The tension melted almost instantly as the glow faded.
The girls, previously too stunned to speak, suddenly burst into motion.
Melinda clapped her hands together, practically glowing with excitement.
Melinda: "That was incredible! Your Highness, its officially your second familiar now, isn't it? You should name it!"
Cassy beamed.
Cassy: "Yeah! What'll you call it?"
The little white serpent curled affectionately around Evelyn's wrist, its head resting against the mark now glowing faintly on her hand. Its violet eyes blinked up at her, full of quiet curiosity and boundless trust.
Evelyn looked down at the snake, so small yet so resolute.
Evelyn (softly): "Then... how about Shade?"
The little serpent lifted its head and hissed softly—almost as if approving.
Cassy: "Why did you name it that, Your Highness? It doesn't match its name."
Evelyn smiled faintly, her fingers gently stroking the serpent's smooth scales as it curled tighter around her wrist.
Evelyn: "Well... Shade is easy to remember alongside Shadow, don't you think? They sound like companions, two sides of the same coin."
Cassy: "Seriously, Your Highness!!"
Evelyn: "What's wrong with Shade? Doesn't it sound nice?
Cassy: "It is nice, But—"
Evelyn cut her off with a teasing smile, her voice light but firm.
Evelyn: "That's it then. Shade it is. Besides, the serpent seems to agree."
The little creature hissed again, a tiny, approving sound that made Cassy chuckle despite herself. Sometimes, even the smallest things had their own minds.
They spent the rest of the day celebrating Shade, showering the little serpent with affection and quiet admiration. Laughter and gentle chatter filled the air as Evelyn and Cassy enjoyed the rare moment of lighthearted joy.
Eventually, the day dimmed into silence. Servants retired to their quarters, candles flickered out, and Evelyn laid down with Shade curled comfortably beside her pillow.
Shadow has been asleep for a long time and still hasn't woken up. It feels as if it's in some kind of hibernation or something.
The serpent's body radiated faint warmth, its breathing so soft it was barely noticeable. Evelyn drifted into sleep.
The next morning came with a hush.
Evelyn woke earlier than usual, her lashes fluttering open to the soft golden light filtering through the sheer curtains. The air was crisp, the silence broken only by the distant sound of birds chirping and the rustle of morning wind through the leaves. Shade stirred beside her but didn't follow as she rose from bed. She dressed simply and comfortably.
Evelyn made her way through the quiet palace corridors, her steps light on the marble floor. She passed through the garden arch, down the familiar stone path, and finally emerged into the backyard.
The morning dew clung to the grass like scattered crystals. A thin mist curled low along the edges of the flower beds, and the sky above was a soft palette of rose and gold. Everything was still. Peaceful.
Evelyn breathed in deeply—the scent of damp earth and blooming petals filling her lungs. For a brief moment, the burdens of her pasts, the memories, and the strange events that had unfolded all seemed to pause.
The first rays of sunlight casting soft shadows around her. The world outside awaited her — fresh, still, and full of possibilities.
Meanwhile, within the court of a foreign empire known as Ravion, nestled across the obsidian coast, a letter arrived by crow. Sealed in jet-black wax. No crest. No name.
It made no sound as it landed.
The emperor noticed its arrival.
The parchment was thin, brittle with age — yet the ink upon it was fresh, almost glistening. Written in a tongue long forgotten, its characters shimmered faintly in hues that had no name.
The emperor of Ravion, a man as cold as his glacial throne, cracked the seal and read in silence. His eyes, sharp as shattered onyx, lingered on each word with a growing stillness. Not surprise — not fear. Stillness.
When he was done, he turned to his aide, a pale man draped in twilight-grey robes.
Emperor Ravion: "Inform the Silent Blades. Send them south."
Aide: "South? Toward..."
Before he could finish, the emperor spoke, voice like ice.
Emperor Ravion: "No. Toward a person. A person… with the blessing of spirits."
A cold silence settled between them. The aide's brow creased.
Aide: "But, Your Majesty… to strike a spirit-blessed—especially across the border—would risk the ire of the Eldertree Pact. The Council of Twelve would see it as provocation. Even—"
The emperor looked at him with complete stillness — not fury, not disdain — just a frozen, unreadable void that swallowed all arguments.
It was the kind of silence that crushed defiance.
Emperor Ravion: "Do as I said."
No louder than a whisper, yet it struck like a blade.
The aide's breath hitched, his mouth half-open as if to protest again — but he didn't. He knew better. Everyone who served in the Ravion Court did.
Aide: "Understood, Your Majesty... The order will be delivered by nightfall."
The emperor gave a single nod, deliberate and glacial, his gaze returning to the hearth. The fire burned low — hungry, restless. The shadows danced around him like old spirits, whispering of forgotten wars and the blood that built his throne.
Outside, the skies above Ravion churned with grey clouds and scattered ash. No sun had pierced them in weeks. The ocean beyond the obsidian cliffs thrashed against jagged rocks, as if the world itself was bracing for what was to come.
___
Thousands of miles away…
Inside a vast forest, a women moved with quiet grace. Her cloak was simple, but her presence was not.
She knelt near a stream, washing crushed petals from her palms. A satchel of rare herbs hung from her belt. Spirit-lights — tiny motes of pale gold — flickered briefly around her, vanishing as quickly as they came.
She didn't chase them.
She felt it — a shift.
Not in the wind.
In the world.
She rose slowly, eyes narrowing. Her hand moved instinctively to the dagger at her thigh.
The woods were too quiet.
Not even the birds dared speak.
Then came the whisper — not spoken aloud, but within her chest.
A pulse, soft and heavy.
Unknown Women: "They have begun to notice."
Her voice was barely above a whisper, yet it carried weight — as if the trees themselves paused to listen.
She lifted her gaze to the sky.