(Narrator)
"Wonder where Auntie is."
On the terrace, Sora leaned against the stone cold railings that overlooked the bustling nightlife of the city below.
The capital spread outward with layers of tiled rooftops and the golden hue of street lamps winding down between cobble and steel, fading near the capital's outskirts near the warehouses and docks. Distant lookout towers pierced the low clouds. Even at night, the city breathed, since today was the day Sora woke up from a month-long coma of sorts, and the city thought that was worth celebrating—not that he'd complain or anything. Voices drifted upward in faint murmurs, carriage wheels clattered far below, and somewhere in the distance, bells rang to mark the hour.
Sora's gaze wasn't particularly focused since he was deep in thought, for he was now a Servant. A Servant of Fate. The first.
And the adrenaline began to wear off, replaced soon with regret. He had many questions he wanted to ask, sure, he was only restricted to five... four. He sighed. But there were multiple bugging questions that would've been the smarter ones to ask.
How was I suddenly sure Ariana wasn't my assassin?
How did I steal a Divine ability from Fate?
Does that mean I have two Divine abilities?
But one question stood out above the rest.
What did Fate mean when she said it's like I belonged to Death?
I should've asked more questions.
In the distance, the waves near the docks were rather aggressive, more than usual. Wind brushed against his face, sharper than usual, tugging at his hair and the dark shirt he still wore with a restless insistence.
"Wind's pretty aggressive tonight," Sora muttered to himself.
Behind him, soft footsteps crossed the stone.
"You're leaning like you own the place."
He didn't turn yet. Instead, he smiled arrogantly with his eyes.
"I kinda do, Princess."
Now, he turned, slowly, while remaining leaned against the sand colored railing behind him. Then he continued,
"Sex in public? Didn't know you wanted me that bad." He snickered.
She paused, stopping a few paces in front of him, the aggressive wind rustling her dark hair, pushing tousled strands over her temple and behind her in a diagonal wave.
Her eye twitched.
"You're disgusting."
"I'm not the one with improper thoughts. If we're gonna make out, we should at least wait until we're officially married."
He pushed off the railing and took a few steps closer to her.
"Scandalous public sex and all."
"...You're unbelievable."
"And pathetic."
"And arrogant if you ever think I'd do something like that with you."
"Sure, little devil."
"Call me that again, and I'll throw you off the terrace. Let's test out how much damage your Divine ability can really heal."
Sora let out a low, unabashed laugh, carried off by the wind.
"Enough. You're avoiding something," she added flatly, her jaw twitching against the bandage on the right side of her face from cheek to jaw.
Up close, the signs of the earlier fight were impossible to miss—faded blood at her collar, she really loves that robe, doesn't she? Stiffness in the way she favored one knee despite both being wrapped tightly with bandages. And still, she stood straight.
"Am I?" Sora tilted his head playfully to the side before sighing a deep sigh and turning away from her, hands in pockets.
He stepped back to the railing and resumed his previous leaning, overlooking the city while the wind brushed against his messy silver hair.
"What changed? You woke up out of nowhere at the convenient time. And your arcane was much... higher, and on top of that, your connection with the surrounding energy was... surreal to say the least."
"You know, this might be the most words you've spoken to me since we met."
Ariana scoffed. "Only because I have to."
"Whatever you tell yourself... milady," he said with a tinge of flirtation or mock, she couldn't tell.
Ariana growled in response, and Sora let the wind whip his hair across his face for a moment before he glanced back with an arrogant half-smile. Then he asked,
"Wanna tell me how three measly assassins, weaker than your average street thug, manage to overpower you?"
His voice was mean, casual, teasing. Disheartening. Almost as if—No. Not almost. He was making fun of her.
Ariana blinked, stiffening at the question. She ran a hand over her bandaged cheek, her eyes flicking briefly to the city below, behind him, before meeting his gaze.
"...They... surprised me," she admitted, her tone quieter now with a faint flush creeping across her temples.
Sora smirked, leaning slightly closer over the railing. "Oh? Did they now?"
"Th—they ambushed me while I was making my way down the corridor to the training yard, I didn't expect them."
"I thought you were exceptional at sensing arcane."
"Except their clothes had some kind of stealth spell imbued within them. It hid their arcane."
"And you know this... because?"
"I saw the faint residual glow of a stealth spell on one of the assassin's clothes after you threw him in my direction," she said, narrowing her eyes.
"Right... sorry about that," Sora replied, turning back to face her completely and scratching the back of his head simultaneously.
She didn't rise to the bait this time. Instead, she studied him—really studied him. The way the air seemed to bend around him. The way the arcane energy reacted, bouncing around him. It was too similar to his aunt but completely different at the same time... she couldn't put her finger on it, but he definitely wasn't the same Sora she was arranged with.
She didn't hate it, no. In fact, Ariana respected power, but she needed answers because this wasn't normal. An insane growth in power overnight isn't... natural.
"You still haven't answered me. What changed in your arcane?"
Arcane—the energy force responsible for how much magic one can output. And arcane energy—the wild, magical energy that reacts to one's internal arcane and, in turn, is responsible for overall spell-casting.
In other words, the arcane was an empty canvas and the arcane energy was the paint itself, whilst the user was the paintbrush. The higher the quality of the internal arcane is, alongside the skill of the user, the better the painting would turn out on the blank canvas. The more powerful the spell would be.
Sora's arcane level was previously just... normal. Average. Nothing special, and yet despite the fact that his skill level seems not to have changed at all, definitely not.
Why did his internal arcane increase? Better yet... why is the wild arcane energy reacting to him like that?
She had many questions, many answers she needed.
But the pathetic heir that was her fiance, wouldn't give her any.
It infuriated her.
Sora shrugged, gaze drifting back toward the skyline. "Dunno. Maybe I finally hit puberty."
"Sora."
He felt it then—that invisible pressure, not from her, but from somewhere deeper. A quiet resistance. A warning. His smile stayed in place, but it felt stiff.
"I really don't know," he said, and this time it sounded almost convincing. Almost.
She took a step closer. "You expect me to believe you woke up from a month-long coma and just… changed?"
"Maybe I was just holding back before."
"We both know that's not the answer."
"Good thing you didn't ask a question I felt like answering."
Her lips pressed into a thin line.
"Then answer this," she said, crossing her arms and stepping closer to him.
"That night. When you were poisoned."
He froze.
"Sir Iliam told me you kept calling my name, kept pleading with me not to die."
Sora laughed once, short and incredulous. "Wow. He really will say anything, won't he?"
"Is it true?"
He turned away. "You're reading too much into delirium."
"Sora."
He started toward the terrace doors.
Her hand shot out, fingers closing around his arm. Firm enough to stop him in his tracks.
He looked down at her hand, then back at her face. Her expression was the most serious it ever was.
"Don't lie to me," she said, quiet and firm.
His jaw tightened.
Ariana went on, "This engagement is political, you know that. I know that. If you're under some… misconception—if you think this means more—"
He snorted, yanking his arm free. "Don't flatter yourself."
Ariana stiffened.
"You're delusional if you think I'd ever fall in love with you." His voice was sharp, rude even.
He took a few steps, then stopped in front of the door before glancing back.
"Trust me, Princess, you're not my type."
With that, he turned and strode toward the doors.
They opened before he could reach them.
Two guards stood there, breathless, armor scuffed. The same two guards he always sees.
"Your Highness, Queen Illyana has been found severely wounded," one of them urgently said, blocking his path.
Sora's expression wiped clean.
"She's being brought to the palace infirmary now," the other guard added.
Sora's eyes darkened, and his arms went limp at his sides.
"What?"