A few days later, we finally returned to Lady Seraphine's homeland — a quiet western territory far from the capital, tucked between valleys and golden farmlands the maps barely bothered to emphasize. Again I expected emptiness, ruin, silent mourning, and survivors with sunken eyes and ribs like shadows. After all, the kingdom was still suffering from famine and mysterious sickness — the kind that withered crops, weakened livestock, and stole children before their tenth year.
Instead… I smelled bread.
Fresh bread. The air was clean and fresh!
The moment we crossed the wooden bridge leading toward the village square, the scent of warm yeast, herbs, and roasted corn filled the air. Farmers hurried forward carrying baskets overflowing with fruits — ripe apples, sun-golden pears, and grapes so plump they looked unreal. Children ran barefoot toward our horses holding sticks of grilled fish seasoned with something I didn't recognize. Someone even offered fresh milk still warm from milking.
My men stared, not even breathing.
One whispered, voice cracking, "Captain… are we dead?"
Another muttered, "If this is heaven, bury me here."
I couldn't answer. All I could see was life — real, vibrant, thriving life — in a territory that should have been starving like every other region west of the capital. The people were not pale nor weak. They looked healthy, strong, and oddly happy, with cheeks touched by color like blooming roses. Their clothes were clean, their roofs repaired, their marketplace alive with chatter.
It made no sense.
Not politically
Not magically
Not agriculturally
And certainly not logically.
When we reached the mansion, the anomaly only intensified.
The Duke — Lady Seraphine's father — personally waited at the grand entrance with his retainers, dressed not in mourning black nor dull fabrics, but in ceremonial wine-colored garments threaded with gold. A formal feast was prepared inside, longer and richer than any I had seen in the capital these past months: roasted fowl stuffed with herbs, steaming vegetable stew, butter-glazed potatoes, honey cakes, smoked meat, even preserved fruits stored inside crystal jars.
My men almost cried. I nearly joined them. While I saw lady Seraphine and her maid went to the kitchen, still talking about tomatoes and salt.
This territory wasn't simply surviving — it was flourishing.
As dusk deepened into night, servants brought out wine, musicians played quietly in the corner, and the Duke insisted we eat as if we had not eaten in weeks. My men laughed, relaxed, and some even danced with local ladies. But I could not. Something wasn't right, and that unease sat in my chest like a stone.
Later, when the celebration finally calmed, I requested a private audience with the Duke in his study. The crackling fireplace cast dim shadows while a cooling breeze slipped through the window. He poured me a glass of amber wine but did not drink himself.
"Your territory is flourishing, I thought when we first arrived here a few days ago, I was hallucinating, " I began carefully. "While the rest of the kingdom is dying."
He smiled faintly, but it did not reach his eyes.
"There are times," he replied slowly, "when blessings fall where they are least expected."
A vague answer — politicians' favorite shield.
I hesitated, but then spoke the real question.
"About Lady Seraphine… Is she truly without magic?"
His expression changed — just slightly, just enough for me to feel the shift in the air.
He sighed, then stared at the flickering flames.
"Since birth, Seraphine had no magic… not even a trace of mana within her body. Every child tests for first-spark before age five — she had none. No mana circle, no elemental affinity, no spiritual resistance. She was what our scholars call the empty vessel."
Empty.
The same woman who casually obliterated dark magic in the mines…
Who created food that boosted morale and strength…
Whose presence felt like quiet pressure, like magic disguised behind laughter.
He continued, voice turning softer, nostalgic.
"But she was lively — reckless, clumsy, and impossibly kind. The people adored her. She helped farmers harvest grain even when she fainted under the sun. She cared for the sick even though she could catch illness twice as easily. She was not powerful… but she was loved."
A silence settled, heavy and uncomfortable.
Then his tone darkened.
"Everything changed when she fell ill a few weeks ago. A strange fever — no healer, no cleric, no priest could cure. She survived, yes… but when she awoke, she lost pieces of herself. Memories, habits, innocence."
His eyes trembled slightly.
"She became someone else — still Seraphine, yet… not."
I leaned forward slowly.
"What do you mean, Your Grace?"
He looked at me with something between fear and hope.
"She laughs, but differently. She speaks, but sharper. She acts like she remembers things that never existed in our world. And sometimes… when she thinks no one sees… she looks lost. As if she is trying to remember a life that was never hers."
A chill ran across my spine.
The mines.
The vanishing dark magic.
The strange inventions.
The uncanny brilliance.
I forced myself to remain composed, though my heart beat unevenly.
"Do you believe she is dangerous?"
The Duke's eyes glistened with emotions I could not decipher.
"I believe," he whispered, "my daughter did not return alone."