Ontem, Leo morrera. De novo. E desta vez, durante o sono. Era algo que simplesmente... continuava acontecendo. Sempre. Ela tentou impedir que a lâmina cortasse sua garganta, cortando a carne, abafando o grito, enquanto o mercenário a encarava com olhos vazios. Acima dela, o céu noturno permanecia indiferente à sua dor. Ao seu redor, a vila miserável, consumida pela fome e pelo medo, se dissolvia em fogo e sangue. Famílias dilaceradas, casas engolidas pelas chamas. Ela implorou para não morrer, até o último segundo.
Agora, naquela manhã fria, a lembrança queimava tão vividamente quanto a estranha sensação em seu pescoço, que ela esfregou instintivamente, como se ainda pudesse sentir a lança alojada ali. Tentar explicar essa loucura só lhe adicionaria outro rótulo: amaldiçoada — agora insana. E "morrer tantas vezes", mais cedo ou mais tarde, tornou-se algo trivial... como o que acontece com os fracos. Pode parecer uma forma exagerada de dizer; mas, na verdade, não havia mais motivo para se importar. De que servem as profecias? Se tudo isso estava destinado a acontecer, por que não morrer com glória? Ou pelo menos tentar? Exatamente. Essa é a maneira certa de pensar. E hoje é 12 de julho, segunda-feira — e desta vez, eu não morrerei.
Era isso que ela repetia para si mesma. Um mantra disfarçado de desejo, para acalmar a ansiedade que crescia dentro dela no dia da Cerimônia de Formatura. Enquanto esperava que seu nome fosse chamado, seus punhos permaneceram cerrados, contendo o nervosismo que a corroía por dentro. Porque tudo estava indo conforme o planejado. Nada poderia dar errado. Um plano prestes a tomar forma em poucos instantes. Mais uma vez, ela olhou para a palma da mão — desta vez coberta por uma grossa luva de caça preta —, girando-a para frente e para trás antes de cerrá-la com força. Ainda nada. Ela apertou o maxilar. Ainda cheia das mesmas incertezas que a assombravam desde o Despertar. Ela só precisava esperar. Talvez se tornar uma Arauto fosse uma maneira de provar que ela podia ser mais do que uma maldição — que ela podia sobreviver a qualquer coisa e se tornar a mais forte. O mero pensamento foi suficiente para acalmá-la um pouco e trazer à tona uma tênue imagem da garota com o queixo erguido em puro orgulho. Sim, todo esse azar desapareceria quando ela se tornasse uma Arauto.
— Armando Simone, candidato 340, ofereça sua lâmina e jure seu Credo. — anunciou o mais novo Arauto-Chamador de Monteiro, envolto em um pesado manto azul-marinho e usando uma máscara das Runas de Yophielle que lhe ocultava completamente o rosto. Apesar da pompa, Leônia conhecia o arrogante bastardo sob o manto como ninguém. Os Arautos-Chamadores, devotados à deusa menor — filha de Charia — eram os guardiões dos rituais nas terras de Monteiro. Viviam entre mosteiros e igrejas, imersos em livros, orações e votos de silêncio. E desde que Silas Samarone assumira esse cargo, seu nome se esvaíra entre os demais, assim como seu rosto jamais seria revelado.
Ela ainda o desprezava. O ódio quase se tornara um hobby. Jurar lealdade a Yophielle não o tornava melhor. Não apagava o que ele havia feito. Ele se arrependeria de cada infortúnio que lhe causara. Não — melhor ainda — de todos eles.
Ignorando toda a repulsa da jovem e retornando aos acontecimentos que se desenrolavam... Simone, trajando uma simples armadura prateada de aprendiz, mantinha-se imponente enquanto se dirigia a uma estrutura de pedra semelhante a um palco, com cinco degraus laterais. Parecia um pouco nervoso ao subir as escadas, sem saber se era ansiedade ou medo — embora fosse estranho se não estivesse nervoso, pois diante dele estavam os representantes mais importantes da Ordem de Monteiro: os líderes tanto dos Arautos quanto dos Cavaleiros, os Arautos-Chamadores e, não menos glorioso, o próprio Arquiduque Carmelius Monteiro. A Cerimônia de Formatura, conhecida como Ascensão, era o passo final para se tornar membro da Ordem dos Cavaleiros de Monteiro — mais conhecida como Arautos.
Ao contrário das outras ordens conhecidas de Camalia — terra dos Audreanos — os Cavaleiros e Arautos não eram cães de colo do Imperador — Velgath Oberon. Os Arautos juravam lealdade apenas ao Arquiduque Monteiro e sua linhagem, como a Princesa Skylartte. Veja bem, tornar-se um Paladino ou um cavaleiro das casas reais — até mesmo da família Imperial — pode parecer difícil: primeiro vem o exame de admissão, depois três anos de treinamento até sua primeira campanha — pronto ou não — e então você é designado para um posto. Pronto. Mas acredite, isso nem chega perto do que esses sobreviventes passaram para estar aqui hoje.
In Montreal, the knight trials were hard — but not impossible.The real problem began when your ambition grew larger, and you dreamed of becoming a Silver Herald.Even if you applied to become a Herald, to prove your aptitude, courage, and daring, candidates went through years of relentless training. Some started at sixteen, others at twenty, and very few under the age of ten.During that process, you could very well die trying to enter — or during training — and still not reach your long-desired goal.It was about surviving the unthinkable.Just as she had done all her life with her curse.
Leo raised her eyes toward the stage. Simone was kneeling, bowing before the representatives, drawing the dagger from his belt and handing it to the Herald-Caller.Beside him rested the Flame Cradle: a circular vessel, rooted into a twisted tree trunk and held up by living branches. At its center, a bluish flame burned within a structure of white oak.The flame looked… arrogant. As if it judged the candidates before consuming them.
The Herald-Caller raised the sacred blade, recited prayers to the goddess of war, Yophielle, invoked the power of the guardian Ignis, and handed the candidate a ritualistic purple blade engraved with inscriptions and embedded with stones. Without hesitation, Simone made a cut along his forearm and plunged it straight into the blue flame.Yes — by his own free will, the candidate cut his arm and plunged it into fire.You'd expect pain. Screams. The smell of burning flesh. But it wasn't quite like that.
The Flame Cradle was a living relic, a gift from Ignis — the guardian creature of Montreal's lands — not some false mystical object meant to satisfy the egos of rookies or the sadistic pleasure of veterans.According to veteran accounts, the relic sealed the "Final Pact" — if that was truly your deepest desire — a soul contract binding your very essence and loyalty to Archduke Monteiro.However, if your vows were not sincere, the candidate would burn completely, turning to ash.If your heart changed and betrayal stained you, your body would collapse.Which, in over two centuries, had yet to happen.
— I, Armando Simone, now Silver Herald before my peers, under the gaze of Yophielle and the blessing of Ignis, swear my life and honor to defend the Monteiro Archduchy and its heirs until my final breath. If my words be corrupted and my heart led astray, may my name be forgotten and my soul destroyed.
Standing over the kneeling young man, Alphonse Melione — current leader of the Silver Heralds — stepped forward and fastened a royal blue cape to his armor, bearing the silver insignia of Montreal: a creature resembling a white wolf with four black eyes, massive eagle-like wings spread wide, its head turned to the left, and a long tail ending in a blade curling around its head like a circular shield. From this circle, three sharp blades pointed inward.
Below it, in Caruylian — the ancient tongue of Camalia — it read:"For Montreal. For Blood. For Glory."
According to legend, Ignis was the guardian creature of these lands who, in a moment of vulnerability, was saved by Devian Monteiro. In return, she offered him her home as a stronghold so he could protect not only her, but all those in need.She also gifted him a silver mask, known as Silenzia, bearing monstrous features — sharp teeth, horns, and glowing eye markings. They began to be worn as a means of confusing and intimidating the Blezens and Hexaregs, whose vision was already poor.
While some brought ruin to Eldria, under the moon's glory, the Heralds brought salvation — and the end. They could be as cold and cruel as any creature in this world.
Silas closed the scroll listing the first 25 candidates and opened another, where the final 20 names were written — including hers.Her Ascension. Her destiny.And this time, she wouldn't just answer the call.She would prove it. Prove to everyone, once and for all, that they were wrong.
Becoming a Silver Herald was the pinnacle of pride for any citizen of Montreal.It was not a title to be inherited, nor something to be begged for — it was something to be ripped from the world through effort, blood, and will.
She took a deep breath, her gaze fixed ahead, though her throat was too tight for silence.
— I think they'll serve Potrik meat this time... with red wine and that sauce — Tamaya whispered beside her, her voice dry, trying to break the weight of the moment but only making it heavier.Her eyes were still swollen from crying.They both knew: the night had been too long, and the day… was the day everything would change.
— As soon as this is over, I'm getting a slice of that chocolate and strawberry cake from the kitchen. Let's celebrate by breaking our first rule as Heralds — she added, nudging her arm lightly, her gaze still locked forward, not daring to falter.
Leo closed her eyes, shaking her head, stifling the half-smile that almost slipped.Talking there was a foolish risk — but they were hidden in the third row.Leo squinted, trying to pretend she wasn't part of the conversation, or they'd both be in trouble. It was far too risky to act like that.Instead of saying anything, she slid her left hand from her back and held her friend's hand — not interlacing fingers, just resting it there as a silent comfort, as if to say:"It's alright. When this is over, we'll eat all the meat and drink all the wine until we pass out."
Tamaya squeezed back, with the same quiet strength.And fell silent.
Leo responded with a small smile and refocused.Rugh was already crossing to the other side of the formation, his Herald's cape and mask gleaming — a living symbol of what everyone there wanted — or feared.The next candidate was Tamaya. And when Leo saw her friend try to smile, despite all the sadness from the day before, she silently swore she would take her to a pastry shop in Montreal — to eat whatever she wanted.
As her arm emerged unscathed from the Flame Cradle, Leo looked once more at Alphonse Melione — current leader of the Silver Heralds and the Shadow of Archduke Monteiro. His dark skin was two shades deeper than hers, and his shaved head was covered by a white hood. Blades were fastened to his garments. His mouth was hidden behind a metal mask shaped like the fangs of a hungry wolf.Seeing him before her only increased her anxiety — he had been one of her greatest inspirations. A boy who arrived at the archduchy at the age of twelve, claimed the position of Herald leader at sixteen, and now, at nearly thirty-five, no one had ever been good enough to challenge him.
Still — that was about to change.
As the new Herald left the stage, her time had come. She was among the last to be called. That year, there had been a total of 82 candidates: 25 had died, 37 had survived — and yet, the numbering remained unchanged, even for those who had not made it. A way of honoring those who had come close to their goal.In Leo's class, candidates 391, 392, and 393 were never called — they had perished during training.No one survives on willpower alone.
To live and to die were words entwined here — and the least one could do was balance between them… and survive them.Perhaps it wasn't their time. But it was their choice.And so, passing the Ascension and living to graduate was an achievement worthy of pride.
Among all the stories that converged there, the most unlikely to be present… was Leo's.
— Leonia Bellius, candidate 399.The firm voice brought her back. Upon being announced, Leo straightened her posture and raised her head with pride, arms positioned behind her back, and the most serious expression she could muster — despite the excitement boiling inside her.This was the moment she had waited for… for 14 years — just like her companions Ryun, Célia, and Armando Simone, who had already received their titles as Silver Heralds.If cosmic forces truly existed that shaped one's fate, then surely this chapter in her story had been written as the most—
— Rejected.