Night had fallen over Border Town with the weight of a leaden shroud. The constant howl of the north wind battered against the heavy glass windows of the main castle, a freezing reminder that the terrible Months of the Demons were only just beginning. However, inside Prince Roland's office, the heat from the crackling fireplace offered a safe and brightly lit refuge to ward off the deadly cold.
Roland sat in his armchair, elbows resting on the oak desk and hands clasped beneath his chin. His gray eyes were fixed on Anna, who sat in an upholstered chair across from him, holding a steaming cup of tea. The Prince was trying to process the magnitude of what he had witnessed on the wall a few hours earlier.
— "So, you used your flame to forge the steel in mid-air?" — Roland asked, his engineer's mind marveling at the lethal application of that power.
— "Yes, Your Highness," — Anna replied, her voice calm, looking at the reflections of the fireplace in her cup. She was still far from her Day of Awakening and any magical evolution. Her flame was the same as always, but her determination had changed. — "My fire responds to my will. I didn't need to change it, I just concentrated the heat to the maximum. I imagined the most lethal and penetrating shape I knew, I took some leftover iron and molded them into needle shapes, let the temperature shape the metal. When they were fired, I focused only on extreme speed and the creature's vital points." —
Roland nodded slowly, processing the information. It was fascinating.
— "The ballistic impact was incredible," — the Prince murmured, almost to himself, before focusing on the girl again. — "But there is a crucial detail I still can't fit into this logical equation, Anna." —
The young witch felt her hands tighten around the porcelain cup. She knew exactly what question was coming next.
— "Your magic has always been purely about controlling temperature and flames," — Roland continued, leaning forward, his gaze investigative yet gentle. — "However, out there on the wall, we all saw it. You weren't just shooting forged flames. You were hovering in the air. Anna... how did you manage to fly? Did your power suddenly gain the ability to manipulate your own weight or gravity?" —
Silence filled the office, dense and suddenly uncomfortable. Anna looked away. Her heart felt heavy. She hated the idea of hiding anything from the man who had saved her from the gallows and given her a home. But she had made a promise to Arthur. A promise of survival that involved the secrets of the people fighting for Graycastle. She wouldn't lie to Roland — lying was corrupting — but she needed to keep the promised secret.
— "I... I cannot answer that, Your Highness," — Anna murmured, her voice laden with genuine distress at not being able to be completely transparent. Her shoulders slumped slightly. — "Please, do not ask me to explain that part. I swore to keep this secret to protect certain things. Revealing the details of what kept me in the air would break a very important promise. I ask for your forgiveness." —
Roland blinked, surprised by the sudden barrier. He knew Anna; she was the most straightforward person in that castle. If she refused to speak and seemed so anguished, the reason was undeniably serious. He wouldn't force her.
— "It's alright, Anna." — Roland leaned back in his chair, sighing soothingly. — "You saved all of Border Town today. If you need to keep this secret, I will respect your silence, after all, we all possess something we wish to hide." —
The girl looked up, a gleam of profound relief and gratitude softening her features.
— "However," — Roland added, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. — "There is something else strange going on that perhaps you can help me understand. Nightingale reported to me that Arthur has been carrying a God's Stone of Retaliation in his pocket at all times. The stone cancels her magic if she gets too close. Do you have any idea what motivations our ally would need to carry the greatest symbol of the Church's oppression?" —
The surprise on the young witch's face was immediate and genuine. She frowned.
— "A Stone of Retaliation?" — Anna repeated, astonished.
Confusion flooded her mind. Why would Arthur walk around with a magic-canceling stone if he himself was a magic user? Shouldn't the magic that lifted her into the air have been blocked?
— "I had no idea about that, Your Highness," — she answered with crystalline sincerity. — "I cannot imagine the real reason he would carry something like that. But Lord Arthur is a good person; whatever the reason, I have no doubt it is for a good cause." —
Roland scratched his chin, realizing the girl was as confused as he was. But like her, Roland knew that Arthur was a good person and must have his reasons for walking around with that Stone.
.
.
.
Meanwhile, in another wing of the castle, the Mist World distorted the stone corridors into a washed-out spectrum of black, white, and gray.
Nightingale glided silently through this parallel universe. Her mind was a chaotic whirlwind. The scene of Anna flying, the books mysteriously floating in the corridor days ago, Arthur's Stone of Retaliation... Since she couldn't spy on the strategist due to the stone, she decided to take the most direct route to extract the truth.
She went straight to William's room.
William didn't possess Arthur's suspicious and enigmatic aura. The militia Commander was charismatic, talkative, and lethal, but Nightingale knew he had no problem revealing certain things to her. He had a colossal soft spot for her, and she was going to use it.
She walked through the bedroom wall. The room was heated by a brazier. William was sitting on the edge of the bed, stripped of his doublet and heavy armor plates, wearing only his leather trousers and a strange shirt unlike any she had ever seen. He was finishing wiping the dark blood off his shield.
Nightingale dispelled the mist. The light returned to normal and she materialized in the center of the room, a few steps away from him, with her arms crossed and a sharp expression.
William stopped his hands' movement. His eyes locked onto her figure, and his usual smile of pure roguishness, mixed with genuine admiration, took over his face.
— "Nightingale, my queen." — William tossed the cloth to the floor, relaxing his posture. — "I thought that after I spent all day wiping out those demonic beasts, you'd give me a break. But if you invaded my room at this hour, I deduce you've finally decided to yield to my irresistible charm." —
Nightingale rolled her eyes hard, though the usual venom was missing from her expression.
— "Save your delusions for later, William," — she cut in, serious. — "My head is full of questions, and you're the only one who gives me straight answers. I was watching. I know Anna's magic is fire, but I saw her fly. And I saw the books floating around her and your friend Arthur days ago." She narrowed her eyes. — "Who was holding Anna in the air today?" —
William didn't hesitate. He simply looked into the witch's eyes and sighed, dropping the playful act.
— "Initially I was surprised too, but then I had no doubts. It was definitely Arthur's doing," — he replied bluntly.
Nightingale automatically used her magical vision to see if the person was telling the truth. In this vision, when someone knew they were lying, their figure would momentarily turn darker. She waited for the black stain of falsehood.
William's image remained perfectly clear and illuminated. He wasn't lying. He believed every word he said.
Nightingale felt her own heart skip a beat. The revelation didn't terrify her; on the contrary, a wave of sudden, overwhelming relief washed over her soul.
— "He... he has magic?" — she murmured, her defensive posture crumbling, an incredulous and almost awe-struck smile appearing on her lips. — "Actually, you have magic? But how? Men don't awaken... And I don't see any magic flow or core inside you. But if it's true, that means you aren't servants of any Devil! You are... you are like us!" —
William smiled at her amusing reaction. — "We have powers, yes. But our magic doesn't come from a magic core in the body, like witches have. Our magic originates from a 'Magic System', which regulates and stores our Magic Power." —
Nightingale's expression quickly contorted in confusion. Her smile faltered.
— "A 'System'?" — she repeated, trying to fit the word into her world's vocabulary. — "Do you mean a commercial system from Dawn? Or maybe a secret guild system that passes magical relics to its members? Is it an organization?" —
William let out a genuine laugh, scratching the back of his neck.
— "No, Nightingale, it's not a merchant association," — he laughed, shaking his head. — "It's something... in my head. It's like a paper, or a sign rather. But I prefer to call it an invisible interface. I complete objectives or defeat enemies, and this 'System' indirectly gives me the ability to improve attributes. Arthur's power is called Telekinesis, which is the ability to move things with the mind; that's why he lifted Anna and the books. My power is Teleportation; it allows me to fold space, moving from one place to another instantly. But it's been a while since I've used it, I prefer to develop my physical skills." —
Nightingale watched him closely. His silhouette didn't darken. It was the absolute truth. Astonished, she took a step forward.
— "Show me," — she asked, curiosity shining in her eyes. — "Please, use your magic so I can see it for myself." —
William gave a smile like someone who was having fun. He stood up from the bed, adopting a relaxed posture.
— "That brute force I use to crush wolves and my stone-hard skin aren't my magic itself; they are just the System's attribute points operating on my body," — he explained to her. — "My magical ability is quite unique, I imagine. It will probably be the first time you see something of this kind." —
In the next millisecond, without a single sound of footsteps, without displacing any air, and without any trace of movement, William's figure simply vanished from the center of the room.
Nightingale held her breath, her eyes wide. Her assassin's instinct triggered, but there was nothing to track. Before she could spin her body around to look for him, she felt the tip of a finger lightly touch her left shoulder from behind.
— "Basically, this is it. Teleportation." — William's voice could be heard right behind her.
She spun around abruptly. There he was, leaning casually against the wall on the other side of the room, meters away from where he had been a fraction of a second ago.
Nightingale's eyes widened in pure fascination and shock. It was real.
— "My god..." — she whispered, joy overflowing. She looked at him with renewed hope. — "William, if you are like us... you should come with me! I officially invite you to the Witch Cooperation Association! Together, you will certainly be welcome." —
William's smile grew softer and somewhat melancholic. He shook his head slowly.
— "I would love to follow you to the ends of the earth, my queen," — he said, his voice calm. — "But I cannot accept the invitation. Have you forgotten what I told you before? The Holy Mountain that the Association seeks so much... it doesn't actually exist. It's an illusion. Our place is here, fighting alongside Roland to build a safe place for witches." —
Nightingale swallowed hard, the mention of the Holy Mountain's nonexistence still causing a pang in her chest, although the truth of his words — always clear in her magical vision — was impossible to refute. She shook her head, changing the subject to something that still intrigued her.
— "There's one more thing," — she crossed her arms again, her posture becoming investigative. — "Arthur. I tried to approach him in the mist, and I realized he carries a God's Stone of Retaliation. If he has magic, how is this possible? Why wasn't his power to lift Anna canceled?" —
William's expression instantly shifted from calm to genuine, abject surprise. The Commander's blue eyes widened, and even he was perplexed by what he heard.
— "Wait a minute... what?!" — William exclaimed, incredulous. — "Arthur has been walking around with a God's Stone of Retaliation in his pocket?! That paranoid bastard didn't tell me that!" —
Nightingale took a half-step back. — "You didn't know?" —
— "Of course I didn't know!" — William huffed, running a hand through his hair. — "We've always known that those stones cancel magic because that's no secret in the world. But the fact that our magic through the System continues to work even with him using a stone... I have absolutely no idea why! Maybe the System simply overrides the rules of this world because it's from a different source, but honestly? Not even I know how Arthur made that work. He must have tested his powers and left me out of it." — Maybe we are Extraordinaries, like Scroll, Ashes, and Tilly. And that's why we are immune to the Stone of Retaliation, William thought, resting a hand on his chin.
Nightingale processed his answer. William continued to shine in pure truth. He truly didn't know about the stone, and he didn't know how their magical immunity worked.
She sighed, relief and admiration mixing in her chest. She took another step toward him, her voice dropping to a much more intimate and confused tone.
— "William..." — she began, looking deeply into his eyes. — "Your secret is quite possibly the most dangerous information in Graycastle. But, why... why do you trust me so much to reveal absolutely all of this without telling a single lie? You haven't known me for that long. You could have told a half-truth or refused to speak." —
William didn't laugh. The room seemed to grow smaller, the atmosphere suddenly laden with an emotional weight that contrasted violently with the war outside. He remained silent for long seconds, his eyes fixed on her, as if pondering the vastness of everything that separated them and, at the same time, united them.
— "You asked me that once in a different way," — William began, his voice dropping to a deep, soft timbre. — "Do you remember that time... when I called you Veronica for the first time? And you immediately thought I was a spy, a bounty hunter hired to find you?" —
Nightingale stiffened, the painful memories of her hidden past threatening to surface. She nodded slowly.
— "I told you I knew about your past through 'prophetic books'. That knowledge wasn't a lie." — William continued, taking a step toward her. He looked at her with a reverence she had never received from a man. — "I know who you are, Veronica. I know everything you have suffered. I also know that you lost your parents when you were very young, torn away from you without even being given an answer or information about what happened to them. You had to swallow your grief in the dark." —
Nightingale's eyes began to tremble. William's words were like keys opening doors she had locked away deep within her soul.
— "I know you sacrificed everything," — William's voice was choked with deep empathy. — "You did absolutely everything for your brother, Hyde. You protected him, loved him, and dirtied your own hands for him. And, in the end, when you needed him, he turned his back on you. And then your uncle... he forced you to become a weapon. You were forced to kill dozens or perhaps hundreds of people against your own will, carrying the weight of strangers' blood on your conscience to protect your former brother and yourself." —
Nightingale couldn't breathe. No one talked about that. She hadn't spoken about it even to Wendy, who was her best friend. Hearing her pain being validated and recognized without judgment, with pure respect...
— "I know all of that, Nightingale," — William said, his blue eyes locked onto hers. — "I know everything you have suffered. And even knowing that my mind could never measure the true dimension of how tortuous and painful all of that must have been for you. I know you well enough to know that you are deserving of my honesty." —
He raised his hand and rubbed the back of his neck, a typical gesture of someone who felt ashamed of themselves and wanted to hide inside their own body.
— "And look, unlike you, I am not emotionally strong," — William confessed, stripping away his pride as the 'unwavering protagonist'. — "If I went through a tenth of the hell you went through, I would have broken, gone mad, or given up. But not you. You survived, and you still fight tooth and nail for your sisters. That's why I admire you so much. And that's why I respect you more than any King or Prince." —
William took a deep breath, declaring his final and most absolute thought.
— "To me, you are not just the most incredible witch. And you are also not just the most incredible woman. You are certainly the most incredible person that exists in this world. Without a single doubt." —
The silence that fell over the room was deafening.
Nightingale tried to open her mouth to give one of her ironic and evasive answers. She tried to summon the sharp sarcasm that had always been her impenetrable shield. But she couldn't say anything. It was as if a sharp stone was lodged in her throat.
She looked down, feeling her chest tighten in a painful and suffocating way. Suddenly, her vision of the stone floor became completely blurred. She blinked, confused. Something hot and salty ran down her cheeks.
She was crying.
Nightingale raised her gloved hand, trying to hastily wipe away the tears, but they wouldn't stop. The dam of pain, loneliness, and the overwhelming shock of finally being seen, understood, and loved for her true essence had broken her defenses. Sobs began to shake her shoulders, silent but heartbreaking.
William took a half-step back, his eyes wide in absolute shock and panic.
What did I do?? William thought, his mind short-circuiting. Nightingale in the original story almost never cried. She only cried out of sadness for not being Roland's chosen one! Why is she crying now???
He didn't know what to do. His only intention with all that sincerity was to gain her total trust, to validate the feelings he harbored. He hadn't expected her emotional fortress to crumble right in front of him. William froze, afraid to act. He didn't want to be bold, he didn't want her to think he was taking advantage of her vulnerability. His hands trembled slightly.
— "N- Nightingale...?" — William asked, his voice failing, almost stammering before the crying woman in front of him. — "Is... is everything okay?? Why are you crying? I'm sorry, I..." —
She shook her head negatively, unable to form words, tears flowing freely as she continued to look at the floor, desperately trying to regain a control that no longer existed.
William's panic evaporated in the face of her need. His hesitation was swallowed by the instinct to protect. He wasn't good with comforting words, but he knew what needed to be done.
Gathering his courage, William took the final step. He extended his strong arms and enveloped Nightingale's trembling figure. He pulled her gently but firmly against him, hiding her face in the curve of his shoulder. He didn't say anything else. He just held her tight, offering a safe harbor in the middle of that cold winter night, as Graycastle's most feared assassin collapsed in his arms.