"Anyways! Luna, I'll go back. If you need me, just call upon my name!" Niva said.
Luna looked at Niva, raising one eyebrow, a bit confused.
"What do you mean?" Luna asked.
Niva pointed toward the mark on her forehead. "I reside in that mark on your forehead."
"So naturally, I'll stay there," he added, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.
Luna exhaled slowly. "Alright."
Brightening up, she said, "Be on alert! I'll definitely call you many times as I try to escape!"
Niva chuckled. "Sure, sure. Then, bye-bye."
He dispersed into a cloud of mana, flying into the snowflake as he finished, the mark disappearing into her skin.
"Ah… Bye," Luna murmured.
Walking down the corridor stretching far, far into the darkness, she said, "Anyway, where am I?"
Looking around, the only thing she could see were run-down hallways made of stone.
"So old…"
She walked for a long time, minutes ticking by, the silence broken only by the faint sound of her footsteps against stone.
Arriving at the entrance of a massive, new-looking door—a striking contrast against the decayed surroundings—Luna looked up and noticed a symbol engraved on its surface: a crow.
Slowly approaching the doors, she glanced back, staring into the darkness. No movement. Nothing.
Turning back to the door, she carefully investigated the handle, poking it once… twice…
She tried grabbing it a few times, only to let go immediately.
"Safe… probably"
This time, she gripped the handle and pushed, slowly opening the door just a little.
Peeking inside, her eyes widened.
She saw a round table, filled with documents across the table, surrounded by twelve chairs, nestled at the heart of the room.
Tall wooden pillars rose around it, supporting tier upon tier of floors that disappeared into the high shadows above. "Each level brimmed with bookshelves overflowing with tomes.
Rolling ladders leaned against the cases, while narrow stair-ladders curled up to the upper stories.
Warm lamps cast a golden glow across the space, though the grand chandelier above the table remained unlit, like a silent sentinel. Books lay scattered across the floor, as if recently consulted in haste.
The scent of paper and time lingered in the air, and a quiet hush blanketed the room, sacred and serene.
Luna slowly stepped into the room, pushing the door open a little more. The hinges screeched as it widened with a groan.
As she entered, she noticed a gaping hole to the side, flanked by doors on either end that seemed to lead somewhere deeper.
She took a deep sniff, inhaling the air and exhaling slowly.
"Waah… it smells like Dad's study."
Looking up, she saw bookshelves stretching far, far into the darkness above. Her eyes sparkled in awe. For a moment, she forgot the situation entirely—captivated, until a glint of light flashed across her vision.
A reflection.
She squinted, narrowing her eyes to focus.
A door.
There it was—tucked away high above. A door leading upward.
Deciding without hesitation, she made her way toward a ladder, eyes fixed on her goal.
"Well… better go up than forward."
Breaking into a run, she reached the ladder and began climbing in a hurry. Dozens of floors awaited her.
Second, third, fourth, eighth… sixteenth.
"Ahhh… ahhh…" Gasping for air, Luna plopped down on a nearby chair, catching her breath.
"How much more is left?"
She walked up to the fence, looking up again.
"Oh man… not much. Four?"
Turning back to sit down, a creaking sound echoed—hinges screeching as a door slowly opened. Luna turned in a flash.
A chorus of arguing voices drifted upward from below.
She slowly approached the fence. Looking down, she saw three figures.
"Why the hell did you do that?" a cloaked woman snapped.
"That was the best opportunity I saw to kidnap her and keep her as a bargain," the taller man replied, standing to her right.
"Best? Now we have the whole Lockheart clan after us! Even the imperial family, if it gets bad enough!" Her voice rose sharply, frustration bubbling over.
"But…" the man tried to respond.
"Calm down…" the masked man in a cloak stepped in, attempting to ease the tension—but the woman silenced him with a single raised finger, inches from his face.
"But what? You made things worse. They were already after us. Now they're justified to use their full force!"
Both men circled around the table, each taking a seat marked with numbers from one to twelve.
The tall man sat at the tenth seat, directly across from the masked man, who settled into the third.
The woman yanked out the chair numbered twelve, its legs dragging with a loud, unpleasant scrape across the wooden panels.
She dropped into the seat with a thud, letting it tilt back on two legs. With a rough motion, she swung her legs up onto the table and crossed them.
"Fucking idiot," she muttered.