Within a week of the village incident, new reports began arriving across the territory.
A fracture had opened three days south of the capital, releasing a wave of low-tier creatures before collapsing back into nothing.
Soon after, another instability formed along the western trade road, forcing an emergency deployment to protect caravans.
Then one appeared in farmland north of the capital, tearing through empty fields before vanishing.
Each case followed the same structure.
A sudden distortion in mana density.
A brief tear in space.
A concentrated outpouring of creatures.
Then silence.
No sustained gate remained behind.
No permanent anchor.
Only temporary wounds that sealed themselves as if the world rejected them.
And unlike the first incident at the village—
These cracks did not center on Arietta.
They appeared without relation to her presence.
Without proximity.
Without pattern that anyone could immediately see.
The Royal Mage Corps began working without pause.
Mana observatories were activated across the territory.
Long-dormant rune arrays were recalibrated.
Ancient detection circles were layered over newer predictive frameworks.
For days, the capital's spell towers hummed without rest.
Then, finally—
A correlation emerged.
Each fracture left behind a faint distortion in ambient mana hours before forming.
It was subtle.
Not visible to ordinary mages.
But measurable through overlapping detection matrices.
They could not prevent the fracture from opening.
But they could approximate when instability would peak.
Which meant—
They could evacuate civilians in advance.
They could deploy knights before monsters emerged.
They could shift from reaction to preparation.
That alone changed everything.
Three senior mages were dispatched to Valemont Manor to present their findings directly to Klaine.
They arrived beneath layered wards and formal escort, their robes embroidered with interwoven sigils that pulsed softly with internal mana flow.
Their staffs were not decorative pieces but precision instruments, each core crystal stabilized within containment rings to prevent overflow discharge.
Arietta watched their carriage approach from the manor balcony with undisguised interest.
Her gaze tracked the density of enchantment woven into their garments.
Not crude.
Not ornamental.
Functional.
Structured.
"Your attention is unusually fixed," Klaine observed from behind her.
"I want to see their spell construction," she replied without looking away.
"You are interested in their research."
"I specialize in spell theory," she said calmly. "It would be wasteful not to examine local frameworks."
He studied her profile briefly.
There was no tension in her posture.
No boredom.
Only curiosity.
The mages were invited into House Valemont's central study chamber, where layered suppression fields ensured any accidental discharge would be contained.
Arietta did not wait to be formally introduced before stepping closer.
"You use triple-ring containment on your cores," she observed, eyes focused on the staff crystal of the eldest mage.
He blinked at her.
"…Yes. To stabilize multi-layer casting."
"It limits burst amplification."
"It prevents catastrophic backflow."
She tilted her head slightly.
"So your system prioritizes safety over expansion."
The mage hesitated, then nodded.
"That is correct."
She stepped closer to the inscribed parchment laid across the central table.
"This detection array," she continued, tracing just above the ink without touching it, "derives from harmonic resonance mapping rather than direct mana pressure."
The second mage stared at her.
"…Yes."
"It's inefficient," she added casually. "But elegant."
The compliment startled them more than the critique.
Klaine watched the exchange in silence.
She was not interrogating.
She was not evaluating threat.
She was studying.
Actively.
Brightly.
Her questions followed in quick succession.
Why anchor to the leyline rather than free-cast?
Why cap spell rotation at seven sequences?
Why prioritize predictive detection over fracture reinforcement?
Each answer led to another question.
Each explanation triggered another line of thought.
She moved between parchments and cores with growing animation, eyes sharp, voice carrying a faint edge of excitement she did not attempt to conceal.
At one point, she requested chalk and began adjusting part of their array herself, suggesting a minor alteration in the feedback loop to increase sensitivity without destabilizing the circle.
The mages watched her correction with open concentration.
"She is enjoying herself," one murmured quietly after she turned away.
Klaine did not answer immediately.
Arietta was leaning over a layered diagram now, completely absorbed.
She was not guarded.
Not detached.
Not performing.
She looked—
Younger.
Almost.
The way someone looks when encountering something genuinely new.
"She learns like a child who has discovered a new toy," Klaine said at last, though his tone carried more observation than mockery.
Across the room, Arietta's eyes lit slightly when a mage described a regional illusion net designed to camouflage tower activity from foreign observers.
"You can bend perception without altering matter," she murmured, visibly pleased. "That is efficient."
She turned back to them.
"Teach me."
It was not a demand.
It was an eager request.
For a moment, the senior mages forgot entirely that she had frozen a battlefield full of monsters with a single word.
In that chamber—
She was simply a scholar who had found something new to take apart.
And she was smiling.
——————
The senior mages remained at Valemont Manor for several days to refine their predictive arrays and recalibrate portable detection instruments.
Arietta began spending her mornings in the study chamber from the second day onward.
At first, she mostly listened.
She stood beside the long table while mana fluctuation charts were reviewed and fracture timing recalculated. When debates arose about anchor placement or rotational limits, she did not interrupt. She asked.
"Why cap the rotation at seven?"
"Beyond that, feedback becomes unstable."
"Because of density variance?"
"Yes."
She nodded, committing the reasoning to memory before attempting to redraw the structure herself.
Her first copy misaligned two binding angles.
The youngest mage corrected her quietly.
She erased the marks without hesitation and redrew the circle more precisely.
"My training used a different sequencing logic," she explained later. "We expanded output before reinforcing the structure."
"That sounds inefficient," one mage remarked.
"It often was," she replied evenly. "But it allowed faster scaling."
They allowed her to examine a minor detection array scheduled for adjustment.
Instead of dismantling it, she traced each sigil and asked why certain constraints existed. Some answers aligned with her expectations. Others did not.
She suggested redistributing strain by shifting a supporting mark inward, referencing a pattern she had used before.
They activated the array.
No measurable improvement.
"I misjudged the transfer," she said calmly, already adjusting the outer ring.
The second attempt yielded a marginal smoothing in rotational stability.
Small, but real.
She leaned closer, studying the response instead of celebrating it.
"Again."
By the third modification, the fluctuation delay shortened slightly.
Not dramatic.
Useful.
She seemed pleased with that.
In the afternoons she turned her attention to illusion frameworks embedded into architecture.
Her world rarely relied on static structures for concealment. This method intrigued her.
"You reinforce this veil every six hours?"
"Yes."
"That consumes effort."
"It ensures durability."
She studied the layering carefully.
"If maintenance were tied to ambient drift rather than scheduled reinforcement, would it sustain itself in stable zones?"
"It could collapse in volatile ones."
"It could," she agreed.
They tested a controlled variation.
It destabilized.
She adjusted the anchor.
Tried again.
It held longer.
She recorded both results.
No excitement.
Just methodical refinement.
Klaine observed without interfering.
She did not overwhelm the room.
She did not dominate discussions.
She examined, compared, tested, corrected.
When confused, she asked for formulas instead of guessing. When wrong, she adjusted without defensiveness.
There was no desperation in her effort.
Only engagement.
That evening, after the mages retired, she remained in the library.
Open tomes surrounded her. Sheets of rewritten notation lay stacked neatly at her side.
A thin stabilization loop rotated above her palm.
It flickered.
Collapsed.
She altered the inner ratio and reconstructed it from the base.
The second version held cleaner.
Not powerful.
Precise.
She dismissed it and began again, refining curvature until the mana flowed without resistance.
"You are rebuilding it," Klaine said from the doorway.
"Yes."
"You already stabilized it."
"It can align better with the ambient flow."
"That difference is nearly imperceptible."
"To you."
She did not say it sharply.
Only truthfully.
He stepped inside.
"You invest considerable time into refinements most would ignore."
"They are interesting."
"You speak of it like a game."
She adjusted the curvature slightly, watching the mana respond.
"It is closer to music."
He frowned faintly.
"Explain."
"If one note is off, the piece still exists. Most listeners will not notice. But I will." She rotated the loop once, measuring the resonance. "Correcting it is satisfying."
He studied her profile in the lamplight.
"You did not approach power this way."
She paused.
The loop collapsed quietly in her hand.
"No."
Silence settled between them.
"When I met you," he continued, "your control was absolute. That was not built for pleasure."
"No," she repeated.
She leaned back slightly in her chair.
"That was built because I did not have the option to be weak."
Her tone remained even. There was no dramatics in it.
"In my world, strength was necessary. I learned quickly. I adapted. That is all."
"You make it sound simple."
"It was not."
A small pause.
"But it was not enjoyable either."
He absorbed that without interruption.
"And this?" he asked, gesturing lightly to the open tomes.
"This is different."
Her fingers traced a line of notation absentmindedly.
"No one is forcing me to understand this system. There is no threat if I fail to optimize a stabilization loop. Nothing collapses if I misalign a sigil."
She reconstructed the loop again, slower this time.
"It is… quiet."
The structure formed, stable and obedient.
She watched it for a moment with unmistakable contentment.
"I like that."
"You do not seek greater strength now," Klaine said.
She considered the question carefully.
"I do not need to."
"That is not the same answer."
She glanced at him.
"I will become stronger regardless. Adaptation is automatic." Her lips curved faintly. "But I am not pursuing it."
"For once."
"Yes."
He moved closer to the table.
"Then what are you pursuing."
She let the loop dissolve.
Looked at him.
Paused just long enough.
Then answered brightly—
"You."
Silence.
Klaine stilled.
She did not elaborate.
He did not speak.
The space between them tightened slightly.
"…Explain," he said at last.
"I thought I already had." Her tone remained light. "I am pursuing you."
That was not playful ambiguity.
It was direct.
He drew himself straighter.
"In what sense."
"In every sense available," she replied calmly. "Romantically. Strategically. Socially."
His brows lowered slightly.
"You are treating this lightly."
"I am not."
She met his gaze steadily.
"I like you."
No hesitation.
No embarrassment.
"I would like to be your wife. I have mentioned this before."
He blinked once.
That part was true.
"You continue to repeat it."
"Yes."
"Why."
She tilted her head.
"Repetition improves clarity."
"This is not a tactical proposal."
"Marriage is extremely tactical."
He stared at her.
She smiled, unbothered.
"You are serious," he said.
"Yes."
"And yet you are smiling."
"I enjoy this conversation."
"That is not what I meant."
"I know."
She stepped slightly closer to the table rather than away.
"I am not pursuing strength here," she continued. "That was forced on me once. Survival required it. I adapted."
Her expression did not darken.
It simply steadied.
"But choosing someone is different. That is voluntary."
A small beat.
"And I choose you."
Klaine did not retreat this time.
But he did inhale more carefully.
"You speak of this as if it is already decided."
"It is decided on my side."
"That is insufficient."
"For completion, yes."
She folded her hands loosely in front of her.
"I am patient."
"You do not behave like someone patient."
"I behave like someone confident."
"That is debatable."
She laughed softly.
"You moved back earlier."
"I adjusted my position."
"You retreated."
"I recalibrated."
"That is the same thing."
"It is not."
"It looked the same."
He exhaled slowly.
"You are aware that my position carries complications."
"Yes."
"You understand the implications of aligning yourself with me."
"Yes."
"You do not hesitate."
"No."
"Why."
She answered without delay.
"Because I like you."
No grand speech.
No philosophical justification.
Just that.
The quiet stretched, but it was not uncomfortable.
"You are unusually certain," he said at last.
She nodded once.
"I am."
"And if I refuse."
"Then I will reassess," she replied easily. "But I will still like you."
"That is not strategically sound."
"I did not claim to be strategic in this matter."
"You just said marriage is tactical."
"It is."
"And this."
"This is preference."
He studied her carefully.
"You do not seem embarrassed."
"Should I be."
"Most would be."
She leaned her elbow lightly against the table.
"If I desired something and never stated it, that would be inefficient."
"This is not procurement."
She brightened slightly.
"It could be."
He gave her a long look.
She did not waver.
"Tell me honestly," she said suddenly. "Do I unsettle you."
"You are… difficult to categorize."
"That was not the question."
"Yes," he said after a pause. "You unsettle me."
Her smile widened — not mockingly. Almost pleased.
"Good."
"That was not an invitation."
"I did not take it as one."
A quieter moment passed.
Then she added gently,
"I am not pursuing you because I require protection. Nor because I seek power. Nor because I fear being alone."
He listened.
"I simply like you."
Simple.
Uncomplicated.
Unhidden.
The lamplight flickered softly between them.
Klaine remained composed, but something in his expression had shifted — not retreat, not discomfort.
Consideration.
"You are very direct."
"Yes."
"You leave little room for evasion."
"That is intentional."
A pause.
"Will you answer me eventually?" she asked, tone turning almost curious rather than demanding.
"When I reach a conclusion worth stating."
She nodded, satisfied with that.
"Then I will continue pursuing you until then."
"That is bold."
"I was trained under harsher conditions."
He almost smiled at that.
Almost.
She straightened, gathering her notes calmly.
"For now," she added lightly, "I will return to something less resistant."
"I am not resistant."
"You are entirely resistant."
"…Return to your studying."
"Yes, Lord Valemont."
She rebuilt the stabilization loop once more—steady, controlled, precise.
Strength had been forced into her once.
This—
This pursuit—
Was deliberate.
And Klaine understood, standing there in the quiet library,
that deliberate choices were far more difficult to dismiss.