Elowen's POV
Winter.
Again.
Ugh. I don't like winter. The extra layers of clothing, the snow, the freezing winds. There is a constant need to heat water because it freezes the moment you take your eyes off it. Winter is needy, demanding, and frankly, a royal pain.
Thankfully, wealth has its perks. I'm not the one slogging through the chores.
I reached out for the artifact switch inside my carriage, my savior in this frigid season: the heating artifact. It is truly one of the greatest inventions in history. Without it, winters would be unbearable. I cranked it up to its maximum setting, the warmth spreading through the carriage like a soothing balm. Crossing my arms, I rubbed my shoulders, letting the heat seep into my bones.
"Hehe~" A soft giggle escaped me, unexpected but welcome.
It had been far too long since I last visited my grandson. How quickly the days slipped through my fingers. Time, it seemed, had wings.
"Nine already…" I murmured, a sigh slipping past my lips.
My thoughts wandered, pulling me back to the first time I saw him—truly saw him. It was the day of his birth. He was unimaginably small, his face scrunched as if he already disapproved of the cold world he'd been born into.
Unbelievably warm. That's what struck me most. His tiny body radiated a gentle warmth, as though it were defying the icy grip of the season. A quiet little miracle.
For a brief time, Xironia and I took care of him. Those days—those fleeting, precious days—were a blessing for her, I could tell. Watching her cradle him, learning his needs with a fervor that could rival any scholar, it was as though she'd absorbed a lifetime's worth of wisdom in that single month.
I smiled faintly, the corners of my lips tinged with fondness—and perhaps a touch of guilt. Maybe I'd gone overboard with the presents. I always do. But for my grandson, that doesn't matter.
I glanced out the carriage window. The faint hues of dawn brushed the sky, the sun barely peeking over the horizon. It was always this early when I set out for these visits. Ever since that day…
Novius and Xironia don't speak of it—perhaps out of courtesy, or maybe out of denial—but I know. That day was my fault.
I knew Alaric and Xironia were their targets. I knew my movements would draw attention after remaining secluded in my estate for so many months. And yet, for the sake of appearances, for the frivolous need to uphold my good image, I asked Novius to help me choose presents.
If I hadn't done that, the attack wouldn't have happened.
The memory lingered, sharp and unrelenting, like a wound that refused to heal. That day reshaped everything—our lives, our choices, even the quiet moments we'd once taken for granted. And most of all… it left a scar on Alaric.
He was barely three. Just a boy with endless curiosity, his little hands always reaching for the world, his mind eager to unravel it. That was the age when he was starting to grasp meaning in the things he did, and in the things around him.
And instead, he was met with that.
It was etched into him, burned deep, that moment when he saw his mother covered in blood.
From the day he formed his core—or perhaps even before that—it was as though a part of him decided never to let it happen again. To prevent the repetition of that day at all costs.
I'd noticed it, of course. How could I not? Novius and Xironia must have seen it too. But we never spoke of it. We didn't confront it.
We ignored it.
I ignored it.
Until the last time I spoke to Aurelia. It was Alaric's previous birthday.
He had asked me to train him, an innocent request. At the time, I thought he'd simply been inspired by the books he loved so much, those tales of bravery and courage. I was sure he'd give up once he realized the reality, but I reasoned that by then, he would have at least grown stronger physically.
But I was wrong.
For months, all I heard were stories of him running. Morning, noon, evening. Alaric ran tirelessly, his tiny legs chasing a goal only he seemed to understand.
It was during those months that I realized something about my grandson:
Alaric is stubborn.
Not the demanding sort of child who whines for attention or toys. No, Alaric was always quiet, almost self-sufficient. His few requests were simple, and his wants were unspoken.
The clearest memory I have is when he was around four. He asked me to read him a book. I told him I was tired and would do it before he slept that night.
He whined until I read it to him.
It's strange, how small moments like that stick with you. I hadn't understood it then, but looking back now, it was obvious. That quiet resolve of his, that unyielding determination—it had always been there, waiting for the right moment to surface.
And surface it did.
The day I heard he'd completed the absurd goal I set for him, I was stunned. No—stunned doesn't even begin to describe it. I was so shocked that I forgot about my surroundings entirely and broke the armrest of the chair I was sitting on.
I always visited on Alaric's birthday. It wasn't the training or anything else; it was tradition. I'd only missed two of his birthdays and each time I had very crucial reasons for my absence. But his eighth birthday? That wasn't one I could miss. Not after what I'd heard.
When I arrived, he was waiting for me outside. He was such an adorable fluffball that day, bouncing on his feet, barely able to contain his excitement.
I knew he was happy to see me. But I also knew there was something more.
He wanted to prove himself. To show me he'd done what I thought was impossible.
The next day, when we went to train, I expected… well, I expected something entirely different from what I got.
It was a complete bombshell.
Running a distance like that isn't just 'not easy'. Calling it 'not easy' is like calling a mountain a sand hill. It's a disturbing, grueling distance that demands perfection. Every mistake you make has to be identified, fixed, and overcome.
But Alaric? Alaric had fixed nothing.
Oh, he had improved—there was no doubt about that. But compared to others I've trained, he was, without question, the worst. Methodically at least.
I couldn't shake the feeling that something didn't add up. The doubts gnawed at me, making it impossible to sit still. I needed answers.
The first person I asked was Xironia. But she didn't know anything I didn't already suspect. She'd only watched him train for a few weeks, and the only notable difference she noticed was that he could run for longer periods.
Unsatisfied, I went to Novius. But he was just as clueless.
That left only one person. The one person who'd been watching him all along.
Aurelia.
When I found her, it was late—long past midnight.
I stepped into the library, where, unsurprisingly, she was holed up. That girl and her books are practically inseparable. She's a doctor, yes, but one who avoids hospitals like the plague. If Aurelia ever left the library, it was usually because someone was dying—or she was.
The surface of the table around her was full of books, some thick and others arranged on top of each other like a tower. Among the clutter of books, papers, and quills? She somehow needed more than one quill, she had her feet on the table, her legs crossed. Aurelia was swinging on a chair while holding a book above her face and the tilt made her glossy white night dress slip up to her knees revealing her legs.
I must have startled her when I walked in because the moment she saw me, she flinched so hard she nearly toppled over. Her legs scrambled for balance, and for one glorious second, it looked like she was about to crash to the floor.
It was a comical sight—hilarious, even—especially from someone as reserved as Aurelia.
.
.
.
"L-Lady Elowen?" Aurelia's voice wavered as she scrambled to sit upright, hastily planting her feet on the floor and smoothing the creases on her dress. Her cheeks flushed faintly, and she avoided meeting my gaze. "Why are you here so late?"
I smiled warmly, waving off her formality. We hadn't interacted much over the years, but since Novius considered her family, she was family to me as well.
"Lia," I said softly, and her head shot up, her wide eyes locking with mine before darting away again. "I just wanted to talk about something. Unless, of course, you're busy?" I let my gaze drift casually to the book on the table, feigning polite curiosity.
Her reaction was immediate. She shifted nervously, her fingers brushing against the edges of the book as if trying to pull them away from view.
"You're studying magic circles?" I asked, though I already knew the answer. I'd seen her with that book before. She always tried to hide it, though I couldn't fathom why.
"Ye… yes," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. Her hands fidgeted against the paper, smoothing it compulsively as her gaze dropped to the books.
Her hesitation only piqued my curiosity further. Rising slightly onto my toes, I leaned forward to sneak a better look at the intricate drawings sprawled across the page.
I wasn't an expert in magic circles—my knowledge was limited to basic cleansing spells—but what she had drawn was nothing I'd ever seen before.
"What are you learning?" I asked, tilting my head.
Aurelia's reaction was almost comical. She stiffened, her shoulders rising like a startled cat's, and her words tumbled out in a rush. "Ah—I, uh—oh! It's not—it's not something you wouldn't know." Her voice trailed off as she glanced at the paper, her fingers lightly tracing the lines of the circles she'd drawn.
"I wouldn't know?" I repeated, raising an eyebrow.
"N-No, I didn't mean to disrespect you. The thing is... It doesn't exist." she confirmed, her voice dropping to a mumble.
I paused, waiting. It seemed like she was trying to add more to what she was saying,, so I waited until she finally whispered, "I'm… creating it."
My eyes widened, and for a moment, I wasn't sure I'd heard her correctly. "Did you just say you're creating magic circles?"
Aurelia's shoulders hunched, and she gave a quick, nervous nod. "Y-yes."
I blinked, processing her words before a chuckle bubbled up from my chest. "Hehe~" I laughed, moving to sit across from her at the table. "Creating magic circles. You dream big, don't you, girl?"
"I—"
"Good," I interrupted, leaning back slightly.
"Huh?" Her tense expression melted into one of surprise, her lips parting slightly as she stared at me, stunned.
"What?" I asked, amused by her reaction.
"Not-nothing, you said… good?"
"I did," I confirmed with a grin. "Isn't it? I've lived for centuries, read more books than I can count, and never—not once—have I heard of someone trying to create a spell or magic circle. It's as though the idea itself is taboo. Yet here you are, pouring your heart into something everyone else leaves untouched."
Aurelia blinked, her lips twitching as if she couldn't decide whether to smile. Finally, her face softened, and a small, serene smile graced her features.
The dim lighting of the moonlit library, combined with the warm glow of the lamp over the table, barely illuminated the room. Yet, at that moment, her face seemed to shine brighter than both.
"I'll look forward to whatever you create," I said sincerely.
"Mm," she hummed softly, nodding like a timid but friendly creature finally warming up to a stranger.
"I actually came here to talk about something else."
Aurelia's expression shifted instantly. The lightheartedness in her smile gave way to a solemn focus as she closed the book in front of her, carefully placing the loose papers between its pages.
"It's about Alaric," I continued.
At the mention of his name, Aurelia leaned forward, a groan escaping her lips as she rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Finally!" she exclaimed, her frustration evident. "I thought I was hallucinating. You've seen it too, right? Him running?"
I nodded, a small smile tugging at my lips. "Of course. The best doctor always notices."
"Oh, no, no." Aurelia shook her head, her voice tinged with self-deprecation. "I'm far from that. I'm just better than the ones available."
"Same thing," I replied with a soft chuckle, which she returned briefly before her expression grew serious again.
"I'm just good at what I do, Lady Elowen. But a doctor? A real doctor?" She shook her head, her gaze distant. "They're different. They're gentle people. They don't usually smile—not in front of you, anyway. But when they're alone, when they've saved someone, that's when they smile. To them, every patient who walks in with hope is more than just a customer. A real doctor would sacrifice everything for their patients."
I studied her face, illuminated softly by the dim light of the library. There was something enigmatic in her expression, a quiet pain.
"Do you not consider yourself among them?" I asked gently.
A faint, humorless snicker escaped her lips. "Not even close. I only work as a doctor because it pays the bills. That's all."
A silence fell between us, heavy but not uncomfortable.
After a moment, I decided to steer the conversation back. "As I was saying, I wanted to ask a few things about Alaric. Since you've been watching him to ensure he doesn't hurt himself, you must have seen most of what he's been up to."
"You're wondering how he managed to run that much in such a short time," Aurelia said, her sharp gaze meeting mine.
"Yes, and—"
"Without mastering breathing or pacing?" she cut in, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.
I couldn't help but laugh inwardly. "Exactly."
"I tried bringing it up to Miss Xironia too," Aurelia said, shrugging nonchalantly. "But she was too caught up in celebrating the moment."
That wasn't surprising. Xironia had always worn her emotions openly when it came to Alaric.
"Your training method," Aurelia continued, her tone turning analytical, "relies heavily on pushing someone to the point of collapse, doesn't it?"
I paused for a moment, studying her face. The girl was astute—far more than she gave herself credit for. "It does," I admitted with a small nod.
"When a person passes out from extreme physical exertion," Aurelia began, her tone calm but weighty, "it takes a while for their body to recover naturally. That time lying unconscious isn't wasted—it's when the body starts to rest and repair itself, regaining some of the energy it lost. When they wake up, they feel exhausted, which forces them to rehydrate and eat. Those are the basics, but that's not the main reason you push people to run until they collapse, is it?"
I tilted my head, intrigued by her sharp deduction.
"The real reason," she continued, her voice steady and analytical, "is because their body starts to treat it as a necessary task. Even when someone passes out, their subconscious doesn't stop working. It processes what just happened as part of a routine, a cycle. The body assumes collapsing is the 'resting period' after a hard task, and over time, this trains it to adapt. Eventually, the distance at which someone collapses becomes the distance they can run daily. That's why the endless laps are so effective—it forces the body to keep developing, increasing stamina reserves."
I couldn't help but feel impressed. People don't typically realize this until they've gone through it themselves. Heck, Lily likely doesn't understand it after going through it. Yet here was Aurelia, deducing all of it just by watching Alaric run.
"I think Alaric figured that out even before I did," Aurelia said, her lips pressing into a thin line. "He's changed the core of this training."
I leaned forward slightly, surprised. "Changed it? How so?"
She exhaled softly, tapping her fingers on the table as she gathered her thoughts.
"When I was first asked to oversee him—to make sure he didn't hurt himself—I'll admit I wasn't paying much attention. I'd sit in the arbor and read, glancing up occasionally. Most days, he'd pass out, wake up in the same spot, come back for water or food, rest a bit, and then go back to running."
She paused, her finger tracing a small circle on the table's surface.
"But one day," she continued, her voice quieter now, "I got too absorbed in a book. I didn't notice the time slipping by until it was almost evening. I panicked—I hadn't seen him come back for a break. I was about to rush out to check on him when I spotted him on the tiled floor of the arbour."
Her eyes flicked to me briefly before dropping back to the table.
"He looked awful," she said, her voice tight. "Pale as a ghost, gasping for air like it is painful to breathe. His legs were shaking—no, quivering—probably cramping from overuse. It was… hard to watch." She swallowed, her fingers still tracing circles.
I stayed silent, letting her continue.
"That was the moment I decided to really observe him," she said. "The next day, I watched him. Not just in passing, but the whole time—or at least most of it."
Her voice steadied as she pressed on.
"Alaric didn't pass out. Not once. He just… kept moving. He wasn't focused on stabilizing his breathing or keeping a constant pace like most people would. Those weren't even his priorities. He'd run, then walk, then sprint, then walk again, sometimes limping by the end. It wasn't pretty, but it was effective. He was adjusting his run in a way that… allows him to stay conscious and continue running."
She stopped, her fingers pausing mid-circle as she swallowed again, her gaze distant.
"The varied pace he uses now," Aurelia began, her tone even but with an edge of gravity, "isn't because he can't master it. It's because he chose not to. Let me put it this way…"
She paused, her fingers tapping lightly against the table as she searched for the right words.
"Imagine this: someone running endlessly, from sunup to sundown. Their breath ragged, lungs burning, legs trembling under the strain—but they don't stop. They 'can't' stop. There's no food, no water, no reprieve. Just the relentless pounding of their feet against the ground, one step after another. Now, picture them finally reaching a point—a distance far enough where they could collapse. They lie there, muscles screaming, heart hammering in their chest, unable to move. Maybe, just maybe, they've earned a moment to breathe. What would you assume I was describing?"
Her words hung in the air, heavy with implication.
I frowned, my thoughts turning over her description. "It sounds like a prey running for its life," I said finally.
"Mhm," she hummed in agreement, her gaze sharp. "In better words: being hunted. And what does being hunted mean?"
For a moment, silence stretched between us, her question lingering. Then, it clicked.
"You're saying," I began slowly, "he's changed the goal from development to survival."
"Exactly," Aurelia said, her voice firm. "A living being's mind and body are wired for survival above all else. That instinct supersedes everything—development, growth, long-term goals. Your other students? They were forced to adapt to tasks. But Alaric?" She paused, her lips pressing into a thin line. "He forced himself to adapt to survival."
Her words struck like a blow, the image they painted both startling and unsettling.
"Every day," she continued, her tone softening just slightly, "he would collapse. Not just from exhaustion but dehydration, hunger—absolute physical depletion. His eyes would roll back, his lips parched. I don't know if he was doing it intentionally, but the sensation of passing out after a simple task is nothing like the feeling of being hunted to the brink."
Her finger traced an idle pattern on the table as she looked down.
"That difference—the primal fear he's been forcing into himself—allowed him to complete that training in a way no one else could. In fact," she said, glancing up at me, "he finished the training weeks before he reported it. Instead of stopping, he kept pushing himself, forcing his body to adapt until running 125 laps became easy for him."
I stared at her, stunned by what I was hearing. "He pushed himself beyond the goal."
"Yes," Aurelia said, her expression unreadable but her voice tinged with a strange mix of awe and concern. "Because survival doesn't settle for just enough. It demands more."
The wind outside roared a mournful howl that seemed amplified by the oppressive silence in the library. Aurelia had stopped speaking, leaving her words to echo in my mind like ripples on still water.
I sat there, struggling to anchor my thoughts. What Aurelia had said wasn't a far-fetched tale—it was grounded in reality, chillingly so. There were countless stories of people pushing their bodies beyond their limits to survive. The incredible part wasn't the idea itself but the fact that an eight-year-old had done it.
Alaric.
This boy wasn't just the youngest person to ever form a core. That alone had already made him the king's 'favorite.' If the royals found out about this… no. They wouldn't just see it as a curiosity. They'd see it as a tool. He'd be forced into Avalon Academy, shaped into a weapon to serve the crown for the rest of his life—because, after all, that's what the kingdom expects from its prodigies.
But would they even believe it? Could anyone believe it? Pushing beyond physical limits like that requires desperation, the kind born of life-or-death situations. I simply can't dismiss it because I have seen it firsthand.
Was Alaric desperate? Absolutely.
But what was he so desperate for?
"Lady Elowen," Aurelia's voice broke through my spiraling thoughts. Her tone was calm but carried a hint of caution. "I think I know what you're wondering."
I turned to her, unsure of how to respond.
"I don't mean to overstep," she continued, "but since you know about this… I think you shouldn't tell anyone. Especially not him."
I blinked, startled. "Not even him?"
She shook her head gently, her fingers brushing the edges of the books on the table. "All of us have been looking at this through our own experiences. Comparing the time we've lived to his is like comparing a tank of water to a glass of water. But he's still suffering, Lady Elowen. He's scarred—by Ravencrest."
Her words hit like a punch to the gut. I clenched my fists. "And I'm supposed to just stand by and let him torture himself? I'm his grandmother, Aurelia."
She sighed, her shoulders sinking slightly. "I'm not asking you to leave him alone. I'm just saying… when people are traumatized, they lose their way. They flounder, searching for a path, a purpose. Alaric, though—he's found his path, no matter how painful it looks to us. Why not let him walk it, just as he chooses? If he stumbles, if he loses hope and needs someone…"
Her gaze softened, and for the first time, I saw something akin to resolve in her usually reserved expression. "You won't need to worry. I'll be there to help him."
I studied her, the weight of her words sinking in. Slowly, she began stacking her books, her movements measured and deliberate.
"It's getting late," she said, pushing her chair back as she stood. "You'll need rest before Miss Xironia ropes you into work tomorrow."
I let out a small laugh, shaking my head. "I try to take holidays, finish my paperwork, and somehow end up with an even bigger pile. Xironia has no shame asking her mother-in-law for help."
Aurelia smirked faintly, hefting the stack of books into her arms. "Paperwork and Miss Xironia are like oil and water. She'd rather shovel snow than do paperwork—her words, not mine."
I chuckled softly, watching her inch toward the door, her silhouette framed by the warm glow of the library's lamps.
"Aurelia," I called, my voice quieter now.
She paused, glancing over her shoulder.
"I'm grateful for how you've looked after Alaric."
For a moment, she hesitated, as though the words caught her off guard. Then she smiled—a small, serene smile that reached her eyes.
"I'm the grateful one, Lady Elowen," she said simply.
And with that, she disappeared into the hallway, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the howling wind outside.
.
.
.