"Lancelot!" The voice rang out before the blur of motion, and then Celia was upon me, arms wrapped tightly around my waist as if she might never let go. I laughed softly, the sound mingling with the rustle of the garden leaves as I patted her head, the familiar scent of lavender from her hair drifting up to meet me.
'She's stronger now,' I noted, feeling the subtle hum of her mana as it resonated through the hug. Reaching the Green stage at her age was no small feat; it spoke volumes about her potential as a Silvaria.
With a final squeeze, Celia pulled back, her wide eyes glinting with mischief as they settled on Evelyn. Her expression shifted, the playful sparkle giving way to a scrutinizing gaze that swept down to where Evelyn's hand rested in mine.
"Brother got a wife!" she exclaimed, the declaration ringing out like a clarion call across the courtyard, drawing the curious stares of the guards and a passing maid who tried and failed to hide her smirk.
I winced, a flush creeping up my neck as I reached out and flicked her forehead lightly. "Celia, hush," I said, exasperation laced with affection.
Evelyn's eyes widened, a pink tinge blossoming across her cheeks as she glanced between us, half-amused, half-embarrassed. Celia, never one to miss a detail, grinned wider, a glint of triumph in her eyes.
"But you're holding hands," Celia protested, rubbing her forehead with mock indignation. "That's what married people do, isn't it?"
I sighed, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. "It's a greeting, Celia. You know that."
She crossed her arms, looking utterly unconvinced. "If you say so, Brother." But the smile on her face said otherwise, as if she'd already decided the story would be more interesting her way.
"Welcome back, Lance," my mother's voice carried across the courtyard, graceful and warm, with that hint of command she never quite put down. She approached, her emerald gown sweeping across the cobblestones as her gaze shifted from me to Evelyn. Her eyes, sharp as a falcon's, widened ever so slightly as she felt the strength of Evelyn's mana core.
"And who is this lovely young lady?" she asked, a note of curiosity and something like surprise threading through her voice.
Evelyn stepped forward, dipping into a respectful bow with a practiced grace. "M-my name is Evelyn, Your Grace. I am a witch at the Indigo stage, and I am fourteen years old."
A smile played at the edges of my mother's lips, though her eyes gleamed with that familiar spark of appraisal. "I didn't think monsters like my son came in waves," she said, glancing at me with an arched brow. I returned her gaze with a wry smile. It was typical of her to weigh power with affection.
"We'll talk more about Evelyn in a moment," I said, my tone light but carrying an undertone that spoke of stories yet untold.
She nodded, the small smile turning fond. "So, how was adventuring, Lance?"
I paused, letting the memories of the past weeks sweep through me—the battles, the hidden truths, the shadows that still clung.
"Most interesting," I replied, a faint smirk touching my lips, and my mother's eyes narrowed, glinting with intrigue.
The courtyard was silent for a beat, the warm breeze rustling the leaves as if whispering that the tale was only beginning. Evelyn stood beside me, her eyes watchful, a new chapter waiting to unfold.
The four of us settled inside, and I recounted the events from the village, starting with the battles against the A-class and B-class beasts. My mother listened intently, her eyes never leaving my face as I spoke, taking in each detail with the quiet focus of a seasoned warrior.
But soon, our conversation turned to something far weightier: Evelyn and the truth about her past. My gaze met my mother's, and she nodded, understanding the gravity of what needed to be discussed. She turned to Celia. "Time to step out, darling," she said softly.
Celia pouted, lingering just long enough to show her reluctance, but then left the room without protest.
When the door closed, Evelyn and I began filling my mother in on the darker details. As Evelyn described the spell array that had wiped out an entire unit of Golden Dragon Knights, my mother's usually stoic expression slipped, and a look of shock broke through her composed exterior.
She turned to Evelyn, her voice low but edged with steel. "Who is your mother?"
Evelyn's breath caught, her eyes flickering with an emotion I couldn't quite place. But she didn't hesitate. "Aurelia."
My mother's reaction was immediate; her voice rose, disbelief threaded through each word. "Aurelia? The Witch of Calamity?"
"Who is she, Mother?" I asked, my voice steady, though a strange tension settled over me.
My mother sighed, her gaze distant as she pieced together her answer. "Aurelia, the Witch of Calamity, is no ordinary witch. She calls herself the Empress of Witches, and rightly so—she's the most powerful practitioner of witchcraft alive. Her knowledge of magic and spellcraft surpasses nearly all. Aurelia has reached the very pinnacle of what a witch can achieve."
"So, she's among the strongest in the world," I said, the weight of those words pressing down on me. My mother nodded slowly.
I reflected on the implications. 'The only reason I managed to break her spell,' I thought to myself, 'was likely due to the time it had worn down.' Even with Sword Unity, a Domain-level spell, forged by a witch of Aurelia's caliber, would have been far beyond my means to dismantle, not with my current mana constraints.
The spell embedded in Evelyn's heart had been Concept-level, not Domain-level, and that, combined with time's erosion, had allowed me to destroy it without straining myself.
"Is it possible for her to stay with us?" I asked, turning to my mother with a gaze that held more determination than question.
Mother's eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she weighed the implications, fingers tapping lightly on the armrest of her chair. "It is," she said at last, a touch of wariness in her voice. "Aurelia is certainly a formidable force, a true monster in her own right, but even she cannot simply appear here overnight from the heart of Valoria."
Valoria—the vast, imposing central continent that dominated the world map, rich with powerful factions and untamed wilds. By comparison, Aetheris, our home and the eastern continent, had nearly been consumed by the ever-expanding Killion Empire. The sheer distance between us and the heartland of Valoria offered a fragile reassurance. Even Aurelia, the so-called Empress of Witches, would struggle to breach such a span without warning.
But a question nagged at the back of my mind. 'Why send Evelyn, a child she believed to be the salvation of witches, to the far reaches of Aetheris?' The reasoning eluded me, a riddle wrapped in shadow. The existence of the intricate spell array, carved by Aurelia's own hand, only deepened the mystery. She had been here, touched this place with her magic, and then left her daughter behind. The motives felt layered, incomprehensible, and unsettlingly deliberate.
Mother's voice cut through my thoughts, pulling me back into the room. "However, we'll need justification," she said, her gaze sharpening as it landed on Evelyn.
"Justification?" Evelyn repeated, brow furrowing as she tilted her head, her voice carrying a note of uncertainty.
"Yes," Mother confirmed. "If you're to live here under the protection of the Silvaria family, you must have an official role. We can't simply shelter a powerful witch with no explanation. The world may not know who you are, but whispers spread like wildfire."
I nodded, understanding the delicate dance of politics and power. "What options do we have?" I asked, leaning forward.
Mother considered this for a moment, the silence heavy with the weight of possibilities. "She could serve as a mage attached to the household," she suggested, though the idea came with a caveat. "But such a position would limit her. It wouldn't allow her to be fully acknowledged by society, nor would it grant her any standing beyond these walls."
I glanced at Evelyn, who was watching us both with wide eyes that betrayed a mix of hope and trepidation. "No," I said, shaking my head. "She deserves more than that. If she's to stay here, it must be as an equal."
Mother's lips curved into a faint smile, softening the air between us. "I thought you might say that," she said, her tone warming slightly. "The second option would be adoption, but that path is closed to us. Not with the coming of age ceremony of the Grand Duchy of Silvaria looming on the horizon."
The mention of the coming of age ceremony left me puzzled. Mother had never spoken of it before, which made sense—Celia and I were still years from reaching such a milestone. But now, its significance stood like an immovable wall, barring the way forward. Adoption was not an option, not for Evelyn.
"What about sponsorship?" I suggested, my voice steady as I tried to steer us toward a solution.
"Sponsoring her could work," Mother admitted, a contemplative frown creasing her brow, "but it would mean she'd have to live under the roof of one of my vassals. For her to remain here, at the heart of Silvaria, there's only one path."
Her eyes met mine, clear and unwavering. "She would need to be engaged to you, Lancelot."
The room stilled, the words hanging like a suspended chord in the air. My heart thumped hard in my chest, each beat resonating with memories I'd long buried.
Engagement.
A ring.
Love.
"I love you, my hero," the voice whispered in my mind, like a stolen breath. It was a voice of warmth and hope, a melody that once lifted my spirit to the heavens and cradled it there. Sweet, like nectar, sliding slowly through the hollows of my heart. But now, it was an echo that twisted like a thorn, a reminder of dreams I could never touch again. It pulled at the seams of my resolve, unraveling them thread by thread.
That voice reminded me of my greatest failure.
"Lancelot," Mother's voice called, snapping the thread and bringing me back to the present. Her eyes searched mine, seeing the shadow that had crossed my face but not speaking of it. In the silence that followed, Evelyn's gaze flitted between us, curiosity and confusion swirling in her eyes.
I swallowed, steadying myself. "An engagement," I repeated, the word foreign on my tongue but filled with a peculiar sense of inevitability. The path was fraught, tangled with thorns, but perhaps—just perhaps—it was the path that would bind two fractured stories into something whole.
Mother nodded, a touch of understanding softening her expression. "If you both agree, this could be the way forward. But it is not a choice to be made lightly."
Evelyn's eyes widened, realization dawning with the weight of the moment. The room, once so full of uncertainty, now held a spark of something new—a question unasked, a future unfurling just beyond the present.
And so, in that silent pause, our fates shifted, threading together in ways none of us could yet see.
"An engagement contract," I said, the words falling into the room like a stone into a still pond, sending ripples through the silence. "It would last until I turn eighteen. That would be fairer—for both of us. It doesn't have to be binding beyond that, but to everyone else, it would appear as a genuine engagement."
Mother's eyes narrowed slightly, considering my suggestion. The flicker of surprise in her expression was brief, replaced by a contemplative calm. "A contract," she echoed, musing over the practicality of it. "It would certainly fulfill the conditions for Evelyn to remain here, under our protection and in high standing. And it provides an escape, should either of you choose a different path when the time comes."
I nodded, glancing at Evelyn. Her face was a portrait of conflicting emotions—relief, confusion, and something deeper, hidden behind her eyes. She blinked, as if pulling herself out of a reverie, and met my gaze.
"A contract," she repeated, testing the word like it might break. Then, a faint, resolute smile touched her lips. "I agree."
A breath I hadn't realized I was holding slipped from me. Mother's expression softened, a rare warmth in her eyes. "Then it is settled. An engagement contract it shall be. It will give you both time—to learn, to grow, and to choose your own futures."
The weight of the room lightened, ever so slightly, as if an invisible thread had been tied, holding together the pieces of a story that had threatened to unravel. For now, it would be enough.
'An engagement contract,'I thought, the words sour on my tongue. 'The only girl I ever wanted to marry is already gone, beyond the reach of this life or the next.'
A foolish man. That's what I was, clinging to a memory as if it could anchor me to a world that had long since changed. Fourteen years in this world, each day building a barrier between the past and now, yet I couldn't let go. I still saw her in every shadow, heard her laughter in the wind, tasted the bitterness of loss in the simplest joys.
I smiled ruefully to myself. It seemed I had grown in many ways, but in this—this most fragile, most human of things—I still had far to go.