The morning stretched on with laughter, playful teasing, and the quiet rhythm of a shared meal. Outside, Berthold shook off the la st vestiges of sleep; shutters creaked open and carts began to roll, and somewhere in the distance the bell of a chapel tolled a reluctant hour.
Lyra stood in the courtyard of Berthold Manor, the weight of command settling on her shoulders like a familiar cloak. She scanned the assembled knights, a small but formidable force that had weathered chaos and emerged scarred but resolute. The morning sun struck their armor, sparks of light dancing across polished steel.
"The Berthold knights are scattered, sent on a hopeless errand. We will find them—and bring them home." Her voice cut through the morning air like a blade.
She sorted the men and women under her command with a practicality that left no room for wavering. "Captain Rita and Elise, you will remain here, in Berthold. You will be Governess Gessa's sword and shield. Restore order. Protect the people."
"As you command, General," Captain Rita answered — a line delivered with the crisp, instant obedience of someone who had made a life of giving orders and following them in equal measure.
Other groups would ride out—north, south, and east—searching for the missing knights. Lyra's gaze landed on Rory. "You'll stay here."
Disappointment flickered across Rory's face like a shadow. He wanted to ride beside her, shoulder danger and honor alike.
"You're not being left behind," Lyra said softly, her tone almost maternal. "You are entrusted with a mission of equal importance. While I am gone, you will train with Governess Gessa. Learn her discipline. Listen to her wisdom."
Gessa stood beside Vivian, quiet approval on her face. Rory straightened, determination sparking in his eyes. "Yes, General!"
The manor's hearth spilled golden light across the room, warmth and laughter blending in a comforting embrace. Outside, Berthold remained a wound, its streets whispering of neglect and fear. Gessa felt it—a renewed call to duty. She had been a grieving lover; now she was a Governess again.
She stepped into the midday sun, leaving behind the quiet comfort of the manor. The square stretched before her, tense and uneasy. Lyra's knights, Captain Rita and Elise, held their positions, silent sentinels. The townspeople hovered in uncertain clusters, eyes wary, faces etched with suspicion and exhaustion. The town has been taken advantage by ruffians and drunkards.
Gessa advanced, her armor catching the sun, gleaming like a promise. She looked as she had before—commanding, unyielding—but there was a new depth in her eyes: humility carved from grief, tempered by resolve.
Rory lingered near the manor gates, watching, awe etching his features. Captain Rita and Elise snapped to attention.
"Captain Rita," Gessa called, her voice cutting cleanly through the murmurs. "Report."
Rita's summary was brisk, precise: the town was in chaos. Guards were gone. Markets abandoned. Fear clung to the people.
Gessa listened, the thread of anger and shame weaving behind her steady face. When she addressed the crowd, she let her own voice be both confession and command. "You have every right to be angry," she said, and the admission made something in the square ease. She did not ask for forgiveness — she offered responsibility. Raising a hand, she drew the noise into tense, expectant silence."For weeks, I have failed you. My grief consumed me. I neglected my duties. I am here now, not to ask forgiveness, but to take responsibility—and to act."
A man scoffed — the kind of sound that carries surfaces of stone — but Gessa met it without flinching. And now you return, when the trouble is already done?"
Gessa met him without flinching. "No. I return because my wife's condition has improved, and because this town—and I—have been given another chance. The chaos you see is my weakness. I will fix it."
She turned to her remaining guard. "I was blind. The gates were unguarded. The markets vulnerable. I was wrong."
She named the failures plainly: gates unguarded, patrols slack, the market left a prey to those who would take advantage. Humility replaced the pride that had once filled her; it was an armor of a new kind, one that could be tested in the daylight.
"I need you to listen," she continued, voice rising with commanding authority. "The knights I sent out have been gone too long. They may be trapped. I am sending a party to bring them back. Until then, General Grey's knights will patrol the streets, under my direct command. Berthold will feel safe again."
Slowly, the crowd's hostility thawed. They were not yet trusting, but they could see the shape of accountability. Rita and Elise received orders and left like two points of light carving their way through murmur and suspicion; their reply — "We will not fail you" — was a kind of promise.
Her gaze swept the crowd. Relief began to bloom, fragile but real. For the first time in weeks, the people felt they had a leader once more.
Turning to Captain Rita and Elise, she said, "Clear the streets. Secure all entry points. Berthold must feel safe again."
"Yes, Governess," Rita replied, a rare smile breaking through the tension. "We will not fail you."
Sunlight spilled through the manor's windows, warm and golden. Selene moved slowly, deliberately, setting the last plate on the table. Her fingers brushed against the polished wood, grounding herself in the ordinary while the extraordinary swirled beyond the walls.
Vivian watched her, a gentle smile forming. "Thank you, Selene. Not just for helping me get better, but for… everything."
Selene's gaze dropped. "I only did what I could," she murmured.
"No," Vivian insisted. "You gave me something I haven't had in a very long time—strength." Her hand found Selene's, fingers pressing gently, anchoring her.
Selene's eyes met hers, a hesitant vulnerability there, but also a flicker of hope. "I feel… so lost sometimes. Like a ghost in my own life."
Vivian leaned forward. "Perhaps, or perhaps you are finally becoming who you were always meant to be. The past can be a cage, but this—what you have now—is a path forward. Maybe it is a blessing, not a curse."
Selene glanced out the window at the knights preparing their mounts. "She doesn't want anyone to know about my gift," she whispered.
"I know," Vivian replied. "But you're not a tool, Selene. Not a weapon. You're a person. And now, you have people who care for you. People who will protect you—Gessa, Lyra… and me."
Selene's lips curved into a genuine smile. The warmth of the manor, the golden sunlight, and Vivian's unwavering presence wrapped around her like a shield.
Vivian squeezed Selene's hand gently. "Whatever comes next, you'll face it with people who care for you. That makes you stronger than you realize."
Selene nodded, warmth spreading through her chest. Inside the manor, quiet courage bloomed, patient and unshakable.
Far from Berthold, the forest near the Burnt Village lay still, damp with the residue of violence. Broken leaves littered the ground; a lone splintered branch marked the memory of a recent clash.
Four cloaked figures, marked with a star insignia, huddled around a patch of soil alive with unnatural green. Vibrant flowers erupted from the earth, stark against the withered surroundings.
One figure held a glowing gem, humming faintly as it drew the last traces of life from the soil. "It's her blood," came the reverent murmur.
Another knelt, eyes wide at the growth. "She's been here. Unprecedented."
A fifth figure emerged suddenly from the treeline. "Knights from Oakhart are in the village," they said. "I cannot approach without arousing suspicion."
The group froze. The gem flickered.
"The General's knights?" the leader asked, voice hard. "She is with them. If shes with an army that changes everything. Whose army?"
"General Lyra Grey," came the reply.
The leader exhaled, and the breath seemed to settle the possibility like a stone. "one of Oakhart's finest general. Clever. Relentless." The fact settled in the clearing like a new weather. "They just won the battle against the Valerians," someone added.
"We cannot use brute force," the leader said, jaw tight. "We must be…creative."
"Should we follow their tracks? They may have stopped at Berthold."
"They'll be heading back to Oakhart," another offered thoughtfully.
"We'll bypass Berthold and take the fastest route."
Their eyes flicked from the gem to the forest, calculating, cold. what they care for, fragment their trust, stretch their loyalty thin. The girl's power—extraordinary, formidable—would become their tool, but only if wielded from the shadows.
The plan crystallized in the cool, damp air: provoke action without revealing the hand.They must retrive the girl. Wait for the moment when even Lyra Grey could not protect them all—and then strike.
The gem pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat of malice and intent. The forest watched in silence as the cloaked figures melted back into shadow, leaving only the whisper of a patient, sinister plan.