As a child, Sophia lived in blissful ignorance. Her parents were frequently absent; her father, Naphael Kovalevska, would only return every six months or longer, and her mother, Valeslina Kovalevska, would stay away for periods of three months or more, though she often took Sophia out with her for a week or two at a time. She understood nothing of the multiple political factions within the Mauryan Nobility, nor was she aware of the devastating war that had ended just years before her birth. Despite some turbulence with her mother in her early years, her life remained largely uncomplicated.
Her favorite moments were spent sitting on the cushioned ledge of her bedroom window, her small hands pressed against the glass as she waited for a specific vehicle to pass through the Kovalevska gate. When the familiar crest finally appeared in the distance, she would scramble down, her socks sliding on the polished floor as she rushed toward the courtyard.
"Dad!" Sophia would call out with excitement, her voice echoing against the stone walls.
Her father always greeted her warmly and lifted her high into his arms. "I'm back."
They spent most of their time together, huddled by the fireplace where Naphael would fill Sophia's imagination with stories of his 'adventures.'
"Dad, did you see any giant monsters this time?" Sophia would ask, her eyes wide as she tugged at his sleeve.
"I did. It was a six-winged creature taller than the mansion itself. But I took care of it easily," Naphael would reply, a hint of amusement in his voice as he ruffled her hair.
"Wow!"
For Sophia, these stories were her sole source of entertainment. She did not grasp the significance of the tales or how highly her father was regarded within them.
***
Sophia never truly understood the reputation her father or even her mother held within the Maurya Nobility. She often heard their names mentioned in the newspaper or among her friends; some regarded her parents with fear, others with admiration. But to Sophia, all she knew was that her mother was kind but sometimes 'scary,' and her father was always warm to her.
Questions frequently arose from those around her. They asked simple things as they leaned in:
"How is your father like?"
"He's kind."
"How was your father at home?"
"I guess he likes to tell stories."
"Is he really scary at home?"
"Not really. But he likes bragging about what he does."
"What was your mother like at home?"
"She's a bit..."
"Do you have any other family members at home?"
"No."
Sophia never considered these questions important. She answered with whatever came to mind, simply stating when she didn't know the answer.
As Sophia grew older, the questioning intensified, and the topics became more complex.
At one noble gathering, a peer cornered her, glass of drink in hand.
"Did you hear what Lady Valeslina did in the northern continent? Just how many languages is she fluent in!?" Another added, leaning over her shoulder, "I heard Sir Naphael single-handedly expanded the Mauryan Empire's border just last week. How strong is he, to be able to defeat those hideous creatures alone?!"
When Sophia became a teenager, the way people looked at her began to change. Whenever she attended a noble gathering, heavy silences followed her, and eyes focused on her every movement.
One of the adults would approach, looking down their nose. "Lady Sophia, given your mother's involvement in the Merchant Guild crisis, what is your opinion on the market's instability?" She would stare blankly at the adult, completely unable to process the question.
***
The time for Noble Schooling came.
It was an institution established by Grigori Kalashnikov, the current Emperor of Maurya, to educate the offspring of the nobility. Within its walls, Sophia finally had the chance to learn much more about her world. She began to understand the weight of the Kovalevska name and the true scale of her parents' achievements. She also learned about the state of the world, how it had been in complete 'shambles' just before her birth.
Slowly, she began to understand the nature of the looks she received and the enormous expectation people held for her. Within the noble schooling, she became the center of attention, not only for her beauty but also for her unparalleled lineage.
Then came the moment everyone had been waiting for: the 'awakening.'
Unlike other magicians globally, the Mauryan Nobility did not possess conscious control over mana at birth. Instead, during their teenage to adolescent years, they would experience an awakening. This event not only granted them consciousness over mana but also brought boosts in physical appearance, strength, senses, intelligence, and many more. Alongside these changes, some would have their physical bodies transformed: some grew scales, others developed animal characteristics like antlers, animal ears, or slit eyes. In even rarer cases, they also awakened a unique 'bloodline ability'.
The awakening was the true final assessment of talent, a talent inherited from lineage. Gradually, each student within the noble schooling began to awaken. A new hierarchy was established. It became obvious who was strong and who was weak; the difference was not minimal, but comparable to that between a mouse and a tiger. Among them stood the children of 'high-ranking' nobles, whose awakenings granted massive boosts in physique coupled with unique and unpredictable bloodline abilities. They stood at the top and became the true center of the Noble Schooling.
At least, all except one student. Sophia never had her awakening.
"Maybe it's going to be next week."
She remained patient, watching her classmates awaken one after another.
"Next month, my birthday is next month, I'm sure it'll be that day."
She believed that if she just waited long enough, it would come to her.
"Next year, I hope it's next year."
But as she waited, time continued to pass, leaving her unawakened.
"Just you wait, I'm sure my awakening will shock everyone!"
Eventually, every student except her had experienced their awakening.
***
Gazes directed at Sophia began to shift. Some showed confusion. Some showed pity. But most, surprisingly, seemed happy.
The questions she received started shifting, turning more sensitive.
"Sophia, is it true you still can't cast a basic spell?"
"Yes."
"Did your mother know that you haven't awakened?"
"Yes."
"Are you perhaps… adopted?"
"..."
Even her childhood friends, who had been with her from the beginning, slowly began to distance themselves. One would purposely cut their conversations short, turning his back before she could even finish her sentence.
"Vlad, do you—"
"Sophia, I'm busy."
Another would bury herself in an academic task, refusing to look up from her desk as if Sophia were invisible.
"Ivanna, do you have time later?"
"Sorry, sister Sophia, I have to study."
Another would openly tell Sophia to leave him alone.
"Isaak."
"Sophia, it's rather troubling to have the others know we were close, so..."
Eventually, they stopped responding to her entirely. Sophia was alone. At noble gatherings, no one spoke to her anymore, and guests seemed to scatter like birds whenever she approached. At noble schooling, however, their treatment of her began to change for the worse. At first, it was a minor inconvenience, like a slight shoulder bump in the hallway or an accidental push, but it slowly grew into calculated malice.
"What can she do anyway?" they whispered behind their hands as she walked by. "There is nothing to be afraid of."
Their mistreatment became more obvious. Her notebook went missing; her amulets disappeared from her locker. Her desk was often deliberately dirtied with ink or dust. During the physical course, things were much worse. As the 'weakest,' some would purposely try to hurt her during practice, swinging wooden swords with unnecessary force.
Some of them grew creative. Knowing they couldn't publicly insult the Kovalevska name, they devised a nickname derived from her own. They used it during noble gatherings, hidden behind polite smiles.
"Did you hear about Ivanna? I heard she struggled with her history course. I guess she's being a 'Sophi' after all."
"Really, that's the worst. Anything but being 'Sophi'!"
They used it in their noble schooling.
"This question is too easy, even a 'Sophi' could answer it."
In a training session, another said, "Be careful, don't move like a 'Sophi' or you'll fall behind."
Eventually, they used it to address Sophia openly, mocking her to her face.
"Sophi? My name is not Sophi."
"No. Sophi is you, you is Sophi," a girl with wavy golden hair replied, laughing as she stepped past her. "Even a 'Sophi' should be able to understand it. Sophi means a 'failure.'"
***
Sophia's teenage years were a slow descent into misery. At noble gatherings, she was a ghost to be avoided; at school, she was a target to be ruined. Despite the constant, gnawing ache in her chest, Sophia managed to endure.
"You've experienced worse. This is nothing," she told herself, clutching her books tighter to her chest as she walked through the mocking corridors.
"Mother has been kind recently, and Father has always been warm." She still had her 'loving' parents to return to.
Sophia never mentions her struggles to them. "They are busy. The whole empire relies on them," she rationalized, her fingers tracing the bruises on her arms. "Besides, this is only natural. I have no 'talent' despite being their child. This treatment is acceptable."
But it remained acceptable only until one particular evening.
Naphael returned home, the heavy thud of his boots echoing through the hall. "Sophia, stop attending the noble gatherings," he commanded. His voice wasn't warm; it was sharp, vibrating with a low, dangerous edge.
"Why—" Sophia began, her heart filled with confusion.
"And do not approach me in public," Naphael cut her off. His eyes flashed with a cold, jagged anger she had never seen before. He didn't wait for her to process the words, turning on his heel and vanishing into the hall.
Sophia stood frozen, her breath hitching. 'Does Dad know? Does he know how they treat me?' She looked down at her trembling hands, 'Does he think I'm an embarrassment?'
Her father's visits home grew increasingly rare. When he did appear, he was in haste, staying only long enough to settle affairs before disappearing again. Her mother would only offer the same reasoning: "Naphael was 'simply too busy.'"
One afternoon, Sophia spotted him rushing through the hall, a heavy leather-bound suitcase swinging at his side.
"Father! Can we talk? Just for a minute?" Sophia called out, her feet stumbling as she tried to catch up.
Naphael stopped, his face was of pure annoyance. "I have no time, Sophia!" He snapped, before continuing his rush without a backward glance.
Her thoughts spiraled into a darker place. 'He hates me for being talentless. I'm a disappointment. He can't even stand to look at me.'
***
The day of the noble gathering arrived, an event Sophia had been explicitly forbidden from attending. Yet, for the first time, she chose to disobey. Her father, who was so frequently absent from home, would be there, and she could not let the opportunity pass.
For days, her mind had been a storm of dark thoughts, the gnawing fear that he had simply ceased to love her. The way he had been avoiding her felt like a silent confirmation, but a small, desperate part of her still clung to the hope of a misunderstanding.
'There has to be a reason,' she whispered to herself, trying to clear her head.
She just wanted to ask him, to be certain. She needed a response, perhaps a single word, or anything to prove her anxieties wrong. Even if he said nothing, just catching a glimpse of that old, warm gaze would be enough for her. Sophia needed to know that even if she were born talentless, she was still, in his eyes, his daughter.
***
Sophia made her move in secret, slipping out of the estate and traveling to the Imperial Palace alone. She found the grand venue where the gathering was being held and immediately barged in. As she entered, everyone in the vast room stopped what they were doing.
All eyes were drawn to her. Sophia noticed their gazes were different from the last gathering; it was no longer just the pity and mocking she had grown used to. This time, it was a look of open, curdled disgust. Sophia felt the sting, her skin prickling under the collective stare, but she chose to force through it. She continued walking, her focus narrow, needing only to find her father before leaving.
Whispers began to reach her ears, floating like ash in the air.
"The nerve of that girl to show her face here." The volume was deliberately raised, making it impossible to ignore.
"To think a child from a grand title holder is like this."
Sophia kept walking, her gaze fixed straight ahead, ignoring the faces that sneered as she passed.
Then, from a distance, she heard a voice closer to her own age.
"I heard your sister is being a 'Sophi.'"
Cold sweat began to pour down Sophia's back.
"It's unfortunate that some of my siblings are a 'Sophi'," came another voice.
Her breath became difficult. Her heart pounded against her chest, her breathing catching in short, shallow gasps. Out of nowhere, a wave of nausea rolled through her.
"Yes. If it were me, I would prefer to die than be a 'Sophi'."
Sophia turned and bolted, running away from the venue. She fled through the palace corridors with no destination in mind. Finally, stumbling through a side exit, she leaned over the nearest patch of greenery and vomited, her body trembling.
She sat there for a long time, gazing blankly at the dirt. 'What am I doing again?' An answer came immediately. 'Right, I need to find Father.'
Sophia weakly wiped her mouth and forced herself up. She walked back inside the palace, one hand clutching her stomach. As she rounded a corner, she heard a familiar voice.
"Grigori, that's going to be difficult." It was her father's voice.
Sophia saw him passing in a side corridor, deep in conversation with a man who had smooth, slightly long, yellowish hair and piercing golden slit eyes. Elated, she rushed toward them, but as she drew close, another sentence from her father stopped her cold.
"If that's the case, then I need your help to remove Sophia's name from the Kovalevska Family..."
Sophia froze. A sudden, crushing tightness seized her chest, far greater than any physical pain she had felt before. 'Remove?' Her emotions grew wild, mixing with a jagged despair. 'Father is trying to remove me? He's trying to get rid of me?'
Naphael noticed her presence and walked closer, his face twisting with clear irritation.
"Father... what did you just say?" Sophia asked, her voice barely audible.
"Sophia, you shouldn't be here!" Naphael hissed, his displeasure palpable.
"What did you mean by removing my name?" Sophia asked again in desperation, her hands trembling at her sides. "Are you trying to get rid of me?!"
"Go back to the mansion now!" Naphael's voice was stern. He reached out, forcefully grabbing her arm to drag her away.
Sophia slapped his hand away and ran. She burst out of the palace, running as hard as she could, never stopping to look back. All she could think was that she needed to get as far away as possible from the man she called 'father.'
As her exhaustion finally reached its limit, Sophia slowed to a halt. She spotted a stone bench located in the center of what looked like a secluded garden. She walked closer and sat down, hugging her knees to her chest. Slowly, tears streamed down her face, and she began to cry with all her heart. Everything she had been enduring—the bullying, the isolation, the rejection—suddenly came crashing down. It felt like the last strand keeping her intact had finally snapped.
'Why did everyone change?'
'Why did everyone become so mean?'
'Why did they look so happy when I didn't awaken?'
'Why did they enjoy seeing me hurt?'
'Why is everyone rejecting me?'
The questions kept popping up, filling her head in an agonizing loop as she sobbed.
A few hours later, her tears finally ran dry. She took a deep, shuddering breath and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
"If I were to be kicked out... I need to start saving some money," she whispered.
Suddenly, she noticed the crunch of footsteps on gravel. On guard, she stood up, noticing a boy of her age watching her. He had an expressionless face, framed by golden, lustrous straight hair and rounded cheeks, but his eyes were sharp, golden slits.
The boy spoke in a lifeless monotone, though a hint of warmth colored his words.
"The gathering has finished. What are you doing here?"
***
Sophia was on guard, watching the boy in front of her. She knew his identity all too well. If she was famous for being a talentless embarrassment, the boy standing there was renowned for the opposite. He was regarded as the most 'talented' among all the Mauryan Nobility. Not only had his awakening occurred exceptionally early, but it had also granted him a physical and intellectual boost far more significant than that of his peers. Some even whispered that he was a reincarnation of the 'legendary creature' ancestors of the Kalashnikov family.
He was Calyxianov Kalashnikov, the Imperial Prince of the Maurya Empire.
"You look... 'different'," the prince let out a whisper.
"What?" Sophia asked, unable to catch the remark.
The prince ignored her question, his expression returning to its usual stoic face. "More importantly, the gathering has finished. Go back to your estate."
"No, I don't want to," Sophia said sternly, digging her heels into the grass. She could not face her father, especially not after running away in such a state moments ago.
The prince crossed his arms and closed his eyes, contemplating the situation. Then, he suddenly snapped them open, locking his gaze onto Sophia and making her flinch.
"You're from the Kovalevska house, right?" the prince asked, his voice flat.
"Y-yes, what about it?"
"Do you know who I am?"
"Of course, you're Cax—Calyxvn… You're the prince."
"That makes things easier," the prince said, taking a deliberate step toward her.
Sophia began to panic, her heart hammering against her chest.
"N-no, don't get close to me!" She tried to back away, but her legs hit the bench behind her, and she sat down abruptly.
The prince continued to close the distance, completely ignoring her desperate pleas. With a swift, fluid motion, he reached down and hooked both of his arms around Sophia's waist.
"No! Don't touch me!" Her panic intensified, and she frantically tried to pry his iron-like hands off her.
The prince lifted her effortlessly from the bench and began walking toward the palace doors, carrying her as if she were a lost cat.
"Ahh! Let go of me!" Sophia thrashed, her body twisting as she tried to break free from his grasp. Unfortunately, his hold was unyielding, making her struggles feel entirely futile.
"If you move too much, you'll hurt yourself. Stay still," the prince said, sounding completely unbothered by her frantic squirming.
In her struggle, Sophia's right elbow swung wide, accidentally striking the prince squarely in the face. The prince stopped instantly. Sophia froze, her breath catching in her throat.
"Oh no, I'm sorry! Are you okay?"
The prince slowly set Sophia down.
"Does it hurt? I didn't mean to do that," Sophia said, her eyes searching his face for signs of injury. The prince simply looked at her silently with his stoic expression.
"I'm fine. How about you?"
"What about me?" Sophia asked, confused by the sudden shift in concern.
"Your elbow. I think you hit me with it quite hard."
"My elbow?" Sophia lifted her right arm. "Ah." She stared, noticing the strange, unnatural angle of her forearm. "It's dislocated."
***
On a quiet evening, Sophia found herself seated in a plush armchair inside a grand bedroom. In front of her sat a beautiful woman whose appearance was far more temperate than the austere, high standards of the Mauryan nobility. She had a gentle face and kind blue-gray eyes framed by light brown hair, neatly braided and pinned up.
"Sophia, come on, say Ahh." The woman gestured, offering a fork with a small piece of cake toward Sophia's mouth.
"I think I could eat it myself, thank you," Sophia declined politely, her face heating up.
"But you can't use your right arm, right? Come on, let me feed you. Calyxianov has always been so difficult to feed like this. You're the only one I can rely on," the woman said, her lip trembling as she attempted to look genuinely tragic.
"O-okay." Sophia gave in reluctantly, opening her mouth just a sliver.
'How did it come to this?' she wondered.
After her elbow had been dislocated, the prince had swiftly guided her here—a lavishly decorated private room—where this woman had been sitting alone. He had then simply walked away, stating he would return in a few minutes.
"Is it good?" the woman asked after Sophia finished the bite.
"It's..." Sophia paused, glancing down at the cake, "sweet."
The woman smiled and took a bite herself. "Did you know? Calyxianov made this himself."
"He did?" Sophia blinked in surprise.
"Yes. When I told him I wanted to eat a specific cake from a shop near the Central Plaza, he brought me this the next day," the woman explained, a hint of playful complaint in her voice. "He said it was just something he bought on his way here, but I knew that little rascal was lying. The ingredients are of far too high a quality. And when I asked how it was made, he somehow knew every step and explained it in detail."
'A little rascal?' Sophia was taken aback by the casual insult. By normal standards, no one would dare speak of the Prince of Maurya so flippantly.
But Sophia knew only one person would dare. It was the woman sitting right in front of her: Irina Kalashnikov, the Queen of the Maurya Empire.
"That rascal is such a bad liar," Irina said, puffing out her cheeks slightly.
Sophia chuckled softly, the image of the stoic, talented prince trying to weave a clumsy lie for the Queen playing in her mind.
"Oh my," the Queen whispered, covering her mouth in surprise. "Aren't you truly beautiful when you're not crying?"
Sophia froze. "Crying?"
Irina pointed a slender finger toward Sophia's eyes. "Your eyes are still red, you know."
"Oh." Sophia realized, her hand instinctively moving toward her eyelid. Irina continued, pointing toward the window on Sophia's left. "Also..."
Sophia followed the gesture. From this vantage point, the bench in the center of the garden was perfectly visible.
A wave of embarrassment washed over her, and her face burned a deep crimson.
"And that little rascal... he really doesn't know how to treat a lady. To think he just carried you back like a stray animal."
Sophia's face grew even redder.
"Well, seeing someone as beautiful as you so sad is heartbreaking for me. So, I asked Calyxianov to bring you here so we could eat this cake together. Nothing is better than a sweet treat on a bad day, right?"
Sophia and Irina spoke for some time, though unfortunately for Calyxianov, the conversation consisted mostly of his more embarrassing memories.
"Oh, you should have seen the time he tried to play with a wild kitten," Irina said, giggling into her hand. "He read a book, convinced he knew everything, but the little thing scratched his nose! He looked so miserable for the whole week!"
"He likes cats?" Sophia asked, her eyes wide. He couldn't imagine the cold, stoic prince playing with a kitten.
"Not just cats. He really likes any animal that is small. Once, he tried to sneak an unknown 'fur ball' into his room, but his boots were too loud, so he spent an hour trying to tiptoe down the hall. Grigori and I noticed him, of course, and followed him right to his door."
Sophia found herself giggling frequently. She had only ever heard of the prince's terrifying talent; hearing him described this way by the Queen completely shifted her image of him.
After a while, the prince returned, carrying a box of medical tools. He explained he had been delayed because the Imperial Medicine Room was somehow locked.
Without delay, he set to work, his movements surprisingly gentle as he treated Sophia. He managed the joint with practiced ease, swiftly guiding her forearm back into place and securing it with a thin, flexible brace. He then endured several minutes of scoldings from Irina once she discovered Sophia's condition was the result of his 'rough handling.'
"Where did you learn to do this?" Sophia asked, testing the movement of her arm. As far as she knew, there were no medical courses at the noble schooling.
"I learned it myself from a book," Calyxianov answered simply, packing away his supplies. He then looked at her. "You said you didn't want to go back, right?"
"Y-yes. What about it?" Sophia asked nervously, expecting to be told to leave now that she was mended.
"How about staying here in my room for the night?" Irina chimed in, watching them both with a twinkle in her eye.
Both Sophia and Calyxianov were stunned. "But Miss Irina—" Sophia started, but she was cut off.
"Calyxianov, go tell Grigori that Sophia will be staying in my room," Irina commanded.
The prince remained quiet for a moment, then stood up. "I'll be back."
Irina pulled Sophia into a hug. "We'll be having a sleepover, okay?"
"W-will it be alright?"
"Don't worry, my illnesses are not contagious," Irina said reassuringly.
"No, it's not that."
"If that's not it, then come on!" Irina urged Sophia to her feet. "Let's take a shower together."
"Eh? A shower?"
"You don't want Calyxianov to notice your 'scent' while we sleep, right?"
"Eh?"
"Hm? Why are you looking so confused? Calyxianov will be sleeping with us, of course. I think we have some pajamas that would fit you."
"Ehhh!!"
That night, Sophia lay in the grand bed with Irina on her right and the prince on her left. Despite the strange environment, she fell asleep easily, comforted by Irina's embrace. However, she was jolted awake in the middle of the night by a heavy 'thud.'
"Sorry to wake you," the prince said, arranging a stack of thick books on a small table.
Sophia sat up, rubbing her eyes. "You're not sleeping?"
"After my awakening, sleep became unnecessary for me," he explained, settling into an armchair and opening one of the books.
Curious, Sophia climbed out of bed and sat in the chair opposite him. She leaned forward, squinting at the title. 'A medical book?'
"Are you an aspiring medical mage?" she asked.
"No," the prince answered, his eyes never leaving the page.
Sophia then looked back at the bed. "Is it for the Queen?"
The prince, who had been about to turn a page, suddenly froze.
As far as Sophia knew, the Queen was afflicted with a strange, incurable disease that was slowly deteriorating her health. It was also the very reason she was never seen at a noble gathering.
The prince offered no response and simply continued reading.
"Is this why you always skip the gatherings, too?" Sophia asked. Like the Queen, the prince was famously known for his absence from the gathering.
"I simply didn't like that place."
"Will that be alright? I thought every family needed a representative?"
"My younger sister attended, so it's fine."
"Oh, you're right."
Before they realized it, the conversation began to spiral. The prince even prepared sweets and drinks; he had sweet milk tea, while Sophia opted for black tea. Despite his focus on the book, he answered every question she posed, and he didn't seem to mind the distraction either.
She asked about everything she had been curious about, focusing mostly on him.
"By the way, I never saw you at the noble schooling," Sophia said, taking a sip of her tea.
"I already graduated," the prince answered, mirroring her movement with his milk tea.
"What? How?"
"I took the 'final' test, and they let me go since I achieved full marks. As for the physical test, I simply... immobilized the instructor."
"That's amazing!" Sophia's eyes were wide.
"It isn't, really. I'm just lucky."
"Lucky? How is that luck?" Sophia huffed.
"The noble schooling was designed to meet certain expectations in physique and knowledge. It was never designed to actually improve or teach the students. If they used 'individual improvement' as a standard, I might have been stuck there much longer."
Sophia pondered his words. Then, a realization struck her. "Does that mean the noble schooling was made to 'filter' the students?"
The prince looked visibly surprised. "Filter... that's right." He let out a slight, genuine chuckle as he looked at her. "You're absolutely right."
Sophia, seeing him smile for the first time, felt her heart skip. Her face grew warm.
They continued talking, discussing anything and everything. Eventually, the prince began asking about her, a look of genuine interest on his face. He put his book down entirely. Sophia found herself enjoying the conversation, making it her secret goal to make him chuckle again.
Without them realizing it, the moon faded and the morning sun began to peek through the curtains. They had spent the entire night in casual conversation.
***
"Feeling sleepy?" the prince asked, noticing her yawn.
"Yes," Sophia admitted weakly.
They walked toward the main palace gate. Suddenly, Sophia stopped.
"By the way... were you trying to kick me out last night? Even after the Queen told you to bring me to her?"
The prince gave no answer.
"It's true, isn't it? This is the same path where you were carrying me before!" Sophia protested.
"You're reading into this a bit too much."
"Come on, answer me!" Sophia said, trying to playfully bump her shoulder against his, only to hit an 'iron wall' and be bounced back.
"Did you not learn your lesson last night?"
Sophia huffed but kept walking. Finally, they reached the gate.
"You can remove the brace in three days," the prince explained. "I will also write a proper apology to your father for this incident."
"No!" Sophia disagreed sharply. "Sorry—no. Don't tell Father anything. He doesn't need to know."
"Okay," the prince said, taken aback by her intensity.
An awkward silence settled between them. Seeking to break it, Sophia spoke up. "Your name... it's too difficult to pronounce."
"Isn't that just your problem?"
"Anyway! From now on, you're Calyxyt—Cayx... Cal! Yes, from now on, you're 'Cal'!" she declared confidently.
"That isn't my name."
"No. You are 'Cal,' and 'Cal' is you.'
***
After running away from her father that day, Sophia never found the chance to properly speak with him again. Naphael became a ghost in his own home, his returns even rarer than before, and whenever he did appear, Sophia instinctively hid herself away.
'Father is trying to get rid of me.' The thought lingered in her mind like a plague. Before she knew it, the idea had festered, becoming a 'disease' in her unconscious realm.
"A trauma." Sophia understood the term.
It was a 'memory' anchored so deeply in the unconscious realm, saturated with so much 'emotion' that it clouded everything else. She had attempted to seek treatment from a psychologist, but her mother had appeared out of nowhere to intervene.
"Inside your unconscious realm, there is something that shouldn't be 'shown' on the land. If you ever expose that to anyone, I will personally come and 'remove' that person. Do you understand?" It was a chilling warning. In moments like those, Valeslina was unnervingly cold, her voice devoid of any maternal warmth.
At the Noble Schooling, the bullying continued, sharpening into something more malicious with each passing day. Every week, Sophia would return home with at least one or two fresh bruises on her shoulder, stomach, or back. Eventually, she simply grew used to it; in a twisted way, she was almost glad for it. Those bruises gave her a reason to visit the palace and ask for Cal's help.
"I got hurt again. I need you!" Sophia declared as she barged into the Queen's bedroom, already a regular guest.
Cal, who was seated in his usual armchair with a book in his lap, looked up and pressed a finger to his lips. Sophia froze, realizing that Irina was currently asleep. She didn't fully grasp it then, but Irina's condition meant she could only stay awake for a few hours once a week. In fact, their first meeting had been a stroke of pure coincidence.
Cal guided Sophia to the Imperial Medical Room. He worked in silence, his fingers nimble as he applied a cold, blue salve to a bluish bruise on her shoulder blade.
"How is Miss Irina doing?" Sophia asked softly.
Cal didn't answer immediately. He focused entirely on the treatment until the last of the salve was rubbed in.
"It's getting worse," he finally admitted.
"I see," Sophia murmured, her shoulders slumping.
"Sophia," Cal said, setting the jar aside. "I think it's about time you gave me details."
"Details for what?"
"Your bruises. I need names."
"What would you even do with them?"
"I'll invite them to the palace for a 'friendly' talk."
This wasn't the first time he had asked. The first time Cal had demanded the names of her bullies, his eyes had been so full of cold, murderous intent that it had terrified her.
Sophia didn't answer; instead, she reached out and took his hand, tracing the lines on his palm.
'It's so soft,' she thought. She knew this hand possessed incredible, destructive strength, but she preferred it be used this way, far from violent.
"Is there something wrong with my hand?" Cal asked, watching her.
"Cal, I think you're much better suited to be a doctor," Sophia said with a small smile.
"I'm not interested," he replied flatly. He gently withdrew his hand from her grasp and stood up.
"Where are you going?" Sophia followed close on his heels.
"The library."
She accompanied him as he gathered a fresh stack of thick, leather-bound volumes. They returned to the Queen's room, spending another quiet day in each other's company.
***
Sophia visited the Queen's bedroom often; while Cal buried himself in medical books, Sophia would talk or play board games with Irina during her brief windows of wakefulness. Irina often joked that Sophia was a much better opponent, as Cal was far too efficient at winning. Occasionally, even Grigori would visit, engaging Cal in intense matches of strategy that were completely out of Sophia and Irina's league.
Then there was Cal's twin sister. Despite seeing her at noble gatherings and noble schooling, Sophia noticed she never once visited the Queen's bedroom.
"She's just an ambitious person; you can ignore her," Cal explained.
Days became months, and months melted into years. Sophia continued her visits to the palace, spending her time with both Irina and Cal. What had once been weekly visits gradually shifted into a daily ritual; she even began staying overnight during holidays and weekends.
As the days went by, so did Sophia's time at the Noble Schooling. Without realizing it, she had managed to endure the grueling years of bullying until the final grading period arrived, a time when the students faced nothing but examinations for the entire semester leading up to graduation.
Despite being unable to keep up with the curriculum until now, Sophia still believed she had a chance to at least pass the written exams. She had a secret weapon, after all: private tutoring from the smartest person in the Maurya Empire.
"How many times do I have to tell you? I'm not the smartest person in Maurya," Cal complained as he sat opposite her in the palace library, helping her study.
"No, no, no. You're the one who needs to listen. There's no way you aren't the best. How else could you teach me better than the instructors at school?"
"They just don't know how to teach."
"Come on, you're selling yourself short."
Cal grew quiet, his gaze dropping to the table. "If I were that smart," he whispered, "Mother would be healthy by now."
Sophia looked down, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "Sorry."
Just as time moved for Sophia, it did for Irina, whose health continued to wither. It had deteriorated to the point that she was never seen awake anymore; the last time she had opened her eyes was four long months ago.
Cal stood up and walked away in silence. He returned after a while, carrying a tray with cake and tea. "Let's take a break."
"Sophia," Cal called out softly.
Sophia looked up, finding Cal offered her a fork with a piece of cake, his expression stoic as he prepared to feed her.
'Why are you the one cheering me up?' Sophia had watched him for years. She had seen him slowly losing hope, noticed how he brought fewer and fewer medical books to read. 'Aren't you the one who is most affected by this?'
She opened her mouth and took a bite.
"How is it? I made a few adjustments to fit your 'weird' taste."
Sophia chewed slowly. "It's bitter."
Cal took a bite himself and continued to feed her until the plate was empty. He began to clear the tray, preparing to take it back to the kitchen. Out of nowhere, Sophia reached out. She grabbed his sleeve, stopping him in his tracks.
"Cal, can you teach me everything you've learned about your mother's sickness?"
Cal looked surprised by the request, but he shook his head. "No. You have your exams. I don't want you to split your focus."
"Then how about a note? Just a summary of the books you've read?"
Sophia pleaded, her grip tightening on the fabric of his shirt.
"I guess that will be alright," Cal conceded, sighing.
After that day, Sophia received a summary note after every study session. Unbeknownst to Cal, she decided to focus entirely on those notes, abandoning her Noble Schooling exams entirely.
She studied the notes day and night, even during her breaks at school. She took her own notes on what she deemed important, constantly refining them and discarding bits she felt were irrelevant.
Months passed until, finally, a realization struck her.
Sophia rushed through the palace, her breath hitching as she searched for him. She found him easily, waiting at their usual spot in the library.
"Cal! Cal!" she cried out, rushing toward him.
"What's wrong?" Cal asked, noticing her frantic state.
"Cal, listen. For a disease to exist, there are two criteria: the symptoms and the cause, right?" Sophia asked, out of breath. "We only know the symptoms of Miss Irina's sickness, not the cause. You've been searching for a cause, from bacteria, viruses, poison, even curses, but none of them match perfectly, do they?"
"Yes, what about it?"
"What about an allergy, Cal? A simple, everyday thing, but it can somehow create symptoms that make someone look deathly ill."
Cal was stunned by the revelation. The possibility had never even crossed his mind. For the first time in years, Sophia saw Cal's stoic mask break, replaced by a look of pure, delighted excitement.
From that moment on, Cal shifted the entire focus of his research toward allergy studies. Sophia worked right alongside him. He would devour several volumes a day, distilling the complex information into concise summaries that Sophia could review quickly. Together, they worked tirelessly.
In the following weeks, they began a methodical inspection of the Queen's environment. They scrutinized everything in Irina's room: the food she ate, the air quality, specific insects, and even the dust in the corners.
And to their surprise, they found a match: the specific fabric used in her bed linens. Cal acted immediately, replacing the sheets and reporting their discovery to the Emperor.
As weeks passed, Irina's complexion began to clear. Cal observed her progress closely, noting that if the recovery continued at this pace, she might actually wake up before the end of the year.
That night, Sophia returned to her room with a wide smile lighting up her face.
"We did it. We actually did it."
She could hardly believe it herself; after all these years of stagnation, Irina's condition was finally improving.
She sat at her study table and pulled the allergy research notes from her bag. As she did, a loose paper slipped out and fluttered to the floor. She reached down and picked it up.
It was her report card from the Noble Schooling. Looking at the columns, Sophia saw the result of her choice: an array of failed exams.
Originally, she had planned to use these grades as a bridge to reach her father, believing that a strong academic performance would prove she wasn't a complete 'failure.'
"I guess I won't be meeting Father anytime soon," Sophia murmured to the empty room.
She tore the report card into tiny pieces, watching the fragments flutter like snow into the depths of the trash can. Exhausted, she collapsed onto her bed, her limbs feeling heavy and relaxed for the first time in years.
***
Sophia found herself standing in the Queen's room, her fingers meticulously tracing the ornate fabric of the grand bed.
'Why am I checking under the bed?'
Something about the 'scene' felt fundamentally wrong, though she couldn't name the source of her unease.
The scene shifted.
Sophia was now watching 'herself,' hunched over a cluttered desk and diligently highlighting a heavy textbook for a Noble Schooling exam.
'I am watching myself?'
The scene shifted.
Now, she was watching herself sitting on a low chair, receiving treatment for the bruises she had gained at school. A steady hand was applying a cool salve to her shoulder.
'That hand... that was Cal's hand.' She recognized it instantly.
The scene shifted.
She saw herself seated on the grand bed, her brow furrowed in concentration as she played a board game with the Queen.
'This is where Cal sits whenever we play.'
The realization began to anchor itself in her mind.
'Am I seeing through his eyes?'
The scene shifted.
She saw herself eating sweets and laughing, her voice carrying late into the night as she talked with the Queen.
'Is this Cal's memory?'
The scenes shifted.
Cal was watching her as she sat in the armchair, sipping black tea.
'Why is every memory focused on me?'
The scene shifted.
Cal was in his usual chair, eyes fixed on his book. Across from him, the Queen sat pointing toward the window.
"Calyxianov, that girl... she is still crying," the Queen said softly, her face shadowed with pain.
'This was Cal's daily life, and it's playing in reverse.'
Sophia finally understood the full picture.
The scenes shifted, faster and faster, but she found it effortless to follow the entire sequence.
The Queen appeared younger, her skin regaining its healthy glow, yet the cycle remained unchanged: Cal carrying volumes from the library while the Queen stared blankly out the window.
'How long? How many years did they spend in this repetition?'
The scene shifted, and for the first time, the rhythm broke.
Cal was in the library, reaching for a new volume, when the doors were flung open. A girl with golden, wavy hair and gentle blue-gray eyes stormed in.
'The Imperial Princess, Cal's twin.' Sophia recognized her.
The Princess was trembling with fury.
"Brother, you have to stop! Stop this obsession with finding a cure for Mother!" she screamed, her voice echoing through the silent rows of books.
"Father has already brought in the finest doctors in the world, and even they have failed!"
Cal watched his sister, his face stoic. His lack of response only fueled her rage.
"You are wasting your life! You are a once-in-a-century talent in Maurya, and you should be using that talent to become a better Emperor instead!"
Still, Cal said nothing. Finally, the Princess's anger collapsed into desperation.
"Even Father has given up! There is no point to any of this! Mother is going to die sooner or later. Just leave her alone!"
At those words, Cal finally moved. He slapped his sister across the face.
"Watch your mouth," he said, his voice cold and stern.
The Princess froze, stunned into silence before she burst into tears. Cal remained unmoved. He simply stepped past her, clutching his stack of volumes, and headed back toward the Queen's bedroom to continue his reading.
The scene shifted.
Cal was in the Queen's room, but this time, a person sat in the chair opposite him. He wore a heavy hood that completely obscured his features. On the small table between them sat a leather-bound notebook, which he was presenting to Cal with a deliberate grace.
'Who is he?' Sophia had never seen this kind of person in the palace.
The scene ended.
Sophia found herself back in the Queen's room, but as she looked out the window, she saw only a pitch-black, never-ending abyss.
The door opened, and a boy entered. He had light brown hair and blue-gray eyes, his features mirroring the Queen's profile.
"Cal?" Sophia realized it was him, but without his golden, lustrous hair and those piercing slit eyes.
Cal offered a soft smile, uncharacteristic of his usual stoic face, as he took the armchair facing her.
"Sophia," he said, his voice melodic and calm. "I am sorry for 'inviting' you into such a crude 'realm' like this. It took everything I had left just to build this place."
Sophia tried to speak, but she realized, 'I can't utter a word.'
"I'm sorry, but this realm only allows for one-way communication," Cal continued. "You must have many questions, but please, bear with it. I don't want to accidentally 'awaken' the other Sophia."
'The other... me?'
Cal looked thoughtful, as if weighing his next words with care.
"Sophia, I've often thought about what you said. How it would be nice to live in a remote city as a doctor... with you by my side."
'Why are you telling me this now?'
"I would have cared for patients during the day and spent the evenings with you," Cal said, his voice laced with regret.
"It's a shame. Our 'paths' were different from the beginning, and our meeting was nothing but a 'mistake.'"
'Why would you say that...'
Cal grew quiet, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he looked directly at her.
"Sophia, my mother will die regardless. Both she and I have known this 'truth' for a long time."
'What are you—'
"The time I spent gathering those books was just a habit from when I was still desperately trying to save her. The time I spent in her room, it was simply so she wouldn't feel lonely as she greeted her passing."
'Cal, you're not making any sense!'
"But Sophia, your entry into her life," Cal's voice rose slightly, vibrating with emotion. "Your coming to us was a blessing we never expected. You brought 'life' back to us, something we hadn't felt in a long time. Sophia... you saved us."
'No... you're wrong. You're wrong! It was you and Miss Irina who saved me!'
"Although it was futile, I was glad you helped me figure out the cause of her sickness," Cal said, his eyes shining with gratitude. "Because of it, I was able to identify the perpetrator of my mother's slow death."
'There is someone behind it?'
"But still, Sophia, my mother's death is absolute. There is nothing we can do to change it. It has been written in the 'Book of Inevitability,'" he said softly. "So, do not blame yourself. And if possible... do not grieve for too long."
'No, Cal, you're wrong! We saw her complexion improving! You said she'd awaken by the end of the year!'
Cal straightened his posture, his expression becoming solemn.
"I will now tell you the main reason I invited you here. It is about my younger sister. She is hard-headed, possesses a difficult temperament, and has caused you much trouble in the past. But please," Cal said, bowing his head deeply, "Sophia, please help her."
'Why are you suddenly bringing her up?'
"She is ambitious and has a strong sense of justice," Cal continued. "But I worry her 'path' might be corrupted if she is left alone. Sophia, I know you are able to help her in my stead."
'Cal? Are you going somewhere?'
In a low, final tone, Cal whispered, "With this, I have fulfilled my 'covenant' with 'them.'"
The realm around Sophia began to crumble, dissolving into the pitch-black void. Cal remained there, seated in the armchair, as the abyss swallowed everything.
'Cal! Cal! What's going on? Where are you going?' Sophia screamed into the emptiness. 'Please, take me with you!'
***
Sophia snapped awake in her room, drenched in a cold sweat. She sat up abruptly, her heart pounding against her chest. She couldn't shake the suffocating sense of unease that had settled over her.
'Was I dreaming?' She covered her face with trembling hands. One thought suddenly consumed her: 'I need to see Cal.'
She forced herself out of bed and dressed quickly, pulling on her grayish winter clothes. She hurried toward the door, but the moment she opened it, her mother was there.
Valeslina stood directly in her path, her delicate features set in a stern, unreadable expression.
Sophia tried to step past her, but Valeslina lunged forward and grabbed her sleeve. "Sophia, did you have any dreams last night?" she asked, her voice low and demanding.
Sophia didn't answer, struggling to pull her arm away. "Mother, let go! I need to go!"
Valeslina's grip only tightened. "Where are you going?"
"The Palace," Sophia answered, still struggling to break free.
"Do not go there," Valeslina commanded.
"Mother, please, just let me go!"
Valeslina's expression did not soften. "Sophia, there has been chaos at the Palace."
Sophia stopped struggling, a cold chill running down her spine. "Chaos?"
"Yes. The Queen has been murdered, and the Prince and Princess have gone missing."