"Father, where are we going?" Solid glanced up at Sebastian as they walked side by side through the halls of the Silva Estate.
The boy's unease was evident—and understandable, considering what had happened just monts ago.
Solid, along with Nebra, Noelle, Mimosa, Amara, and Aurelia, had been waiting quietly in the second-floor living area while Sebastian tended to Acier. They'd passed the ti in restless patience, the tension in the air almost tangible.
Nozel and Dorothy had left earlier with Hilda, their engagent ceremony looming and preparations running on borrowed ti. Jeeves and Alfred had followed shortly after, though not without first seeking Amara's blessing to excuse themselves—not that they truly needed permission, but old habits and respect ran deep.
An hour had passed before the door to Acier's room finally swung open. The six of them sat up imdiately, only to freeze as Sebastian stord out.
At first, they panicked, thinking sothing terrible had happened. But as they watched more closely, they noticed his expression wasn't one of anger—but sothing much closer to fear.
That only added to their confusion. Fear wasn't an emotion they associated with Sebastian Silva.
"Is Sister alright?" Aurelia had blurted, her voice trembling.
Sebastian, still visibly unsettled, stopped long enough to reassure them. "She's fine. You can go see her anyti."
Relief washed over them, though the mystery of his unease remained unsolved. And Sebastian? He offered no explanation. Instead, he cleared his throat and muttered sothing about needing to head out.
They thought that was the end of it—until Sebastian turned to Solid.
"Co with ," he said.
Solid froze. Never in his four years of life had his father asked him to go anywhere, let alone alone with him. Despite the changes in Sebastian's deanor in recent tis, the boy was still deeply intimidated by him.
At his core, Solid was still just a young child, his heart fragile and his resolve weak. No amount of etiquette lessons or strict early education could change that.
Sebastian didn't push, though. He waited. And when Nebra gave Solid an encouraging pat on the back, the boy swallowed his nerves and nodded.
He followed his father down the hall, staying a step behind, his tiny hands fidgeting nervously. After a mont, Solid mustered the courage to speak.
"Where are we going?"
Sebastian glanced down at him, his expression softening. "To my study."
Solid nodded stiffly, not daring to ask further. But his curiosity burned, and after a pause, Sebastian seed to sense it.
"I recently hired a tutor for our house," Sebastian added after a beat.
Solid's brow furrowed. "What for?"
It was an odd announcent. House Silva already employed a full roster of highly qualified tutors, covering everything from arithtic and etiquette to politics, history, and household managent.
Did Father fire soone? Solid scratched his chin, his thoughts flashing back to his mother's recent questions. She'd been quizzing him on the lessons taught by his tutor on courting won, only to be completely unsatisfied with his answers.
He'd been crushed, hanging his head in sha at her disappointnt. But Acier had reassured him gently, her voice warm and steady. This isn't your fault, Solid. It's the tutor's.
Even with her comforting words, the mory stung. He couldn't help but wonder—was this new tutor ant to replace his own? Or was there sothing more going on?
Solid glanced up at his father again, searching for answers in his calm but guarded expression.
Not knowing what thoughts were swirling in his son's head, Sebastian answered after a mont. "Trap Magic?"
Solid perked up, a hint of bewildernt creeping into his voice. "Why?"
For the past few months, Solid had been diving into the theoretical aspects of magical study, learning about different types of magic—recovery, creation, curse, sealing, barrier, transformation, and traps.
His tutor had dismissed traps outright, labeling them as overly complicated and too taxing to create, and therefore useless in battle. He'd even called them nothing more than party tricks for those with weak mana.
Solid had no reason to doubt his tutor.
As they rounded a corner, Sebastian finally spoke, his tone asured. "Traps are an interesting topic. Even if you never master them—or even use them—just knowing about them could make your life a lot easier down the line."
"How so?" Solid asked after a beat, his voice less hesitant than usual. He wasn't aware he was slowly growing more comfortable talking to Sebastian.
Sebastian smiled softly before answering with a serious tone. "One day, when you join the Magic Knights, you might find yourself on a dungeon capture mission or raiding so hideout. Those places are often riddled with traps. If you can identify and disable them before they activate, it could save you from a pitiful death or a crippling injury. And dungeon vaults? They're usually sealed with magical codes. If you understand traps and runes, you could hack the code, enter the vault, and secure the loot."
Solid nodded thoughtfully, then frowned and scratched his head. How could sothing like that be useless?
After a mont, he bit his lip and looked up. "Father?"
"Hmm?" Sebastian raised an eyebrow.
"Why... why did you only ask to co along?" Solid hesitated, his voice uncertain. "Why not the others?"
Sebastian considered his response carefully. "Trap magic works by absorbing mana from the atmosphere to trigger it." He paused, reflecting inwardly. Though not quite to the extent of the Mana thod. "Our natural attributes make us much more compatible with this form of magic compared to Nozel or Dorothy."
Solid nodded but murmured softly, "What about Elder Sister?" Mist magic, a direct derivative of water—one of the four natural elents—seed like it would make Nebra a fine candidate. She was older, more advanced in her magical studies, and in Solid's mind, she would benefit far more from this lesson.
He wasn't wrong.
Solid barely reacted as Sebastian suddenly extended a hand toward him. Just as his body tensed, expecting sothing stern, he froze at the soft pat on his head. It took him a mont to process the gesture, and when he looked up, he gaped at Sebastian in disbelief.
His father's face softened with a gentle smile.
Pausing mid-step, Sebastian spoke quietly. "Right now, yes—this lesson might benefit your sister more. But... I wanted to spend this ti with you."
Sebastian sighed, watching as Solid's pupils dilated with a mix of emotions.
Since transmigrating into this world, Sebastian had taken ti to bond with his wife and each of his children in unique ways.
Talks with Acier.
Doing Nebra's hair.
Holding Noelle.
Sharing secrets with Dorothy.
Walks with Nozel.
The only one he hadn't shared anything with was Solid.
It's about ti I changed that.
After a mont, Sebastian's voice softened even further. "This is just the first session. Just sit in and try to absorb as much as you can. Don't worry if it feels overwhelming—I probably won't be much better. If you don't enjoy it, you can quit. I won't force you. Just... give it a chance, alright?"
Solid hesitated before nodding awkwardly, a strange warmth spreading in his chest. "Mm-hmm."
And so, the two continued walking, the space between them ever so slightly smaller.
As they approached Sebastian's study, the two noticed another pair standing stiffly in front of the door—a father and son, just like them.
Zara and Zora stood side by side, but they were a far cry from their usual peasant attire. Both wore matching blue vests and pants, clean and semi-luxurious, with a few tasteful buckles and white shirts adorned with thin black lines. Zara's hair was combed neatly back, and his facial hair was trimd to perfection.
It was clear they weren't entirely comfortable in their outfits. Zara and Zora weren't the type to embrace luxury, even though their newfound wealth now allowed it. Their nature was one of practicality and saving every coin.
But Sebastian had made one thing clear: as the royal tutor of House Silva, Zara now represented the family in both actions and appearance. Dressing like a peasant was simply unacceptable. Sebastian wouldn't tolerate rumors of House Silva neglecting its servants or failing to provide them with even basic necessities like proper clothing.
When Sebastian initially offered to pay for their clothes, Zara declined. He was done accepting handouts. Instead, he'd simply asked for a recomndation to a good tailor, and from there, he'd handled it himself.
The pair noticed Sebastian and Solid's arrival and imdiately bowed, their movents awkward. "Greetings, Lord Silva—"
"Please," Sebastian interjected, raising a hand to stop them. "As I've said before, I'm not one to care about formalities unless they're absolutely necessary. You only need to bow when we're in front of others. When it's just us, be casual and blunt."
Zara nodded stiffly, relief barely noticeable in his posture. He worked best in a relaxed environnt. Forcing him to follow strict etiquette every mont would only slow their progress and make things unnecessarily tedious.
Straightening, Zara gestured to his son. "Would it be alright if Zora attended the lesson? He won't interfere or interrupt—he just wants to stay by my side and listen."
Zora had been glued to his father ever since Zara's near-death experience. Though he treated Sebastian with deep respect as the man who'd saved his father, Zora couldn't shake the fear that leaving Zara alone might an losing him for good.
In addition, Zora had grown obsessed with magic and self-improvent after the incident. His dream of becoming the "ultimate warrior" consud him, fueled by a desire to root out corruption in the Magic Knights and across the kingdom.
Sebastian nodded coolly. "Not a problem."
In fact, he welcod Zora's participation. Good students often elevate others, and if Zora's enthusiasm inspired Solid, the results would co faster.
Sebastian turned to Solid. "I trust it won't be an issue for my son to join as well?"
"Not at all! Not at all!" Zara said quickly, shaking his head and waving off the question.
With a small nod, Sebastian opened the door and gestured for Zara and Zora to enter first. "After you."
Solid blinked in surprise as he watched his father hold the door open for "servants." His mouth opened to protest but froze when he caught the grateful glances the pair threw Sebastian.
His gaze shifted to Zora, who was helping Zara limp inside, the older man leaning heavily on his son's shoulder. Solid's eyes widened imperceptibly.
He turned to his father and noticed a complex emotion flicker in Sebastian's eyes as he watched them. Solid wisely held his tongue.
"Solid?" Sebastian called, still holding the door open.
"Hmm?" Solid raised an eyebrow before noticing his father's gesture toward the entrance. Oh.
Realizing Sebastian was waiting for him, Solid hurriedly entered the study. His father followed a mont later, closing the door gently behind them.
Sebastian glanced at the trio and gestured toward a large wooden table positioned in front of an ornate bookcase. Zara, with Zora's help, made his way to the table and sat on the side facing the bookcase. Zora took his seat beside his father without a word.
Sebastian and Solid moved to the opposite side of the table, pulling out chairs and sitting down unceremoniously.
Zara reached to his side, pulling out a large, worn notebook and setting it on the table. Its frayed edges and scuffed cover bore testant to countless hours of hard study. Clearing his throat with a quiet cough, Zara addressed Sebastian and Solid. Though his words were ant for both, his gaze unconsciously lingered more on Sebastian.
"Trap Magic is a type of magic that allows one to create traps by intricately designing a magic circle. These circles can be placed in the path of a person or object and given specific conditions to activate—like triggering when soone steps within a certain radius."
He paused, gauging their reactions. Seeing no interruptions, he continued, "Traps are typically placed on solid surfaces like floors and walls. However, with enough practice, they can even be drawn in midair."
As if to demonstrate, Zara tapped his right index finger against the table. A gray, runic magic circle with a hexagram pattern shimred into existence, faintly glowing. He tapped again, and it vanished.
Sebastian and Zora nodded; this was familiar territory for them. Solid, however, perked up, his eyes shining faintly with interest.
Scratching his chin, Zara pressed on, his tone awkward as he tried to stick to the carefully rehearsed lesson plan. He recited formal phrases that didn't quite fit his usual way of speaking. "The more complex a trap, the longer it takes to draw, and the more mana it requires to activate. These drawbacks make traps impractical for spontaneous use and potentially fatal in unplanned battles. This is why many dismiss trap magic as useless."
He raised a finger, his voice gaining conviction. "However, it's precisely because trap magic is so intricate that it holds unique advantages. First, unlike everyday magic arrays that are conjured on the spot, trap magic is ticulously constructed—each line, rune, and geotric detail interconnected. This ans that even if the creator disappears, their traps can remain active for years, even centuries. That's why dungeons are so dangerous. Ancient mages riddled them with traps that outlasted their own lifetis."
Solid unconsciously leaned forward in his seat, his attention fixed on Zara.
Zara raised a second finger. "Second, many mages find themselves at a disadvantage in battle due to elental mismatches. Take a fire mage and a water mage with equal mana reserves—nine tis out of ten, the fire mage will struggle unless they have exceptionally creative spells."
"With traps, however, you can change the rules. You can redirect enemy spells, double or even triple your attack power, force spells to move in irregular paths, paralyze opponents, bind them, imprison them, and much more."
"You can even copy an opponent's spell and use it against them with greater intensity."
Sebastian and Solid's visible interest encouraged Zara, though he tried to hide his relief.
"And that's just in battle. In everyday life, traps have countless uses. You can secure or hide belongings, protect secret bases, design processes to make tasks more efficient, and more."
Sebastian's thoughts drifted montarily. Could I create a magic tool to forge my signature and an array to do my paperwork for ?
Zara opened his notebook and unfolded a piece of paper tucked inside, spreading it out on the table. It was covered with rough sketches of various magic circles. But Zara flipped the page, revealing a neatly ordered list of runes.
Hoarsely, he said, "Through my studies and self-discovery, I've identified 32 runes. Think of them like letters in an alphabet, each with its own sound and aning. When you combine them in different ways, you create words—or in this case, instructions—for your spells."
He tapped the list. "Today, we'll focus on understanding these runes: what they an, how their anings change when arranged in particular patterns, and, if ti permits, creating a preliminary magic circle."
Sebastian and Solid nodded in unison, their expressions serious.
Zara smiled faintly and pointed to the first rune on the list—a symbol that resembled π. "This symbol here is called..."
House Silva Great Hall:
A slow, stately lody filled the vast space of the Silva great hall. On a slightly elevated podium in the corner, three musicians worked in seamless harmony. The first pressed the keys of a harpsichord, its delicate notes resonating brightly. The second drew a bow across the strings of a viol, adding a rich, somber undertone. The third strumd a lute, weaving warmth into the composition. Together, their music flowed elegantly, echoing off the high ceilings and gilded walls.
Standing a short distance away with her back to the musicians was a striking young woman in a maid's uniform. Her long blonde hair glead under the light of a crystal chandelier. Her expression remained neutral, her impassive gaze fixed on the unfolding scene.
At the center of the hall, Nozel and Dorothy stepped forward, their hands linked in a formal posture—Nozel's right clasping Dorothy's left. They moved to the rhythm of the song, their steps carefully choreographed to match the 2/4 tempo. Starting with a synchronized step forward on their right feet, they tried to maintain perfect coordination.
Yet, perfection eluded them. Dorothy's left foot lagged slightly behind at tis, throwing off their rhythm. Knees bent, toes raised delicately, they turned toward one another, spinning in a practiced twirl before retreating again. Their movents, though rehearsed, carried subtle imperfections—a step out of sync here, a twirl slightly askew there.
Hilda, the head maid, raised her arm abruptly. The music stopped mid-phrase, leaving the pair frozen in their latest motion. Dorothy's forced smile betrayed her unease as Hilda approached with her characteristic coolness.
"Ms. Unsworth," Hilda began, her tone flat but tinged with fatigue as she looked Dorothy over. "You already know what I'm about to say, don't you?"
Dorothy fidgeted under her gaze, offering a nervous smile. "I was off tempo, holding Nozel back, and my turns were too angled... and too casual," she recited, the familiar critique spilling from her lips.
These were the sa corrections she'd heard repeatedly since the lessons began. When Jeeves and Hilda had first demonstrated the dance earlier that day, Dorothy had dismissed it as a glorified walk. She now realized her mistake.
Dorothy never knew it was possible to take a step wrong.
It was only now that she fully grasped what Sebastian ant when he described the rigid lives of nobility. This was pure torture.
Hilda gave a curt nod, her voice cool and cutting. "Do not concern yourself with the music. That is the Young Master's role. Your sole responsibility is to follow his lead. A good wife follows her husband from slightly behind—not by his side, and certainly not trying to take the lead."
Dorothy's smile wavered, visibly strained. She nodded stiffly, suppressing the urge to argue.
Nozel frowned, his disapproval evident. "Hilda, aren't you being too harsh on her? This is only the first day."
The maid turned to him, her cold expression unchanged. Her reply was calm but unwavering. "Not at all, Young Master. If anything, I am being far too lenient, solely because she is your partner. Do keep in mind that this is a matter of House Silva's reputation."
Nozel's gaze narrowed, his jaw tightening. Yet, for once, he couldn't find the words to argue back.
The dance Nozel and Dorothy practiced was the Pavane, a slow and stately movent deeply ingrained in noble traditions. It was a piece perford by noble or royal couples at grand celebrations, steeped in symbolism. In this case, it was for their upcoming engagent reception, where all eyes would be on them.
Their performance had to be flawless—not rely to showcase their compatibility but because the Pavane's rigid elegance carried deeper aning. A perfect execution symbolized a harmonious union destined for joy and love. Any flaw would imply discord, casting doubts on their future marriage and tarnishing the Silva na.
For Dorothy, the stakes were even higher. Unlike Nozel, she was not of noble birth—a fact that would imdiately draw attention. Her performance couldn't rely et expectations; it had to exceed them, silencing any whisper of dissent. If they faltered, it would give envious rivals and detractors the ammunition they needed to attack her standing.
Though few would openly challenge her under House Silva's protection, the scheming nature of nobles ensured subtler, more insidious threats. Dorothy's family, as loving as they were, could shield her from such venom, but not in every waking mont of her life. Babysitting her, and keeping her cloistered for safety wasn't a solution either—what kind of life would that be?
In the future, there would be monts when Dorothy would stand alone. During those tis, those harboring grudges or ambitions would strike, seeking to humiliate or force her to abandon her engagent. She had to be unassailable, an image of perfection that left no room for criticism.
Hilda, the head maid, understood this all too well. It was why she was so strict, pushing Dorothy to her limits. Hilda bore no personal grudge against her—quite the opposite. Although only knowing her for a few days, she had grown fond of Dorothy, recognizing that her feelings for Nozel were genuine, untangled from ambition for wealth or status.
Precisely because of this, Hilda was determined to see Dorothy succeed, even if it ant Dorothy would resent her for the harshness. No one else deserves to stand beside Nozel. Hilda would ensure Dorothy beca flawless, no matter the cost.
Nozel's eyes flicked toward Dorothy. Her subtle tremble did not escape his notice, and sothing inside him twisted. Shooting Hilda a steely glare, his voice carried an unmistakable edge as he spoke.
"As I said before, Hilda, it's the first day. You need not be so stiff."
Dorothy's eyes widened at his words, a wave of warmth spreading through her chest. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, gratitude shining in her gaze. Her legs, which had been trembling monts before, steadied.
Hilda, seeing this, let out an audible sigh. Closing her eyes briefly, she composed herself. Then, with a deliberate curtsy, she addressed Nozel in a deferential tone.
"Young Master, may I be so bold as to speak bluntly?"
Nozel's sharp gaze lingered on her for a mont before he nodded. "You may."
Keeping her head bowed, Hilda's voice was calm but firm as she said, "Young Master, this is all your fault."
The hall fell into an awkward silence. The musicians stilled, bowing their heads as though trying to fade into the background.
Dorothy gaped slightly, while Nozel stiffened. His mouth opened, but no words ca as he stared at Hilda, utterly speechless.
Perhaps not that blunt, he thought bitterly.
Hilda didn't leave the silence hanging for long. Before anyone could speak, she continued with a sharp tone, her words directed squarely at Nozel.
"Young Master, I wouldn't need to be so strict with Ms. Unsworth if it weren't for you."
Nozel raised an incredulous brow, his voice clipped as he retorted, "How so? I never asked you to do this! Don't slander ."
Hilda straightened her posture, arms crossing in front of her as she t his challenge.
"Young Master, the engagent ceremony is just a few weeks away, all because of your premature actions in the courtroom. Ti is not a luxury we have. Every day, the servants are working tirelessly—planning the nu, designing the hall, sending out invitations, and handling a mountain of other preparations."
"Which is your job!" Nozel pointed out coolly.
"Indeed," Hilda replied without missing a beat, her tone even. "However, it is also our job to ensure that the two of you, the main attraction of this ceremony, are prepared to et the expectations of the entire noble circle. If you falter, Young Master, the Silva na will beco a laughingstock."
Nozel clenched his fists as her words sank in. He opened his mouth to argue further, but before he could, Hilda pressed on.
"It has been a re six days since Ms. Unsworth entered this household. In that ti, she has had to adjust to an entirely new world while also preparing for this engagent. She must master proper etiquette, learn how to address nobility, how to eat and converse appropriately, and morize the traits and tendencies of other noble families. She must avoid offending one or, worse, unwittingly giving another cause to sche against her. And this is only the beginning."
Hilda's words hung heavy in the air.
"Marriages into noble families are not unheard of, but they are exceptionally rare. Typically, such individuals undergo years of preparation to withstand the pressures of this life. But thanks to your actions, Dorothy has little more than three weeks to learn what most take a lifeti to master. She faces countless sleepless nights ahead, all because you acted too soon."
Nozel grit his teeth, the weight of her words and his own impulsiveness pressing down on him. He opened his mouth to protest once more, but Hilda anticipated his thoughts.
"You left Master Silva no choice," she said coldly. "One does not announce an engagent in the sacred courtroom before the entire aristocracy without the implication that the ceremony will follow shortly. At most, your father could delay it for a month before rumors began to spread—rumors of your fiancée's inadequacy or of your engagent falling apart."
Nozel's jaw tightened as guilt surged within him. His gaze flicked to Dorothy, who looked both determined and vulnerable. He turned back to Hilda, speaking with newfound resolve.
"I'll talk to Father. I'll push it back a week."
Hilda shook her head. "Not an option. Invitations have already been sent to several noble houses. Delaying the event would signal that House Silva cannot honor its commitnts, further disgracing us."
"I'll take responsibility," Nozel snapped, cutting her off. "The bla lies with . I'll make it clear this has nothing to do with House Silva—"
"That is a naive thought, Young Master," Hilda interrupted. "As the nominal heir, your actions and House Silva's reputation are inextricably linked. No amount of excuses will change that."
Nozel's frustration reached its peak, but before he could respond, he felt a soft touch on his cheek. Startled, he turned to see Dorothy gazing at him with a gentle, loving smile.
"Nozel, let's keep practicing," she said softly.
He furrowed his brows and shook his head. "Why? You don't need to. Trust , Father and I will handle this—"
He froze as Dorothy placed her other hand on his cheek, her smile unwavering.
"I can do this, Nozel. Give a chance."
Nozel gaped at her, his protests faltering. "I believe you, but you don't have to push yourself—"
Dorothy's firm voice cut through his hesitation. "Nozel! Aren't I part of this family too?"
He stiffened, nodding after a beat. "Of course you are."
"Then let do my part. I can't just stand by while you and your father shoulder everything for my sake."
Nozel's mouth opened to argue, but Dorothy pinched his cheeks, pouting as she scolded him. "Didn't you say we're partners? Didn't you say you wanted an equal by your side, not soone you have to shelter?"
His heart skipped a beat as he nodded stiffly.
"Then let prove it. I won't let anyone down, as long as you don't give up on ," she said, her voice brimming with determination. Her smile brightened. "Besides, with you helping , there's no way I'll fail!"
Nozel flushed and nodded, speechless. Dorothy turned back to Hilda and perford a flawless curtsy.
"Ms. Hilda, we're ready to resu practice."
Hilda's icy deanor softened for the briefest mont, the corners of her lips quirking upward. Without a word, she raised her arm and stepped back.
The music began once more, filling the hall. Nozel and Dorothy took their places, linking hands as they resud their dance with renewed vigor.
Acier's Wing
Night blanketed the Silva estate, the halls bathed in shadows broken only by the flickering glow of Sebastian's candle. Dressed in simple white cotton nightwear, he moved with slow, asured steps, his slippers whispering against the rugged floor.
As he neared Acier's door, the cold air outside seed to seep into his resolve. His hand hovered over the doorknob, but he hesitated, stepping back.
Pacing in the dark corridor, Sebastian wrestled with himself. I could just leave. Surely, she wouldn't go so far as to hunt down, would she?
He glanced at the faintly glowing hands of his pocket watch. It's not even 11 yet. I don't have to step inside a second earlier than necessary.
Despite the reassurances, his mind spun with scenarios, none of them particularly appealing. A desperate idea struck him: Maybe I should bring Noelle. If we fra it as "family ti," Acier wouldn't try anything in front of her baby. She couldn't possibly send Noelle away either, could she?
Surely, her obsession with can't exceed her love for her children. Right?
Just as he convinced himself to walk away, a lodic voice rang out from behind the door.
"How much longer are you going to make wait, Sebby? Should I drag you inside myself?"
Sebastian froze, cold sweat running down his back. How does she know I'm here?!
For a fleeting mont, hope sparked. Could her mana sense have recovered? Any other ti, that thought would have brought him imnse relief, a sign of her improving health.
But now, it felt like the Grim Reaper had spoken.
With a resigned sigh, Sebastian straightened his shoulders. Let's just get this over with.
He opened the door, stepping inside with his head bowed, his movents stiff and awkward.
When he raised his gaze, his breath caught.
Acier stood in the center of the room, bathed in silvery moonlight that spilled through the window. She wore a flowing white gown, modest yet ethereal, covering her entirely save for her feet, hands, neck, and face. Her untied silver hair cascaded down her back, shimring in the moon's glow.
Her lavender eyes sparkled with fondness as she smiled softly, a warmth that pierced through Sebastian's flustered thoughts. Most striking of all—she looked healthier than he'd seen her ever since transmigrating, the frailty he had co to associate with her entirely absent.
Sebastian's lips parted to speak, but Acier chuckled, her voice honey-sweet.
"Lilith's spell hasn't co undone," she explained lightly. "I just asked her to add a feature so I could turn it off and on as I please."
She had been turning the spell off as a nightly ritual, examining herself in the mirror to gauge her progress. Though her health was indeed improving, Acier sought tangible proof of her recovery. She was certain she was in the final stages, needing only to deceive gicula's lingering mark on her soul, so her bloodstream could be completely purified.
Acier stepped forward, her hands resting casually behind her back. She stopped just before Sebastian, tilting her head up to et his eyes.
"How do I look?" she asked softly, her smile never faltering.
Sebastian found himself transfixed, caught in Acier's radiant presence. His mind wrestled with what to say. Beautiful, he wanted to respond, but the word that escaped his lips was:
"Healthy."
It was unclear whether it was his own embarrassnt or the residual traits of the original Sebastian holding him back.
Instead of disappointnt, Acier's smile widened. She glanced toward the bed and gave a subtle nod.
Sebastian followed her gaze and noticed the bed neatly prepared for two. The setup was unmistakable: two sides, two pillows, clearly ant for a couple.
His brow twitched, and he turned to Acier with a flat expression.
"The near side is mine," he declared, his tone firm. His face betrayed a silent warning: Try anything, and I'll be out the door in a flash.
Of course, he'd never admit the real reason—he wanted her by the window so she could enjoy the fresh breeze, worried her cursed condition might make her sweat during the night.
That admission would have been far too embarrassing.
Acier let out a soft chuckle. "That's fine," she agreed easily.
Sebastian sighed as he moved past her, setting the candle down on the bedside table. He slipped off his slippers, sat down on the mattress, and stretched out. The covers swished lightly as he pulled them over himself, his gaze fixed toward the right side, expecting Acier to settle into her spot.
But nothing happened.
Instead, Sebastian froze as he felt the mattress shift. The unmistakable sensation of soone crawling over him snapped his head back to the left.
"Acier, what are you doing—"
His words died in his throat as Acier straddled him, gently pushing him down by the chest. Her serene smile never faltered as she leaned in, her silver hair cascading around them.
"This spot is mine," she murmured with a soft chuckle, settling herself comfortably atop him.
Sebastian's face flushed crimson, his breath catching as Acier rested her head on his chest. After a mont, she shifted, propping her chin on his chest to look up at him with an enchanting gaze.
Then, slowly, she slid higher, her face now directly above his, the space between them narrowing with every passing second.
"Hey, Sebby?" she whispered, her fingers trailing gently along his cheeks.
Sebastian gulped, his heart pounding in his chest. "W-what...?"
Acier paused for a mont, her lavender eyes locking with his. Then, she closed the distance until their noses touched, her hands cradling his flushed cheeks.
Her voice dropped to a hushed whisper, soft but piercing.
"Do you love ?"
Sebastian froze.
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