ROWAN
"Maybe I do," the female voice tells him, her head resting on his shoulders and they seemed so happy and so damn sad. He brews her some tea. His feeble hand is visible. I can't visibly make who they are, a red veil hides them but one thing I could tell, is how much in love they were. He begins humming as he pours her the tea.
"I've carried this weight, a quiet storm," she begins reciting the poem, her voice so sad, " In the shadows where my heart was warm. For every glance and every smile, I hid the truth, if just for a while." my heart aches, I can't see them but I can feel her emotion like they were mine.
"The words I feared, they choke my breath," the man picks up, " For love, they say, is close to death. And yet I speak, though trembling still, For loving you was not my will." he seemed more saddened.
The aroma of the tea drifts through the room, a blend of comforting warmth and deep sadness. As he pours each cup, the act feels almost unbearably poignant. A cold sensation grips me, pulling me in conflicting directions, while a distant voice grows increasingly wild and intense.
"Miss! Miss!" The frantic calls pull me from the dream. I slowly open my eyes to find Tara's worried face hovering above me. Her expression is a mix of concern and sadness. "Is everything okay, miss?" she asks, her eyes brimming with anxiety.
"Tara? What…" I sit up slowly, still disoriented from the dream, my gaze scanning the unfamiliar surroundings in confusion.
"Are you alright?" another woman standing beside Tara asks, her tone gentle but concerned. I turn my head in surprise to see three faces peering at me.
"Miss, you're crying," Tara says softly, her voice filled with empathy.
"Who? Me?" I ask in panic as Tara points to my face. My hands fly to my cheeks, and I frantically rub at the skin, feeling the rough, dried streaks of tears. My fingers move in hurried, jittery motions, smudging the remnants of the tears and spreading them across my face. The dry patches feel sticky and uncomfortable.
"Who? Me?" I ask, bewildered, as Tara points to my face. My fingers brush against my cheek, and I feel the dry remnants of tears.
"I tried to wake you; you've been crying so much…" Tara's voice is filled with concern. I reach for a nearby mirror and see my reflection—my eyes are puffy and dark, a clear sign of the distress I must have felt. The memories of sobbing and bonding with the mother and daughter last night come rushing back, along with the effects of the wine we drank. As I glance around, I realize we're in a different room. Athera is still asleep, clutching the marble liquor jar, flanked by two attendants.
"Miss, is everything okay?" Tara presses, her worry palpable. I take her hand and, without a word, we hurry out of the room.
Once we step out to the well-decorated marble hallway, about ten guards are lined up, and they all drop to their knees and bow deeply as we pass. I ignore their gestures and make my way quickly toward a garden I had glimpsed the night before, my steps driven by a mix of urgency and desperation.
Our bonding last night had been intense, a connection that ran deep unlike what I have experienced with my real family, but that wasn't what was haunting me. I stopped beneath a large plum tree, its branches spread wide, creating a canopy of shade that felt both protective and calming. Beneath the tree, a small, glowing marble table stood, with two perfectly carved benches on either side, inviting yet eerie in the morning light. I guided Tara to one of the benches, her eyes searching mine for answers, while I began to pace around the table, my thoughts racing in circles.
"Miss, is everything okay? You seem so… troubled," Tara's voice was gentle, almost hesitant, as she tried to gauge my mood. Her words barely registered as I abruptly stopped pacing, the weight of my thoughts crashing down on me. I sank into the bench opposite her, pulling her hands into mine with a desperation that startled even me.
"Promise me," I began, my voice thick with emotion, "Promise me you won't think I'm losing my mind." My grip tightened as I spoke, my emotion widening. Tara's confusion was evident; her brows furrowed in concern, her eyes widening as she tried to make sense of my words.
"Miss, what do you mean?" she asked softly, her voice trembling as she saw the unsettleness in my eyes.
"Since the MoonBound ceremony," I whispered, leaning closer as if the words themselves could be dangerous, "I've been having these visions… or maybe they're illusions, but they feel so real. It's like flashes of someone else's life, but it's more than that. It's their emotions, Tara. I can feel them as if they're my own. Last night, I didn't just see her—It was like her emotions were mine. Her pain, her love, her despair… it all became mine."
Tara's breath hitched, and she gasped in shock, her eyes now wide with alarm. "Miss…" she stammered, unable to fully process what I was saying. Her hands trembled in mine, but she didn't pull away.
"I know, I must be losing my mind, but I'm serious," I sigh, my voice shaky with frustration. "I couldn't see their faces, and if it had been someone I knew, I would've recognized them. But these people were strangers, and yet, I felt so deeply connected to them." I slump forward, pressing my chest against the cool surface of the table, exhaling deeply as I rub my temples in a vain attempt to make sense of it all.
"Miss, maybe there's an explanation for this. Why don't we ask your uncle?" Tara suggests gently, her voice tinged with worry.
Before I can respond, a deep, calm voice interrupts from above. "Do you feel connected to the dream?" Tara and I both startle, our heads snapping up to see Lang reclining on the furthest branch of the plum tree. His head rests on a golden pillow, his right hand propping it up while his left casually holds a blue leather book.
"Lang? How long have you been up there?" I ask, still processing his sudden appearance, though his gaze remains fixed on his book.
"Since the first sunrise," he replies, his tone unbothered, as if lounging in trees were a daily occurrence. "This spot is always the best place to bask in the morning sun. I figured you knew that?" He closes his book and sits up, finally meeting our eyes with a mild, amused expression. "But I guess I was wrong."
"What you just said… How did you know I felt connected to them?" I ask, stepping closer to the tree, curiosity overriding my initial surprise.
"Here in Etral, we call such phenomena the 'Mirror Reflection of the Past,'" he explains, his voice taking on a more serious tone.
"A mirror… what?" I murmur, the term sounding strange to my ears.
"Mortals believe we might have existed in a different time, a long time ago—like a past life. However, only a few retain memories of that existence, so we named it the 'Mirror Reflection of the Past,'" Lang explains with a casual air, though I can't help but stifle a chuckle at the straightforwardness of the name. Immortals really aren't the best at creative naming, it seems.
"You talk like you've experienced this yourself. Why do some people remember, and others don't?" I ask, intrigued by his nonchalance.
"It's believed that those who carry regrets may be more likely to remember, seeking to resolve them if given a second chance. That's what I've heard, anyway," he says, a smirk playing on his lips as if he's bragging. "But I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you, my lady. I've lived this life with no regrets, so if I had a previous life, I doubt there's much I would need to remember."
His smug tone is almost infuriating like he's proud of how perfect his life has been. Before I can respond, he cuts me off, pointing toward a floating building nestled next to a mountain.
"If you really want to learn more, you'll have to go there," he says, his voice suddenly serious.
I squint at the structure. "What is that?"
"That, my lady, is the Royal Library—the biggest and oldest library in all the realms," Lang says with a knowing smile. The realization hits me like a ton of bricks, and I internally kick myself for not thinking of it sooner. Of course, the library would hold the answers I'm searching for. What was I thinking, confiding in Tara when the world's knowledge is just within reach?
I offer my thanks with a nod and reach out to take Tara's hand, ready to head toward the Royal Library. But before we can move, Lang's voice halts us.
"Hold on," he says, his tone firm. "Access to the Royal Library is highly restricted. Unless you possess royal blood or belong to one of the founding clans, entry isn't something you can just waltz into."
Tara, interjects with a sharp tone, "What do you mean? My lady is the young Lord's bride, doesn't that make her part of the royal family?" Her words hang in the air, a reminder of the weighty title I've yet to grow accustomed to—a title that feels more like a shackle than a crown.
Lang sighs, his eyes softening with a hint of sympathy. "I'm sorry to tell you this, but as you saw yesterday, only those present at the MoonBound ceremony know that she is the young Lord's fated. Until the wedding, my lady, you're just a mortal princess in their eyes. You aren't officially part of the royal family yet."
His words cut deep, grounding me in the harsh reality of my situation. "So, what should I do?" I ask, my voice betraying the uncertainty I feel.
Lang's gaze meets mine, calm and steady. "Honestly, my lady, after yesterday, it's clear how much her Majesty and the Lord value you. You could simply ask them for their pendant. That alone would grant you access."
I nod, considering his suggestion. "Right, that sounds like a solution," I say, turning to leave. But then I pause, realizing that navigating this palace is still foreign to me. I open my mouth to ask for directions, but Lang anticipates my question.
"Head to the royal quarters," he advises, a small smile tugging at his lips. "It's hard to miss."
Before I can respond, a figure approaches us, her presence commanding attention. She's tall and graceful, dressed in an elegant gown of deep emerald green that shimmers as she moves. Her eyes, a striking shade of green, gleam with a knowing smile, and she carries herself with an air of refined poise. Glass heels click softly against the stone floor as she approaches, her hands folded neatly in front of her.
Lang's voice breaks the silence. "Well, if it isn't the illustrious Miss Darialla of the Pirch clan," he says, his tone playful, though she pays him no heed. She steps forward with the grace of a queen, her every movement calculated and precise. Stopping before me, she offers a deep, respectful bow.
"My lady," Darialla begins, her voice as smooth as silk, "I apologize for the intrusion." She remains in her bow until I quickly bid her to rise.
Once upright, she delivers her message with the same grace, "His Lordship and Her Highness request the honor of your presence at breakfast."
"Request?" I echo, surprised. The word implies that I have a choice—an option to decline if I wish. It's a rare courtesy, one I never experienced back home. I glance at her, seeking confirmation, and she offers a slight nod, her expression warm and patient.
What strikes me most, in the short time I've been here, is the deference they've shown me. Despite my obvious pathetic state, even those as powerful as Darialla bow before me, waiting for my acknowledgment. It's a level of respect I've never known, and it both humbles and is so new.
Darialla's smile deepens, her expression soft as she gestures for us to follow.
____________________________________________________________________________
"There you are, my dear," the Queen exclaimed as she hurried toward me, her concern evident as she gently cupped my face, her eyes scanning my features with care. "You look pale. Did you not sleep at all?"
"I'm fine," I reassured her with a soft smile, though her worry lingered in her eyes. She guided me to a large glowing glass table where His Lordship and Athera were already seated, along with several older gentlemen. The maids were busy setting out a breathtaking array of dishes that filled the room with a mouthwatering aroma.
I tried to hold back, but the scent was irresistible, and before I knew it, I was practically drooling. I quickly wiped my mouth, but it was too late—they had already noticed.
"I heard that princesses from the mortal realm have a particular fondness for pork," the Queen said with a gentle smile as she handed me a bowl. As the maids served us, I murmured a quick thank you and eagerly divided the portion with Tara, inhaling the warm, fragrant herbal tea. We both dove in, sharing the tender meat, tearing off pieces of bread, and sipping the soothing tea.
They called this breakfast, yet it was far more lavish than anything I'd ever experienced. Back home, such a feast was reserved only for special occasions when my uncle and aunt visited, or when I had managed to sneak out for something better than the usual fare. Most of my meals consisted of simple noodles I prepared myself—after a poisoning incident, I had grown wary of trusting the maids in my old household.
"Please, have more," the Queen encouraged when she noticed me hesitate, her warm smile encouraging me. The others around the table offered similar smiles, but instead of comfort, it only made me feel more self-conscious. I placed the bread back on the plate, suddenly aware of the new faces before me.
There were two elderly men, possibly even older than the Queen herself, along with two young men and two women who seemed close to my age. Four children sat quietly beside them, their curious eyes fixed on me. The weight of their gazes made me feel awkward.
"Ah, yes. Yesterday, Her Majesty whisked you away and had you drinking before you could meet the rest of the royal family," the King remarked, noticing my curiosity. He gestured toward two older men seated at the table. "Allow me to introduce the clan elders—Zion Hethra and Heinzan Hethra. And these young men here are Heisten and Hazel Hethra." The four of them smiled warmly, and the King continued, "The ladies are Raizel and Beneth Hethra. As for the children, you'll meet them in time. We'd be here all day if we introduced everyone now," he chuckled, reaching for a piece of bread, only for the Queen to lightly slap his hand away and hand the bread to me instead.
"Don't mind them, dear," the Queen said with a gentle smile. "They're just here for my husband."
Just then, she descended gracefully, her purple gown flowing around her as she bowed to the elders and kissed the Lord's cheek. She took a seat beside Athera, who was dozing off with her head resting on her hand. Her gaze shifted to me, and her tone was sharp as she spoke.
"You seem rather hungry, mortal princess. I've heard you humans have quite the appetite, especially the young women," she said, her words dripping with disdain. What have I done to get on her nerves? I forced a smile, offering her the bread, but the Queen stepped in before Royeel could take it.
"Royeel, mind your manners. Whether you like it or not, she is Roderan's fiancée," the Queen said, her voice firm.
"She's human, and—"
"Enough, Royeel!" The King's voice was a thunderous command. His expression darkened, and his eyes glowed with barely controlled fury. The ground beneath us seemed to tremble slightly with the intensity of his aura. Then, just as quickly as it had flared, the tension dissipated, and his face relaxed into a lighter, almost amused expression. "Where is that young man, anyway? Didn't you go to find him?"
"He said he was busy!" Royeel snapped back, grabbing a bowl with a huff.
"That insolent—" The Queen pulled on the King's ear, and he winced in pain. "Ouch! Ouch! That really hurts!"
"How many times do I have to remind you not to use your aura while we're eating?" she chided, her tone both frustrated and maternal.
"I need to go to the library," I said, my voice cutting through the commotion. All eyes turned to me.
"The Royal Library? That place is so dull!" Athera interjected, she was already up setting down her tea with a sigh. "Why do you want to go there?"
"There's a poem I need to find," I replied, steering clear of the dream's details. I wasn't ready to be labeled as insane, and the idea of it being a past-life reflection felt too far-fetched to share.
"Of course, dear," the Queen said with a nod. She called out to an elf who had materialized nearby, dressed as a butler with his hands clasped behind him. "Gavden, after we're done here, could you show her to the library?"
"Certainly, my lady," Gavden responded, his voice gentle and composed.
The library stretched endlessly in all directions, its vast expanse bathed in a soft, ethereal glow. Books floated in mid-air, perfectly aligned and suspended without the need for shelves or ladders. Each tome hovered gracefully, waiting to be summoned. To access a book, you simply called out its name from the list displayed above its designated section. The sight was utterly enchanting—a realm where books descended from the heavens at your command.
The atmosphere felt like stepping into a different world, a sanctuary of knowledge and magical artifacts. As I wandered through this mesmerizing domain, I finally found the book Gavden had suggested about ancient poems. Yet, my true quest was to uncover information about the Mirror Reflection of the Past,.
"It's a rare phenomenon," I read aloud, "but there have been cases where individuals remember fragments of their past lives without being able to piece them together fully. Even those who have experienced this struggle to grasp the entirety of their past."
The text was sparse on details, yet it resonated deeply with what I had dreamt.
"Miss," Tara's voice interrupted, "look at this." She held up a large book, pointing to an illustration of a man and woman in red wedding attire. The image was strikingly familiar—it matched the wedding costumes from my dream.
"It explains that past life reflections often occur when someone encounters a person they were meant to be with or achieve something with in a previous life. Many of these are couples who were bound by fate and the stars," Tara said.
My mind raced with confusion. Did this mean that I was Roderan's bride in a past life? My visions had begun when our eyes first met, and continued when I stared at him, and now, here at his home, the connection seemed to deepen.
"It doesn't make sense," I murmured, lost in thought.
"What doesn't make sense?" Tara asked, her curiosity piqued.
"I'm not just his fate," I said, turning to Tara, "but I might have been his bride from a past life. It doesn't add up, does it?"
Before Tara could respond, a book suddenly fell in front of us, making us both leap backward in surprise. The book's edges were a vivid red, strikingly familiar, though I couldn't place where I had seen it before. I reached down and picked it up, and a jolt of recognition hit me—this was the book he had been writing in. I just saw a glimpse but am a hundred percent sure. He scribbled while reciting the poem. My certainty was palpable, but as I tried to open it, the tome felt impossibly heavy. Despite my efforts, it wouldn't budge. I turned to Tara, who looked equally puzzled. I rotated the book, examining the edges, but it was futile.
"No matter how much you struggle," a voice said from above, "you won't be able to open it without a well-harnessed aura." I looked up to see an elderly man floating above us, holding an elaborate golden book. His presence was commanding, his demeanor serene.
"What do you mean?" I asked, bewildered.
"The book you're holding," he explained, "will only open when it is fed with pure aura." I glanced at the book in my hands.
"That's absurd," I began to protest, "Who can—" but I stopped as I felt the book's weight and resistance. The cover glowed faintly, then snapped open and shut on its own. The old man's aura had touched it.
The old man's gaze was fixed on his own book, a slight smirk playing on his lips.
"Like I said, it requires a significant amount of aura to unlock. Unfortunately, someone in your state won't be able to open it," he said with a chuckle, returning to his reading. His words were a harsh reminder of my limitations.
"I get it," I said, my voice tight with restrained frustration. "You don't have to spell it out. A pathetic being with a herless condition, lacking any cultivation foundation, will never…"
I cut myself off, clenching my fists as I glared at him. His focus remained on his book, his fingers idly stroking his beard. The indifference in his demeanor only fueled my anger further. I signaled to Tara, and we began to turn away.
"Herless condition, huh?" he chuckled, his tone almost mocking. "That's quite intriguing. I'm curious why you'd think that's what I was referring to."
I froze at his words, turning back to face him. "Those with a herless condition lack a fundamental cultivation foundation. Even if, in rare instances, they do possess a foundation, they can't advance beyond the fourth stage. It's a significant disadvantage in this era," he explained, slowly closing his book. "I'm intrigued—why do you believe you have this condition?"
"Huh? Isn't it obvious?" I retorted. "Can't any cultivator see it?"
He only laughed, shaking his head. "Yes, it's quite apparent. At first glance, your condition might seem to fit the description of a herless condition. But, in reality, you possess a strong foundation. Far stronger and more fascinating than you might think." His expression turned enigmatic as he continued. "I heard you're bound to that cold, silent young man. You should ask him. He's the one who can explain why you're unable to use your aura."
With that cryptic advice, he vanished, leaving me standing there in utter confusion.
RODERAN
This was all wrong, entirely wrong…
"I get why Kaithen is here, but what about the two of you?" My eyes narrow as they move to Grace, who offers a smile that barely conceals her amusement, while Eleein pours herself a cup of tea with practiced grace. Kaithen lounges on a low-hanging branch of the plum tree, her flute's soft notes weaving through the air. These three aren't just visitors; they are the elite from the founding clans, and our history at the Royal Academy binds us, but in a good story type.
"Why the frosty welcome? We came to celebrate with you," Eleein's voice is smooth, almost teasing, as she holds out the teacup. "Finally leaving the bachelor's life behind."
"The legendary heart-stealer has been claimed," Grace adds with a sly chuckle.
"So, the news has reached even you," I offer a tight smile, declining the tea with a slight shake of my head. Eleein's reputation as a poison master in training is well-earned, and I've learned through painful experience to steer clear of anything she offers.
"Not just us. The appearance of the Thread of Fate and the Seal of Love is a rarity that reverberates across all realms," Kaithen says, her voice lilting with the same serenity that her flute's melody carries. Grace suddenly springs forward, seizing my hands with her usual exuberance.
"When will we meet her? The masters must be dying to know what kind of woman has ensnared you," she presses, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she grins up at me.
I attempt to withdraw, but Grace tightens her grip, relentless in her curiosity.
"You have…" I start, pushing her gently on the forehead as I manage to slip free. Just then, Rowan bursts into the garden, gasping for breath, her hair disheveled. We all turn to her, and she meets our stares with wild eyes before charging toward the table and downing Eleein's tea in one gulp.
"Why…why do you live so far…" she pants, nearly collapsing from her exertion.
"It's far because you chose to walk. You could have warped here, you know," I reply, finally breaking away from Grace's grip.
"Interesting…she can't use her spirit energy," Grace notes, as all three rush to inspect Rowan, a look of intrigue passing between them. "And there's a strange scent coming off you," she adds, her eyes narrowing with suspicion.
"Am I interrupting something?" she asks, flashing a smile as they begin to scrutinize her hair with keen interest.
"Not at all. We were just talking about you," Eleein responds, her gaze fixed on Rowan's blue eyes. The same crystalline glow I noticed earlier must have caught Eleein's attention as well. Her eyes weren't just blue; there was something else, something otherworldly, hidden within that hue. "Are you naturally blonde?"
"Of course! Why does everyone think I dyed my hair?" Rowan exclaims in exasperation as Kaithen gently takes her hand.
"Because blondes are a rare phenomenon here, often accompanied by an equally rare beauty," Grace chimes in, her tone playful.
With a surge of energy, I push them back, giving Rowan some space. "What brings you here? I can sense you're troubled."
"That's right," she mutters, stepping closer to me, pushing the table aside with little care. Her actions are disorganized, almost frantic. She cups my face, forcing me to meet her gaze. As she leans in, closing the distance between us, she asks, "What do you see?"
"What?" I respond, caught off guard.
"In me. What do you see?" she repeats, her voice insistent, but I struggle to grasp her meaning.
"I see… a rather unruly lady," I say, pulling away from her grasp. "Would you mind behaving yourself? We have guests, after all," I add, attempting to regain some composure. But she simply turns to face the others, smiling as if she hadn't heard a word I said.
"Listen, I just came from the library and ran into this old-looking guy. He told me something strange," she begins.
"Old man? You didn't just call the Grand Master an old man, did you?" I shake my head in disbelief, reaching for my books. But before I can grab them, she snatches them away, her expression defiant.
"You lecture me on manners, yet who here is truly lacking them?" she counters, turning to the ladies. "Can you imagine? I'm engaged to a man who hasn't even shown me around my new home. I don't even know where I live, and I have to rely on others to get around. So, who here lacks manners?"
They burst into laughter, nodding in agreement with her, and I sigh, adjusting my posture in resignation.
"I already arranged for a guide to show you around. I have to remind you, I'm quite a busy man," I say, trying to sound composed. But she immediately starts mimicking me, nodding her head with exaggerated enthusiasm.
"Oh, the future Lord of the Immortal Realm is far too busy," she jeers, dropping the book onto the table with a thud. Her tone sharpens as she demands, "Just tell me what you see when you look at my innate essence." She adjusts her hair and sits upright, trying to appear serious, but I simply pick up my book, avoiding her gaze.
"What on earth are you trying to pull here?" I say, exasperated. "How could a lady ask a man to examine her innate essence?" Her face flushes as she crosses her arms defensively.
"What in the world! That's not what I meant! You're the one with dirty thoughts and poor manners!" she exclaims, her voice rising with indignation, which only draws another round of low laughter from the others.
"You—" I start, but Kaithen cuts me off, her voice calm and measured.
"What Her Highness is asking about is the abnormality in her innate essence, correct?" she interjects smoothly.
"Yes! That's exactly it," Rowan replies, her expression brightening as she turns to Kaithen. "My entire life, I was told I had the 'herless' condition, but the old…" She pauses, casting me a mischievous smile. "The Grand Master told me that wasn't the case at all."
"It might have appeared that way, but it's not so simple," Eleein says thoughtfully. "You possess a unique foundation; it's just that—" But before she can finish, I shoot her a stern look, and she falls silent. Rowan turns her gaze to me, eyes searching for answers.
Of course, I saw it too—the immense power locked within her, the reason those seals were placed on her in the first place. My parents must have seen it as well. I even have a good idea who might have set the first five seals, but…
"If you truly wish to understand your condition, you should attend the Royal Academy in Taityet City," I say, my tone leaving little room for argument. "There, you'll find the answers you seek, and you'll realize just how pitifully you've been living."
"Pitifully? What in the world—" she begins to protest, her voice rising, but I cut her off by dropping the book onto the table with a resounding thud.
"You're far too naive to grasp the gravity of the situation you've put yourself in," I state, my gaze shifting to her maid, Tara. "And not just yourself—you've dragged her into it as well."
"What are you talking about?" she asks, her voice tinged with uncertainty.
"Like I said, you're too naive," I exhale slowly, my patience wearing thin. "Do you even understand what it means to be bonded with a beastman?"
She looks startled, clearly taken aback by the question. I doubt she's ever considered it.
"When a beastman sees you as their benefactor, they swear eternal loyalty to you. That bond is what allows them to take on a human form. From that point on, their growth is determined by the limitations you place on them, whether knowingly or not."
"Limitations? What do you mean?" she asks, her voice filled with surprise.
"Do you even know what kind of beastman she is?" I ask, pointing at Tara. The maid simply returns our gaze, her expression unreadable.
"She's a swan," Rowan replies, uncertainty creeping into her voice.
"Yes, she's a swan, but swans come in different forms," I explain. Releasing my spirit energy, I channel it toward Tara, breaking through the restraints that have bound her true nature. Before our eyes, she transforms—her once black hair shifts to a deep, regal purple, her eyes taking on a striking violet hue. She grows taller, her figure more mature and well-defined, as the swan symbol becomes visible on her skin. The aura of a beast, powerful and unrestrained, flows from her. "She is a high-level swan, what we call a Queen Swan. At full maturity, she has the potential to ascend to immortality, just like those in our realm."
As I release her, Tara reverts to her original form, collapsing to her knees, examining her body with a mixture of shock and awe.
"What in the…!" Rowan gasps, rushing to Tara's side. They cling to each other, both bewildered and amazed. "A Queen Swan? She can become an immortal?" She turns to me, her eyes wide with wonder. "How did you do that?"
"Have you forgotten?" I point to the Seal of Fate that binds us. "We are connected by this, just as she is bound to you. Through our connection, I can channel my power to her as well." I hold her gaze, letting the weight of my words sink in. "Like I said, you've been living a pathetic life, and you've dragged her into it. If you truly want her to achieve her full potential, I strongly suggest you join the Academy."
Finally, I found myself alone, the heavy weight of the conversation with Rowan still pressing on my mind. What was supposed to be a quick, thirty-minute exchange somehow dragged on for three exhausting hours. She's incredibly talkative and more than a little unruly. When I think back to the MoonBound ceremony, it's clear she never really behaved like a princess, not even once. Now that we're connected, I've had to rely on my dragon seal just to keep her overwhelming emotions from flooding into me.
"She's so different from what I expected," I sighed, leaning back against the cool wall of the mansion. My eyes wandered to the sun, which was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the landscape. Even though I'm finally alone, I can't seem to get her out of my head, especially because of the dreams I've been having ever since I met her. There's something about that old poem the man recited to her, something that keeps echoing in my mind. The woman in red from my dreams—there's something eerily familiar about her. And the energy I sensed sealed within Rowan, it's the same as the woman's.
In most cases, family members might share similar spirit energy, especially if they have the same elemental attribute. But every person's spirit flow is unique, like a fingerprint. It's extremely rare for anyone to have an identical flow of energy. Yet Rowan and that woman in red, they share the exact same flow, as if they were reflections of one another. And that man in my dreams… he had my dragon aura, but at a level far beyond what I've achieved. Still, it was undeniably the same as mine.
"If it's the mirror reflection of the past…" The thought makes my chest tighten, and I hesitate to let it fully form. "Rowan and I might have had a past life together. She might have been my bride then, too. But why? Why do I sense so much regret from them—so much sadness, especially from him?" I close my eyes, trying to recall that elusive scene. His hand, trembling as it scribbled the poem, their weak chuckles of love—and then it all goes dark. I find myself in a pitch-black space, with only a glowing dragon in the distance. Its power is overwhelming, too dense, too strong for me to reach.
"You always appear whenever it suits you," I exhale, opening my eyes to find him levitating freely, sipping from his ever-present liquor. "And you never quit that habit, do you? For crying out loud, why the wooden sandals?"
He takes another gulp before laughing heartily, clearly amused by my exasperation.
"Seriously, Uncle!" I sit up straight, frustration creeping into my voice. "When will you just stay?"
"Stay? Me? Why would I stay when young ones like you are around?" He bursts into laughter, the sound echoing in the air.
I glance at his attire, noting the ragged state of his brown martial robes. "What kind of robes are those? They look like they've seen better days."
"It's a long story," he replies with a smirk, his eyes gleaming mischievously. "But first, how is she?" He leans in closer, curiosity written all over his face.
I ignore his playful tone.
"Your little bride," he casually chuckles
"she's a divine maiden, isn't she?" I ask with an exhale.
"You figured it out, huh? What a spoiler," he chuckles, taking another deep drink. As he exhales, his tone grows serious. "If others find out about her true nature, she'll be in grave danger."
"Is that why you placed those seals on her?" I ask, my voice tinged with concern.
He chuckles again, this time more somberly. "I wish I could take credit for that, but it wasn't me."
"What?" I spring to my feet, disbelief washing over me. "What do you mean? The formation of those seals… it could only come from a master of your caliber, or my mother. And it can't be Mother, that's for sure."
He laughs, the sound filled with mockery. Turning to face me, he says, "Don't tell me you actually thought I only had one student?"
"Huh?" His words catch me off guard.
He descends from his levitation, seating himself beside me. "I had two female students, both incredibly promising. The only difference was that one was a mortal princess, and the other was your mother. I have to admit, the princess was far superior to your mother in many ways, but she had to return to fulfill her duties as royalty."
"So, she's Rowan's mother?" I ask, piecing together the revelation.
He sighs deeply. "Yes, she is. She gave birth to a rare being—Rowan—and was killed for it. By the time I reached her, it was too late. Only Rowan remained her innate abilities completely sealed. Her mother was the purest student I ever had," he says, his voice laced with sorrow as he takes another sip, letting drops of liquor float away in the air.
"Are you implying my mother is…?" I start to ask, but he cuts me off with a stern look, silencing my thoughts. "Never mind," I mutter, shaking my head as he bursts into laughter.
"What about the thread of fate and the seal of love?" I continue, trying to make sense of it all. "Did you know about that?"
"Heh! If I could see that coming, maybe I should stop wandering and open a fortune-telling stall," he jokes, chuckling to himself. I let out a sigh, shaking my head at his carefree attitude.
"What really brings you here, Uncle? And don't say you missed me, because we both know that's not true." I watch as he chuckles again, taking another drink.
"They're making their move again," he says slowly, his tone dropping to a more serious note. "Sooner than we expected."
"I see… It's been twenty years since the war. If he has…"
"No, he hasn't. But they'll attack regardless, and they've grown stronger. This ragged piece of cloth," he gestures to his torn robe, "came from fighting two masters at the Glorious Phase Realm."
"Two Glorious Phase masters? That's a bit of a stretch," I say, concerned, but he only laughs in response.
"Don't worry about me, brat. Save your concern for them. After the fight, let's just say they lost two Glorious Phase masters." He laughs casually, a typical response from the man who's claimed to be one of the strongest in all realms. The Seal King, Lairon Dragneel.
"However, brat," he continues, his tone turning grave, "you should remember that if Rowan attends the academy and meets him, he'll help her remove those seals. And if that happens…"
"She'll become their target," I finish his thought, my voice tightening with realization. "After all, the only one who can heal his wounds… is a Divine Maiden."