Fate (2)
Elijah fiddled with the ear of her black cat doll. Sitting at her desk, she sank deep into thought.
Something's off.
She needed to uncover the cause of this strangeness. Drawing on her knowledge and information, she began to speculate. Since it involved magic, she would have to test it with magic as well. She clenched and unclenched her small hands. Her short fingers wriggled. Gazing down at her furrowed brow, she pressed the doll close to her body—just in case it might get singed by fire. With her other hand, she invoked her magic.
A soft, glowing flame bloomed in her palm, golden in hue. Red-tipped flickers danced at its edges. She glanced at the mirror on her desk. Her eyes shimmered distinctly: red, orange, yellow. When bloodline mages like her cast spells, it showed externally. For the Bebel family, it manifested in their eyes. Hers and Valak's, at least. Before her birthday, the power sealed away within her had never manifested strongly. A matchstick flame was the limit. Back then, her eyes stayed normal even when she used magic.
But now, they changed. The dangerous power that had hurt her mother as a child—it had always altered her eye color when it raged beyond her control. Which meant she had fully reclaimed that power.
But why...?
The mad fire everyone whispered about in terror—it didn't whisper to her. The force that once urged her to burn and destroy everything around her was silent. An awkward hush. Before the seal, the fire tempted her even when she wasn't using it. She could barely sleep. Only in her mother's arms, lulled by gentle lullabies, did she manage to drift off—and even then, she often woke. Once, she lost control and hurt her mother...
Elijah shook her head, banishing the unpleasant memory. She buried her face in the red blanket draped around her neck. It carried a comforting scent, one that soothed her mind. She turned her thoughts back to the matter at hand.
Why is this happening?
Had she gained perfect control? That didn't quite fit. Back in the magic research lab, when she awakened it, she heard the whispers. The same seductive lures as before. Gestures pulling her into a pit of violence. Burn them all. Kill everything. The silence started then...
...Judas.
Only in that fleeting moment when she held his hand. One more clue: this morning, she had slept alongside Judas. Looking back, it had been odd from the start. Uncharacteristically impulsive for her. She hadn't been able to sleep—not from insomnia or nightmares. Sardis's face and touch haunted her like a demon. And then she thought of Judas. She tried teleportation, and it worked. She slipped under his covers and hugged him. Just like embracing her mother. Like clutching the doll her mother had given her as a child. Now buried with her mother in the grave. Judas had been warm, cozy. Sardis's phantasm vanished like mist. A reassuring chill flowed into her body. Similar to the texture she sensed when Judas used mana before. No other emotions. Just a vague awareness that, as a noble, she shouldn't have done it. That was all.
It felt like the Moon Church's holy power...
She had no direct experience with holy power, so she couldn't be sure. But it was similar yet different—that much she knew. She was acutely sensitive to intangible forces like mana and holy power. The Bebel family embodied the sun's heat, inheriting hot, perilous fire magic. The Helios imperial family, another sun-worshipping powerhouse, symbolized the sun's light. No mages had emerged from their line. Instead, they were blessed with superior holy power generation after generation. Thus, the Helios emperor also served as the pope of the Sun Church.
And the Moon Church. Ancient scriptures claimed the sun and moon were once one. A past now rejected as heresy.
I need to look into it.
She had studied various myths and scriptures, but not with a theologian's depth—especially not eras before the current world, the mythic age called the Age of Genesis.
Elijah headed to the mansion's library with Lia. She could ask Judas directly, but she wanted prior intel first. She hated assigned lessons but quite enjoyed reading, so she had amassed quite the collection.
"Miss, what brings you here?"
The librarian greeted her.
"I'm looking for books on the mythic age. Especially ones mentioning both sun and moon. Category doesn't matter—anything."
"Understood. I'll fetch them right away."
Elijah sat on the waiting bench, hugging her cat doll. Various theories crossed her mind while she waited, but none satisfied. Lia watched her intently, deep emotions hidden in her black eyes—unseen by Elijah.
The librarian returned promptly.
"I may need to search more, but here are five to start."
Elijah skimmed them. One was a fairy tale. Her vague instructions were to blame, not the librarian. She flipped it open for a quick read. An old tale centered on sun and moon. Childish fare. The sun and moon clung as one. But the moon suffered from the sun's heat. The sun adored the moon terribly, wanting it close despite the pain. It hoped the moon would endure. In the end, it let the moon go far away. Hurting the moon was like gnawing its own flesh. Instead, it watched from afar. Its light touched the moon, making it shine. The moon's phases? The sun viewing from different angles. An educational nod to reality.
Elijah let out a weary chuckle.
Fitting for a fairy tale.
She handed the fairy tale back.
"Exclude this. Leave the rest in my room when you find more. No fairy tales next time."
"Yes, miss. As you wish."
Lia picked up three books. Elijah read one on the way back to her study. The preface from an ancient scripture, now heretical. In the distant past, the mythic age. When stars governed order. The primordial being of gold sealed the void's evil god with the unified power of sun and moon, granting this land to humanity. Golden eyes became the symbol of the world's savior. A clichéd yarn. Not what she needed now.
Golden eyes...
Judas came to mind. Not noble—beastly. A street orphan as world savior. Fairy-tale stuff. And her own image surfaced. From afar, her mad-fire eyes looked golden, pupils aglow.
Elijah smirked. She didn't buy the book's claims, but world savior? No interest. If someone attacked her world, she'd shatter theirs. That was it.
Back in her study—no tutor reassigned yet, so self-study filled her days. She'd study sun and moon on her own time. She set the book aside. Sipping tea Lia brewed, she opened her last read.
She pinpointed her previous spot.
[Fate is fulfilled precisely by the act of trying to evade it.]
On human life, free will, fate. A cruel word for humanity. If life was inevitable, what value did will and effort hold? Elijah had long concluded otherwise. If fate ruled either way, she'd forge her path. She bound herself to her chosen fate: annihilate the Bebel family, honor her mother's rest. After? Who knew. Freedom held little appeal. But why did Judas evoke fate?
A dazzling boy, painfully bright. Defying Valak and Narcissus shocked and thrilled her. She'd never laughed so hard. Beyond bold—fearless? No. She saw his clenched fists tremble against Valak. He was terrified. Yet he stood firm. Chose will over death. Defended her, risking all. First since her mother's passing. Sycophants abandoned her for higher powers. Not Judas. To the end. Like a flame: unhesitant, even in fading. He'd even defied Narcissus out of sight. Impressive. Cherry-picking acts to please her, unseen.
Elijah had to admit it. A colored being invaded her faded world. Ivory chill like the moon. Red blaze like fire. Sometimes, golden eyes like the sun—multifaceted, shining in her life.
But how did he know the duchess struck me?
She figured instinctual deduction. She did it herself: state thin hypotheses as fact, gauge reactions. For a commoner, Judas was exceptional—plausible. She couldn't know if he lacked such intellect or psychological acumen. A recent book surfaced.
The dialectic of master and slave...
Elijah couldn't die, no matter what. Even death-granted wishes she'd refuse. Meaningless without her own hands. Judas? Unyielding, even in death. On the guillotine, he'd scream his truths and freedom. Polar opposites. Like thesis and antithesis seeking synthesis. Opposites meeting, birthing a new aim.
Elijah chuckled. They weren't equals. No intent to synthesize. Still, the question lingered.
Could you and I become the synthesis?
Lia watched silently, a warm smile rare on her face. Elijah hugged her doll dear, legs swinging excitedly—adorable, childlike. A sight long unseen.
Then, a knock. Disrupting study time—thus important.
"Come in."
Miguel entered.
"What is it?"
"We found this."
He handed her something.
"Paper? Blank."
"Yes. But traces of use remain."
Elijah examined it, turning it every way. She heated it with a fingertip flame—no heat-reactive ink. Faint indentations under her fingers, though crumples muddied it.
"Likely a secret order scribbled here."
Plausible. But Elijah focused elsewhere.
Residual magic etched on the paper...
Mages could cast or store via mediums like artifacts—or paper, temporarily. What spell? When used? Unknown.
"Where'd you find it?"
"A servant during cleaning. Exact spot unclear. But near the guard candidate selection area, per testimony. Speculative."
"I see..."
No content hampered guesses. Old paper. Current nobles? Past? Or stray from outside?
No recent magic near the mansion...
Not certain. Pre-awakening, she might've missed it. Instinct pointed to a likely hypothesis. Thin clue: near candidate selection.
The assassin's?
Content unknown. Spell type. Other notes? Discarding something vital suggested...
Success or failure ends the assassin's role. No matter who finds it. No clues to backers.
The dead assassin bore no hints. Tossed while awaiting her? Fit.
Just speculation. Biased by knowns. Subjective.
She'd investigate methodically.
"Can we restore it? Heavy damage."
"I'll find a specialist."
"Fine. If not, so be it."
No restoration? Regrettable, but the paper itself yielded clues. Elijah eyed Miguel, then smiled slyly.
"Haven't fully decided yet, have you?"
Miguel swallowed. He'd kept neutral, but the girl saw through. Always. Expert at unmasking others, never revealing her own—save one.
"Insurance for worst-case?"
"......"
"Think wisely. While you have time. I'll remember today."
"...Thank you, miss."
Time to divide allies from foes.
Days passed. Routine repeated. Hearty breakfast, then training camp. Post-training dinner, back home. Tended Elijah and Yuel, then sleep. Occasional private lessons with Gawain. Spare time: conditioning. No incidents. Perhaps thanks to Anna and the soldier Elijah assigned for escorts. She'd soon assign a formal guard. Guard candidate's guard—odd phrasing, but welcome.
Elijah hadn't revisited his bedroom. Relief. Once was enough heart-stopping ordeal. Though sometimes, her scent lingered on his hands—who knew why. Residual from sharing the bed?
Dreamt of someone touching my hand a few times... Weird dreams.
No special guild news. Matters to discuss, but no chance. Wished for updates. Finally, the first candidate exam scheduled.
Dilemma.
Normally, skip it...
No intent to be guard. Nor stoke Elijah's interest. He knew he stood out. Acknowledged. Her personality demanded it. Some injustice...
A bit, anyway. He'd just met provocations head-on, as always. That mess piqued her? Caught attention, sure—but sustained? No clue.
But.
Skipping entirely? Suspicious too...
He'd acted most eager. Private lessons with Gawain? Elijah misconstrued as such.
Skip the exam? Too glaring.
Conclusion: Take it.
Pass or fail? Unknown. First exam details fuzzy. Half-hearted flop? Odd, given his all-or-nothing prior.
Whatever outcome... Give best shot.
Elijah likely expected pass. He'd triumphed impossibles before. Inertia. This time too.
Follow? Less intriguing.
Failure happens. Mundane shortfall—no drama.
Passing one doesn't make guard.
Many tests ahead. One fine.
Later, slip away when interest wanes...
'Twist of Fate, Dawn of Causality.'
A new quest. ...?
He vaguely knew fate. Playable characters' main quests were called fates.
Does Judas have one?
Main quest progress grants rewards. Unique ones. Hidden quests gave growth: traits, stats. Items too, someday. Main quests? No growth. Guidance for path ahead...
[1. Comic Interlude]
[2. Tragic Verse]
...Fragmented futures. Frozen scenes. Inevitable for certain figures. Comic or tragic—unchangeable fate. No thwarting.
Comedy shows good fortunes, tragedy horrors.
Inevitable events. Timing, cause, aftermath unknown. Good ones? No need preview. But tragedy...
[Tragic Verse selected.]
Fated. But he loathed predestination. He'd struggle. As always. Winless, but.
Blind tragedy? No.
Elijah killing me? Maybe.
[Yes.]
Scenes assembled in his mind. Puzzle fragments filling a frame. Layered, inevitable tragedy: his future.
Location... Elijah's adjacent room—mine now. Two people.
One on the bed: him.
Other: woman. Elijah?
Sharing a bed. Faces unseen. He lay still, asleep. She sat atop him, seemingly.
Scene incomplete.
What're we...
Final piece. Complete.
...Huh?
In the tragic frame, Elijah strangled his throat.