As the Hunting Season had not yet ended, he harboured the notion that it was not too late to return to Balyon and rejoin the struggle there.
"Sigh... I can only pray she isn't too cross with me..."
He drew the second parcel toward him. To his discerning eyes, though the parchment and the missive appeared mundane, he could perceive the intricate mageia lattice woven into the postal consignment; every item had been shielded with a meticulous ward.
As the young man unfurled the outer brown wrapping, he discovered a second layer—a large, vibrant floral textile enveloping the contents. Beneath the fabric lay a sizeable alabaster confection box. Upon lifting the lid, he found it filled with exquisitely crafted chocolates.
Yet, the primary phenomenon to greet him was not the confectioneries themselves, but a melody that drifted from the box without a discernible source. The cadence was simple yet sublime, echoing the celestial resonance of a grand piano.
In a single pulse, the lightless dormitory was flooded with the fragrance of blossoms and the elegance of the instrumentation. The stagnant, shadowed chamber seemed to ignite with a preternatural brilliance; in this moment, he felt as though he stood within a paradisiacal garden rather than a cramped, underground vault.
"Is this... did she imbue the vessel with a vocal liturgy to function as a music box? Why would she go to such lengths?" Seraph murmured.
To the young man, sustenance was for consumption, and vessels were mere containers for utility. He had never entertained the notion of embellishing mundane objects with such bespoke and extraordinary mageia detail.
He hoisted the vessel to scrutinise its every facet, observing a lattice of miniature mageia circles and ancient runes etched into the perimeter. These were the kinetic fonts, the foundational mageia power sources that sustained the acoustic resonance.
The authority of ancient runes and the art of alchemy were ill-suited for the violence of combative mageia; such disciplines were better reserved for the fabrication of artefacts and enchanted objects—a craft typically mastered by artificers and smiths.
While Seraph had previously perused codices regarding runic script and alchemy, he harboured an indifference toward any Art that did not facilitate direct engagement. He had never committed to the cultivation of auxiliary disciplines; even restorative mageia remained a distinct vulnerability in his repertoire.
His entire focus was funnelled exclusively into elemental mageia, offensive liturgies, and defensive wards—every effort directed toward the singular, absolute goal of purging every demon of the Demon Legion from the face of Laurasia.
"Nothing remains but the vocal spell..." Seraph remarked, setting the confection box before him once more.
Upon peering inside, he beheld scores of chocolates meticulously arranged. Each piece possessed a charming aesthetic that rendered the prospect of consumption almost sacrilegious. Each was a unique entity; notably, no two confections shared the same geometry.
This implied that Lenora had fashioned every individual chocolate with her own hands. They were technically 'imperfect' and lacked industrial uniformity, yet they were exquisitely refined and saturated with overflowing sentiment.
Some were cast in the silhouette of hearts.
Some bore the likeness of blossoms.
Some mirrored the silver lunar.
Some represented the solar orb.
Some took the form of a mageia staff.
Some were shaped as four-leaf clovers.
Yet, every one of these confections served as a silent vanguard, encircling a central centrepiece.
At the heart of the box stood two diminutive chocolate figures—a boy and a girl, their hands clasped in union. Curiously, the girl held a Rose Anastasia, while the boy brandished a mageia staff.
Although these confections were devoid of any formal mageia lattice within their cocoa marrow, a heady aroma of chocolate ascended. A profound sentiment seemed to overflow from the homemade sweets, almost tangible to the young man's heart.
Seraph retrieved a solitary blossom-shaped chocolate. He pressed it to his lips; it was neither too resistant nor too yielding, a gentle sweetness greeting the tip of his tongue.
As he bit down, the shell fractured, releasing a wave of bitterness that scoured his palate before dissolving. In an instant, the dark notes transmuted into a surging, sweet ecstasy that saturated his senses.
In that moment, it was as if he had tapped into a magnificent fragment of Lenora's essence—a boundless devotion she had not intended to vocalise, yet which resonated through the small confection with absolute sincerity. His mind drifted to memories of their dialogues within the moonlit gardens.
[Slammm—!]
"MASTER!" Rosalyn threw the door open with sudden violence, her voice echoing through the small chamber.
Seraph froze, returning a second chocolate to the box before turning toward the girl.
"What's the matter?" he inquired.
She offered no immediate reply, her eyes scanning the room as if she expected to discover a monster lurking within the shadows.
Possessed by an investigative fervour, she narrowed her eyes and began to scent the air. She moved toward the bed, hoisting the pillows and peering beneath the frame, yet her search yielded nothing.
"What are you looking for?" Seraph asked, his bewilderment mounting.
"Did you have a lady in here last night?" she countered.
"No... I've always been alone," he replied, his face a mask of incomprehension.
"Then what's this floral scent in the air? Wait—! What's that!" Rosalyn exclaimed, lunging toward the desk.
She seized the Rose Anastasia, inspecting it with wide-eyed shock.
"A mageia blossom!" she shrieked.
"..."
Seraph merely stared at the girl, unable to fathom the cause of her frantic astonishment.
"A mageia blossom!!!" the girl bellowed once more, her voice reaching a glass-shattering pitch.
"Indeed... a Rose Anastasia" he replied, his tone saturated with indifference.
"It's not just a Rose Anastasia. It's a Pink Rose Anastasia!!!" she continued to shriek, her volume unabated.
The resonance of Rosalyn's outburst cascaded into the corridor, causing several Ragguard sentries to cast a brief glance toward Seraph's quarters.
However, upon recognising the distinctive timbre of the girl's shouting, they merely shrugged and resumed their vigil; it was a constant of daily life. Had she been silent, they might have suspected a demon incursion.
"Why does this incite such shock in you?" Seraph inquired, his bewilderment deepening.
"Why on earth are you so detached? That is..." Rosalyn faltered, her eyes snagging upon a further detail.
Abruptly, she seized the rose-pink envelope, inspecting it with intensity. Her gaze then darted between the parchment and the melodic confection box resting upon the desk.
Seraph, noting her scrutiny, hoisted the box toward her.
"Would you like one?" he asked.
"You're offering your lover's chocolates to me? Are you serious?" Rosalyn countered, her voice laden with the implication that the young man was committing a mortal sin. Her face was a mask of incredulity at his conduct.
"Lover? No... Lenora and I are merely friends," Seraph replied with a vacant expression.
"Friends? And does your 'friend' habitually despatch mageia music boxes and letters to confess her love?" Rosalyn pressed, her persona shifting from investigator to a meddlesome gossip, a mischievous glint dancing in her eyes.
"Confess love? Your imagination has strayed too far. We share only a bond of fellowship," Seraph stated, his tone as austere as a hermit preaching the world's purity to a novice.
Her grin vanished in a single pulse. Rosalyn's expression curdled from excitement into a profound, squinting suspicion.
"What do you mean? A companion doesn't despatch rose-pink missives and hand-crafted chocolates; such gestures aren't within the standard lexicon of 'friendship'!" Rosalyn countered, her features twisted in profound bewilderment.
"You don't know... Lenora has always employed rose-pink envelopes for our correspondence, and the Rose Anastasia is a constant in her parcels. These details are typical of her," Seraph explained with a clinical, almost heartless detachment.
Rosalyn recoiled against the masonry as if her vital reserves had been abruptly drained. She buried her face in her hands, seemingly unable to reconcile the reality of his ignorance with her own sensibilities.
"Oh, Lord... how many maiden hearts have you crushed without even realizing it?" Rosalyn sighed, her voice heavy with exhaustion.
"You're mistaken! I've never inflicted harm upon a maiden! I've sparred with Evelyn on numerous occasions, yet I always maintained restraint to ensure her safety," Seraph interjected, defensive.
"You are truly... I'm utterly disenchanted with you..." Rosalyn rolled her eyes, her posture collapsing in defeat. "Even though you're my Master, I find myself compelled to give you a primary lecture on the complexities of a maiden's heart!—"
"Why exactly did you come looking for me?" Seraph interrupted with clinical speed, determined to forestall a burgeoning migraine.
"I won't permit you to evade—" she began, refusing to be silenced.
Yet, in that single pulse, the gravity of her actual errand flooded back. Her eyes widened, her complexion turning a ghostly pallor.
"Goddess! The Northhaven has been breached!!" the girl shrieked.
"WHAT!" Seraph exclaimed, vaulting from his seat.
"Mordan summons you to a war council within my father's study!" Rosalyn added in a frantic rush.
"Follow me!" Seraph commanded, his expression darkening into a mask of terminal gravity.
The young man seized his mageia staff and swept from the quarters.
The girl abandoned the confections and pursued him with haste.
The heavy door groaned shut, allowing the encroaching gloom to silently reclaim the chamber.
Only the rose-pink parchment and the Pink Rose Anastasia remained, the mageia blossom pulsing with a defiant radiance against the creeping shadows.
✧ . ✶ . ❂ . ✶ . ✧