Ligia walked through the corridors as if her soul were still tangled in the bedsheets of sleep
Each step dragged a body still captive to the drowsiness
The only sound: herself, breaking the silence
The day was cool
The subtle scent of blooming flowers filtered through the open windows
Yet she seemed immune to the gentle beauty of the morning
Turning one of the long wings of the hall, she saw the tall, imposing figure of Vael
Standing exactly five steps away
Straight posture
Hands clasped behind his back
Hair tied in a low ponytail
His gaze: calm, alert
Upon seeing her, he inclined his head slightly—the exact curve protocol demanded
Ligia raised her chin with silent elegance and moved forward
Vael began to accompany her, keeping exactly one step behind, with the ceremonial silence of one who understands the weight of the name he serves
The carpet caressed her feet, muffling everything
The aroma of black tea with spices and fresh bread floated in the air
The double doors of the hall opened with the soft push of a servant
Ligia entered
Clarisse was already at the table
A light blue dress with lace, eyes sparkling when she saw her
"Lí" she waved excitedly, cheeks pink like ripe apples
A real smile, small and warm, appeared on Ligia's lips
She sat beside her sister
The servants moved like well-trained shadows
"Where is my father" she asked, her eyes scanning the still-incomplete long table
Vael, to her left, bowed his head slightly
"The Duke was held by an urgent letter from the Northern Order. He will be here soon"
Before she could answer, the sound of doors opening echoed through the hall
All the servants froze
Her father approached, the weight of the title clinging to his skin
His violet eyes swept through the room with quiet coldness
His presence was dense, shaped by ancient blood
His walk resembled that of a wolf from the First Era—silent, predatory, absolute
He reached the head of the table
Clarisse shrank respectfully
Ligia looked directly at him
"Daughters" he said in a deep voice "Good morning"
Clarisse murmured something cheerful
Ligia simply adjusted her seat
"Where is Dorian" she asked naturally, as if holding a fork and a sword the same way
The Duke slowly selected a few strawberries and placed them on Clarisse's plate
Only then did he look at Ligia
"He is in his personal estate. He won't be joining for breakfast"
Ligia nodded
A minimal gesture, but controlled
In House d'Argêntea, drama was a cheap luxury
Composure was law
Silence fell like snow over the table
Not uncomfortable
Just... disciplined
The sound of cutlery was almost melodic
Clarisse, unaware of the invisible tension, chattered about garden fairies and a "unicorn made of shadow and sugar"
Ligia listened, smiling faintly
"And then he told me I can fly if I eat five petals of magic rose"
"Only five" Ligia arched a brow, teasing "I thought unicorns were more demanding"
They laughed
Clarisse sweetly
Ligia with nostalgia for herself
The Duke observed
And for a brief moment—pride shone in his eyes
When the tea was served one last time and the servants began clearing the table, the Duke stood
"Ligia" he said, and the name sounded like a decree
"On the night of the Blood Moon..."
He paused
"...you will be Awakened"
Clarisse frowned, confused
But Ligia understood
She wanted to reply
But didn't
She took a deep breath
Looked at her sister, still too innocent for that world
Then rose with the grace she had learned
She gave a slight bow to her father
Not as one who obeys
But as one who accepts a destiny
The Duke did not smile
But nodded
Leaving the hall, Clarisse ran to her side
"Are you going out? What about the drawings?"
Ligia stopped and crouched
"How about another day, strawberry fairy?
I need to train... to fly"
Clarisse giggled, enchanted
"Then bring me candy clouds"
Ligia waved and walked away
Leaving behind the table, the tea, the childhood
Outside, the wind sliced the clouds like invisible blades
From the tallest towers, Dorian watched
Eyes narrowed under golden light
Posture still, yet tension hidden
Every gesture Ligia made, every step—recorded
Vael escorted her with the precision of a relic
She headed toward the east wing
Where the servants prepared the ritual garments
She seemed calm
Or perhaps... resigned
Dorian remained for a moment longer
Then whispered
"Crux Spatialis"
The world rippled around him
And he vanished
Elsewhere, wind chimes tinkled on pillars of black stone
The sanctuary in the mountains rose like an altar carved into rock
Guarded by hooded statues that seemed to see... too much
Harry, in a wrinkled blue tunic, was trying to meditate
His legs were crossed the wrong way
The incense had gone out
And he muttered spells with the conviction of someone in need of coffee
Then, with a dry crack, Dorian appeared
Harry jumped
"BY VELMOR'S LACE PANTIES"
He knocked over a ceremonial vase, tripping over himself
"YOU'RE A PSYCHOPATH. DON'T DO THAT"
Dorian raised an eyebrow, arms crossed
"When will you get used to it?"
"When you stop showing up like an enchanted jump scare, maybe"
Dorian simply walked to the center of the sanctuary
There, where light filtered through blood-stained glass, he touched the consecrated stone
His gaze drifted
Harry approached
"You saw her?"
Dorian nodded
"She is preparing"
"And does she look ready?"
Dorian delayed
Then said
"No one is ready for what comes with the Awakening"
Silence lingered
Wind chimes filled the space
Harry looked up and said
"Then we prepare... for when the blood starts to sing"
Dorian looked at him
And for a moment... smiled
A rare smile
Like sun on a winter's day