Seraphine fell silent for a few seconds after her sentence was cut short. Her eyes were fixed on the glow of the chalice. Her hand still rested on the scar, but now her fingers were motionless.
She finally spoke, her voice calm but laced with sothing that bordered on ancient exhaustion:
"Since the age of three, Aeloria and I were trained as heirs of the Lunaris Argentum house."
Everyone stayed silent. No one interrupted her.
"We started early. Even before we could read fluently, we were already learning the fundantals of magical channeling, energy pathways, cultivation thods, and hand-to-hand combat. We used to run through the frozen halls of the mansion, leaping between statues and pillars, with instructors shouting rules while our muscles scread for rest."
She let out a dry laugh, almost like a sigh.
"We would wake before the sun rose and stop only when the moon climbed the sky. All to be ready for our awakening."
Aeloria tilted his head with a half-nostalgic smile.
"She was always better than at climbing the marble tower in the west wing."
"That's because I wasn't reciting magical theorems while climbing," Seraphine replied softly, and there was a brief exchange of knowing glances between the two.
"When we turned twelve, as is tradition among the twelve families, the tests began to predict the nature of our awakening. It's not an exact science... but it usually works."
She moved her hand from the scar and rested it on her knee.
"My path was physical, that much was clear. My energy channels were already developing strongly, rigid walls—the typical structure of a warrior. Aeloria's were completely different from mine, and as everyone can see, he's a mage."
Aeloria nodded in confirmation.
"That changed the way we were trained. My world beca one of strength, speed, endurance. Spears, chains, fists. And even when my bones ached, my mother would say pain was a refining tool. That a fragile diamond is useless to anyone."
A brief silence followed. Aeloria kept his eyes on the fire.
"But... our mother always demanded more. From , from Aeloria, from anyone we knew. Always more. When I turned thirteen, she gave a choice. I had to pick a 'complentary field of study.'"
Seraphine made air quotes, wearing a sad smile.
"I could choose alchemy, politics, military tactics, etiquette, or artifacts. I chose artifacts. Because..."
She hesitated.
"Because it's our father's specialty," Aeloria added.
The tense mood lingered in the air like a quiet whisper. Still, no one in the group dared to ask further.
"He wasn't around, but there were books, scrolls. Ancient instructions with his seal. And the truth is, even with all the hell we lived through, studying artifacts gave a sense of peace and quiet. Of logic."
"An artifact, no matter how mysterious, always followed a pattern. Unlike people."
I found myself listening to Seraphine's story with rapt attention. It was like watching cracks appear for the first ti in an armor that had always seed bright, cold, and invincible.
"So that's how it was. Between one combat training and another, I studied. I read about relics from past eras, enchanted chanisms, lost seals. I read until my eyes were sore."
She ran a hand through her hair, as if to push away too many mories.
"When I turned sixteen, everything changed. Truly changed."
Seraphine fell silent.
This ti, the silence was heavier. The fire crackled again, and shadows danced across the group's faces.
"That was the year that... that I understood what it ant to be a Lunaris Argentum," she said quietly. "And that not all knowledge can save soone from what's to co."
She didn't go on. She just stared at the chalice, the red pulse echoing back at her, the weight of mory pressing down.
Aeloria, his voice low and firm, finished for her:
"That was the year Mother decided to throw us into the real world."
Seraphine kept her gaze on the fire as she spoke. The light danced over her skin, making the scar on her cheek glow with an almost ghostly texture.
"When I turned sixteen, my mother decided I needed a test. A 'real challenge,' as she called it. She sent to accompany the study of a newly discovered artifact by the Vanadius Bellator."
The na made Dórian raise an eyebrow. I knew that family well—it was the family of my master, Lesley, and also the family of my head maid, Rose.
"I thought it would just be another technical mission. Go in, observe, take notes, report. But then he appeared."
She glanced at Aeloria for a mont, as if weighing whether she should go on.
"Our father."
Aeloria closed his eyes slowly, like soone feeling a mory tear open a wound that never fully healed.
"It had been years since we last saw him. But there he was, in the center of the Bellator halls, leading the expedition. It was as if ti hadn't passed. He was just the sa. Cold, elegant. Shining like the whole world revolved around him."
She gave a humorless smile.
"Our father is the greatest artifact specialist in the entire Demon Kingdom. The only one the Vanadius allow direct access to their inner halls. And that's no small thing. They don't trust just anyone—few hold such honor."
I held my breath. I knew almost nothing about the siblings' story, but the ti we'd spent in this infernal dungeon made it clearer every day that I wasn't the only one surviving on the edge of a cliff.
"It was the first ti in a long ti that I truly saw him. And for a second, I let myself believe he would see too. But he looked at like I was part of the wall. And soon got lost in the shine of the artifacts."
She ran her tongue over her lips, a nervous habit she rarely showed.
"The halls were colossal, the corridors full of bizarre pieces: swords that wept, fabrics that pulsed with the sound of voices, twisted branches that dripped dried blood, armors that floated, others that scread in silence. It was another world. His world. And in the middle of all that, I felt like a loose stone in an enchanted river."
She looked at the fire, and her voice lowered:
"From the mont I woke up that day, sothing was burning inside . A restlessness under my skin, like I was wrong on the inside. I thought it was nerves. Anxiety from seeing my father again after so long. But it wasn't that."
Aeloria raised his eyes and whispered:
"It was your awakening."
She nodded slowly.
"My father soon beca imrsed in the new artifact. At first, I was excited to study sothing new, sothing with him. But in the end, it was so complex, incomprehensible, and beyond my level that before long I drifted off and decided to wander through the artifact halls."
"The bell in my head got worse the deeper I went into the corridors. But I didn't know that. I just felt it ringing inside my skull, louder and louder. And the more I walked, the stronger it beca. Like a calling."
She paused for a second and raised her eyes, looking at her companions.
"That's when I saw it. The armor the sa one I'm wearing in this dungeon."
The mory seed to light up her eyes with sothing that wasn't nostalgia—it was reverence, almost fear.
"Silver, but not tallic. It glowed like a moon during an eclipse. It had an innocent serenity. Like a virgin made of snow. There were no screams, no agony like in the other artifacts. Only silence. And beauty."
"You touched it," Dalia whispered.
"I couldn't help it. It was as if my fingers already knew the path. And when I touched the surface... everything exploded."
She closed her eyes, reliving the mont.
"The entire hall was swallowed by a wave of white light. The floor split open, columns collapsed, and half the galleries caved in. The energy released was so intense it disintegrated the oldest containnt enchantnts of the Bellator."
"You awakened there," I murmured, almost without realizing I was speaking.
"Yes," Seraphine answered, her voice muffled. "The mont I touched that armor, my whole body was flooded by a surge of power. My energy channels burned, my core forming with prana of the highest quality. My body was being reshaped as if it were about to break apart. I felt everything, every mont, every strand of energy, every flow. Every shard of light turning into prana inside my core. And above all, the artifact binding itself to ."
She took a deep breath.
"The armor chose . It bonded with . And that destroyed everything around it."
The tension peaked, and Dorian could no longer hold back his curiosity. "And the scar?"
The silence around the campfire was dense, like the air before a storm. The crackling flas seed to be the only thing alive between them. Seraphine kept her eyes fixed on her hands for a mont before continuing. The firelight reflected off the faint scar across her right cheek.
"When everything was over, I was still dizzy, my chest burning inside. The armor still glowed faintly on my body, bonded to like I was part of it. But the hall..." She paused. "It was in ruins. And the Vanadius Bellator elites surrounded as if I were a criminal."
Aeloria moved quietly beside her but said nothing. They leaned into each other, and his presence alone seed to offer a quiet comfort.
"My father was the one who protected ," she went on, her tone rougher now. "For the first ti in years, he acted like a father. He stood between and their spears. If not for his reputation, I might not even be alive today."
She pulled her leg close to her chest, wrapping one arm around it. Her other hand rested gently over the scar, as if trying to soothe an old pain.
"The damage was indescribable. Half of the Bellator's artifact collection turned to dust. Many of them were one of a kind. Even our own family couldn't calculate the full extent of the loss. The pressure was brutal."
Dalia, still weak, murmured sothing no one could quite understand—maybe a silent plea for Seraphine to stop, or maybe a gesture of empathy.
"The Lunaris Argentum had to yield. My father gave up precious items from our arsenal—legendary objects guarded for generations, all in exchange for preserving the alliance and saving my life. And still, it wasn't enough. He offered himself, ten years of free service to the Bellator, as a full-ti specialist."
Seraphine sighed deeply, her eyes locked on the fire, as if watching the scene unfold once more. "My first mission was such a colossal disaster that its echoes still weigh on the finances and prestige of my house."
For a mont, no one dared say a word. Then Seraphine raised her eyes to the group.
"At the end of that day, I t him—in my room."
"I rember it like it was yesterday."
The fire crackled softly. Seraphine closed her eyes for a mont, reliving every detail of that mory.
"He sat on his lap, as if I were still a child. Ran his hand through my hair and said, in the calst voice in the world:
'Daughter, you have to understand, we have a na to honor. All the pressure your mother and I placed on you was always for your own good. In a world this cruel, loving children are no different from feeding at to starving wolves.'
She let out a hollow laugh. "Maybe... maybe that was the only real mory of affection I have from him."
Aeloria looked away toward the fire. His fists were clenched on his knees.
'You were trained with the best,' he said. 'With resources most of the world couldn't even dream of. With knowledge many rulers will never access. And that's why it's worse when you fail.'
Seraphine placed her hand over the scar again, her fingers trembling. 'It's not a grave mistake if it cos from ignorance. Grave is failing when you've been given every tool to succeed.' That's what he said."
She took a deep breath. "He hugged and set down. I was still confused. I wanted to apologize. To say I didn't know what had happened. But he simply raised his hand."
Her voice faltered.
"A glove, black as tar, with veins glowing red like burning embers. An artifact. His personal artifact. No one knows what it really does."
"FWACK"
The sound of the slap sliced through the silence around the fire. Seraphine didn't need to imitate it—everyone heard it. Dalia flinched. Aeloria looked away.
"I scread!"
"I scread!"
"I scread!"
"I scread for three days straight—scread until I no longer had a voice to make a sound. The pain—it was like my soul was being shattered, stitched back together, and torn again. The burn, the impact—it felt like the world itself was rejecting . The scar bled for a week."
She ran her thumb along the mark on her face. "And even after a year, it still hurt."
'This is the mark of maturity,' he said. 'The mark that shows those who possess knowledge cannot fail out of ignorance.' Those were his final words that night."
The silence stretched. Only the fire's gentle crackling filled the air.
"I... tried everything. Healing mages, alchemists, arcane rituals. Nothing worked. No magic, no matter how powerful, no one could remove this from my face. It's as if his artifact marked sothing deeper than flesh."
She lifted her eyes, alive with intensity.
"Since then, I've studied. Worked harder. Done everything not to fail. And if I do... let it be small. Let it hurt no one."
That mont hung heavy over the group.
And that's when I understood.
Sitting there, watching her face in the firelight, for the first ti, I understood the reason behind the rigidity, the relentless pursuit of perfection. It wasn't pride. It was fear. Fear of failing again. Fear of being, once more, the cause of a catastrophe.
'That's why, when she was poisoned on the first day of the dungeon, she was shaken. Much more than any of us. Because for her, even the smallest mistake isn't just a slip.'
It's a reminder.
Of a pain that lasted three days.
And of a scar that never went away.
Reviews
All reviews (0)