A pair of elegant heeled shoes stepped down from the train at Eltham Station, their measured rhythm soon carrying their wearer along the stone platform in quick, graceful strides. As she walked, a cool breeze swept across the platform, catching the hem of her short dress first and lifting the fabric slightly as it fluttered around her slender legs. The breeze then drifted upward, stirring the delicate blouse at her neck before reaching the loose strands of her dark hair and sending them fluttering freely. It grew stronger as it reached her head, threatening to lift the white hat perched upon it, prompting a slender hand in an immaculate white glove to rise instinctively and hold it firmly in place. With the same effortless grace, she continued along the platform.
She lifted her gaze toward the horizon, taking in the distant view of Eltham with evident delight. "Eltham is beautiful," she said in a cheerful voice.
—
A dull, painful headache throbbed through Sikakama's skull as she stirred beneath the covers and slowly pushed herself upright. For a moment, she remained still, trying to gather her thoughts, until her eyes adjusted to the familiar surroundings. It was the same room in the Raven Tower where she had awakened before. The realization brought with it an immediate wave of disappointment. She had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that when she opened her eyes again, something would be different.
Her eyes drifted toward the old wall clock.
The hands had already passed ten.
Ten in the morning.
She stared at it for a long moment, unable to process what she was seeing.
"What… did I… sleep for an entire day?"
Before she could dwell on it, three quiet knocks sounded against the door.
"Come in."
The door opened, revealing a woman standing on the other side with a warm smile. "Mr. Alistair would like to see you."
"Yes, ma'am." Sikakama quickly got to her feet, pulled her nightclothes up and over her head, then put on her shirt before hurriedly slipping into her shoes.
The woman smiled and stepped farther into the room, crouching in front of Sikakama without a word. She took hold of the loose strap of one of her shoes and fastened it securely before moving to the other. When she finished, she rose and gently straightened Sikakama's shirt where it had become wrinkled.
Sikakama could do little more than stand there, frozen by the unexpected gesture.
The woman gave her another warm smile, almost as though she had done nothing unusual at all. "Come along."
A few moments later, the two of them were making their way down the staircase toward the lower floor. Sikakama followed behind the woman, quietly taking in her appearance and the calm, refined grace of her movements.
She was dressed entirely in black from head to toe, so much so that she might have been mistaken for someone in mourning. Her hair was equally dark, carefully gathered into a tight, twisted knot at the back of her head, leaving her pale neck exposed. A small beauty mark rested upon it.
Sikakama remembered the way the woman had carefully fastened her shoes, the gesture lingering in her mind. There had been a quiet warmth in that simple act, something she could not quite find a name for.
When they finally reached the bottom of the staircase, they entered a spacious hall furnished with several sofas. A number of people had gathered there, speaking quietly among themselves.
Sian was there as well, leaning casually against one of the pillars with his arms loosely folded.
As Sikakama stopped near the entrance, uncertain where she was supposed to stand, the woman who had accompanied her continued on and naturally blended into the gathering. Several of the people turned their attention toward them, and Sikakama immediately bowed her head politely. "Hello. My name is Sikakama."
A well-dressed man rose from one of the sofas. He wore an elegant hat and a long coat, and as he removed the hat in greeting, he revealed a handsome face framed by neatly trimmed hair that fell just past his ears and a carefully groomed beard. With an easy, courteous smile, he said, "I believe we should be the ones to introduce ourselves, young miss. So, if you don't mind, allow me the honor."
He placed a hand against his chest and gave a slight bow. "My name is Gerald Peregrine Morgan."
He then turned toward the woman seated beside him—the same woman who had led Sikakama here—and gestured toward her. "And allow me to introduce you to my wife, Angela Florence Morgan. She is a nurse by profession, and she was the one who cared for you."
Her complexion and chiseled features gave her face an almost sculpted perfection. She smiled, her expression softening into something almost angelic as she looked at Sikakama. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
Gerald then turned toward the sofa to their left, indicating a younger-looking woman with dark chestnut hair. "And this is Celine Ross Child."
Celine raised one hand in a small, casual greeting. "Hi."
Gerald continued, gesturing toward the mature man seated beside her, who was sturdily built. "And beside her is Ethan Cyrus."
Ethan folded his arms and gave Sikakama a brief nod. "The pleasure is mine."
They looked strangely familiar, bringing back the memory of the two people she had seen on the rooftops that day.
Gerald gestured toward Sian, who was standing nearby.
"And this is Sian Lumière."
Sian gave Sikakama a casual wave. "Hello."
His expression was perfectly ordinary, as though they had never met before and there were no memories between them worth mentioning.
Gerald added teasingly, "He can be terribly lazy when it comes to morning duties. He even missed a previous gathering, which rather annoyed the commander. So you'll find him standing there looking rather miserable, as though he were being forced to do it."
Sian offered no response to that chatterbox. Gerald cleared his throat softly, scarcely concealing the faint amusement in his voice, before continuing in his composed manner. "And surely you already know Mirelle. She could never resist coming to see someone new, and I'm certain she would have introduced herself before long anyway."
Gerald had barely finished speaking when Mirelle suddenly rushed over and practically threw herself at Sikakama, wrapping her arms around her in an enthusiastic embrace. "You did it, Sikakama! You really did it!" she exclaimed, barely able to contain her excitement.
Gerald settled his hat back onto his head with a faintly amused smile. "Speak of the devil, and she appears."
The embrace caught Sikakama completely by surprise, and her body instinctively stiffened for a couple of seconds before Mirelle finally let her go. She then took Sikakama by both hands, her face lighting up with excitement. "The Knights' Academy itself sent you an invitation!"
Still unable to understand what Mirelle meant, Sikakama repeated, "The Knights' Academy?"
Her gaze instinctively shifted toward Sian. He was still leaning against the pillar, looking far too relaxed for someone who had just witnessed such a moment. A small smile appeared on his face.
"Congratulations," he said. "You've been given a chance to pursue your dream."
Gerald nodded. "That's right. The academy does not accept just anyone. It was once restricted almost entirely to those of noble blood, so receiving an invitation as an ordinary person would have been considered nothing short of a miracle."
Sikakama looked down at her wrist.
A bandage was wrapped tightly around it.
She touched the cloth for a moment before slowly pulling it away.
Beneath it was a strange mark embedded beneath her skin—a sword with its blade pointing downward.
Sikakama stared at it, unable to remember when it had appeared.
Gerald continued speaking as her attention shifted completely. "But things have changed. There is now a chance for those outside the nobility to enter through the academy's entrance examination, though in exceptional cases, it may be bypassed through special recommendations. The academy also grants opportunities to the children of families who have devoted themselves to serving the kingdom, regardless of their birth."
"I'm sorry."
The words came so suddenly that everyone's attention shifted to Sikakama. Even Mirelle and Gerald, who always seemed to have something to say, fell silent, watching her as she bowed deeply, her dark hair sliding forward as she continued, "I know my decisions have caused you trouble, and I apologize again. Thank you for taking in such a foolish idiot."
Mirelle opened her mouth, clearly preparing to protest, but Alistair's voice reached them first.
"If you truly are a foolish idiot, then at least it is reassuring that you are aware of it."
Alistair entered the hall, his hands clasped behind his back as usual. His pale complexion and reserved features gave him a quietly dignified air as he continued, "But the decision has already been made."
Sikakama slowly straightened.
Before she could answer, a bright voice suddenly rang through the hall.
"Hiiiiii!"
A woman entered with an energy so lively that it seemed to change the atmosphere around her. She was dressed in elegant, neatly arranged clothes, her bright expression carrying an almost impossible amount of enthusiasm. The servant who followed behind her looked considerably less energetic.
"My lord," he said with a resigned sigh, "Lady Grace has sent her assistant. Miss Juliet Collins."
Juliet stopped and immediately dipped into a small, cheerful curtsy, lifting the edge of her skirt. For a brief moment, she looked almost like a doll, her cheeks flushed a soft pink beneath her bright smile.
"I'm Juliet Collins, Lady Grace's assistant. It's a pleasure to meet you all."
The gesture lasted barely a few seconds before she straightened again, and whatever restraint the greeting had required seemed to vanish with it.
Then her eyes suddenly landed on Mirelle.
"Mirelle!"
The moment their eyes met, the two of them reached for each other's hands and clasped them together, almost jumping with delight.
"I missed you!" Juliet exclaimed.
"It's been so long since I last saw you," Mirelle replied with a warm smile.
Juliet gave her hands an affectionate squeeze before finally turning back toward the others.
"The weather outside is unbelievably hot!" she exclaimed. "Who would have thought Eltham could be this sunny? I walked for thirty-five minutes! Thirty-five! Can you believe it? And this district is rather empty, so finding a carriage was nearly impossible. I nearly got lost. I'm not used to Eltham at all. It isn't exactly one of the liveliest parts of Pendralice, is it? But I have to admit, it has some beautiful scenery. There's something quite charming about all the greenery and—"
She continued without drawing breath.
Around the room, several faces slowly acquired the same expression—What a chatterbox. No one said it aloud, but the thought seemed to pass silently from one person to another. Somehow, Juliet reminded them of Mirelle and Gerald, who had a similar tendency to talk at length whenever they got carried away.
Juliet finally stopped chattering and stepped closer, her eyes wandering from one person to another. Then they suddenly landed on Alistair, her expression brightening even further.
"Siiir Alistair!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands beneath her chin. "You really are incredibly handsome! Are all commanders blessed with such a magnificent appearance?"
Alistair stared at her in silence.
Juliet, apparently unaffected by the lack of response, quickly turned her attention elsewhere.
"Now then! Which one of you is the hero who drew the sword?"
Her eyes landed on Sian.
"Oh! Is it this young man here?"
She approached him without hesitation, looking him over from head to toe.
Sian glanced down at her, apparently unsure what to do with the sudden attention.
"No, he isn't," the servant answered calmly from behind her.
Juliet seemed not to hear him.
Her gaze moved across the room instead, searching among the people seated on the sofas until it settled on Ethan.
Her expression changed immediately.
"Or perhaps... that strong-looking gentleman over there?"
Ethan remained seated with his arms folded, his broad frame making him a far more convincing candidate in Juliet's eyes.
Juliet nodded to herself as though she had solved the mystery.
"Yes. Surely it must be him."
Sian placed a hand on Juliet's head and gently turned her toward Sikakama. Mirelle pointed in Sikakama's direction with a smile, drawing Juliet's confused attention to the girl.
The servant stepped forward at the same time and introduced her with complete composure. "Allow me to introduce Sikakama—the person who drew the sword."
Juliet froze as she stared at the young girl before her, her eyes widening as she tried to reconcile her small, delicate appearance with the fact that she was the one who had drawn the sword. For a moment, she simply stood there, staring at Sikakama as if hoping someone would laugh and reveal that it was all a joke.
But no one did.
The realization finally struck her.
"What?!" Juliet burst out in disbelief.
The single word echoed through the hall, carrying far more disbelief than the situation seemed to require.