No matter how much time passes, I simply cannot banish that voice from my head. I haven't lost my mind and started hearing voices. Those whispers… They were silent, but as real as Val sitting beside me.

Through all the measuring, sewing, adjusting, and endless small talk… I kept hearing it. And there was nothing I could do.

This isn't Granhall or Sereban, where I can run around freely and have a measure of authority shielding me from harm. And all the pain and loneliness in that voice I heard… I can only share it with Valka.

It's been ages since I felt this powerless.

"Look, you know I trust you – almost a little too much." Valka puts a hand on my shoulder.

"You better."

"But we can't be certain it's a spirit." She ignores my snarky remark. "Alwi didn't react at all, and unless we can make sure, it's too risky."

She's right. Worst case, we do something so exorbitantly dumb that the Academy and Fist might be forced to give up on us, and we might even lose Alwi as well. Traveling with the little metal owlet was a risk we were willing to shoulder because we didn't expect any trouble.

Hell, most people believe spirits are a myth in the first place.

"So are we just gonna ignore it?" I lower my head, those cries still echoing in my mind.

"No, I'm saying we don our battle dresses and look around a little." She wiggles her eyebrows as if the plan has any elegance to it. "We're guests here, and you can probably pinpoint where exactly the voice is coming from, right?"

"Right."

"So let's be on our best behavior tonight…" She hops up and lifts her garment for the night. "Because that will be our camouflage."

Yeah, this is probably for the best. Overthinking won't get me anywhere. I should probably be thankful to Val for providing such a simple and thoughtless idea… But then it'd get into her head, and she'd insist on doing things her way more often.

"Do you need help with that?" I ask, seeing the helpless look on her face.

She nods and lifts the fine cloth to her body. "Will I even fit into this?"

Yeah, that's a valid concern.

Martha gave us about an hour to rest and make ourselves presentable before our debut. That time should be up any minute now, and we're still nowhere near ready. Taming our hair and getting rid of our natural blemishes will be the job of some Face Artist, but nobody will put the clothes on for us.

So we throw off the casual wear – the warm pullovers, comfy shirts, and thick winter pants – in favor of something completely impractical. Although I must give it to Alberto, he is a true artist.

I will dance today in purple and silver, wearing long fingerless gloves, flower embroidery, all minimalistic and sleek, and revealing just my shoulders. It's fairly modest, I'd say, which was a crucial aspect from the start.

We cannot stand out more than some royalty or whatever. Jealousy is more dangerous than any beast.

Val got the shorter straw. However, I'm dying to see her wear crimson and black, in stark contrast to her pale colors. She's more… developed, be that her curves or musculature, so a corset is a must to lend her an elegant look. Although the gloves won't be able to hide her arms, nor does the off-the-shoulder style hide her frame.

To add insult to injury, her skirt is thicker than mine. Oh, and she hasn't even found out about heels yet…

We act with utmost care, treat the dresses like delicate flowers. And we definitely don't foam at the mouth when something is difficult to put on or turns out to be a reluctant fit. Skirts are part of the Academy uniform, and I'm a fan of summer dresses because they're insanely comfy in the heat…

But maybe these types of social events aren't even about looking damn fine but a show of endurance. Who can wear it tighter, and who can last longer in this self-imposed prison of delicate cloth…

Never imagined I'd say this, but thank the Gods I wasn't born a noble.

"Girls, how are you doing?" Martha walks in on us right when all hell is about to break loose.

No lies were said when she praised her looks in a dress. She does look fabulous in red, wearing quite the sleek and daring attire, perhaps refusing to succumb to the ploys of time.

"Martha, help, I can't pull any stronger!" I have my feet planted against Valka's back, pulling with all my 60 Might. "I've been telling you to cut back on the snacks!"

"It's muscle!" The brute remains delusional. "And not everyone can remain slender no matter what they stuff down their throat, damn knife-eared!"

I don't like the look on my teacher's face. It's almost like she's currently in the process of accepting that we're a lost cause. She still waves me away like a stable girl, taking things into her own hands.

"Breathe out!" Martha instructs, and the moment Valka does, the old hag strangles her.

"Ugh… can't breathe."

Martha only nods. "Beauty is sometimes painful. Now, let us depart… And don't come barefoot!" She catches on right away.

Man, wearing even the more modest heels is like trying to do magic with that stupid necklace on, except this complicates walking. It does make me slightly taller, though… So we do what we must and slip into our classic pumps.

"Think of it as balancing practice. Like walking on a tight rope." The only person who can turn even such a simple yet arduous task into combat practice is Martha. "Let's get your hair done."

That specific touch only requires about a minute of our time, thanks to the peculiar abilities of a girl about our age. She puffs a gentle breeze through our manes, which combs, refreshes, and stylizes each strand to almost absolute perfection. Her skills are good.

And yet, I can't help but notice a tinge of sadness and resignation in her gaze. Val and I wear clothes worth a few times more than the average monthly wage, surrounded by members of the Fist, in an outstanding inn, looking like princesses. A few years ago, I probably would've had the same emotions in my eyes in her place, no doubt.

So I lean closer to her. "Stop with that look, it's irritating!" The breath gets caught in the girl's throat. "What? We're just two commoners, kidnapped and forced to wear these awful duds."

"Elyssia, keep talking like that today, and we'll return without you!" Martha switches into grandma mode to the entire detachment's entertainment.

About five Fist members, all somewhat older, too powerful for me to grasp, and clearly well acquainted with each other. They're here today as escorts, a show of force, and last but not least, of their own volition. I know, unbelievable…

Matha claps her hands now that we're all ready. "The delegation should arrive any-" The booming voice of a Skywhale swimming the clouds once more interrupts our jolly departure. "They're finally here."

We leave the inn and stretch our necks to stare at the figure blocking out the moon. This one is alone, draped out in the finest stuff the hand of man can procure and complete, and in the familiar colors of blue and white.

Unlike the previous whales, this one does not land outside the city for its passengers to dismount, and instead, lowers close to the top of the tallest towers. Moments later, the street a few steps away from us bursts into light as the space parts and opens a passage.

Because riding a Skywhale isn't enough, they also need to start opening portals, unleashing the equivalent in mana to what I waste in an entire month, and even bringing their own carriage and escorts through from the other side.

"Don't forget to curtsy!" Martha whispers, and the convoy rolls through.

The banner of Valeria hangs almost everywhere, and I find it hard to imagine much in the way of making this grand entrance any grander… But it takes me until the carriage rolls up to us and its door opens to realize who all this ruckus is for.

Ebony hair and a gaze of gleaming gray with a glimmer of blue playing through the metallic hue… eyes indicating imperial lineage. My surprise is immense, and it's only thanks to my reflexes that I'm able to join the wave of people paying their respect for the blood of Valeria.

"We've eagerly awaited your arrival, your Imperial Highness." Martha speaks in a gentle, unfamiliar tone. "We are at your service."

Highness… Wasn't a grand duke or something not enough? I'm terrible with nobles. No, worse than terrible! The bloke is middle-aged, irritatingly handsome, and clearly not foreign to exercise despite his position.

Too young to be the Emperor, too old to be the youngest prince who's about Mom's generation, and this doesn't look like a princess to me, which means… This one is the crown prince.

Kastor Aurel var Valoran. Now I understand all this fuss about dressing to impress.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

The man everyone is bowing to drags his unreadable gaze over us, overlooking his subjects and his guests for the night. But when that gaze lands on me, and I instinctively look up to meet the stare back… It feels like I've committed a sin. Like, those eyes don't even belong to a human.

"Hmm, we shall make our way over to the venue." Kastor shows no sign of satisfaction, or any emotions for that matter. "I assume you won't follow on foot?"

"Of course not." One of the men in our entourage steps up. "We wouldn't dare put on a beggarly show."

"As expected by the children of Krieg." The prince nods and signals for the procession to move on.

High Pretorians ride on horseback, moving in formation around the line of carriages transporting our empire's dignitaries. Compared to their armor and presence, the mounts seem lacking, although bringing anything more threatening into a foreign country would probably constitute a threat.

"Alright, remember our mission." Martha claps her hands.

Oh, I do remember, alright. Slip away, investigate, don't get into trouble, and survive.

The man who reassured the crown prince of our showmanship steps up from our midst. "I don't feel like a one-liner would fit the spirit of the night. Just stand firm and don't panic."

He holds his arm in front of himself, and light begins to build at his fingertip, swiftly shaping into a helm. The brilliance continues to spread below our feet and grows larger by the second, raising us off the ground and shaping into masts.

In mere moments, a pompous ship made purely out of lights unfurls its sails and begins trailing the wake of Valeria's elite. It drifts on the cobbled street like we're on gentle waters, keeping a gentle pace and illuminating our procession.

It's simply brilliant. And normally, I'd already be thinking of ways to replicate the magic. But right now, my mind is somewhere else.

"Martha, should we be worried?" I whisper.

"What a stupid question. Always." My mentor huffs before her visage softens. "But it's hard to tell. In a high-profile environment such as this one, I doubt anyone would try. Stay close just in case!"

For years now, it's been clear that the high houses of Valeira were behind the kidnappings. Which ones don't we know… And right here tonight, there's no shortage of mighty nobles and prime suspects.

Still, I won't give up on my original goal in mind for the night.

***

"His Highness, Heir to the White Throne, Grand Duke of Gotharen, and Rising Star of the East, Kastor Aurel var Valoran!" The servants announce the imperial delegation's arrival.

There are about twenty or so nobles present, both young and ancient, yet none of them is worth mention in the presence of the white blood. Not that his body is actually white. The imperial family is just obsessed with the color due to the mythical white phoenix nobody has ever laid eyes upon.

Some of the noble scions are no doubt part of the Academy's student body, representing the new blood, and not catching my eye even once during my three months spent on the island.

Not my fault they spent their time elsewhere than the Colosseum and the workshop.

What had been a hall for a magical exhibit had turned into a dazzling ballroom for the night. The floor layout, wall decor, windows, chandeliers, and carpets are all on a completely different level.

The bare minimum, I guess.

"I can shrug off blades, but my feet are killing me." Valka whines even though we've just arrived. "Where's the food?"

Now she's speaking my language.

"Hold on for a second, young ladies." Grabbing onto our clothes or hair would ruin our appearance, so Martha stops us with merely the promise of consequences in her voice. "We'll first need to accompany the prince on the mandatory round of pleasantries. Feel free to look smug and act up a little."

I'll be honest, those last instructions made me a little curious… Being the Blessed trophy is basically my entire job description for now, but I'm definitely up for some little fun.

Despite Martha's insistence that we stay, our role is merely that of a background character. There's a clear hierarchy to our procession, and Val and I… well, we're rock bottom. That should mean we won't be bothered at least.

So we talk to people. Rich people, fancy people, pretty people, and quite arguably the most hideous things I've ever seen. And that's a plain human from what I can tell. The topic is usually the same. They blabber about commerce, political ties, investment, trouble with beasts or the peasants, and the mandatory boasting about family life.

Comparing this to whenever I've listened in on my parents chatting with other adults while I play, it sounds like someone screaming at the top of their lungs, trying to relive themselves and pushing out nothing but a fart.

It's hollow and pitiful.

[The general Skill [Identify] has reached lvl 94.]

At least I'm getting something out of it. People around tend to be on the more powerful end.

"What pleasure it is to see one of the High Seats visiting this far. The Federation's coffers must be overflowing." Prince Kastor and the delegation most comparable to ours finally clash.

High Seat… From what I've learned, that's a title reserved for the most influential figures across the gathering of countries. Generals, merchants, heads of great dynasties, and so on…

I take a glance at a few of them.

[The general Skill [Identify] has reached lvl 95.]

Yeah, that was only five people.

Although there are two, I can properly gauge.

[Mage 112]

[Rogue 115]

Younglings such as myself, perhaps students even. And I'm clearly not the only one who noticed something interesting.

The girl, the Mage, is also eyeing me, smirking like a cat planning something shifty. She leisurely empties her drink, then raises it for me. And the glass turns into a crystalline kolibri right in front of my eye, zipping between my legs and arriving at my face.

Magic that manipulates glass. How curious… What's even more exciting is the purple spark dancing in the heart of the tiny bird. A Skill, no doubt, but even so, my interest is piqued.

I stare only for a few seconds, but the kolibri seems to take offense to it, nips at my nose, and flees back to its owner. Everyone saw the blatant provocation, and nobody intervened.

Now, I could make a similarly sentient bird about ten times the size and shaped out of seething plasma, but that might be a little overkill. A simple trail of lighting would lack any flair, and raising the issue in this situation is the same as admitting defeat.

Ah, that fuzzy feeling in my chest won't even let me deny it… I'm enjoying this. Now, what's more irritating than birds – especially when they shit on your shoulder?

My lips stretch into a distasteful grin when a vile idea hatches in my mind. At the tip of my fingers, tiny sparks emerge, so feeble and harmless that they're barely noticeable. It takes a little more effort to make them mosquito-shaped and a whole bunch more mana to give them a proper common cause.

Fly, dance, bite!

My tiny swarm detaches from me and departs on its mission. They're nowhere as flashy or graceful as the bird, and the glass creation does snatch at least two of my bugs out of the air. But the rest accomplish their holy duty.

The girl visibly twitches with each spark biting into her skin. She can't run or act up in any way… No harm is done, and I'm basically begging for her to come at me for round two.

"Pfff!" Martha is clearly enjoying the show.

I do notice even a few of the nobles throwing me a glance. None of them show disapproval, so I'll take this as a win. Being a Mage is simply the best.

What's Val even supposed to do as a meathead in this type of situation? Do a few pushups, punch something, or just flex her biceps? She does have some solid arms, I guess…

"Word has it the expeditions across the ocean are progressing splendidly." I catch part of the Federation bloke's comments.

"It's too early to tell." The prince brushes him off easily. "Perhaps we'll learn a little more shortly."

"Perhaps…"

Without any farewells, any more snap topics, or contests of national prowess, the two groups both head their own way. It's odd and a little disappointing. I finally found something to entertain myself with.

The girl waves to me, and I nod in acknowledgement. I think we'll meet again.

My eyes land on another group loitering about, wearing white and black. The merchants of White Pearl have a hand in almost every trade route across the east. They might not be the biggest, the scariest, but mess with them, and your markets will suffer.

Not that I care about any of that. It's the young elf my eyes are spying on. Few are those boasting pointy ears in this hall, and even fewer are about my age. And even much, much fewer have smoldering hair and a strong smell of fire surrounding them.

Nothing about him suggests flames and violence, but rather… He's almost like the thought of an inferno and the sensation of what's left in its wake.

Before I can sniff around a little more, however, something else demands our attention.

A moron clinking a spoon against their glass for attention. I hate that sound.

"Esteemed guests from all around our great continent of Eborden, I welcome you tonight." The wizened fart who's most likely our host opens up boisterously. "First and foremost, I'd like to sincerely thank all of you for your generous support. Without fellow open minds, we'd never get a chance to explore Aelion's secrets and soothe our curiosity."

His speech is welcomed by a round of applause.

"Truly, we thank you." The elder, in a grandiose robe visibly brimming with magic, keeps talking. "We've achieved great strides in cracking the arcane and shaping nature to our liking. Although tonight I've come with a subject even more fascinating…"

When you fart it no longer hurts? Or maybe you can get a stiffy again… By the Gods, what a waste of time this is.

"Beasts, plants, and minerals, foreign to our archives and all drowning in mana… The first samples from Korellia have returned." His declaration sends waves of murmurs through the gathered dignitaries. "Both new and forgotten, we now dissect in our towers to share with our greatest donors. But I fear this undertaking might exceed our current capacities…"

You just had to ruin it, didn't you? Dangling something intriguing in front of our noses, only to beg for more gold a second later…

"Martha?" I whisper.

"You can go. This has just turned from a ball to an auction." She gives her approval with a frown.

She doesn't need to say that twice. We're off before the last word leaves her mouth. Well, off to raid the tables and try about twenty different types of dessert. It's our reward for enduring this long and the investigation… Maybe it can't wait.

But we don't know that for sure.

"Remember which way?" I ask Val.

"Absolutely. But can we at least take the heels off?" She tries to bargain while we dip.

"That would ruin the image. You know, expensive dress while running barefoot…" I understand her; I do. "Besides, this can't be worse than lying on spikes or getting hit by lightning back to back." I make sure attention is still on the speaker and carefully leave the premises.

"It comes close." Val wobbles around me, her ankles fighting a desperate battle. "And wasn't it you who shot those bolts?"

On more than one occasion, to be fair.

Walking the streets with our apparel does draw quite a number of eyes. Especially since the exhibition is for the general public, and thus the city is buzzing with activity. Retracting our steps from the afternoon is no challenge – Val remembers perfectly the smell and location of every food vendor we've passed – thus leading us back to the luxury tailor.

"Anything?" She asks.

Due to heightened activity, the air is teeming with all types and signals of mana. It's like trying to find a specific wave in the sea amidst a storm… Thankfully I'm a damn genius.

Cold, Empty…

"I've got it." I take off. "C'mon, quickly!"

The voice is almost too weak. I can't tell how much longer I'll be able to guess the direction it's coming from. Not the shop, or any building on the street, for that matter. Neither the nearby church nor the restaurants.

It comes as no surprise when I stop in front of a tower, yet reading the name on the building does open my eyes. How could I even forget the name after that sweet lady showed me something so wondrous…

Harven Tower.

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