But before he could even grasp it, his hand froze, completely losing all feeling… or rather, it was as if it had turned to ice.

Confused, he lifted his gaze back to the girl before him and immediately understood why.

Her eyes glowed, her irises a deep blue, though Quincey could have sworn they had been brown before, and the light from them subtly illuminated her cheeks. Moreover, her outstretched hand toward him made it clear that she was the reason he could not draw his sword.

The knight struggled to keep a clear head and not panic, though the pounding of his own heart thundered in his ears and he realized just how great the danger was—how close to death he was once again, though he had barely escaped it not long ago.

“Lady Edris,” he addressed her cautiously.

“They haven’t done anything wrong,” she said, her voice firm, edging toward anger. “We haven’t done anything wrong. We’ve never harmed anyone.”

Quincey understood why she said that. Her family had been close to the royal household; even the kings themselves had trusted her father with important documents. He had access to places where even lords could not enter, all the while keeping his family’s secrets.

“Your father…” the knight began, but again could not finish. He knew little of mages, so he did not know whether both parents had to be magical to pass their gifts to their children. Yet from what he felt in Edris and her siblings, and from the absence of anything unusual in their mother, he began to suspect the answer.

Edris did not answer, and they continued to stare at each other, waiting to see what the other would do.

She must have realized that there was now no turning back. Quincey knew the truth, and that endangered her family. She could not let him leave, yet she could not kill him, for the king himself knew where he was headed, and this would be the first place they would look. In any case, her family had already lost the moment the knight saw the children.

The Messenger-at-Arms, on the other hand, had no idea what to do. Duty demanded he draw his sword and defend himself, so he could report them to the king. Magic was forbidden in this kingdom, and having hidden it so long directly under the royal family’s nose automatically deserved death. In this situation, the law even permitted Quincey to carry out the execution himself, provided he presented proof of his motive—in this case, one of the children.

But he was not a monster.

“I wish no harm upon anyone,” he tried again, speaking softly to the girl before him.

It was clear that Edris did not believe him.

Quincey felt his scar throb, the sensation slowly spreading through his body to his right hand, the fingertips still touching the hilt of his sword. It was a strange tingling, as if his frozen muscles were trying to move on their own.

That feeling, that instinct he had sensed since entering, grew stronger. Something wanted him to know the truth. Something wanted him to feel magic.

Driven by it, Quincey tried again to move his hand, and to his surprise, his fingers twitched gently.

Edris’s expression shifted to pure astonishment, and something passed through her that the brown-haired knight could not identify. But like her, he focused on his hand and the attempt to free it, and after a few seconds he managed to move his fingers slightly again.

“You…” The girl’s voice made him lift his head.

She looked less resolute, less ready to execute him on the spot, and her emotions were replaced by confusion. But before she could say anything again, someone suddenly joined them in the hallway.

The royal knight first heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and then a figure emerged from around the corner—the lady of the house. It took only a few seconds for Lady Inara to realize what she was seeing and grasp the gravity of the situation.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Quincey spoke before either of the women could.

Both turned their attention to him, their eyes clearly showing disbelief. He continued to reason with them: “Please. I’m certain we can talk. You know that whatever you do will endanger your family.” Judging by their frowns, these were not the right words. “I don’t have to be your enemy.”

He meant every word, but he understood why it was hard for them to believe him. It wasn’t just that he was a knight of a kingdom where magic was punishable. He was the Messenger-at-Arms, practically the king’s right hand. It was expected that he would place the crown above all else and share its views.

Quincey, however, could not hate magic when it was obvious it had saved his life.

He didn’t know who, how, or why, but he understood there was nothing natural about being reborn and cast back through time.

“Please,” he pressed again. “You may take my sword if it will help maintain peace.” He gestured toward his belt, where his hand still hung frozen in place.

“We are not traitors to the crown,” Edris’s voice remained hostile.

“Edris—”

The girl did not let her mother interrupt her and continued: “We have never harmed anyone. My father served the crown faithfully to his last breath. He would have done everything for the royal family. All he wanted in return was to live in peace.”

Quincey realized that Master Ermes had been playing a dangerous game. His whole life had always been a step away from revealing his true abilities, which meant mortal danger for his family. He had worked directly under the king, living practically beneath the castle… always with one foot in the grave. Yet he remained in Valerion and had children who inherited his gifts.

The tense situation suddenly escalated when a child’s babble came much closer and louder than before, and when the knight turned his head, he saw the little boy rise and approach him with curiosity.

He was not the only one who realized what was happening, and the next few seconds unfolded so quickly and unexpectedly that there was no rational explanation.

Edris made a motion with her hand. Quincey saw it out of the corner of his eye. Suddenly, before him appeared only a dark orb of light hurtling toward him, and he instinctively raised his hands in a defensive gesture.

And just like that, his hand was no longer frozen in the air. With both palms extended before him, he held the pulsating magical light that fractured and coiled at the edges like a million tiny bolts of lightning in place. It looked as though he had placed his hands on a storm cloud, shimmering in the same reflections of sapphire he knew from the royal jewels.

“What…” he gasped, pulling his hands back toward his body in panic. 

He finally managed to compose himself, and the moment he did, the magical cloud vanished. Only the two women remained before him, their faces reflecting the same profound shock that he felt within.