The dormitories of Serendia Academy—pride of the Castina Empire and sanctuary of its most gifted youth—were rarely ever still. Even on class-free days, the halls breathed with a gentle, ceaseless liveliness. Laughter drifted through half-open doors; soft slippers and polished boots tapped against gleaming floors; and the delicate clink of porcelain teacups laced itself through the air like a dainty melody.
But nowhere did this vibrant harmony shine more brightly than in the girls' dormitory. Here, young noblewomen shed their crisp uniforms in favor of fluttering weekend dresses—petals of silk, lace, and pastel hues that turned every corridor into a garden in bloom. They gathered in sunlit tearooms, in plush lounges, amid the scent of fresh pastries and fragrant teas. Their voices rose and fell in warm currents—sharing stories, secrets, and laughter that shimmered like light on water.
It was elegance lived, breathed, and woven into the simplest moments—soft, graceful, and endlessly alive.
Lillian moved through this gentle bustle wearing a youthful, grass-colored dress—one that had been fashionable in the castle town the previous year. She walked with small, measured steps toward the academy gate, intent on her errand. But before she even caught a glimpse of the entrance, three figures stepped into her path, skirts fanning like obstacles made of silk.
"Good day, Assistant Medical Officer Lillian. How do you do?" One girl asked with immaculate politeness—politeness sharpened into something far less pleasant.
Lillian stopped. Her gaze lifted, meeting three familiar faces. Caroline Simmons stood at their front, chin tilted ever so slightly upward. When Lillian had first enrolled, it had been Caroline who "accidentally" sent her tumbling down a flight of stairs. The memory hovered, sharp as an unhealed bruise.
Lillian bowed her head in a simple, proper greeting. Her silence was her shield.
Caroline's brows arched in theatrical concern. "My, my. Why in the world are you wearing such an old dress?"
Of course. The dorm's young ladies tended to appear in dresses freshly tailored to the latest trend. In comparison, Lillian's simple attire—with its practicality, clean lines, and the many hidden pockets sewn in for very specific purposes—stood out starkly. She disliked frills that tangled her movements. Lace was a nuisance. Ribbons only made noise. Her preferences had always been… unfashionable.
As Lillian remained composed, Caroline's two followers hid their smirks behind their folding fans.
"Maybe she thought today was a workday," one murmured.
"Oh, don't tease her," said the other, though her eyes glinted with malicious delight. "Perhaps she simply has nothing else to wear. No wonder she's always working."
"And to think she was chosen for the student council," Caroline added sweetly. "Someone must have made a terrible mistake."
Their giggles tinkled like brittle glass.
Lillian said nothing. She had learned long ago that silence was often her strongest armor. And yet, just as the girls took her quiet as surrender—
A sharp voice cut through the air.
"Oh? And what, pray tell, is happening over here?"
Lillian turned. Lana Clottee—baron's daughter, dignified posture, ribbons fluttering on a parasol as bright as her spirit—strode toward them, her expression cooling with swift understanding.
"I beg your pardon," Lana said, stepping protectively between Lillian and the others. Then, with a sweet smile that carried a surprisingly sharp edge, she added, "But could you refrain from displaying such dreadful taste on a perfectly lovely day?"
Caroline blinked. "Excuse me?"
"The dress you're mocking," Lana continued breezily, "is woven from a special blend of spider silk and cotton. While it may not be the height of current fashion, its craftsmanship far surpasses anything the three of you are wearing."
The silence was instant. Caroline and her entourage sputtered wordlessly, unable to summon a retort. Embarrassment flushed their cheeks as they hurried away in a swish of ruffled skirts.
The moment they vanished, Lillian released a long, slow breath. "Thank you," she murmured.
Lana's flaxen hair swayed as she hummed lightly, clearly pleased with herself. She, too, wore no uniform today—only an elegant velvet dress in deep wine-red that complemented her fair complexion and slender build with effortless grace.
"It's rare to see you out and about on a day off," she remarked. "Are you headed somewhere?"
"Yeah… shopping." Lillian rubbed the back of her neck. "I wanted to buy a few things."
Lana's eyes sparkled immediately. "What a marvelous coincidence! I was just about to head out for some shopping myself." She twirled her parasol once, ribbons fluttering like delighted birds. "Let's go together! I know a shop with the loveliest hair accessories—silver filigree, ivory inlays, absolutely adorable!"
Lillian blinked, a little overwhelmed. The real reason she was heading out wasn't because of shopping but because there was someone she had to meet. Well, there's still quite a bit of time before the appointment. Warmth unfurled quietly inside her chest. After the encounter she'd just endured, Lana's enthusiasm felt like sunlight breaking through cloud cover. And so, side by side, they stepped toward the academy gate.
....................
Craeme Town was as bright and bustling as a festival lantern—stalls lined the main street, merchants called out cheerfully, and families gathered for the weekend market. Lillian walked with Lana at her side, Nero—currently disguised as a fluffy black cat—perched lazily on her shoulder.
Lillian had preferred coming here alone—slipping through the market like a shadow, picking up supplies, and disappearing before anyone noticed. But today, Lana's arm was looped confidently through hers, steering her down the lively lanes with the ease of someone born to social grace.
"It's been so long since I last came here," Lana said, nearly bouncing with each step. Her wine-red dress fluttered like a dropped petal in the breeze. "Craeme always puts me in such a splendid mood."
Lillian offered a small nod. "Mm."
They wandered between the stalls, enjoying the simple peace—until a sudden commotion erupted ahead.
"Hey! Stop that cart! The axle's snapping!"
A heavily loaded merchant wagon shuddered as its wheel bent sharply. The slope of the street meant that if it collapsed now, it would crash straight into a group of children.
Lillian's body froze. Magic—No. Not here. Not in public.
Before she could take a step, someone darted past her like a gust of wind.
A boy—no, a young man—leapt forward, planting both hands against the side of the falling cart. His boots slid across the cobblestone, but he steadied the weight with surprising strength.
"Somebody secure the wheel! Quickly!" he shouted.
Several townsfolk rushed to help, and in a moment, the catastrophe was averted.
Lana let out a relieved breath. "That was close… Who was—?"
The young man brushed dust from his shirt and turned toward them. He had sharp eyes, dirty blond hair, and an aura of competence that didn't match his youthful face.
He blinked. "Ah—are you both unharmed? Sorry you had to see that chaos."
Lana bowed politely. "Thank you for acting so quickly."
Lillian mirrored the gesture, keeping her hood slightly lowered. "Yes… thank you."
The boy scratched his cheek in mild embarrassment. "I couldn't just watch. Anyway—my name is Glenn Duddly."
Lillian stiffened imperceptibly. Duddly… Louis's...
Glenn noticed nothing odd and smiled warmly. "You two should stay toward the center of town. The wind's been acting strange today—could be a sign of magical disturbance."
Lana's eyes widened slightly. "You're familiar with magic?"
"More or less," Glenn laughed. "Let's say I'm trained to deal with unexpected trouble."
Lana glanced at Lillian, whispering, "He's… impressive."
Nero's tail flicked. Suspiciously impressive, he muttered telepathically into Lillian's mind. I don't like how calm he is around near-accidents.
But Lillian shook her head internally. No, this wasn't hostility. Glenn was simply… carefree.
Before she could thank him again, Glenn suddenly looked toward the distant hills. His expression sharpened.
"…That mana fluctuation again."
Without a second thought, he took a step back, preparing a spell. "Sorry—I need to check something. Please stay safe and avoid the northern road!"
With a gust of wind swirling around him, Glenn leapt upward and vanished across the rooftops—light and swift as a hawk.
Lana blinked after him. "Mages… are like that?"
Lillian felt her heartbeat tighten. If Glenn had sensed magical turbulence… then something serious was coming. As if responding to her thoughts, the ground beneath them trembled lightly—just once.
Nero's ears shot up. Lillian. Something large is moving underground. Something old.
The cheerful voices of the marketplace faltered as people exchanged nervous glances.
A second tremor followed—deeper.
Lana grabbed Lillian's sleeve. "What's happening?"
Lillian took a slow breath, her mind racing. Glenn had gone to investigate—but if the disturbance reached the town first—
She looked at the towering clock tower overlooking Craeme Town.
"Nero," she whispered. "We need a vantage point."
The cat's golden eyes gleamed with understanding. "Top of the clock tower, then?"
"Yes. Please teleport us there."
Nero grinned, tail curling like a question mark. "You got it, Master."
A swirl of shadow enveloped Lillian and Lana—and the world shifted. The world snapped back into focus with a rush of cold wind.
Lillian found herself on the narrow stone balcony at the top of the Craeme clocktower. The entire town spread beneath them—streets like threads, people like scattered bright beads. Lana staggered, grabbing the railing.
"E-Eh?! W-When did we—?!"
Nero, now sitting primly on the balustrade, flicked his tail. "Teleportation. Efficient and elegant. Unlike stairs."
Lana's eyes went round, her voice shrill. "Teleport—teleportation magic?! L-Lillian, when did you—? How—?!"
Lillian pressed a finger to her lips. "Quiet. Please."
Lana gulped and nodded, trembling but silent. Lillian stepped forward, wind tugging at her cloak as she peered northward.
The mana, which had felt like a low hum at ground level, now roared across the air like an oncoming storm. The earth itself pulsed—a deep, ancient rhythm that didn't belong anywhere near a peaceful trading town.
Then the cobblestone road on the far side of Craeme buckled upward. Shouts rose from below. Birds scattered. A wave of dust burst into the sky.
And from beneath the earth…A massive shape heaved itself out of the ground, shaking dirt and rubble from its immense frame.
Its scales resembled cracked stone; its horns curled like fossilized iron. The creature's molten-gold eyes opened, burning with primordial fury.
An Earth Dragon—not a young one, but full-grown.
Lana's breath hitched in her throat. "Th—that's… impossible. Dragons aren't supposed to come anywhere near populated areas!"
"They don't," Lillian said softly. "Not unless something drove it out."
Nero hissed. "Or something enraged it."
Below them, the town erupted into panic. Merchants fled their stalls. Children cried for their parents. Guards shouted orders, struggling to form coherent defensive lines.
But Lillian's gaze fixed sharply on one detail. The dragon wasn't rampaging blindly. It was looking—searching—for something.
Her heart sank.
"…It's reacting to mana. Strong sorcery."
And the strongest source with that much mana nearby…was Glenn.
Earth dragons had no wings and couldn't fly, but the sharp claws protruding from their heavy limbs were threatening enough on their own.
Next to the dragon, a dozen or so soldiers were fighting it with arrows and spears. And there was one more figure, flitting through the air above the earth dragon. With her farsight spell, Lillian could
clearly make him out—it was the young man with dirty-blond hair who had helped them earlier.
He was using his magecraft to fly around the earth dragon, trying to draw its attacks away from the soldiers on the ground. When he hadthe chance, he'd land and use a fireball spell to attack it directly. His
fireballs were about the size of a circle formed by two adults joining hands. They created powerful, flashy explosions, but dragons were resistant to mana. His attacks weren't even slowing this one down.
Even against lesser dragons, one had to use high-powered spells and aim directly between their eyes. Otherwise, defeating one was impossible. The only person with offensive magecraft powerful enough to take on a dragon without such precise aim was the Artillery Mage, one of the Seven Sages.
"Hey, Lillian," Nero said. "That guy. Why isn't he attacking from the air?"
As Nero pointed out, Glenn would land every time he wanted to use an affensive spell. Then, when he was finished, he'd take to the air again and evade the earth dragon's attacks. It must have struck her familiar as inefficent.
"It's hard for most mages to maintain two spells at the same time," she explained.
"Huh," said Nero, nodding significantly. "You use multiple spells all the time, so I figured all makes could."
Rather than respond to Nero's banter, Lillian maintained her farsight spell and calculated the distance between the clock tower and the earth dragon. The dragon, the young man, and the young
man's fireball—she quietly waited until the moment all three lined up perfectly.
She stood, unblinking, even as a gust of wind blew in from the window and caused her hair to sway. Her usual childlike, nervous expression melted from her face. Her green eyes reflected the sunlight, sparkling and turning the color of majestic purple.
The moment came.
…There it is.
................
Damn it… damn it… why isn't anything working?
Glenn's thoughts spiraled in tight, panicked circles as he veered sharply away from the dragon's snapping jaws, the wind whistling past his ears with every desperate adjustment to his flight spell. His offensive magic hadn't so much as scratched the creature.
A soldier below—older, weathered, bow in hand—cupped a hand to his mouth. "Are you all right up there?!"
"I—I'm fine! Everything's fine up here!" Glenn called back, though he doubted anyone would be convinced by the thinness of his voice.
He didn't know a single one of Craeme's defenders; he wasn't even from the town. He was just an apprentice mage who happened to be passing through—someone who'd sprinted toward the explosion instead of away from it, because that's what his master would've done.
And yet, this was all he could manage.
As an apprentice, he had only two spells at his disposal: Flight and Fireball. He couldn't use them simultaneously, and his fireballs had infamously short range and abysmal accuracy. They were powerful enough, at least, so he had hoped—naively—that landing a solid hit would make a difference.
But even after a direct strike, the earth dragon's stone-like scales remained unblemished.
I should've listened to Master.
If only he had spent more time practicing precision instead of celebrating the potency of his fire. Now he was paying for that arrogance—running full tilt across uneven ground, panting so hard his ribs ached, all while muttering his chant faster than was remotely safe.
Chanting while sprinting at top speed was its own special kind of torture.
He stumbled through the final verse of the incantation and felt the spell weave into place. Digging his heels in, he whirled, aimed for the tiny vulnerable space between the dragon's eyes, and hurled an oversized fireball with everything he had.
The spell hit—not the eyes, but the side of the creature's massive head—bursting into a cascade of embers.
And that was all. Not even a flinch.
It's useless… I can't hit the one place that matters.His stomach twisted. He was outmatched, out-skilled, and running out of breath. At this rate, he wasn't going to slow the monster—he was going to get people killed by failing.
But there was something neither he nor the soldiers noticed.
Hidden within the fireball's blazing trajectory—masked perfectly by its spray of sparks—another projectile shot forward. A slender arrow, no thicker than a branch, but drenched in potent mana. Layer upon layer of reinforcement spells wrapped around it like invisible armor.
And it flew with merciless precision.
The arrow pierced the earth dragon cleanly between the eyes.
A beat of stunned silence followed.
Then the beast released a bone-shaking roar, toppled backward, and crashed heavily into the earth, sending dust billowing into the sky.
For a long moment, no one moved. Then—shouts erupted all at once.
"We did it!"
"We actually killed it!"
"You got it between the eyes! Incredible!"
Rough hands clapped Glenn on the back, jostling him as soldiers who had moments ago been bracing for death now beamed at him with relief and admiration.
Glenn stared at the fallen dragon. A blackened scorch mark marred the exact center of its forehead.
There was no mistaking it. It had been slain by fire magic.
"Heh… heh-heh…" Glenn tried to wave off their praise, cheeks flushing with a mixture of disbelief and giddy relief. "No, no, that must've been… um… just a very lucky shot."
But the corners of his mouth curled upward despite himself.
For the first time since the fight began, he allowed the faintest spark of pride to settle in his chest.
....................
From the uppermost window of Craeme's old clocktower, Lillian watched the earth dragon's colossal body settle in a final shudder before falling still. Only when she'd confirmed the complete absence of mana flow did she release her farsight spell, the faint shimmer fading from her eyes.
"Is it over?" Nero asked, lounging across the window ledge in his human form, chin resting smugly atop her head.
"Yeah," Lillian murmured.
Hitting a dragon between the eyes was not difficult for her. Doing so without being seen, without chanting, and while masking the true origin of the spell—all while several combatants were targeting the same point—that was the part that took finesse.
Earlier, she had watched Glenn, struggle valiantly beneath the dragon's onslaught. His fireballs had been strong but imprecise. So she had woven a remote formula, launching a flaming arrow timed perfectly to ride the wake of his spell.
To anyone watching, it would appear the apprentice had landed a miraculous shot.
Remote magecraft was powerful, yes—but its precision decayed drastically with distance. Executing it cleanly, silently, and in motion was something only a mage of the highest caliber could hope to accomplish.
Someone like the Silent Witch.
Lillian shifted her gaze upward, attempting to lift Nero's chin off her head.
"…Nero. You're heavy."
"Hah! That's gratitude?" Nero scoffed, rubbing his jaw against her crown with exaggerated offense. "I carried you all the way up here. I worked very hard. In fact, I deserve a reward. Something with chicken. Preferably salted enough to numb the tongue."
"I doubt any food stalls are still open, Nero," Lillian sighed. The town had only just stopped shaking from the disaster.
Below them, the streets were gradually regaining their rhythm. Merchants warily reopened shutters; townsfolk ventured out, murmuring with relief. A few of the more daring were already creeping toward the fallen dragon—likely hoping to salvage a scale or two.
"Humans bounce back fast," Nero mused.
"…I don't," Lillian muttered, shoulders shrinking.
"Mm?" Nero hooked a finger under her chin and tilted her face upward, grinning down at her. "You haven't noticed?"
"…Noticed what?"
"She is right here," he said pointedly.
Lillian blinked. He was right. A rustle behind them—silk against old wooden floorboards—made Lillian stiffen.
She turned.
Lana stood a few steps away, parasol in hand, her eyes wide—not with fear, but with sharp, dawning comprehension.
Lana had been silent since arriving at the top with them, still pale from the chaos in the streets. But now her gaze drifted from the smoking corpse of the dragon… to the distant battlefield Glenn had fled toward… to Lillian, standing quietly beside an inhumanly handsome "young man" she called by name.
Her expression tightened with the faintest tremor.
"…That shot," Lana whispered. "The one that killed the dragon."
Lillian's heart dropped.
Lana's voice was soft—almost reverent—but edged with disbelief.
"It didn't come from that man, did it?"
Lillian swallowed. Lana stepped closer. Not accusing—simply trying to fit the impossible pieces together.
"No chant. No visible spell signature. A remote formula so precise it struck the only weak point…" Her breath caught. "There's only one mage alive who can do that."
Nero smirked, teeth flashing. "Took you long enough."
Lillian's pulse hammered in her throat. Lana pressed a hand to her mouth, eyes widening as the truth crystallized.
"You… Lillian… you're the—" She lowered her voice to a trembling whisper. "—the Silent Witch."
Lillian froze, unable to deny it. She could only meet Lana's gaze, small and overwhelmed atop the clocktower as the wind curled around them.
Lana exhaled—in awe, in shock, and perhaps in a hint of fear. And Lillian, hands twisting anxiously in her sleeves, wished she knew how to disappear without magic.
Below is a continuation of the scene—Lana's reaction, Lillian's panic, and Nero's commentary—written in a polished, emotional, immersive tone that fits seamlessly with the previous excerpt.
For a heartbeat, the world fell utterly silent.
Lillian could hear nothing but the wind sighing through the clocktower's beams and the frantic, uneven rhythm of her own breathing. Lana stood before her, parasol trembling at her side, pale hair stirred by the draft.
The young lady's lips parted—slowly, carefully—as though she feared the truth might shatter if spoken too loudly.
"…You're the Silent Witch."
The title hung in the air like a sacred invocation.
Lillian felt her stomach lurch. Her hands flew instinctively to her sleeves, twisting them with desperate force. She took a step back—then another—until her back bumped into the cold brick wall.
"I—I'm not— I mean, I—"
Her voice failed her completely. Panic constricted her chest, squeezing her breath into shallow, trembling gasps. Not now. Oh stars, not now—
Nero sighed, folding his arms. "Here we go…"
But he didn't sound annoyed—not really. If anything, there was a faint, patient resignation, as if he'd always known this moment was inevitable. Lana, however, looked torn between awe and apology.
"I didn't mean to corner you," she said quickly, stepping forward but stopping just short of touching her. "I'm sorry, Lillian—I truly am. It's just—" Her voice quavered. "I watched that spell. The precision, the power… there is no one else in the entire world who could possibly—"
"P-please don't say it out loud…" Lillian whispered, sliding down the wall until she was half-sitting, half-collapsed. Her shoulders shook. "I'm not—I never wanted—"
Her breath hitched again.
Nero crouched beside her and gave a light flick to her forehead. "Hey. Breathe, Master. She's not attacking you."
"I—I know," Lillian squeaked, clinging to her sleeves until her knuckles turned white.
Lana immediately knelt before her, parasol abandoned on the floorboards. Her eyes softened, all apprehension fading into genuine, gentle worry.
"Lillian," she murmured, "look at me."
Lillian didn't.
"Please," Lana said more firmly, "look at me."
Hesitantly—very hesitantly—Lillian raised her eyes. And found no fear there. No disgust. No accusation. Only astonishment, warmth, and something painfully sincere.
"…You saved the entire town," Lana whispered. "You saved that man. You saved me. You saved everyone."
Lillian blinked, stunned.
"I don't care what title you bear," Lana continued. "Silent Witch, Seven Sage… or simply Lillian. You protected all of us."
Nero clicked his tongue. "See? Told you she wouldn't faint or run screaming."
Lillian's face heated as she tried to curl smaller, but Lana gently seized her hands, stopping her from hiding.
"And," Lana added softly, "you don't have to be afraid of me knowing. I won't tell a soul."
"…Y-you won't?" Lillian whispered, voice thin and trembling.
"Of course not." Lana squeezed her hands with both of hers. "You're my friend."
The word struck Lillian harder than the dragon's fall.
Friend. Her breath caught—and then slowly, shakily, she exhaled.
Nero grinned smugly. "Well, now that that heart-throbbing confession is settled… can we please go get that chicken?"
"N-Nero!" Lillian squeaked.
Lana, despite everything, laughed—a breathless, relieved sound that eased the lingering tension.
And for the first time since the dragon appeared, Lillian felt something in her chest loosen. Maybe… maybe this world wasn't as terrifying as she feared.
Her chest tightened—not with panic, but with the realization of its absence. Until recently, she couldn't even look at Nero in human form without trembling uncontrollably. And yet… now she was simply annoyed by the weight on her head.
Nero gave her a crooked smile. "Face it. You've gotten stronger."
"…Maybe," she murmured, though a faint loosening softened her expression.