Location: Imperial palace, Micheal's room
The royal palace was quiet in the late evening, the echoes of the festival still lingering faintly in the air. Micheal von Shelb sat in his assigned room in the farthest wing of the palace, a location that was no accident, courtesy of Emperor Raphael. The room, though luxurious, felt distant and isolating. Yet tonight, it was alive with warmth.
Magda sat opposite him, her elegant white and gold gown exchanged for a simpler outfit that highlighted her natural grace. Her crimson eyes sparkled as she listened to Micheal recounting one of his lighter moments from the festival, her soft laughter filling the room. She had left the festival earlier than him as she had to accompany Raphael back to the palace.
"So, Ethan won a plush fox?" Magda asked, her amusement evident.
"And a bear," Micheal added with a grin. "Vivian pretended to hate it, but you should've seen the way she held onto that dragon."
Magda shook her head, her smile lingering. "And Adrian?"
"Sulking somewhere with a Cutest Couple trophy he didn't win but can't seem to let go of," Micheal said, his grin widening.
The conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door. Micheal rose to answer, revealing Barnaby and Arthur standing in the hallway. Barnaby, his emerald eyes as composed as ever, carried a small bundle wrapped in cloth, while Arthur, his eager assistant, juggled a stack of letters and papers.
"Barnaby? Arthur?" Micheal asked, stepping aside to let them in. "What are you doing here?"
Barnaby inclined his head. "We come bearing gifts, my lord."
"Gifts?" Micheal repeated, his curiosity piqued.
Arthur grinned as he set the papers on a nearby table. "Well, more like a surprise. Courtesy of the Duchess, Barnaby, and a bit of ingenuity."
Barnaby unwrapped the bundle to reveal a sleek, refined version of Micheal's original design—the Aura Fixers. The mana-infused threads glinted faintly under the light, their subtle glow a testament to the precision and craftsmanship that had gone into them.
"We took your designs," Barnaby began, his voice steady but carrying a note of pride, "and, with the Duchess's support, produced them for the Armond army. They've been officially renamed Aura Fixers."
Micheal blinked, his sharp blue eyes fixed on the gear in Barnaby's hands. "You… you did this?"
Arthur nodded enthusiastically. "They were a hit during the parade. Soldiers were proud to wear them, and the crowd loved it. You should've seen their faces when they realized these were your creations."
Micheal felt a lump in his throat as he reached out to touch the Aura Fixers. The weight of what this meant—his work, his ideas, making a tangible difference—overwhelmed him. A tear slipped down his cheek, and he quickly brushed it away with the back of his hand.
"Thank you," he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "This means more than you know."
Barnaby's expression softened. "You've earned it, my lord. Your inventions are saving lives. This is just the beginning."
Arthur handed Micheal a small bundle of letters. "There's more. These came from the camp—Claude and Garrick, specifically."
Micheal's fingers trembled slightly as he opened the first letter, the familiar sharp yet looping script of Claude the fox half-beastman filling his vision.
Dear Micheal,
The camp feels different without you, but in a good way. Shelb troops have been helping rebuild the infrastructure, and the Imperial Mage Tower has been repairing the damages. It's amazing to see things improving, and it's all because of what you started. By the way, Breeze misses you, now he doesn't let anyone mount him. We miss you here, but we know you're doing important work. Stay happy—and don't forget to visit.
Micheal smiled faintly as he opened the second letter, this one written in Garrick's bold, straightforward hand.
Lord Micheal,
You may not realize it, but without you, the situation would've been far worse. Your Aura Fixers gave us an edge that saved lives, and your leadership inspired the troops to rebuild with purpose. We'll always be grateful for what you've done. Looking forward to the day you return—just don't expect me to go easy on you during sparring.
Micheal let out a soft chuckle at Garrick's closing line, the weight in his chest lifting slightly. He looked up at Barnaby and Arthur, his gratitude evident.
"They think far too highly of me," Micheal said, shaking his head. "But I'm glad… glad that things are better."
Magda, who had remained quiet but attentive, reached out to place a hand on Micheal's arm. "They see the truth, Micheal. Even if you don't."
Her words, gentle but firm, struck a chord. Micheal nodded, his gaze dropping to the Aura Fixers once more. For the first time in a long while, he felt a spark of hope—hope that his work, his efforts, truly mattered.
The room fell into a comfortable silence, the warmth of camaraderie and quiet pride filling the space as the festival lights continued to twinkle outside.
The final bursts of the festival fireworks painted the night sky over the capital in vivid hues of gold, crimson, and sapphire. The celebrations reached their crescendo as cheers erupted from the crowds below. Laughter, music, and the hum of joy permeated the air, wrapping the city in a fleeting illusion of peace.
Location: Northern Lands
But far from the bustling capital, in a quiet village near the edge of the Northern Wastelands, unease stirred.
In the dimly lit room of a modest clinic, a young doctor stood over his patient, his brow furrowed in confusion. The patient, a local farmer, had arrived the previous day complaining of a simple cold. Yet now, his condition had inexplicably worsened. His skin was pallid and stretched tight, his face swollen as if he'd been stung by countless bees, and his lips cracked from severe dehydration.
"I don't understand," the doctor muttered, his hands trembling as he adjusted the patient's head. "It was just a fever…"
Behind him, an older physician leaned heavily on his cane, his weathered face etched with quiet dread. "It's been over two decades," the elder said softly, his voice hoarse. "But this… it's the same."
The younger man turned, his confusion deepening. "The same as what?"
The elder's gaze remained fixed on the patient. "Twenty years ago, ailments began to change. Fevers turned into uncontrollable burns, coughs into suffocating illnesses. The mundane became lethal." His grip on the cane tightened. "And it all started with subtle shifts in mana."
The doctor's breath caught. "You think this is…?"
"I pray it isn't," the elder replied gravely. "But if it is, the world is far less prepared than it was last time."
Location: Imperial palace, Micheal's balcony
In the capital, Micheal and Magda stood on the balcony of the royal palace, the faint echoes of the festival below reaching them. The warm glow of lanterns flickered across their faces as they leaned against the ornate railing, lost in quiet conversation.
But then, almost imperceptibly, Magda stiffened. Her crimson eyes narrowed, her fingers tightening against the marble railing. Micheal noticed her shift immediately.
"What is it?" he asked, his sharp blue eyes studying her.
Magda didn't answer at first, her gaze fixed on the fireworks. "Something's wrong," she said finally, her voice low. "The mana—it feels… unsettled."
Micheal followed her gaze, though he could sense nothing. "Unsettled how?"
"Like it's being stretched," Magda explained, glancing at him. "Or twisted."
They shared a look—a moment of silent understanding. Whatever peace the festival had brought was fleeting. Their journey was far from over.
Location: Imperial Capital, Mage Tower
Elsewhere in the city, Lysander Valmont stood at the top of the Imperial Mage Tower, the night air cool against his face. His gray robes billowed softly in the breeze as his fingers traced invisible patterns in the air. The subtle hum of mana surrounded him, normally a source of calm, but tonight it vibrated with an eerie dissonance.
"This pattern…" he murmured, his pale blue eyes narrowing. "It's like before."
His mind raced, memories of twenty years ago surfacing. The mana had shifted then too, subtly at first, but it had heralded chaos. Taking a deep breath, he extended his awareness further, his expression darkening.
"It's happening again."
Location: Imperial Capital, Academy for Special Talents
In the academy, the Headmaster stood alone in his study, the glow of enchanted candles illuminating rows of ancient tomes. His sharp gaze swept the room as a ripple of unease coursed through him.
He muttered a single word, his voice laced with urgency. "Why now?"
Location: Imperial Capital, Emperor's chambers
In the Emperor's chambers, Raphael Valoria sat by the window, his crimson eyes scanning the horizon. The festival lights flickered in the distance, but his attention was elsewhere. He placed a hand against the glass, his breath fogging it slightly. The mana in the air had shifted—subtle, but unmistakable.
His jaw tightened. "So it begins."
Location: Eastern Isles
Far across the empire, on a secluded island in the East, Chronos stirred. His silver hair glinted in the dim light of his abode as his piercing gaze turned toward the sky. Around him, the faint shimmer of time mana rippled, responding to the disturbance in the atmosphere.
"Twenty years," he said softly, his voice carrying the weight of centuries. "The cycle continues."
Location: Imperial Palace, Micheal's balcony
Back in the palace, Micheal and Magda remained on the balcony, the weight of the moment settling between them. Micheal straightened, his hand brushing against hers as he spoke. "Whatever's coming, we'll face it."
Magda turned to him, her crimson eyes steady. "Together?"
He nodded, his blue eyes firm. "Always."
Above them, the last of the fireworks faded into the night sky, leaving only darkness and the distant echo of celebration. The capital slept, oblivious to the storm brewing on the horizon.
End of Volume One: Love, Chaos, and Man-Bra
To Be Continued.