Selene sighed softly, her eyes settling on the unconscious form of her mistress. Lady Poppy lay crumpled on the frost-laced training floor, her breath shallow but steady—drained, not harmed.
For a fleeting moment, a phantom image shimmered before her eyes: a younger Nyxaria Vladiscar, equally defiant, equally brilliant. The two overlapped perfectly. A rare, almost wistful smile curled Selene's lips.
"You really are her daughter," she murmured. "Quiet defiance must be written into the blood of you Vladiscar women."
Carefully, Selene knelt and scooped Poppy into her arms, lifting her with a grace honed by centuries. She carried her in a princess hold, the girl's black-silver-streaked hair tumbling against her chest like an eclipse over midnight silk.
As she ascended the winding stairwell back toward Poppy's private chambers, awe tugged gently at her thoughts.
"She mastered the Fragmented Stage in a single session," she whispered, almost to herself. "And not just that—she shattered Mistress Nyxaria's record."
Selene's voice dropped into reverent disbelief.
"Five minutes… my lady held it for five full minutes."
She shook her head slowly, a chill of wonder rippling through her ancient bones.
"Mistress Nyxaria… your daughter isn't just your legacy. She's something else entirely. A prodigy. No—" Selene's lips quirked into a subtle grin. "A monster far greater than even you ever were. That trait really is frightening."
The Vladiscar women were infamous not only for their power but for a singular, ancestral trait that set them apart from other noble bloodlines. Tha trait was called Crimson Genius (also known in scholarly circles as the "Widow's Intellect"). It was essentially a genetic and arcane mental phenomenon passed through the Vladiscar female line. This trait granted each daughter of the bloodline the ability to think along multiple, simultaneous paths with perfect clarity. The capacity to extract concepts, patterns, and magic from fragments of memory, dream, or spell residue. Unmatched focus under stress or trauma; emotions are archived and examined later, never during performance, rapid deconstruction of any magical structure, enchantment, or glyph sequence, often on sight.
The hallways of Vladiscar Castle were silent—eerily so, as if the stone itself dared not disturb the rest of its young mistress.
Selene's steps echoed softly against the ancient marble, each footfall measured and fluid. Her long cloak whispered behind her, trailing in the hush of candlelit corridors. The sconces flickered as she passed, as though bowing in deference to the woman cradled in her arms.
Poppy's body remained slack, utterly spent. Her skin was pale, even by Vladiscar standards, kissed by the faint blue sheen of overexerted mana veins still dimly pulsing under her skin. Her breath misted faintly with each exhale—a side effect of overusing Frostblood techniques so deep into her unconscious state.
Selene glanced down, brushing a stray curl from the girl's cheek.
"Reckless, as always," she said softly. "You burn your candle at both ends and dare the flame to reach you."
She passed through the arched entryway of the East Wing, where frost-veined windows let in slivers of moonlight. Poppy's door loomed ahead—tall, heavy, carved with the Vladiscar crest: a sleeping rose coiled with thorns, cradled between the wings of a mourning dove.
With a gentle nudge of her foot, the door creaked open.
The room beyond was quiet and cool. Pale silk curtains fluttered lazily by the open window, and the faint scent of lavender, ice lilies, and old paper lingered in the air. Her bed—a grand four-poster wrapped in velvet and sheer drapes—awaited like a cradle for war-weary nobility.
Selene moved without hesitation, lowering Poppy onto the mattress with the care of someone handling glass. She adjusted the blankets, brushing the frost from the girl's lashes with the back of her gloved fingers.
Then she straightened, her expression once again neutral—stoic, unreadable.
But before she turned to leave, she allowed herself one final look.
"You've inherited your mother's stubbornness," she whispered, voice laced with something caught between fondness and warning. "But what you do with it… may change more than just your name, young mistress."
She stepped into the shadows, the door clicking softly shut behind her.
And the room fell into silence once more.
~ | 💮 | ~
Meanwhile...
I opened my crimson eyes to the cool, unnatural quiet of my soulscape.
Frost danced in the air like shimmering threads of glass, suspended in slow motion. I stood barefoot on a surface that felt like frozen silver—mirror-slick, smooth, but fractured in places, glowing faintly from deep beneath. The scent of winter roses and scorched mana clung to the air.
I frowned. "Hmm…"
The last thing I remembered was collapsing onto the bathing chamber floor after pushing myself beyond the limit. Selene must have carried me to my bed so I could enter my Still-Bloom state. "But..."
Something was different.
My Crimson Realm, once erratic and pulsing with bloodlight, has grown still under the influence of the Frost-Thread Immersion. The transformation was not yet complete, but the realm now resembled a frozen cathedral of grief and remembrance, beautiful and eerie, like the moment just before something shatters.
"Each wound has changed—stilled, but not erased. They're frozen in form, like relics of battles survived but not yet understood."
My voice echoed faintly in the crystalline air.
"It shocked my soul into coherence. Like a slap to the face… but colder. Much colder."
Tall, once-shattered mirrors now glimmered with frost at the edges, their cracks glowed dim silver-blue instead of bleeding red.
The reflections inside were mute, as if submerged underwater—I could observe, but not yet engage.
Occasionally, one exhaled a misty breath, fogging the surface. These were moments ready to thaw.
"This is..." I exhaled, letting my fingers brush a floating thread of memory. It stung, like touching a frozen flame. "This is going to be tedious to fix."
A heavy silence lingered, until I muttered under my breath, eyes narrowing with a scowl. "Damn that crazy goddess."
A faint, amused breeze stirred the frost around me. I ignored it. It was just soulwind. Yup. Just Wind. It's not like I was trying convince myself Eriselyne couldn't hear me in my soulscape. Nope! Definitely not!
Moonlight filtered in, not from a real sky, but from a glowing fracture high above—cracked like an ancient fresco across the dome of my Crimson Realm. The moonlit garden rustled softly as I passed, the Widow's Bloom curling protectively and Moonvow Lilies fluttering open with my nearness. A few petals whispered forgotten promises as my bare feet glided over silver-threaded grass.
To my left, the Shadowed Cathedral loomed—a gothic silhouette shrouded in mist and memory. The stained glass windows wept slow tears of bloodlight, depicting scenes I refused to look at yet. The bells above tolled softly, though I hadn't ever seen them move.
I ascended the steps carved of bone ivory and black marble, my breath forming pale clouds in the frozen air. Then, at last, I entered the Throne Room of Bone and Silk—a place grown, not built.
The chamber pulsed like a living heart. Bone arches twined with silk strands like veins, and at the room's center, beneath a floating circle of ever-falling crimson snowflakes, rose her throne—a jagged, feminine spire of bloodglass and obsidian silk.
And there it was. Hovering in the air before the throne, wrapped in spiraling threads of ruby light was my Grimoire of Red Bloom.
It pulsed with slow, deliberate life. The cover was stitched with bloodthread runes, the emblem of the Vladiscar crest blooming in thorns across its center. Its pages turned slowly in the air, each one glowing softly, responding to her presence.
[SYSTEM INTERFACE ACTIVATED]
User: Poppy Nyxaria Vladiscar Nocturne
State: Still-Bloom | Frostbound Mental Sync – Stable
Soulthread Sync: 42%
Available Skill Branches: 3
Trait Unlockables: 2 (pending emotional resonance)
I tilted my head, watching the Grimoire's silk-wrapped pages fan outward like petals in bloom. There was something almost… calming about it. Like the System was applying a soothing balm to my soul just by being here.
I relaxed my back against the throne and crossed my leg over the other as I rested my palm against my chin. I summoned Nyxiphage to my other hand. The feel of the ruby and black scythe felt good in my half. It felt like it's been forever since I last held it. Which reminded me...
"Grimoire, give me the second form of Widow's Weave: Crimson Fang Scythe Style," I said softly. "And set a timer for 5 hours."
The floating book shuddered, its bindings creaking with arcane life.
[Request acknowledged.]
Initializing: Memory-Thread Synchronization Protocol – Level 2.
Skill: Widow's Weave — Second Form: Widow's Mirage Waltz
Estimated Absorption Window: 5 Hours.
Warning: Synchronization will be intense. Proceed?
My expression didn't falter. "Proceed."
The moment I said it, the Grimoire flared—deep crimson threads burst outward like blooming arterial flowers, spiraling through the air before plunging into my chest.
I gasped. My back arched against the force of it, the floor pulsing beneath me as a thousand spectral silks slithered into my mindscape. Each thread vibrated with ancient discipline, sharp memory, and fluid combat intent—an inheritance woven from blood and shadow.
***End of chapter.
--------
The Vladiscar women are infamous not only for their power but for a singular, ancestral trait that sets them apart from other noble bloodlines:
🩸🧠 "The Crimson Genius" — Signature Trait of the Vladiscar Women
"We do not think faster. We think deeper. While others search for answers, we unmake the questions."
— Velomirra Vladiscar, archived memoir, Veins of Thread, Bones of Ice
🕸️ Name of the Trait:
Crimson Genius(also known in scholarly circles as the "Widow's Intellect")
🔮 What It Is:
A genetic and arcane mental phenomenon passed through the Vladiscar female line, this trait grants each daughter of the bloodline:
Multilayered Cognitive Threads – the ability to think along multiple, simultaneous paths with perfect clarity
Abstract Memory Synthesis – the capacity to extract concepts, patterns, and magic from fragments of memory, dream, or spell residue
Emotional Compartmentalization – unmatched focus under stress or trauma; emotions are archived and examined later, never during performance
Magic Pattern Discernment – rapid deconstruction of any magical structure, enchantment, or glyph sequence, often on sight
🧵 Manifestation in Vladiscar Women:
Velomirra Vladiscar
Developed the Memory-Thread Synchronization ritual without a prototype.
Could enter a trance and mentally absorb entire grimoires in a single night using her custom spell, Knowledge Drain.
Nyxaria Vladiscar
Mastered three schools of dark magic before adulthood. Created the Scarlet Widow: Nyxiphage, a sentient scythe, without needing a soul-forge—her mind was the forge. Famously predicted enemy movements weeks before conflict through sheer logic modeling. Invented the Widow's Weave martial arts before age 30.
Poppy Vladiscar
Though young, her Crimson Genius is arguably more refined—sharpened not by formal education, but by her adaptive, intuitive use of forbidden knowledge, system mechanics, and inheritance without direct instruction. She learns through inference, often using clues others overlook to craft or perfect complex magical or martial constructs. Her Still-Bloom state has shown signs of mental web-weaving: planning multi-tiered strategies even in unconscious or meditative phases.
🕯️ In-System Designation (if visible):
If Poppy's System ever registers this trait, it appear as:
[Unique Trait Unlocked: Crimson Genius]
"The mind is a needle. The world, a tapestry. Your thoughts thread through dimensions."