The stars were unusually clear tonight.
High above the Darkstar estate, the wind was quiet—just enough to ruffle the hem of Seraphina's white cloak as she stood alone on the palace's high terrace. The training arena in the distance had long gone silent. Yet, her heart hadn't.
She stood still, sword resting lightly at her side, her expression blank.
But behind that stillness… there was storm.
Naomi's words played in her mind on a loop.
"I'm not Nel."
She could still hear the weight in his voice. The stillness in his eyes. He hadn't blinked when he said it. No fear. No jest.
And no warmth.
Just truth.
A truth she had slapped away. Literally.
She clenched her hands at her sides, knuckles whitening.
Why would he say something like that if it wasn't true?
The door behind her creaked open softly. Seraphina didn't turn.
"You always used to be at Nel's side," came a soft voice. "It's strange not seeing you there."
Seraphina didn't need to look to know who it was.
Lady Elira—Nel's mother—walked slowly onto the balcony, her elegant robes trailing behind her. She stood beside Seraphina, looking up at the same stars.
"You're troubled," she said gently.
Seraphina's throat tightened, but she didn't speak.
"Is it about Nel?" Elira asked, not pushing—just placing the words between them.
Seraphina finally spoke, her voice soft and bitter:
"It's not him."
Elira turned, her expression unreadable.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean… he told me. He isn't Nel. The boy I protected, trained beside, believed in… he said he's someone named Naomi. From another world."
There was silence. The kind of silence that came not from shock—but from knowing.
Then Lady Elira said softly:
"I know."
Seraphina turned to her sharply.
"What?"
Elira's expression softened with grief.
"I knew… from the moment he opened his eyes and called me 'Mother' with unfamiliarity in his voice. He looked like Nel… but he was not my son anymore."
The wind stirred.
Seraphina looked stunned.
"You… knew this whole time?"
Elira nodded slowly. She turned her gaze back to the stars.
"There's something I've never told anyone. Not even the Duke."
She held her hands together tightly in front of her.
"The day Nel was born, the healers told me… something was wrong. He had no aura. No magic. Nothing. The priests said he was… empty."
"That night, as I held him, praying for an answer, I saw a light. A presence stood in the center of the room. Not a man. Not a ghost. An angel."
Seraphina's eyes widened, the reality slowly settling in her chest like a stone.
"He called himself the Angel of Wisdom," Elira continued.
"He said Nel was never meant to be born in this world. That his soul came from somewhere else—a place with no mana, no monsters, just machines, lights, and cities."
"He said a mistake had been made. That Nel's soul belonged to that world. That he could fix it."
She paused. Her voice trembled slightly.
"But I was selfish. He was my baby. Even if his soul didn't belong here, he was in my arms. I couldn't let him go."
Seraphina's brows furrowed.
"So what changed?"
Elira's eyes dimmed.
"The years passed. Nel never developed magic. He couldn't hold a sword without trembling. He was mocked, beaten… and I saw his spirit wither. I watched my son disappear in front of me, and I knew—he didn't belong here."
Her voice cracked.
"The angel returned. The very night Murin beat him in the courtyard, while the Duke watched and did nothing. I said goodbye… and this time, I didn't stop the angel."
"And when I looked again… he was gone. And someone else… someone stronger… stood in his place."
Seraphina was quiet, her heart pounding. She whispered:
"Naomi."
Elira turned her head, surprised.
"That's his name?"
Seraphina nodded slowly, ashamed.
"He told me… but I didn't believe him. I thought he was mocking Nel's memory. I… I struck him. I left him."
Elira reached into her robe and pulled out a small silver locket. She opened it and showed Seraphina what was inside.
A small piece of parchment, faded but preserved carefully. On it, a name written in delicate, flowing script:
Naomi.
"That was the name I wanted to give my son," Elira said softly.
"But the Duke rejected it. He said it sounded weak. Unnoble. But… I loved that name."
She smiled, tears shining in her eyes.
"Maybe… this was fate's way of giving it back to me."
Seraphina couldn't speak.
All this time… she had been chasing a memory. Guarding a shadow. And when the truth finally came, she'd pushed it away—pushed him away.
Her knees buckled slightly as the guilt swept through her like a crashing wave.
"He told me the truth," she whispered, her voice raw.
"And I called him a ghost. A liar. An imposter. But he—he didn't lie. He wanted to protect me… even if I turned on him."
Her eyes blurred.
"I hurt him."
Elira reached out and placed a hand gently on Seraphina's shoulder.
"Then don't waste time, child. If you've wronged someone who gave you honesty… go. Make it right."
Seraphina wiped her eyes, nodded, and rose with trembling hands. She didn't wait. She ran down the marble steps toward the corridor.
The stars above shimmered brighter.
Seraphina walked down the marble corridor, each step measured, each breath tight in her chest. In her hand was a soft towel—folded and clean—something she used to carry when Naomi finished training. An old habit. A silent peace offering.
She stopped outside the chamber door.
Her knuckles trembled for a second before she knocked gently.
"Master Naomi… it's me. Seraphina."
A pause.
No sound.
"I… I came to apologize," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Still no reply.
Her brows creased.
"Master Naomi?"
She knocked again, this time a little firmer.
Nothing.
A cold ripple of unease ran down her spine. She rested her palm on the door—then pushed. Locked.
Something wasn't right.
Don't tell me…
"Master Naomi—open the door," she called, voice growing tense. Still no answer.
Without hesitation, Seraphina stepped back—and kicked.
The wooden door slammed open, creaking on its hinges.
The room… was empty.
Stone cold. Quiet. Still.
The bed was made, untouched. The desk bare. Not a single bag or coat remained.
Even his training garments were gone.
"Master Naomi…?" her voice cracked as she stepped inside.
"If you're hiding, please—come out. I… I was wrong, and I need to say it to your face."
She checked behind the curtains. Under the bed. The wardrobe. Even inside the washroom.
Nothing.
Gone.
Everything… was gone.
She stood still in the middle of the chamber, breath shallow, heart racing.
He left? No… he wouldn't just leave. Not like this. Not without a word… not after what I said.
Panic set in.
She turned and ran—storming through the halls, past sleepy-eyed maids and yawning guards.
She found one of the younger maids in the corridor and grabbed her by the shoulders.
"Did you see Lord Nel?" she asked, breathless.
The maid blinked, startled.
"N-No, Lady Seraphina. I… I haven't seen him since earlier today. I thought he was with you."
Seraphina didn't answer. She turned sharply and sprinted down the steps to the training grounds—the place they'd spent so many hours sparring, laughing, arguing.
The courtyard was dark and still. Only the moon cast a silver glow across the sand and stone. The wooden dummies stood silently in a row, untouched since afternoon.
She walked slowly across the training ground, her boots crunching lightly.
"Master Naomi…" she whispered.
No answer.
The air felt heavy. Her heart sank deeper.
And then—voices. Two guards talking quietly near the gate.
She paused behind the column and listened.
"Did you hear?" one said, "Lord Nel left. Took a horse, some coin, and a bag."
"What? On his own? No escort?" the other replied with disbelief.
"Yup. Said he was heading to the Royal Academy. Alone. Guess even Seraphina gave up on him."
"Pfft. Can't blame her. He was always weak. All that noise about a duel and a 'black flame'—I bet he'll get flattened in the first week."
They both chuckled.
Something in Seraphina snapped.
She stepped out from the shadows, eyes sharp as steel, fists clenched at her sides.
"You don't know anything about him," she said coldly.
The guards stiffened. They bowed immediately, awkward and ashamed.
But she wasn't looking at them anymore.
She was looking past the gates—toward the empty road leading out of the estate.
A road he'd taken… without her.
Her hands trembled.
"You idiot…" she whispered. "Why would you leave like this…?"
The towel she'd brought slipped from her fingers.
"I hate you."
She turned and walked away, quickly, before the guards could see the tears in her eyes.
To be continued…