? ─── ?? ? ?? ─── ?

  Light bled slowly through the narrow window, casting a thin ribbon of gold across the room. The air was thick with the scent of dusty wood, damp sheep’s wool, soot, and something else—something warm like fresh milk and steady as a grandmother’s quilt. Somewhere against the wall, a dying log in the hearth crackled loudly, as if trying to hold onto the night for just a few moments longer.

  Violetta drifted awake as if rising from the depths of warm water. Her cheek rested against something soft and living; the faint heartbeat beneath her ear was a rhythmic pulse, as soothing as the hum of waves. She was in no hurry to open her eyes. This feeling... it was too tender, like a childhood memory, too good to risk ruining.

  Serenity. Safety. Warmth.

  The same memory: home—the first one, before the goblins, before everything. Where father smelled of tar and sweat, mother of sour milk, and the blankets of mint and hearth ash.

  She shifted, and the skin of her face felt tight with the crust of dried tears. No more nightmares. Only a soft light draping over her, as if someone were whispering: “You are safe now.”

  “Good morning,” a familiar, melodic voice rang out above her. A voice that held the spirit of spring.

  “Morning…” she grunted, eyes still closed.

  But as consciousness fully returned, her mind snapped—sharp as a lute string breaking. Her head… was resting between Irellis’s breasts. Real, living, soft, and warm.

  Violetta let out a sharp gasp and recoiled, jerking away as if stung. Her face instantly flared crimson, hot as glowing coals in a forge. She nearly tumbled from the narrow wooden cot onto the floorboards, tangling herself in the blankets.

  Irellis merely arched an eyebrow—like a teacher catching a student in a foolish act—and offered a soft smile. It wasn't mocking; it was warm.

  “Do not worry.” Her voice was as soothing as chamomile tea. “You spent the night tossing and crying quietly. I… I simply decided to hold you. You only grew still then.”

  Oh gods. Seriously?! Violetta thought, shielding her face with her palms. Sure, I look like a girl on the outside. But inside, I’m a twenty-year-old student! Seriously? This is like some romantic tragedy from a high school fantasy novel… and I’m the brainless female lead!

  She took a deep breath, the scent of warm ash stinging her lungs.

  “Thank you.” Her voice was quiet but sincere. “It… truly helped.”

  The memories of the night were still shrouded in fog, but she knew one thing for certain—the way the darkness of her dream had suddenly dissolved into peace hadn't been an accident. It was as if someone had reached out from beyond the veil of sleep to cover her with a warm blanket of light.

  It wouldn’t be bad to wake up like this every day… The thought flickered—dangerous, cozy, far too cozy. She shoved it deep down, to the place where thoughts are not meant to return.

  ? ─── ?? ? ?? ─── ?

  A short while later, they stood inside the Guild hall, a place that smelled of parchment, old wax, and exhausted people.

  The administrator, a woman with a piercing gaze, flipped through a thick tome of commissions. Her voice sounded like dry skin rubbing together.

  “There are no easy tasks.” She didn’t even look up. “Only one is relevant. Objective: Eliminate an orc camp. North-west direction. Your previous report helped; scouts have confirmed their location. Likely the same ones who ambushed the merchants.”

  Brenn, standing nearby, scratched the back of his head. He looked at Violetta, then at Tillo, then back at Violetta.

  “Hm… maybe we should train a bit more?” he muttered. “We still have coin for now. And honestly, I’d rather not see anyone get run through by a spear again. Especially me.”

  ? ─── ?? ? ?? ─── ?

  The edge of town. A dilapidated shed slumped to one side like a drunk at the market. Weeds stood taller than Tillo. An old fence leaned under the weight of time, and several targets looked like victims of a plague—armless, faceless, and half-eaten by mice.

  This was where they trained. Only the wind, the weeds, and the faint chirping of crickets. A perfect place to avoid unwanted eyes.

  “Show us that magic again,” Brenn said, stepping back a good ten paces. “Come on, Vi.”

  She stepped forward. Her palm rose, and a magic circle manifested in the air. She focused. Rune by rune—bending, compression, acceleration. A sphere began to take shape. Not a simple ball, but elongated, with a sharp tip and a tapered body, like a teardrop.

  This was the result of dozens of failed experiments. Her own “Earth Bullet.” Not round, but perfectly calibrated, aerodynamic, lethal.

  In a heartbeat, it tore through the air with a characteristic CRACK!—the sound of an object breaking the sonic barrier.

  The mannequin didn't just crack—it was ripped from its stake and shattered into splinters. Dust erupted, and fragments slammed into the shed, leaving a blood-red clay stain on the boards.

  Tillo froze. His mouth slowly drifted open like a hatch with a broken closing mechanism.

  “What… was… that?!”

  “Um… a surprise?” Violetta blinked innocently.

  “Was that silent casting? An artifact? A high-tier spell?!” Tillo was already circling her like a hound that had scented something incredible. “I haven’t even seen that in the treatises!”

  “It’s a modified Earth Bullet,” she said with a faint smile. “Clay. Morphing. Compression. Acceleration.”

  Tillo’s fingers twitched near his wand. His eyes shone as if he’d realized for the first time that magic still held uncharted lands. And perhaps, he was no longer the pioneer.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Silence fell, taut as a string before the final chord.

  “Uh, you wouldn’t happen to want to join the Imperial Army as mobile artillery, would you?” Brenn mumbled, rubbing his brow. “Who let a young genius like you out onto the streets?”

  The group erupted in laughter. The tension dissipated like campfire smoke, leaving behind only the warm crackle of a joke and good spirits.

  “Alright, back to training,” Brenn said. “But with caution this time. Because I’m certain the next volley won’t be for the targets—it’ll be for the gods.”

  ? ─── ?? ? ?? ─── ?

  Training continued under the muffled rustle of dry grass and the creaking of the shed's old boards. Only two mannequins remained; the rest had succumbed to Brenn’s and Odd’s fervor long ago. The place looked God-forsaken, yet it was here that those who might one day save someone—or destroy someone—were being forged.

  Violetta sat slightly apart, her eyes tracking every movement. Brenn’s shoulder twisted slightly with every strike. Tillo held his spells a fraction of a second longer than necessary. Inside her visor, transparent silhouettes appeared—simulations of how the movements should look. If Odd crouched a bit lower, his punch could disarm an opponent's shield. If Tillo concentrated mana in the center of his palm instead of his fingers, the flare would be three times as powerful.

  [ERROR. DISPLACEMENT: 1.3 CM. ACCURACY: RANK 3 RECRUIT LEVEL. IMPACT POTENTIAL REDUCED BY 26%.] — The Sphere’s voice was as dry as an academic protocol.

  “Shut up already…” Violetta whispered to herself.

  [SILENCE IS NOT AN OPTION. PREDICTION: DECREASED SQUAD EFFICIENCY. CONSEQUENCE: INCREASED RISK OF INJURY DURING MISSION. RECOMMENDATION: MENTOR INTERVENTION.]

  She sighed. Her nerves frayed from the restraint. These mistakes… they were minor, but they were an eyesore. Finally, she stood and approached Tillo, who was struggling with his fire bolt spell.

  “You’re trying to stabilize the mana, but it’s not centered—it’s leaking from the periphery,” she said, gently touching his wrist. “Look. Like this. Center it at the base of your palm, then spiral it inward without letting it spill.”

  Tillo opened his mouth. Closed it. Then opened it again.

  “How… how?! Where did you learn that?”

  I can’t tell him I see mana as an energy flow, so I’ll just say I’m observant.

  “Just watching,” Violetta shrugged. “I… like to analyze and experiment.”

  He followed her instructions—the shot was much steadier, more powerful, and cleaner. A completely different quality.

  Tillo’s fingers twitched nervously. He looked at her with indignation… and awe. His face was torn between shame and genuine fascination.

  “What was that? Silent formation? Elemental compression? Or…” He trailed off, failing to find the words.

  “Just a slightly altered base spell,” she smiled.

  The others went silent, watching. Especially Odd.

  His gaze was… not human. His eyes didn't glint with curiosity or envy. They were dark and steady. Hollow. As if he had suspected something about her for a long time. Or remembered something.

  He continued to watch her in silence until Brenn nudged him with an elbow.

  “Sparring?” he asked.

  Odd nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Violetta.

  ? ─── ?? ? ?? ─── ?

  By the time training ended, everyone was spent, drenched in sweat, but impressed. The air in the yard shimmered with the heat of their bodies, dust, and the clatter of wooden swords lying on the ground like a post-battlefield.

  “Listen, kid…” Brenn said, wiping his brow with his sleeve. “Are you sure you aren't some 'Chosen One' from the Archmagery? Because you don’t learn that stuff in the cradle.”

  His voice was half-joking, but his eyes were sharp, almost concerned. He was searching for something in her. She felt it.

  “No,” Violetta smiled, trying to maintain an air of lightness. “I just… I’ve always needed to know more.”

  She flushed immediately. From shame? Pride? No. It was something deeper—a dull anxiety. An internal cold crawling under her skin. The thing she feared most: that someone would ask the right question. That someone would realize what she truly was.

  “Please…” she whispered, so softly it was as if she feared the words themselves would betray her. “Please… just don’t tell anyone about this…”

  Silence hung—not hostile, but cautious. Like the first crack of ice beneath a foot.

  Odd tilted his head. His face was a frozen mask, but his eyes were dark and watchful.

  “Everyone has their secrets. And everyone has a past,” he said. It didn't sound sympathetic; it sounded like a warning.

  “If our young partner asks, then we keep our word,” Brenn added, trying to bring back the levity. “It’s a matter of damn honor.”

  “It’s honor,” Tillo repeated, sounding a bit sheepish. He still hadn't fully reconciled with the fact that a girl was teaching him to master his own spells. But deep down, gratitude and respect were taking root.

  Irellis stepped closer without a word and gently placed a hand on Violetta’s head. The touch was warm, sisterly.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “You are part of our party now. We are all different… but together, we are like a family.”

  Family… The word burned. With pain and hope all at once.

  ? ─── ?? ? ?? ─── ?

  The "Three Bones" tavern greeted them with its usual stench of burnt fat, stale ale, and the smoke wafting from the clay brazier where dinner was being prepared. Scuffed tables, worn benches etched with old stains and notches, soot-stained windows—it was a bitter, cozy mess that one could return to like an old blanket.

  For some, it would be agony—for Violetta, it had become… stability. A place where every smell, every noise, had its place.

  They sat at a corner table, and the tavern-keeper brought their meal: thick meat stew with beans and onions, hard-crusted cheese, and baked bread so fresh that steam hissed through the cracks. Everyone had a mug—some with ale, others with spiced water.

  Brenn sipped his drink slowly. His gaze drifted across the surface, as if his thoughts were heavier than the liquid.

  “Violetta,” he finally began. “Are you okay with the orc mission?”

  Her hand, reaching for the bread, froze in mid-air. Her fingers felt like wood.

  A flash in her memory. A burning village. Coarse laughter. Screams. Acrid smoke tearing at her throat. Marunia’s pleading eyes. Being dragged into the darkness. To the place Violetta hadn't reached in time.

  Deep down—a dull, rhythmic sound. A wooden club hitting something soft. A bone. A body.

  “If not, we’ll find another,” Brenn said. His voice was quiet. Almost fatherly.

  A single tear rolled down her cheek. One. A cold bead shattering the silence.

  Her hand rose. She wiped it away slowly. Without haste. The gesture was a verdict.

  Memory is not fear. She remembers, but she no longer runs. Because she is no longer the girl she used to be.

  “I’m in,” she said. Her voice was level. Not harsh, but certain.

  Brenn nodded.

  “Well then… prepare. We move out tomorrow.”

  ? ─── ?? ? ?? ─── ?

  That night, as they returned to their room, the moon crept along the window frame like a thief in the night’s peace, casting a silver stain on the floor. A candle flickered, its flame swaying as if breathing with the room.

  Irellis silently shed her cloak, placing her daggers in the corner as if apologizing to them. Then she sat on the bed, staring into the flame for a long time. Her gaze was full of thoughts, swimming like fish in a shallow pond.

  “You can still refuse,” she whispered, her eyes never wavering.

  Violetta took off her boots slowly, as if every strap were another decision, another knot of doubt.

  “It will be fine.” She looked up. There was no doubt in her eyes. Only resolve. “I believe in us.”

  Irellis moved closer. Sat beside her. Her hand touched Violetta’s shoulder. A warm touch. Steady. But within that touch was a hidden tremor of anxiety.

  She wanted to say something—and didn’t. Her fingers remained there. Longer than necessary. As if conveying more than words could hold. Protection. A vow. Fear.

  “Finally, a soft bed…” Violetta whispered, burrowing into the blankets like a cozy shell.

  “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, Irellis.”

  Silence and anticipation settled over the room. The future lay just outside their door—heavy as iron, hot as blood. But it was no longer so terrifying when you weren't alone.