The document is a household record. It wasn't sentimental or personal but a ledger of medical expenditures, estate healers, external consultations. She finds it tucked behind three unrelated files while searching for something else entirely. For a moment she almost slides it back where it belongs.
Amy's name appears twice. Once at the beginning of the illness. A single consultation with the estate healer, treatment recommended, cost recorded. Once two years later, cause of death, recorded in the same administrative handwriting as everything else. Between those two entries: nothing. Not one further expenditure. Not one external consultation.
Penelope reads the document completely. Sets it down. Picks up the next text she was looking for.
Her hands are perfectly steady.
She reads for another two hours. When she goes to bed, she lies in the dark and does not cry because the feeling this produces is not grief. Grief she knows. She's felt it before. This is something else. Something colder.
"They didn't try," she says to the empty dark room.
She has known this for years but never let herself accept it. Six years after her mother's death, she finally allows it to become solid.
...
"Again," Mel says.
"This is the seventh time." Penelope doesn't hide her exhaustion.
Mel has taken over the full course of her training now. It's not about small corrections anymore.
"And you'll do more."
"It is exhausting," Penelope replies, wiping sweat from her temple. "Expending this much aether repeatedly drains me."
"What other way to increase your reserves if not consistent expenditure?" Mel's expression stays neutral. "Again, Penelope."
The air around Penelope shimmers.
Light gathers slowly, then faster, particles tightening as if pulled by invisible threads. Sweat beads along her hairline. Her jaw tightens. They aren't perfect but they feel like extensions of herself, responsive to thought more than conscious direction.
Mel watches but doesn't praise.
When the light dissolves, Penelope's breathing is heavy but controlled.
"Your instinct on extension is correct," Mel says. "Trust it more."
"You've seen the family train."
"Yes."
"And?"
Mel is quiet for a moment. "You're doing something entirely different."
"I know."
"I don't mean technically." Mel looks at her properly now, not as an instructor but something closer to curious. "I mean fundamentally."
Silence filled the room for a moment.
Penelope looks at her hands. Amber light pulses faintly beneath her skin, threading through her veins like molten gold.
"My mother made a compendium of aether cultivation I could follow. Before I ever awakened." She pauses. "I awakened the day after she..." She stops, then continues. "I noticed her efforts later. Most of the techniques couldn't have been hers. She must have sneaked into the family library, fearing I wouldn't be allowed the privileges of the legitimate."
Mel listens but doesn't comment.
"The rest," Penelope says, flexing her fingers, watching the glow shift, "I built myself."
...
It's not a formal gathering but it's large, sprawling across the Divian estate's main halls.
Penelope moves through it like water finding its path. Her gestures measured, her words carefully chosen, her actions calculated. None of this is to make the family like her. That ship sailed years ago. This is to keep them from actively hating her more than they already do.
She finds Aldric in the corner near the east window, alone, wearing the expression of someone who considers attendance at this gathering a personal burden.
She sits beside him without being invited.
He looks at her warily. She looks back.
"It's loud, isn't it," she says softly.
His wariness shifts into something surprised. "You think so too?"
"I know it's difficult."
He looks at her for a long moment with the too-knowing expression of a child whose ability shows him things he can't always process.
"You feel like..." He hesitates.
"You don't have to say it," Penelope says.
"Layers," he says anyway. "You feel like a lot of layers."
She looks at the room. At Sorin holding court near the refreshment table. At Adrien standing with perfect posture beside the patriarch.
"Yes," she says. "I suppose I do."
Aldric looks down at his hands.
"I never believed in the principle shit the whole family's built on," he blurts. The words sound foreign in his own mouth.
Penelope blinks. She wasn't expecting that. Not from him of all people. Aldric is Brennan's son, the most obedient child among them all. Perfect. A symbol the family likes to point to. That same boy just called their foundational beliefs 'shit'.
"For sixteen years, you've never been considered family because of your bloodline." He pauses, and she can feel him reading her, that unnerving ability of his picking through emotional threads most people can't see. "Always treated like an item to be traded when the time is right. I mean, all Divians are, under it all. But for you, it's worse. An item that's been forgotten in storage, only to be pulled out later when they need it. And by then it's lost half its value."
The silence between them is loud even with the ongoing gathering humming around them.
"Why keep up this facade for them? You could do what you wish." Aldric's voice is genuinely curious.
Penelope laughs, startling him a little. She wonders to herself, why does she keep up the whole facade? This is something no one in the family has ever asked her. Not because they couldn't. Because they didn't care.
"The same reason you keep yours," Penelope finally says.
He frowns. "Which is?"
"Approval."
Aldric goes very still. The word settles between them like something fragile. Then he nods, just once, and looks away.
...
At the base of the dome's barrier, Kaelen crouches, studying the soil with unnecessary intensity. He has no idea why it caught his interest but it did, and now he's committed.
"There," Penelope says, coming to stand beside him. She points toward the disturbed earth a meter from the dome's base. "That's where it started. The beasts started acting strange a week ago. I asked the guards to investigate and all they found was this. Displaced soil. Just slightly. Not enough for a person."
"Something came through," Lira says.
"It shouldn't be possible," Kaelen says, frowning.
Jay looks at the barrier, which isn't quite visible, more like distorted air creating faint ripples. "The barrier extends far deeper into the earth. Nothing large enough to matter could fit through that. A scavenger rat, perhaps. . Not even a crystalline snake could manage it."
"The beasts on this tier are pets or secured livestock," Lira adds.
"Even if something escaped its harness and somehow bypassed the barrier, the lantern rams shouldn't be disturbed," Jay continues, "They should be able to handle a scavenger rat themselves."
Kaelen rises slowly. "Who else has access to the farmland?"
"The other Divians..." Penelope says. She pauses. "No one else."
"Why didn't you report it to your family?" Lira asks.
Penelope's expression doesn't change. Her composure stays completely intact. But something behind it does, something very quick and very small, and Kaelen, who has been watching her, catches it.
"I handle the estate," she says simply.
"This might be beyond..."
"I handle the estate," Penelope says again, same tone. But the second time isn't an explanation. It's a barrier.
Lira stops.
Jay looks between them.
Kaelen stands. He closes the distance to Penelope, enough that speaking quietly won't carry to the others.
"You don't want them involved," he says.
She looks at him. "No."
"If they handle it themselves, you lose..."
"Yes." She holds his gaze steadily. For a moment, Kaelen doesn't see the charming, carefree girl who deflects everything with humor. He sees something else. Something that trembles, just barely, at the edges.
"Is that going to be a problem?"
Kaelen studies her for a moment.
"No," he says.
She nods once. Then turns back to the disturbed earth.
Her hands rest at her sides. Between her fingers, barely visible, a faint trace of light slips through. Not on purpose.
Kaelen notices. He's been paying attention to Penelope ever since they met. That kind of thing doesn't slip past him anymore.
...
The occasion is formal. External guests, associates of Evander's, people whose opinions leave marks on the enclave's social structure, positive or negative depending on their whims. The estate has been prepared for a week.
Penelope moves through the room like light through a prism, unhurried, producing exactly what each interaction requires. The guests are drawn to her in the specific way people are drawn to something that seems entirely at ease with itself. She asks the right questions. She listens with visible attention. She laughs at the right moments with a laugh that sounds genuine because it is. Penelope's humor is real, one of the few things she doesn't perform, but the context around it is entirely constructed.
Across the room, Adrien watches her work. Penelope is well aware of his gaze. She always knows where he is, a habit born from years of maintaining appearances to avoid tainting her slim chances at acceptance. His expression carries that familiar mix of uncertainty and quiet contemplation, though he can't quite hide the intrigue in his eyes.
She smiles politely at the guest she's been conversing with, feigning genuine interest as the conversation winds down. Just as she's about to excuse herself, a young man approaches, breaking her train of thought. He can't be older than she is, though there's something distinct about him.
He's dressed in a pristine blue suit, the kind that probably cost enough to buy half the eighth tier. His hair, a striking electric blue, is impeccably styled, smoothly slicked back in waves that seem to flow like a calm sea under clear sky. The contrast between his bold appearance and the classic sophistication of his suit creates an interesting tension. His confidence is undeniable, but there's something else underneath. Eagerness, maybe.
"Hello, Lady Penelope," he says, his voice warm, carrying both respect and curiosity.
Penelope raises an eyebrow. Her expression settles into calm amusement, and she does nothing to hide the fact that she finds him entertaining.
"Good evening," she responds, tone polite yet playful.
The young man smiles. "I wouldn't want to be too forward, but I do think you've become the highlight of the evening."
"Is that so?" She leans slightly closer, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "I'm curious what makes me the highlight of your evening, then."
He chuckles, clearly enjoying the lightheartedness. "It's your way of turning every interaction into something... well, memorable. It's not often one meets someone who can make even the most mundane conversation seem important."
Penelope's gaze remains steady as she gives a soft, almost imperceptible nod, acknowledging the compliment without letting it go to her head. "Flattery will get you everywhere, it seems."
The young man's smile lingers before he straightens up, his confidence returning as though he's found his rhythm. He takes a slight step back, the faintest glimmer of admiration still in his eyes.
"Ah, where are my manners?" He chuckles lightly, almost as if realizing how effortlessly their exchange has unfolded. "Forgive me, Lady Penelope. I should have introduced myself sooner."
His hand goes to his chest in a gesture of refinement, his voice measured. "I am Caelan Luminhart, of House Luminhart."
The name, while soft and almost musical in its delivery, carries undeniable weight. Luminhart. A noble family known for its legacy tied to the art of lighting, both literal and metaphorical. Their influence in the enclave stems from their lighting trait and their production of everything from lanterns and lamps to lightning-based equipment.
Penelope's eyes flicker with genuine interest. The Luminharts are well regarded, their name ever-present in discussions of innovation and culture. She can tell Caelan is no exception to the family's pedigree. His polished demeanor and the way he carries himself speak volumes about his upbringing.
"Caelan Luminhart," Penelope repeats, her voice smooth, a touch of curiosity mixed with the subtle amusement she's maintained. "A name with quite the illustrious history. I've heard much of your family's talents with... lighting."
Caelan's smile widens, though there's a soft, humble air about him now. "It is a gift passed down through generations. Though, I must admit," he says, in a playful tone, "I'm still struggling to master the art of illuminating the right conversation at the right time." He gives her a wink, clearly relishing the banter.
Penelope laughs lightly, a warm, genuine sound she only allows when she feels it's warranted. "Well, you certainly brighten the room with your presence, Caelan. Just be careful you don't outshine the rest of us."
He bows his head slightly, acknowledging her wit with an appreciative grin. "I shall try to refrain from casting too many shadows, though with the Divian's brilliant radiance, I can't promise anything." His voice remains light, though it's laced with respect. "It was a pleasure, Miss Penelope. I do hope our paths cross again soon."
She gives him a small nod, her demeanor as calm and collected as ever. "The pleasure was mine, Sir Luminhart." Her voice softens, almost imperceptibly. "Until we meet again."
With that, Caelan turns, walking back into the crowd, his figure slipping effortlessly into the sea of nobles. Penelope watches him go for a moment, her gaze lingering briefly on the flash of electric blue in the distance. It was a fleeting connection, but one that left an impression. Whether curiosity or something else, she isn't sure. But in this world of nobles and masks, it's often the briefest encounters that prove most illuminating.
...
The guests are gone. The family disperses.
Penelope walks to her rooms. Closes the door. Stands in the center of the space for a moment with nobody watching.
Then she sits on the floor with her back against the bed, puts her head back, and closes her eyes.
Mel is in the room. She doesn't say anything. She moves to the window and continues whatever she was doing before Penelope arrived.
The silence between them is the silence of people who have been in each other's company long enough to understand that silence has its own language.
"Evander looked at me tonight," Penelope says to the ceiling.
Mel says nothing.
"I noticed," Penelope continues. "I noticed and I..." She stops. The composure that held all evening is still holding but it's thinner here, in this room, with Mel. "I wanted him to do it again. I stood there and wanted it and it is the most..." Another stop. "I know what they are. I know exactly what they are. And I still..."
She opens her eyes. Looks at the ceiling.
"My mother would have something to say about that," she says, quieter now. "She would say it kindly and it would still make me feel like an idiot."
Mel turns from the window. Crosses the room. Sits beside her on the floor, close enough that their shoulders almost touch.
She doesn't say anything.
Penelope closes her eyes again.
"I'm fine," she says.
"I know," Mel says.
They sit there for a while, admiring the ceiling together.