A long stretch of time had passed. Most guests had left, though the gathering had never been large. The hall was littered with faint echoes: laughter fading, chairs scraping, and the quiet clink of abandoned plates. Lanterns flickered weakly, casting soft shadows that swayed across the varnished floor.
Viggo approached the table where Arthur slept, slumped forward, Cellis resting against his shoulder like a small, warm weight. Both of Viggo's children were asleep in his arms. Plates, cups, and leftover cutlery were scattered across the table.
Belle and Roxy remained nearby, whispering, aware of the two sleeping children but unconcerned. Belle proceeded to pile up the dishes, Roxy adjusted her lantern, then both paused to glance at the peaceful faces of Arthur and Cellis.
"Lady Belle, I will be going," Viggo said, shifting his sleeping children slightly.
Belle's voice was pointed but calm.
"Viggo, I told you to remain formal for the occasion. You sound more dense than proper."
Roxy glanced at Arthur, whose arm was still clutched by Cellis.
"I really don't want to wake them," she murmured. "They look comfortable."
Belle turned her eyes, looking at the pair.
"Comfortable? On those chairs? You are too hard-headed."
Viggo felt that he had been excused; his presence was overlooked so easily. And he did not wish to be an awkward witness to their conversation, he had understood through time that this conversation of theirs would only drain away his time. So, he adjusted the children again and nodded.
"I am off."
>>>
Cellis stirred, blinking against the dim lantern light. Her eyes, heavy with sleep, found only Arthur's shoulder. Her mother was absent.
She tugged lightly on Arthur's arm.
"Arthur… Arthur."
He did't respond. A firmer tug followed.
"Arthur!"
Arthur lifted his free hand to smooth the back of her head.
"Stop worrying and let me sleep," he mumbled, voice still thick with drowsiness.
Roxy's voice cut sharply from behind them,
"Arthur! Wake up this instant!"
Belle added, regardless,
"Arthur is such a genius."
Roxy shot Belle a glance.
"Don't encourage him."
Arthur's eyes opened slowly,
"I know… I'm embarrassing you."
"Realization doesn't fix mistakes," Roxy said, folding her arms.
Belle clapped once.
"It's a new day. No more sleeping—up now."
Cellis thought, half-lost in the fog of sleep:
"I slept the whole night with him…"
She removed Arthur's blindfold while Belle lifted her ceremonial veil.
The women of House Advent escorted the remaining guests to the front door.
Roxy bowed lightly.
"Please visit us often."
"Sure…" Cellis mumbled, still groggy. She reached for Arthur unconsciously, but tripped; Belle caught her quickly.
"Careful," Belle said. "You're still drifting."
Cellis's eyes found Arthur—the boy she had spent the night beside. She whispered his name softly.
"Arthur."
Though she had spent only a single night beside him, she could not explain why her eyes followed Arthur as if pulled by some invisible tether. In that quiet darkness, she acted more as his shadow than the radiant light she would be known to be; she kept drifting toward him again and again, tugged by an acute, almost addictive need that clung to her like a habit she couldn't shake—like something small that can't help circling the warmth it quietly depends on.
>>>
Arthur reached the attic and let a small orb of light bloom in his palm. The pale glow revealed the familiar room as well as the stored things, yet a few items were shifted just enough to unsettle him. Something had been here.
"What is it this time?" ,
He muttered, stomping against the floorboards to flush out whatever was hiding. Nothing stirred. He scanned the corners, searching for where it might have entered. His gaze settled on an old chest—he had never opened it before.
Curiosity pulled him to it. The hinges groaned when he lifted the lid, releasing a faint breath of dust and something older. Inside lay clothing too small for either him or Roxy—simple, worn pieces shaped for a young boy. The colors faded with age.
"Were these mine?" he wondered, though no memory rose.
He grasped the chest to move it. A sharp tug failed, so he shifted it gradually, bit by bit, until the space behind came into view. A hole—one he already saw from outside. He knelt, letting his hand hover over it. At his touch, the wall began to fill in as he created new material, thickening and smoothing until it fused seamlessly with the surrounding wood.
"This will cause problems in some of the seasons," he murmured, since it was the simplest fix.
Just as the gap sealed, the intruder made a desperate dash—but Arthur had shaped a vessel around it, trapping it before it could slip between the boards. Being in contact with the floor made the capture easier; otherwise, finding it later would have been a chore.
He carried the vessel outside and opened it. A small, little creature with soft, chestnut-brown fur shimmered under the light. graceful—large, dark eyes and pointed ears. Tiny paws, tipped with sharp claws. The small creature darted out, creating a gust of wind behind itself, sleek, feathered tufts along its limbs, and a long tail that caught the air. It flicked once and glided upward, vanishing into the horizon like a stray scrap of wind-borne fur.
>>>
Arthur's home could be seen clearly from the Advent Manor's lower balcony, the one that opened toward the garden. Belle leaned forward slightly on the iron table, grabbing the clay pot and pulling it towards herself to prevent it from blocking Roxy's face.
Belle tilted her chin toward the distant house perched beyond.
"Arthur is doing something interesting."
Roxy followed her gaze. She lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the late sun and nodded faintly.
"I asked him to check the attic. The gifler was probably hiding somewhere inside."
Belle adjusted in her chair, fingertips brushing the rim of the pot idly.
"I was referring to the fact that they live atop the eastern edge of the Pinch Hills."
Roxy watched the faint silhouette of Arthur's roofline.
"Paster and Arthur have spent most of their time there. Thankfully, they return before dark."
"The Etbils do live close by," Belle replied, folding her hands neatly in her lap. "You would be worried otherwise."
Roxy exhaled, leaning back now, her gaze still fixed on the hill.
"It does bother me that Arthur spends the harshest stretch of winter with them."
Belle turned slightly toward her, one brow lifting.
"Not as harsh as the Nemican territory. If you ever feel alone, you could come live with us."
Roxy gave a faint shake of her head.
"Yinin and Yictin? They're too far to compare our climates with."
A pause settled between them, filled only by the rustle of leaves and distant voices from the garden paths.
Belle's eyes narrowed slightly as she observed the far-off figure moving near the roofline.
"I have noticed something over the past few years. Arthur's hair has grown more yellow than blond."
Roxy's fingers tightened briefly around the edge of her chair. She did not look at Belle immediately.
"…Even I have noticed that," she murmured to herself.
Before the silence could deepen, a voice called from inside the manor.
"Mother!"
Belle rose at once, smoothing the folds of her dress.
"Cellis calls," she said softly, stepping away from the balcony and toward the hall.
Roxy remained seated for a moment longer, her eyes lingering on the house atop the hills. The wind stirred the plant in the pot between the empty chairs, and she whispered under her breath,
"Yes… I have noticed."
>>>
Arthur climbed the stairs again, the wood answering each step with a quiet creak, and entered his room. The evening light slipped faintly through the window, settling over the modest space.
His desk stood against the wall—solid, worn wood, its surface marked by careful use rather than neglect. A matching wooden chair rested tucked beneath it. Above, a small shelf had been nailed into the wall, hanging. His bed sat near the corner, neatly made, the blanket folded with habitual precision. Beside it stood a chest where he kept his clothes, plain and orderly.
On the desk lay an old envelope, partly hidden beneath a sheet of paper covered in writing.
Arthur stepped closer.
The page bore a heading in firm script: Creation.
Beneath it, structured notes:
Non-life | Life ✕
Earth | Wind ✕ | Fire ✕ | Wood ✕ | Water | Light Mana | Metals
Glass | Iron | Paper | Ink | Metals | Coloured Light Stones
Mana (Basics)
Earth | Fire | Wind | Water | Light | Dark ✕
Derived Mana (Dark ✕)
Several entries were marked with crosses, others left open, as if finished thoughts made into confirmation.
Arthur lifted the sheet, studying it briefly before setting it aside. His attention shifted to the envelope beneath.
He pulled it free.
The cover bore careful writing:
To Cellis Advent
Advent Manor
2032 S.S.
Nod-Nekas, Q 1, S 6
Arthur's fingers lingered at the edge before he unfolded the envelope, the paper inside spreading open into a neatly written letter.
Lady Cellis Advent,
This letter serves to inform you that, in accordance with your formal petition, the Noble Pass you held prior to being recognized as a Light Wielder has been transferred to your appointed knight, Arthur, born 2021 S.S., Rod–Rieas, Quartet 3, Sol 5, who has now reached the rightful age.
However, due to recent amendments in quota regulation, the status of this pass has been revised. It is hereby designated as an Honorary Knight Candidate Pass. Its standing may be further degraded or improved depending upon conduct, merit, and contribution henceforth.
As a Light Wielder, both you and your knight are expected to uphold prominence befitting your station. Preparatory classes have therefore been arranged for you both in advance of formal enrollment.
Your assigned escorts shall arrive three months prior to the Academy's opening, which will commence following your fifteenth year.
By order of the Academy Incharge,
Maria de Lesse
With blessings from Lady Iris.
(This letter is to be presented to the assigned escorts upon their arrival.)
The ink had dried evenly, deliberate and official. Arthur's eyes lingered not on the title—but on the words preparatory classes.