linda cleared her throat, then said in a deliberately calm, peacemaker’s tone,
linda: "So... we all agree to get along together?"
Cassy: "I’m not making promises. Depends on Lily’s mood."
Lily: "Watch it, summoner girl."
Cassy: "Bring it, firebug."
Their bickering sparked chuckles, the tension diffusing like steam after a good laugh.
As they continued to squabble, Lora, panting lightly from practice, leaned on her sword and turned toward Evelyn, still seated calmly on the wooden bench.
Lora: "Your Highness! Why don’t you teach us sothing today?"
Her voice was light, hopeful, tinged with admiration.
linda perked up imdiately from where she was watching a small rat react to her carefully prepared concoction.
linda: "Yes! Even just a little! We won’t ask questions—promise!"
Evelyn lifted her gaze slowly, a cool smile touching her lips as she reclined beneath the dappled shade.
Evelyn: "No."
Cassy: "You didn’t even hesitate."
Evelyn: "I’m consistent."
Lora: "Co on... What’s the point of having a cool, mysterious princess around if she won’t teach us deadly skills?"
Lily: "At least let us watch you do sothing cool. You’re always so... still."
Evelyn (calmly): "I’m observing."
Cassy (teasing): "What are you observing, exactly? Our incompetence?"
Evelyn: "Exactly."
They all groaned in unison.
linda: "One day, we’ll crack that royal shell."
Ella: "Let’s spar for it! If I land a hit, Your Highness teaches how to make soone vanish with a finger tap."
Gerald (dryly): "That’s not training. That’s attempted assassination."
Ella: "Well, that’s exactly what I’m training for."
Their laughter rang out, carefree and bright, echoing through the golden training ground.
They had changed.
They had grown closer.
Even Ella, once stiff and silent, now sparred with Gerald while throwing the occasional dry remark. Claire, who had always kept to herself, was seen nudging Lora with a smirk as they watched linda handle the unfortunate rats.
Cassy had taken to calling them "the quieter duo," earning indignant protests and mock glares that faded into light chuckles.
The leaves swirled in the wind, and even Shade blinked lazily, seemingly amused.
But Evelyn had already drifted elsewhere.
Because last night... there was the dream.
Or perhaps, a mory.
She rose from the bench with quiet grace, brushing a crimson leaf from her skirt. Shade stirred around her collar, its violet eyes narrowing with unease as it slithered up to perch on her shoulder.
Lora (calling out): "Your Highness? Are you okay?"
Evelyn turned slightly, her expression distant.
Evelyn: "Just tired."
Without another word, she turned and walked away from the training ground. The chatter behind her faded as her footsteps grew softer.
That night, Evelyn’s sleep ca heavy and slow.
She drifted into darkness... only to awaken in a place not her own.
She stood barefoot in a field of glowing flowers—silver and blue—beneath a sky that pulsed like a living canvas of stars. The air was warm and still, steeped in mory. The petals shimred like frost, and every step echoed as if mory itself carried weight.
Evelyn’s breath caught.
She knew this place.
She had stood here before. But she doesn’t rember when.
Maybe in another na. Another life.
Then ca the voice. Familiar. Calm. Distant.
> "Your blade is steady, but your heart is not."
Evelyn turned slowly, breath catching in her throat.
A man stood at the center of the field—draped in dark robes, his face obscured by shadows, as if mory refused to fully rember. And yet... his presence struck deep, undeniable.
Evelyn: "You... again."
> "Still running?"
Evelyn: "No. I’ve stopped. I just don’t know where I’m standing anymore."
He tilted his head, the faintest movent betraying amusent—or disappointnt.
> "You were never ant to stand still. You were ant to lead."
> "A ruler must choose what they protect. Power... or people."
Evelyn: "Don’t talk in riddles. As if you know so well."
> "Do you rember you?"
She hesitated. The wind stirred the glowing field. She felt it again—the ache in her chest. A pull. A na, trapped on the edge of a cliff inside her.
Evelyn: "...I’m not obliged to answer that."
The man stepped closer, but no sound accompanied his movent.
> "You made a choice once—to forget. To break yourself apart to protect what mattered. But the world is shifting again."
Evelyn: "Then tell what I left behind."
> "I can’t. mory must return by will, not force."
He paused.
> "But I can remind you of the question you feared most."
Evelyn: "What question?"
> "Who were you willing to beco... to survive?"
She froze.
The flowers beneath her feet dimd for a heartbeat.
Evelyn: "You speak like you knew . Like we were—"
> "We were many things. Allies. Enemies. Mirrors."
Evelyn (quietly): "Then tell your na."
> "You once knew it better than your own."
She took a step forward.
Evelyn: "Why now? Why return in dreams?"
> "Because ti is thinning. Your fate is no longer just yours. And soon—"
He lifted a hand, pointing to the sky.
> "Even the world will choose sides."
The sky above flickered, constellations blinking out one by one, leaving only void.
> "You cannot hide who you are forever, — —."
The na blurred, like a whispered secret swallowed by ti.
But she knew what na he spoke.
She gasped—and awoke.
Moonlight spilled across her bed, pale and indifferent.
Shade stirred beside her pillow, coiled loosely, sensing sothing but saying nothing.
Only silence filled the room.
She dread of it again.
But Evelyn remained still, staring at the ceiling for a long, breathless mont.
Evelyn: "That voice... It felt as if i haven’t heard it in decades."
She placed a hand over her chest—where the weight of sothing long-buried stirred faintly, as if mory itself had shifted in its sleep.
Evelyn rose from the bed with a sluggish grace, the linen sheets slipping from her shoulders like water refusing to cling. Her breath felt shallow, caught between the dream world and waking.
The moonlight still lingered—faint, pale, indifferent. It spilled across the floor in thin lines, catching on the stone walls and her bare feet. Her fingers brushed against the carved wooden bedpost as she stood fully, grounding herself in the present. But her mind—her heart—remained tangled in sothing else.
The dream.
That voice.
It had reached inside her like a ghost returning to its old bones.
She padded across the floor in silence, the chill of the stone kissing her soles. At the window, she parted the sheer curtain with two fingers and looked out.
The sky was still cloaked in night, but hints of dawn painted the horizon in a bruised lilac haze. The stars were vanishing, one by one, not gently—but like soone had torn them down.
Her palm t the cold glass.
> "You once knew it better than your own."
That line echoed through her skull, refusing to fade.
A na. His na.
She couldn’t rember it. And yet—sohow—she felt it. Like tasting sothing bitter and sweet and knowing you’ve swallowed it before.
The silence pressed in, thick and watchful. A breath held by the world.
She stayed like that for a mont longer, her forehead resting lightly against the glass, as if the cold might press the truth back into her bones.
But it didn’t.
Only the echo remained—empty, aching.
Sothing flickered at the edge of her thoughts. A hand reaching. A promise made beneath a sky full of fire. A voice—low, rough—saying a na like it ant everything.
Her chest ached, sudden and sharp.
She drew back.
The stars were gone now.
So she turned away.
She sat down at the edge of the bed, hands curled together in her lap. Her eyes stared ahead, unfocused, her thoughts elsewhere. That na was gone again—just out of reach.
Like a scent carried away by wind.
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