Common Denominator

When Serenya’s eyes fluttered open, the first thing she saw was Elira’s—worried and almost tearful face.

“You’re awake, m’lady!” the maid gasped, her voice breaking with relief. She looked moments away from sobbing as she fumbled with her apron. “I’ll fetch a basin of warm water for you.” Without waiting for an answer, she hurried out, skirts rustling in her panic.

Serenya tried to push herself upright, only for a sharp ache to spread through her body. Every muscle screamed in protest. Her thoughts reeled back to the fight, to the knife that had grazed her arm. That must’ve been it.

A faint shift in the air drew her gaze. Natalia slipped soundlessly through the window, landing gracefully before kneeling at her side.

“What happened to me?” She rasped, pressing a trembling palm to her fevered forehead. Her head felt unbearably heavy, as though weighed down by iron.

“You were injected with a deadly poison,” Natalia said evenly.

Serenya’s pulse spiked. “Then why am I still alive?”

Natalia’s gaze flickered to her arm, then back to her eyes. “I believe it was because the poison was forged with magic. And before it could destroy you, your magic obliterated it. What you’re feeling now… is the result of exhaustion from both the poison and last night’s fight.”

She exhaled shakily, torn between relief and unease. “And you? You touched the blade. How are you unscathed?”

Natalia’s lips curved into the faintest, humorless smile. “I’m immune to poison, m’lady.”

Serenya let out a dry scoff. “Of course, you are.” She pushed herself upright, wincing at the stiffness in her body. “How long was I out?”

“Half a day,” Natalia replied. “You missed your morning classes. Your maid, Elira, told your grandfather you were unwell and couldn’t attend.”

Serenya huffed a laugh, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Of course she did. How… unpredictable.”

She waved the thought aside, and her expression became serious. “Did you find anything while I was unconscious?”

Natalia produced a folded sheet of parchment and handed it over. “The assassin’s name is Angela Barclay. Formally known as Angela, daughter of Ulric—an apothecary doctor. She was adopted by the Barclay family for her talent in medicine. But… she doesn’t live with them anymore.”

Serenya unfolded the paper, her eyes skimming the neat, concise notes. Adopted at eight. Announced to society as a prodigy after the adoption. Yet Serenya had never once heard her name.

“A commoner at birth, I see. Why isn’t she living with them?” she asked without looking up.

“There’s tension between Angela and the Barclay heirs. Word is she never got along with the real children of the house.”

Serenya gave a knowing nod. She didn’t need the full story to understand what’s happening.

“Let me guess,” she murmured. “They paraded her as their golden child, but when she failed to make the ‘impact’ they wanted, she became an embarrassment. So they cast her aside. They just let her keep their name as a mask for their failed investment.”

Her eyes lingered on the last line of the report. A faint smirk touched her lips. “No wonder she hates nobles.”

Did Serenya feel sympathy for Angela’s sob story? Perhaps. She understood all too well what it meant to be paraded for your talents, used until you were wrung dry, then discarded the moment you lost value.

Sometimes desperation made you accept the bait, even when you knew it was poison.

And in Angela’s case, it was clear she wasn’t acting alone. Someone had to be backing her. The sheer cost of attending Arclight Academy was more than a common apothecary’s family could hope to earn in years.

So who’s paying the bill? Serenya mused, eyes narrowing. Whoever it was, they were close—closer than they wanted her to know.

She flicked the parchment back to Natalia. “Investigate her circle. Watch who she speaks to, who keeps her company. Our real enemy isn’t far.”

Natalia tucked the notes away with a silent nod.

Serenya flexed her right hand, clenching and unclenching her fingers as if testing their strength. “For now, I need to focus on physical training. This body is too weak.”

Natalia raised a brow. “Do you want my help?”

Serenya allowed herself the faintest smile. “That would be a great help. Thank you.”

The door burst open, and Elira hurried in with a basin balanced carefully in her hands.

“My lady, forgive the delay. Divina—Lady Dawncrest’s attendant—stopped me to ask about your well-being.” She spoke as though it were the most natural, harmless thing in the world, then set the basin of water neatly on the lamp desk.

Serenya flicked her gaze toward where Natalia had been standing only moments ago, but—unsurprisingly—she was already gone.

“What did you say?” She asked, her voice calm, though irritation pricked at the edges of her composure.

Why would Celestia care about my condition? The thought was bitter. Nothing about that woman’s concern could be genuine. Angela was her acquaintance, perhaps even her pawn. Using a servant to pry under the guise of kindness was a move Serenya almost admired for its audacity. Almost. And her poor attendant was too blameless to realize she’d been turned into bait.

But they hadn’t accounted for Elira’s noisy and people-pleasing personality. The maid innocently tells her everything, probably mainly because the latter seeks her approval.

“Elira,” Serenya said softly.

The maid immediately turned, then dropped to her knees beside the bed. “Yes, my lady.”

“Not everyone here is kind because they mean it,” Serenya murmured.

Elira flinched as if struck, confusion and shame rising in her downcast eyes.

“I’m not blaming you,” she continued, reaching out to lift Elira’s chin with delicate fingers. “You’re simply… too innocent for this world.”

Elira’s lips trembled. “I… I didn’t realize. I thought they were being kind to you. I was mistaken.” Her voice wavered a bit, and her eyes shone with unshed tears. “Forgive me, my lady. I’m deeply sorry for causing you trouble again.”

Serenya studied her quietly. Yes, Elira was likely her grandfather’s mole, bound by orders and reward. But beneath that was just a girl forced into a role she didn’t fully understand. A girl trapped—just as she had once been—forced to play along in a world where innocence was not a shield, but a liability.

“Please don’t send me away.” Elira’s voice wavered, soft but desperate. “I have nowhere to go… I beg you, my lady.” Her hands twisted in her lap, trembling. “I—I promise this won’t happen again. I swear!”

Serenya’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, nowhere to go?”

“I…” Elira’s voice cracked, caught between fear and shame. She hesitated, then forced the words out. “My father… before he died, he owed a great deal of money to some very dangerous people.” Her head sank lower, shoulders trembling. “If I lose this job, they said they’ll take me—sell me to a slave trader. That’s what awaits me if I’m cast out. So please, my lady… I’m begging you.”

Serenya exhaled slowly with an unreadable expression. “Even if I wanted to dismiss you, I couldn’t. My grandfather is the one who hired you, and only he has the authority to release you.”

Elira’s head lifted slightly, eyes flickering with fragile relief.

“Besides,” Serenya added, her tone edged with dry honesty, “I don’t exactly get along with the other maids. So, in a way, I don’t have much of a choice either.”

A muffled “thank you” slipped from Elira’s lips as she bowed deeply, her forehead nearly brushing the floor.

“Stop that,” Serenya said sharply. “Lift your head.”

Elira froze, startled by the sudden command.

Serenya hates that gesture. It’s a gesture that she’d been accustomed to in her previous life whenever she was being scolded for making the simplest mistakes.

“If you want to stay with me, then start by apologizing properly—by looking me in the eye, not groveling at my feet.”

She heard Elira’s breath hitch, probably stunned from such words, but then she nodded quickly. Her hands fumbled against her skirts as she raised her gaze and looked at her.

Now, help me dress. I have a class to attend later.” Serenya shifted the subject, rising from her bed and moving to the cupboard.

“But, my lady… are you sure?” Elira hovered close, her voice soft, almost pleading—like an angel whispering caution on her shoulder. “I already told your grandfather you’d be absent today. He expects you to rest.”

“I can’t miss this one,” Serenya replied flatly, pulling out a simple dress and laying it across the bed. “I have to go.” Her tone left little room for argument. She turned, fixing Elira with a steady look. “Well? Are you going to help me, or not?”

Elira hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line before she bowed her head slightly, out of habit, and silently obeyed.