Meeting a Young Lady

 Lady Elowen Ravencourt’s office was a fortress of order and silence. Bookshelves lined with ancient grimoires stood like sentinels. Tall windows filtered the light into golden blades, and the immaculate ebony desk at the center supported documents arranged with absolute precision.  Lysielle stopped in front of Lady Elowen’s desk. She could never quite get used to this. Her mother’s presence was suffocating — and she hadn’t even spoken a single word yet. Everything about her radiated power, from her long, snow-white hair to her golden eyes that seemed to see straight through one’s soul.  Elowen didn’t even lift her head upon noticing her daughter’s presence. She simply spoke: — You caused quite the commotion in the arena — she said, her tone unchanging. — Caine and Vellatrice are still breathing, I presume?  — Unfortunately. — Lysielle replied, her voice carrying a thin thread of restrained irony.  Her mother nodded slightly, emotionless. She kept writing, the quill gliding with the fluidity of someone who had long replaced feelings with decisions.  Then, without warning: — The Imperial Academy has confirmed your admission. You depart at dawn.  For a moment, something inside Lysielle snapped. Her stomach tightened as if she had swallowed stones.  The Imperial Academy.  She knew exactly what being sent there meant. Every noble child did.  It wasn’t a place of glory. It was a silent execution ground. There, talent wasn’t tested to flourish… but to survive.  And almost no one came back. And those who did… never came back the same.  Deep inside, she wanted to ask why. But she couldn’t disobey her mother — so she merely straightened her shoulders.  — ...Understood. — she finally said.  Her voice came out steady. Only steady. The rest, she buried deep within her chest.  Elowen stopped writing. For the first time, she lifted her eyes — tired, but sharp. — I expected more resistance — she said, as if studying a rare coin with mild interest.  — I… only wish to meet your expectations, my lady. — Lysielle replied, her sincerity quietly restrained.  She couldn’t deny the fear in her chest. But she refused to disappoint her.  Elowen studied her daughter in silence. Something in her gaze seemed to hesitate — as if she wanted to say more, or perhaps saw an old reflection in the young woman’s face. But Elowen was a Ravencourt to the bone. And Ravencourts do not waver.  — So be it, then.  Lysielle bowed her head slightly. Not as one obeying — but as one showing respect. And, with the firm steps she had learned to master since childhood, she turned and left.  The door closed behind her, silence reclaiming the room. And for the first time that morning, Lady Elowen’s lips curved ever so slightly into a satisfied smile.  Elowen remained motionless for a while. Then, as if speaking to herself — or perhaps to a distant memory — she whispered, resting her chin on one hand:  — Good luck… my daughter.  After some time, the door opened softly. — Lady Elowen?... — called Myra, bowing slightly before taking her place beside her mistress.  Elowen stayed silent for a moment longer, her gaze still fixed on the neatly organized papers before her. Then, with slow and deliberate grace, she pushed her chair back, stood, and walked toward the window.  There, she stopped. Light filtered through the heavy curtains, tracing golden outlines around her snow-white hair. She raised one hand and pressed it against her chest — firmly, as if trying to keep her heart from breaking free.  — The Imperial Academy has already made us bury two Ravencourts... — she said softly, but her voice carried weight. Words that bled from within.  Myra didn’t hesitate. — Lord Kaelen... and Lady Seraphine... — she replied in her perfect servant’s tone, her eyes still fixed ahead, posture impeccable.  For a moment, silence reigned between them. Then, Myra’s gaze shifted briefly — her voice softening.  — My Lady... we’re alone now.  Elowen’s hand trembled. Her shoulders dropped ever so slightly, as though the invisible armor she wore each day had finally cracked — if only for a heartbeat.  And then… a single tear slid down her face.  No words. No sobs. Only the quiet pain of a mother who still heard the names of her children as open wounds.  Meanwhile, Lysielle walked through the mansion’s long corridors. The afternoon light filtered through the tall windows, painting the carpets in warm orange tones. She wasn’t thinking about anything — only walking, trying to digest what would happen come dawn.  Then, a sudden shout shattered the silence: — Young miss!!  Lysielle turned instantly. A blur raced down the corridor, and before she could react, a pair of arms wrapped her in a tight hug.  — Liora...? — she muttered, surprised.  — I heard about it! The fight! You... you faced both your brothers all by yourself?! — Liora pulled back just enough to look her over from head to toe, panting, her eyes wide with worry. — Are you really okay? Did they hurt you? You’re hiding some wound, aren’t you?  — Liora... I’m fine — Lysielle answered, almost smiling at her friend’s dramatics. — Just... a bit tired. Nothing more.  The maid huffed, crossing her arms — though her eyes were still glassy with tears. — Next time, warn me before you almost die, okay?  Lysielle opened her mouth to retort, but then... a golden light shimmered between them. Tiny, glittering particles began to gather in the air, spinning slowly like star dust, until they took form. And then, with a soft, chiming ~pihh!, Auri appeared.  — ~pihh!  Liora froze for two full seconds.  — ...What... is that...? — she whispered, eyes wide as if she were staring at a living jewel.  Auri twirled in the air, glowing softly, its tiny ethereal wings fluttering with grace. — ~pihh pihh! — it chirped again, doing a little spin.  Liora dropped to her knees instantly. — OH MY HEAVENS. IT’S SO. FREAKING. CUTE!!!  She began petting Auri as if her life depended on it — the cheeks, the wings, even the tiny magical tuft of hair. Auri emitted a satisfied little hum, like a cosmic purr, nestling in her hands.  Lysielle, meanwhile, was speechless. The spirit had just... appeared out of nowhere — and was letting someone else touch it so freely? Wasn’t it supposed to be more reserved?  — He... seems to be enjoying himself a little too much... — she muttered, narrowing her eyes as Auri crawled down into Liora’s neckline.  Lysielle frowned, impatient, and reached out to grab him. — Alright, that’s enough, you little pervert... — she grumbled, catching him like a piece of fruit that didn’t belong there.  Auri let out a loud, offended ~pihh! while Liora gasped in horror. — N-no, Lady Lysielle!! — she cried, trying to plead. — Let me hold him just a bit longer!  Before Lysielle could even reply, she felt something heavy latch onto her leg. — Liora?! What are you doing?!  — Please, just one more minute! He’s so tiny... so soft... so— so— — she couldn’t even finish, trembling with emotion.  — Oh for the love of— I’m surrounded by lunatics! — Lysielle yelled, shaking her leg desperately, trying to pry her off.  — I swear I’ll take good care of him! Just a little longer, please! — Liora begged, clinging tighter than a barnacle.  Then Lysielle felt something strange. A warm… damp… suspiciously unholy sensation.  She slowly looked down, already sensing a personal tragedy was about to unfold. Liora had her face buried against her leg, hugging her like a child seeking comfort.  When she finally lifted her head — teary-eyed, with her face completely smeared — Lysielle’s once-perfect stocking now bore a shiny, shimmering stain that glistened under the hallway light.  She froze.  Lysielle stared at her leg — pure horror dawning on her face.  “Huh...?”  She was so shocked she couldn’t even speak — her brain spinning a thousand miles per hour.  “N-no way...”  And then it hit her.  “AHHHHHHH! MY LEG IS COVERED IN SNOT!!”  The mental scream came first. The real one followed.  “SNOT! THAT’S ACTUAL SNOT!!!”  In full-blown panic, she started shaking her leg wildly. Liora, still clinging tight, tried to speak between sobs and hiccups.  “Just one more minute... just one more hug...!”  “YOU GLUED YOUR SOUL TO MY LEG?! I’M IMPRESSED ANYONE CAN HOLD ON THAT TIGHT!!”  Lysielle flailed like a cursed soul, kicking desperately. “LET GO! SOMEBODY HELP ME! THERE’S A MANIAC STUCK TO ME!!”  Meanwhile, Auri simply watched, floating nearby — until it let out a smug little ~pihh!  It sounded like a laugh. A very cheeky one.  Lysielle’s eyes snapped toward him, fuming. “YOU TOO?! YOU TINY TRAITOR?”  Auri tried to stifle a giggle — and that was the final straw. “YOU!! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT, YOU LITTLE GOBLIN!!”  Without thinking twice, Lysielle hurled the glowing creature with all her strength. Auri spun through the air, vanishing into the distance with a high-pitched, indignant:  — ~Pihhhhhhh?!  “MY LITTLE ONE!!” Liora screamed. “MOMMY’S COMING!! HOLD ON, I’LL SAVE YOU!!”  She bolted off instantly, tripping over her own feet, arms stretched forward as she chased after Auri’s tiny, disappearing glow.  Lysielle was left alone in the corridor. Silence. A single drop fell from her stocking. She trembled.  “I’M CONTAMINATED!! I’M TAINTED BY SOMEONE ELSE’S BIOLOGY!!”  And she took off running like her leg was on fire. “Bathroom... I need a bucket... or holy fire...”  Meanwhile, far away, Liora’s voice echoed faintly down the halls: “LITTLE ONEEE!! COME BACK TO MAMAAA!!”  And elsewhere — deep within a forest so dense it swallowed moonlight — the quiet was broken by shuffling steps and muffled voices.  A ragged girl, barefoot and bound at the wrists, stumbled as two men pushed her forward. Dirty, thin, her eyes empty — she was dragged toward a third man leaning against a wagon.  — She’s here — one of the bandits said. — As agreed. The merchandise is in good condition; she should please you.  — I hope so. It’s been a pleasure doing business... — the buyer replied, tossing a small pouch of coins that the bandit caught easily with a metallic clink. Then, the man pulled the girl by the rope, disappearing with her into the woods.  Further ahead, near a campfire burning low among twisted branches and torn cloth, a scarred, muscular man approached another — clearly the leader.  — Boss — he said, grinning wickedly. — Our next target’s confirmed.  — Hm? — The leader opened one eye, still seated by the fire.  — The Ravencourt heiress. The one who failed the summoning ceremony. She leaves tomorrow... with a small escort.  The leader stayed silent for a moment. Then, with unsettling calm, he crouched and pulled out a small chest made of dark wood. Opening it, he revealed a black collar — forged from a dull metal etched with thin purple runes and deep engravings that seemed to breathe a sinister energy. It pulsed faintly with a constant glow.  He held it up for everyone to see, the firelight trembling over its surface.  — This beauty... suppresses any magical flow below level six. — His grin spread slowly, twisted.  Then, without another word, he grabbed a wooden bucket beside the fire, lifted it with one hand, and poured it over the flames. A muffled SHHHHH marked the end of the fire. Darkness swallowed the camp in seconds.  As the steam rose and faded, the leader stared into the void ahead — eyes half-lidded, smile carved like a nightmare.  — Ravencourt... I can’t wait.