The blood hadn't yet dried in the arena sand when the carriage wheels began their slow, solemn roll back to the Ruby Crest estate. The crowd's roars faded behind them. Inside the carriage, silence reigned. Anya sat poised and still, her face sculpted from the same cold marble that seemed to hold up the high towers of their house. Brimm Garnet kept to his corner, absorbed in silent thought. Agatha, nestled in velvet-lined cushions opposite her sister, could still feel the heat of the arena under her skin, and her wounds, though healed, still ached.
She let out a long breath, half from exhaustion, half from nerves. Tomorrow, training with Amin would begin.
The thought made the corners of her mouth twitch upward. A smile—not quite joy, but a flicker of something lighter in the gloom. She imagined what it might be like to wield full illusions as he did, to win without bloodshed. There was value in that kind of power.
But before her smile could fully bloom, she felt the pressure of a gaze. She turned and met Anya's eyes. There was no warmth in them, no rebuke either. Just that same inscrutable hardness she'd worn since Agatha arrived.
"Lisa didn't return with us," Agatha said, searching for words to break the tension.
"She does that," Anya replied. "It's best to ignore her."
Silence again.
Agatha tried again, more cautiously this time. "Are you... angry with her?"
Anya didn't look away. "I'm furious."
Agatha blinked.
"She humiliated herself. Humiliated us. A member of the Ruby Crest stepping out of bounds is unacceptable." Her voice was calm, but there was iron underneath. "Letting herself be deceived like this... If I believed she meant to forfeit, I'd cast her out myself."
Agatha flinched, her stomach tightening. The memory of her own fight flashed behind her eyes. She had toyed with the idea, hadn't she? To step out voluntarily, to avoid drawing blood, to walk away from what this place demanded.
That door was now sealed shut.
Their carriage creaked as it passed through the wrought-iron gates of their estate, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the path. As they approached the mansion's front steps, Agatha's heart gave a painful jolt.
There it was. Her father's casket, standing solemnly before the threshold like an uninvited guest waiting to be let in.
Two dark-clad men were unloading it under the drizzle that had begun to mist the air. And waiting beside it stood a tall man in a black overcoat, white garments underneath like freshly fallen snow. His round glasses and short, gleaming white hair, and a black diamond crest marked him as out of place— an emissary of the emperor.
Agatha barely breathed.
When the carriage stopped, Brimm stepped out first, followed by Anya, who nodded stiffly toward the man. Agatha descended last, her boots landing heavily on the gravel.
The white-haired man inclined his head. "Lady Anya Garnet Von Ruby," he said, voice smooth and crisp. "I am Sir Boreas Bort, a representative of His Majesty. I come to return your father's body to his rightful home, so that he may be buried with the honors befitting his station."
Anya's expression didn't shift. "Sir Boreas," she said. "Then perhaps you can tell me why my sister wasn't allowed to bring him home? And why the carriage I sent for her was turned away by your men at the port?"
Agatha straightened. That was new.
She had assumed no carriage had ever been sent. That Anya had chosen to let Agatha travel back home by herself.
Sir Boread, austere and always retaining his same formal smile, replied.
"It is simply our policy that our emissaries, especially our ambassador to a foreign country, be inspected on arrival before being allowed to return home. As for the carriage… I don't recall ordering it away, it must be a mistake."
Anya's gaze sharpened. Just for a second, there was a flicker of fire in her marble mask—but only a flicker.
Without another word, she turned and walked past him, into the house.
Brimm stepped forward smoothly, offering a hand and a gracious nod. "Allow me to see you out, Sir Boreas."
As the two men disappeared down the steps, Agatha turned toward the casket. Her fingers brushed the wood, damp with rain, and her throat tightened.
Just then, she was surprised to see Lisa walking out of the house.
"Don't cry, now," Lisa said, stepping out onto the landing with a smile.
Her voice was teasing, but her eyes were tired.
Agatha blinked. "Lisa—how did you get here before us?"
"I left right after my match," Lisa said, with a shrug. "Didn't feel like talking to anyone."
Lisa ruffled Agatha's hair in a playful gesture, something she had grown accostumed to do since they were yong. "You, though. 'Flashfire'? That's what they're calling you already?"
Agatha flushed. "I didn't do anything that impressive…"
"You won," Lisa said. "You didn't get deceived out of the ring by a smirking rat with illusions."
She was smiling, but her voice betrayed her anger toward Amin. Agatha had been careful not to reveal to her that Amin had accepted to train her, and planned to keep it a secret from her family.
Agatha tilted her head. "Anya won't speak to you?"
Lisa gave a little laugh. "That's normal. She either barely talks to you or pretends you don't exist. Depends on the day."
As she turns from ruffling to stroking Agatha's hair, Lisa's eyes turn their attention toward the coffin at their doorstep.
Lisa stops playing with Agatha's hair, walking toward the towering black casket perched by the doorsteps.
She touches the casket, clearing the droplets of water from it, as a thin and barely visible rain fell, and the weather had turned grey and ugly from the clouds above them.
"He was always a mystery to me" Lisa says, her eyes still intently staring at the casket, brushing away droplets that had settled into the carved ridges.
"Every time I visited you two in Aria, he would stop what he was doing and let me take him wherever I pleased. Coffee shops, restaurants, parks.
The only thing he refused to let me do was fight. He knew I liked it, but he still refused to let me do it, even a spar.
I think he wanted to protect me," she said.
"Even if it made no sense. Even if I wanted the danger."
Her fingers trembled. Her voice cracked. Eyes watering
"I…"
She couldn't finish.
Agatha stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. Lisa's hair curled tightly against her shoulder, wet with mist and tears.
Neither of them said anything. The rain whispered softly around them, clinging to their skin like breath.
From the window above, Anya watched, her silhouette still as stone, her eyes unreadable.
Later that night, as they prepared for dinner, Agatha went out in search of Lisa and Garnet.
She found them in Garnet's workshop, a tiny, dimly lit part of the house tucked near the back wing, its walls lined with tools, cooling metal pieces, and faintly glowing stones. The smell of soot and iron filled the air, and the rhythmic sound of hammering echoed steadily. Here, Brimm Garnet worked tirelessly in his profession as a smith.
As every smith in Carthenos, he knew how to embed armor with Carbuncle crystals matching its owner, so that they could bring out their full power when wearing it.
But he had a special talent when it came to assessing people, their needs and personality, and could craft armor and weapons for them that perfectly matched these traits.
As Agatha approached, she found him finishing repairs on Lisa's bat — a big, spiked bat that looked like a solid lump of metal, several of its spikes bent and broken from her fight against Amin. It wasn't Amin's doing, Agatha recalled, but the healer from the Order of the Crystal Moon. She had watched Lisa's brutal strike get stopped by that lady's single finger. The bat had taken the worst of that encounter and looked battered beyond repair. But Garnet was a master of his craft.
He struck the spikes with his hammer, over and over, coaxing them back into place.
The firelight from the forge flickered against the polished metal as he worked, sweat glinting on his brow, his motions precise, steady, and methodical. One by one, the spikes went back where they should be, as straight as they could possibly be. Lisa's bat was whole again.
"Thank you, Brimm," Lisa said with respect, offering a short bow.
"It's an honor to serve you, Miss Lisa," Garnet replied as she turned to leave.
Agatha had almost forgotten that, even though Garnet was Anya's husband, he was still a Garnet — a house subservient to the Ruby Crest family.
Remembering this, Agatha recalled that the Bors family had a similar standing with the Diamond Crest family, and the image of Garnet seeing Boreas Bors out of the property came back to her mind for a moment.
She was so distracted she didn't hear him at first.
"Miss Agatha," he called again, a little louder.
She blinked and snapped out of her thoughts. "Sorry, Brimm. I wasn't listening."
He wiped his brow and gestured toward her belt. "Would you like anything repaired?"
Agatha hesitated for a moment, then drew her sword and held it out. "Could you take a look at this?"
Garnet took the blade and turned it over in his hands, eyes scanning the length of it.
"There are dents and bruises here," he murmured. "But it's good work. Especially the embedding."
He traced a finger along the hilt. "Mostly Ruby Carbuncles. But here—this one's a garnet."
Agatha nodded. "They were already embedded when I inherited it."
"Mm." Garnet paused, considering.
"Garnet crystals are better for absorbing and storing power. Ruby ones are for transmitting it—letting your strength flow straight into the blade or your armor."
He looked up at her, continuing his explanation.
"Carbuncle crystals are rare, especially for the secondary houses. To make good use of them, I recommend that you store your flames in the garnet crystals when you're not fighting—you can call on them later when you need more power."
Agatha nodded.
Garnet held the blade between them. "And one more thing—"
His voice dropped into something quieter, more thoughtful.
"Garnet Carbuncles calm the heart. If you're ever overcome by emotion in battle—fear, rage, sorrow—touch the garnet gem. Pour magic into it. It will calm you."
Agatha took the sword back, her fingers brushing the garnet stone. "Thank you. That's… good to know."
"I live to serve your house, Lady Agatha," he said, bowing slightly. "If it would please you, I will take your sword and repair it."
Agatha smiled faintly and offered the blade. "It would. But dinner's nearly ready. You should go eat first."
He nodded once, gently placed the sword on his table, and they headed back toward the main house.
As they entered, Salazar, Garnet's son, waddled eagerly toward him.
The halls were lit with candle sconces, the scent of roast meat and herbs drifting through the air. Garnet, usually so reserved, lit up with a wide grin. He picked up his son with both arms and began bouncing him in the air, laughing softly as the boy squealed in delight.
Agatha chuckled at the sight and continued on. Dinner was being served by the house maids, who wore black and white clothes with a deep red symbol on their white aprons — the ruby crest.
She realized she hadn't seen Anya in a while and went looking for her.
Looking out the window, she saw the rain falling harder now. Anya was just leaving the family mausoleum — the stone monument that held their dead, where they had recently buried their father.
The stone was darkened with rain, moss growing between the names of the departed. Anya moved slowly, head lowered.
The ceremony had been short and quiet, barely taking half an hour. No one said anything, and the only ones present were her sisters and Garnet.
Anya hadn't expressed any emotions at the burial — something that had clearly angered Lisa. Agatha remembered the way Lisa had clenched her fists when Anya was the first to walk away from the ceremony.
To see her sister now, alone in the rain, visiting the mausoleum in secret, confirmed something Agatha had long suspected: the hard exterior was a mask. Anya only allowed herself to feel when no one else could see.
Agatha smiled faintly and retreated inside as Anya approached.
Together, they all waited at the table. The mood, surprisingly, was high considering the day's grief and bloodshed.
The great wooden table was lit by a chandelier of red crystal and iron. Anya's son sat on Garnet's lap, being fed between games of peekaboo.
Lisa chatted with the head maid, praising her food between mouthfuls.
"This roast is divine. I swear I've never tasted anything like it," Lisa said, her mouth still half-full.
"You shouldn't talk while eating, dear" the old woman replied, tutting.
Lisa grinned and made a show of chewing properly. "Yes, ma'am."
Agatha thought she saw Anya smile—just the faintest ghost of it—but when she turned, the familiar stern face had returned.
Agatha looked away, pretending not to notice.
"Agatha," Anya said flatly.
"Yes, Anya?"
"I want to talk to you after dinner. Wait for me in your room."
Agatha trembled slightly with anticipation.
After dinner ended, Anya came to her room. Her steps gentle and firm.
"I heard about the deal you made with him," she said immediately.
Agatha stiffened, unsure of how much Anya knew. She remained quiet.
Anya studied her for a moment. "Do as you please. But be careful not to get too involved with him or his family."
There was a brief pause. Then she added:
"As a broken crest, an exile from the Diamond Crest family, Amin has no political power. If he were to approach you proposing marriage, it would be to recover some of his standing—and that would put you in his family's sights."
Agatha's breath caught. She hadn't even considered that possibility. If Amin agreed to train her with that in mind, his eagerness made more sense. But she still needed help developing her powers if she wanted to survive the tournament.
She finally responded.
"Thank you for warning me, Anya. I don't intend to do anything other than train. So there's no need to worry."
"I'm not worried about you," Anya replied curtly.
"I'm only warning you so you don't put our family in jeopardy over him."
Her voice dropped an octave, darker now.
"He's a charmer. An illusionist. He reads people easily, plays with their weaknesses. I won't interfere in your training—but don't fall for his tricks."
She turned and left the room without another word.
Agatha sat there, staring at the closed door. Sure, she thought Amin looked good. But a wedding? That had never crossed her mind.
Still, the thought lingered longer than she expected.
She sighed, set it aside, and finally went to sleep.
Amin sat still in the gallery, his small hands clutching the edges of his seat, knuckles pale. His feet couldn't reach the floor. The marble courtroom loomed large around him, its stone pillars too tall, its shadows too deep. The jury gave their verdicts, one by one, each a sentence with more weight than his mother's slender shoulders could bear. Ruby Crest. Jade Crest. Diamond Crest. Others spoke too, faces and sigils half-faded in his memory, their crests blurred as if he'd tried to scrub them out of his thoughts but only managed to smear the ink.
He looked to her, seated calmly below the judge, her back straight, her head held with dignity. She didn't meet his eyes.
The gavel came down with a snap.
Amin blinked.
He stood on a steel platform, the hiss of pressurized valves waking him back into the present. The steam locomotive chugged to a halt, its front smothered in snow. The white flurry blanketed Carthenos, but the cold didn't reach him. His coat, thick and black, flared behind him as he stepped off onto the icy platform. His saber hung at his side, and the wind whistled faintly across its grip.
The city was quiet at this hour. He walked alone through the freshly fallen snow, his boots leaving a deliberate path behind him, his gloved hand slipping his pocket watch back into his coat. The diner he entered was warm and noisy, filled with factory workers and deliverymen crowding the small wooden tables.
He ate quickly, barely tasting the broth before emptying the bowl and dropping a few silver pieces on the counter. The clink of coin followed him out into the cold.
His home, tucked against the mountain's side, was plain but sturdy. Smoke curled from the chimney. In the back, a small yard opened to a view of the descending city, rooftops vanishing into the fog and snow. Amin stepped into the yard just as Agatha arrived.
He offered her tea, and she accepted, her breath visible in the crisp air.
"I wanted to show you something," he said, setting down the teacups with gentle care. "A trick of light."
He held up one hand and extended two fingers, focusing. The air shimmered around him, and then his outline bent, fractured. For a moment, he seemed translucent, as though the sky behind him had swallowed part of his shape. Then it stabilized—a ripple of light, distorted but precise.
"Light refraction," he explained. "Not true invisibility. But if you bend light just right... the eye is easy to fool."
Agatha listened intently. Her hands warmed around the cup but her mind was clearly already working through the mechanics.
"You'll need a light source," he continued. "In your case, fire. A fiery aura gives you ambient light, but holding that aura stable takes practice. Try it."
Agatha stepped back and called forth her flame. It flared across her shoulders, hot and wild, but flickered out before she could shape it.
"Tch—again," she muttered.
"Not all at once," Amin said. "Break it down. First, control the aura. Hold it. Then learn to shape the light. Only once you've mastered both can you combine them."
She nodded, jaw tense. And for the next few hours, she did exactly as instructed—holding the fire, letting it burn just beneath her skin, keeping it from exploding outward. She failed often, but the fire burned longer each time.
Amin outlined the parts she'd need to master: generating flame with precision, sustaining an aura with consistency, and finally layering refraction atop it. "Treat it as a ritual," he said. "One part at a time."
Agatha practiced until her forehead glistened with sweat and her breath came ragged in the cold. The snow fell quietly around her, untouched by the faint heat she radiated. When the sun began to sink behind the ridges, she finally relented, sighing.
"You've got two days," Amin reminded her, "to make this technique your own. Tomorrow, we'll move on to misdirection. Combat through confusion."
She nodded. She moved to leave, but Amin stopped her with a casual question.
"You've spent your childhood in Carthenos, didn't you?"
"I barely remember it," she replied. "I left when I was too young."
"But you didn't spend much time outside the estate, did you?" Amin asked as he walked her to his front gate.
"No. I wasn't allowed to." Her voice held a distant tinge of guilt, or perhaps curiosity. "I've seen more of Carthenos in the last two weeks than I ever did as a child."
"Then come with me," Amin said, already moving toward the gate. "I need to visit the market. You might as well walk with me."
She hesitated, remembering what her sister had said the night before. But she was curious about the city, and since her sisters didn't let her out of the estate on her own most of the time, she chose to follow him.
If he attempted anything, she thought, waving him off and cutting her training short wasn't out of the question.
As they descended toward the city, dusk had settled in earnest. The wind bit harder here, swirling between cracked buildings and leaning signs. At first, the streets were quiet—until the eyes found them.
Agatha stiffened as they passed a group of older men near a fire barrel. Their muttering paused. Their eyes narrowed.
"Why are they looking at us like that?" she asked under her breath.
"They recognize us," Amin said simply. "From the arena"
He raised his hand slightly, and the light bent again. Shadows shifted. Agatha gasped softly as their forms disappeared.
"Simple application of what you're learning," Amin explained. "We're not invisible to sound, but sight? That's easier to fool. Also, it works best when people don't expect it."
They slipped unseen through side streets. The deeper they went, the more the city changed. The stone gave way to dirt. The air turned foul. Children in rags huddled near crumbling homes, and even the snow here looked gray with soot.
Agatha stopped. "This is still Carthenos?"
"This," he said, "is the part of Carthenos no noble ever sees. The part they pretend doesn't exist."
"Look around," he said. "This is what your family's order has protected itself from. These are the lives forgotten behind those walls."
She looked down at the nearest shack, its roof patched with tarps and rotting wood. A boy stared back at her through the gap in the wall, eyes hollow.
"I didn't realize it was this bad," she said.
"It always was."
"Aria has its own problems," she continued, her voice picking up strength. "But at least there, people have more say. We live closer together. The nobles aren't gods."
He said nothing. He was too focused on her. Her eyes blazed with conviction, her hands gesturing as she ranted.
"And here," she went on, "you have hunger and filth just a few blocks from banquet halls—how can anyone pretend this is order?"
Amin tilted his head, amused.
"What?" she snapped, noticing the faint smile tugging at his lips. "Do you think I sound ridiculous?"
"No," he said. "I was just watching. You're… so passionate when you speak like that."
Her expression darkened. "You weren't listening at all, were you?"
"I was distracted."
"By what?"
"You," he said plainly.
That silenced her. Color crept into her cheeks.
He let the silence hang a beat longer before breaking it. "We should change."
"Change?"
"Our faces. Our clothes. If we want to blend in tonight, we can't go looking like nobility." He extended a hand toward her. "But you'll need to stay close. The illusion only holds when we're together."
Agatha looked at him carefully, then nodded. "Fine. But don't expect me to cling to your arm"
"Wouldn't dream of it."
A moment later, their reflections vanished. In their place stood a pair of commoners—older, weathered, dressed in rough tunics and cloaks. The transformation was perfect.
Together, they walked again. The cold didn't seem as harsh with the illusion wrapped around them. It wasn't long before Agatha paused.
"Do you hear that?"
Faint music trickled from a nearby shack—strings and drums, laughter and footfalls.
She turned toward it. "I've heard this before..."
Amin followed her in. Inside, the air was thick with warmth and movement. Lanterns cast golden rings on the ceiling, and every inch of the wooden floor was taken by dancing bodies.
In that tavern, people bounced and danced as the bards played their fast and cheerful song.
Agatha's eyes lit up. "Maiden Rose! They played in Aria too! I didn't think they would be here of all places! I want to dance"
He looked around, unimpressed. "It's overwhelming."
She turned back to him with a teasing grin. "So you're not much of a dancer?"
"I never learned, actually"
"Well," she said, offering her hand, "Now you do!"
He took it.
She danced with wild, carefree steps, smiling fully—her body moving as if nothing else in the world mattered. He watched her with quiet curiosity, then with something else—something warmer.
He wasn't fond of the music. The lights felt too close, the room too loud.
But he thought, perhaps, if she smiled like that again, he could learn to like it.