[At the Duke's Mansion]
The heavy oak door of the Duke's private study clicked shut, sealing out the night and the memory of the violet-and-gold beam that had so effortlessly pierced through flesh and bone. The Duke, Valerius Edryas, poured two glasses of deep red wine, the crystal catching the firelight. He handed one to his wife, who stood by the grand fireplace, her silhouette elegant and unmoving against the dancing flames.
He took a long sip, the rich vintage doing little to settle the turmoil in his mind. "Mirayne, my love," he began, his voice a low rumble, seeking a sliver of normalcy. "So, what's for dinner?"
Mirayne didn't turn. "It's meat soup day."
A genuine, weary smile touched his lips. "Ahh. My favorite." It was a simple, comforting ritual, an anchor in a world that was rapidly changing.
He walked to stand beside her, both of them staring into the fire as if the answers to their unspoken questions might be written in the embers. The silence stretched, filled with the crackling of the logs and the weight of what they had witnessed in the clearing.
"Valerius," Mirayne said, her voice no longer that of a hostess discussing supper, but of a strategist assessing a new and volatile weapon. "Have you seen what the kid is truly capable of?"
The Duke swirled the wine in his glass, watching the liquid coat the sides. "Yeah," he breathed out, the word heavy with admission. "I have seen it. It's... unimaginable. It's not just power; it's raw. It answers his call like a loyal hound, not a wild beast. He drilled through that boar on his first attempt. Not shattered. Drilled."
"Then you know," Mirayne stated, finally turning her twilight eyes to him. Her gaze was sharp, intense. "You better take care of the kid better. You must start training him much more strictly. He has only three weeks left before that carriage arrives." She paused, letting the implication hang in the air. "Or should I take over? You know I am much better than you when it comes to the deeper arts."
The Duke frowned, a protective instinct flaring within him. "Let me think about it."
"He is a fascinating specimen, Valerius," Mirayne continued, her voice dropping to a mesmerized whisper. "That magic... it's a mesmerizing power. I will not train him in your muddy clearing. I will train him within my Etherion."
That gave him pause. He knew the immense, controlled, and often overwhelming nature of her inner world. "Mirayne, I know you're powerful," he said, his voice laced with caution. "But he is still a kid. We need to be much more careful. Your Etherion can be... taxing."
A faint, knowing smile played on her lips. "It will be better. I can manipulate the flow of time there. I will make a single day in the real world last like two inside. He will have the time he needs to learn control without being rushed."
The Duke's eyes widened. He did the calculation instantly. "So you're planning to train him for about fourteen real days... which would feel like twenty-eight to him." The sheer scale of it was daunting.
"Indeed," Mirayne confirmed, her smile turning razor-sharp. "I will make him a beast. A refined, controlled, and utterly formidable beast. Far better than you."
Valerius Edryas looked at his wife—this brilliant, terrifying, and utterly captivating woman. He saw the burning curiosity in her eyes, the desire to sculpt this raw talent into something legendary. He thought of the paperwork, the political maneuvering, the endless "forms" required to secure Kairu's place at Aurelius. He was a Duke, and his duties were in the world of men and ink. Her duties, as she saw them, were in the world of magic and potential.
He let out a long, resigned breath, the fight leaving him. It was the most logical path, even if it filled him with a vague sense of dread.
"Anyways, my love," he conceded, draining his glass. "You can train him. I will be busy working on the admission forms and smoothing things over with the Academy Council."
Mirayne gave a single, satisfied nod. "Good. I will start tomorrow." She turned away from the fire and began to walk toward the door, her movements as fluid and silent as a shadow. She paused at the threshold and glanced back at him, her expression unreadable.
"Anyways," she said, her voice once again light, though her eyes remained serious, "I will be having trouble sleeping tonight."
She left him then, alone in his study. Valerius stared into the fire, the image of Kairu's powerful, unique magic now replaced by the image of his wife's determined face. The boy was no longer just his student. He had become Mirayne's project. And he knew, with a chilling certainty, that the next three weeks would change Kairu in ways he could scarcely imagine. The real training was about to begin.
---
The cool night air was a balm against Mirayne's skin, a stark contrast to the heat of the memories stirring within her. Outside on the balcony, she sat perfectly still, her silver gaze fixed on the tapestry of stars above. But she wasn't truly seeing them. Instead, she was looking into the past.
A memory, sharp and vivid, unfolded behind her eyes. She saw not the poised Duchess, but a young girl with scraped knees and a stubborn set to her jaw. She was in a different courtyard, under a different sky, her small hands clenched as she tried, again and again, to manifest a simple wisp of light. Failure. Again. A flicker, then nothing. The frustration was a physical ache, a hot pressure behind her eyes she refused to let fall as tears. She heard the calm, unwavering voice of her master, a figure shrouded in the haze of memory, instructing, correcting, never coddling. "Again, Mirayne. Control is not born; it is forged." Countless times. Hundreds. Thousands. The memory of that relentless pursuit of mastery was a ghost that never truly left her.
The soft sound of the balcony door opening did not startle her. She had felt his presence long before he arrived.
"My love," the Duke's voice was a gentle rumble in the quiet night. "Why are you outside? Aren't you going to sleep?"
Mirayne didn't turn, her profile pale and stark in the starlight. "Oh, I was going to sleep," she replied, her voice distant. "But I thought to take some clean air first."
He came to stand beside her, his large frame a solid, comforting presence. He followed her gaze to the stars, but he knew she was seeing something else entirely. After a long moment, he spoke the thought that had hung between them since the clearing.
"You know," he said softly, "the kid... he reminded me of Tatia."
Mirayne finally turned her head, her twilight eyes meeting his. In their depths, he saw a reflection of his own old, familiar grief, carefully preserved and rarely acknowledged.
"Yeah," she whispered, the single word heavy with a decades-old sorrow. "The kid... he's got the same features as her. The same determined look in his eyes."
The name, Tatia, hung in the air between them, a sacred and painful relic. It was a ghost they both knew well.
For a moment, they simply stood there, bound by the shared memory of a girl who was now just an echo. Then, Mirayne rose gracefully to her feet. She stepped close to Valerius, the scent of night-blooming jasmine clinging to her. She wound her arms around his neck, a gesture of both affection and finality, drawing him from the past and back into the present.
"Let's sleep," she murmured, her voice now firm, closing the door on the night's ghosts. "It's getting late."
And with the memory of a failed, determined girl and the ghost of a girl named Tatia lingering in the starlit air, they left the balcony behind, returning to the quiet of the mansion and the relentless forward march of time.