Chapter 2
—
Finally. The day Yona had been waiting for.
The day.
She was finally leaving.
She stood in the middle of her room, arms full of her grandmother's belongings, giving the space one last look. Same polished floors, same arched window with the peeling gold trim, same faint scent of rosewater and incense. Her eyes lingered on the old mirror that never once told her the truth.
After a breath, she turned on her heel.
It was time for goodbyes.
⸻
She made her way to the front of the estate's main house, where they were all waiting—gathered around the long table for what was meant to be a peaceful final breakfast.
The moment her foot crossed the threshold of the dining room—
FWWHH BOOM!!
A fire blast tore through the air.
Yona rolled into a dodge, hitting the floor in a clean tumble, skirts flying. She whipped her hand up and sent a wind whip arcing across the room with a sharp snap.
"Tch."
Her mother waved her hand dismissively, disbanding the spell mid-air like she was swatting away a fly.
"You finally decided to join us. The food's gone cold while we were waiting—once again."
There it was.
That tone.
Like velvet over rusted blades.
Yona exhaled through her nose, brushing dust off her shoulder as she stood. She took her seat without a word, setting down her things beside her like precious glass.
Mother always loved to bash her over "etiquette." Like punctuality or posture meant anything when your soul was exhausted.
As if a napkin folded right could cure grief.
But truth be told—Yona didn't care. Not a single drop. Not about place settings, not about formal bows, not about how long you're supposed to hold eye contact during introductions. She found it all exhausting. Fake. A game where the prize was being accepted by people she didn't even like.
Yona cut her mother off, her tone dragging with practiced cruelty.
"Madam Gloria, please spare us the morning shit lecture—we all know your words usually go in one ear and right out the other."
Her sister, seated across the table, choked on her food—snorting and trying to smother the laugh with her napkin.
Gloria's glare sliced through the air like a sharpened blade.
Her sister shut up immediately, eyes glued to her plate as if it were suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world.
Yona chuckled softly.
"Wimp."
The sister pouted but didn't dare meet her gaze.
Unfazed, Gloria lifted a hand with calm, practiced elegance. A porcelain teacup floated over from the side table, cream and sugar swirling as magic stirred them together. She plucked it from the air, blew gently over the surface, and took a slow, deliberate sip.
"Mmm… perfection," she murmured, placing the cup down with her pinkie extended, poised and polished like the epitome of noble grace.
Then, without looking up:
"So… you're heading out today. I hope you don't regret your choices. I hope you find the life you're looking for."
Her voice was emotionless. Cold. Like she was commenting on the weather.
Yona raised a brow, lips twitching with bitter amusement.
"Hmm. And here I thought maybe you'd say something nice. Sentimental, even.
But who am I kidding?"
She let out a low, mocking laugh—charcoal and smoke.
"This is the same woman who remarried just months after her husband died. The same one who tossed her daughter off to the next person willing to take her."
She clapped her hands once and stood with purpose, the chair screeching back against the tile.
"Give this woman a round of applause, everybody!"
Yona raised her arms like a stage performer taking her final bow, circling the table with theatrical flair.
With a flick of her fingers, she cast puppet magic over everyone still seated—nobles, siblings, servants alike. One by one, they began to clap. Against their will. Miserable marionettes dancing to her cruel tune.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Some looked confused. Others looked horrified.
They were just trying to enjoy breakfast. And now, dread filled the air like smoke.
Gloria snapped.
"YONA! YOU DARE!?"
Her palm slammed into the table with a deafening crack, and in an instant—
BOOM—
The entire table disintegrated.
Dishes shattered. Teacups burst. Silverware scattered. Steam and ash curled in the air. A feast, once beautiful and elaborate, now a ruined mess of food splattered across the marble floor.
"Little girl," Gloria seethed, voice low and trembling with rage,
"You don't know what you're talking about. So I suggest you shut your fucking mouth and think—before you ever speak to me like that again."
She flicked her hand—
CRACK—
Half the dining room exploded.
Walls cracked open; light fixtures shattered into shards; the decorative archway buckled and crumbled.
Panic erupted.
Screams pierced the air.
Guests ducked for cover while servants fled for their lives, scrambling to escape the chaos.
"SIT. DOWN."
Gloria's voice boomed through the estate like divine judgment.
"Did I say breakfast was over?! Did I dismiss any of you?!
Not a single one of you asked to be excused, dammit!
What's the point of paying for all those etiquette classes if you ungrateful brats don't even follow the rules?!"
Magic swirled around her like a storm—elegant, yes, but unstable. A noblewoman dressed like royalty and burning like a volcano.
In the middle of it all stood Yona.
Unfazed.
Adjusting her sleeves. Fixing her posture.
Looking her mother in the eyes with that same defiant calm that had driven Gloria mad for years.
She wasn't scared.
She was already free.
⸻
Gloria was seething.
Her aura cracked and flared, hot as wildfire.
"I regret ever sending you to that woman's house."
Her voice came low, shaking with fury and something uglier beneath it—resentment.
"If I had just dealt with you like I originally wanted to, I wouldn't have to be standing here right now—dealing with this nonsense."
Her gaze bore into Yona like she wanted to tear her soul out.
"You think Sylvia was so great, don't you? The greatest woman in the world—your perfect little role model."
A bitter laugh caught in her throat.
"Let me tell you something, girl."
She stepped closer, fire dancing behind her eyes.
"She didn't send you back here because we asked. She sent you back because she had too many enemies—people were asking about you. She told us herself: you were too much of a burden. So she kicked you back to us like trash."
"Don't you dare paint her as a saint."
The words burned.
"She wasn't a mother to your father. Not truly. Not to the man I loved—my husband, the love of my life. She was a manipulator. A woman who hid behind pretty words and priestly robes."
Her breath trembled, but she didn't stop.
"You need to understand something, young lady.
As a woman—a noblewoman—things aren't as simple as pride and courage."
Her voice dropped to a cold, brutal whisper.
"One day you'll learn—every choice demands a price. Sacrifices come with everything. You want to live free? Fine. But when all is said and done… when the music stops, and you're left with only your own thoughts—who do you really have?"
"No one. Not a damn soul."
She straightened her shoulders, eyes narrowing sharply.
"It's pathetic, really."
The words dripped from her lips like poison honey.
"You want to run off and be a priest so badly?
Then go. Chase the bedtime fairy tales they feed to children so they can sleep at night."
She scoffed, waving her hand like flicking off a fly.
"You're not my problem anymore, Yona. I've washed my hands clean of you."
A pause.
Then, quietly, like a knife slipped between ribs:
"I've done everything I could to embed you with the knowledge, the tools it takes for a woman to survive in this world."
"But you can't live in fantasy forever."
"And sooner or later, you'll wake up."
Silence.
Heavy. Bitter. Final.
And through it all—Yona didn't flinch.
Didn't break.
She just stood there, the firelight flickering in her eyes, a storm buried beneath that cold, amused smirk.
Because the thing Gloria didn't understand?
Yona had already woken up.