The return to the cabin was a calvary of silence, broken only by Hayjin's heavy breathing and the crunch of Rhaegalur's boots on the carpet of pine needles. The sun was now sinking behind the jagged peaks of Exilia, tinting the sky a bruised purplea lmost the same color as the contusions beginning to bloom across the boy's body. Rhaegalur carried Hayjin as if he were a precious but fragile bundle, holding him steady against his armored chest to prevent the jolts of the path from worsening his rib injuries.
Hayjin, despite the searing pain in his shoulder and the taste of iron still coating his mouth, was awake. His eyes, glassy from the receding adrenaline fever, stared at the treetops passing above him. He didn't feel like a hero. He felt like a survivor. Every jolt extracted a stifled groan, but there was a spark of pride in his gaze: he had looked death in the eyes and defeated it with an equation.
When the reassuring silhouette of the cabin appeared through the evening mist, the door swung open almost instantly. Elara was on the threshold, the warm light of the lanterns behind her casting a dark and menacing shadow. As soon as she saw Hayjin's state the torn tunic, the clotted blood on his thigh, and the limp arm her face shifted from relief to primordial fury.
"Rhaegalur!" she screamed, her tone so sharp that even the nocturnal birds fell silent. "What have you done? What did you do to him?!"
Rhaegalur entered the house without a word, laying Hayjin down with extreme gentleness on the fur-lined bench near the fire. The moment he straightened up, Elara was upon him.
"I told you to train him, not send him to the slaughter!" she cried, her voice breaking with anguish. "He's a child, Rhaegalur! A child who knows nothing of these beasts! Look at the state he's in!"
Rhaegalur tried to open his mouth. "Elara, listen, he had to understand variation..."
CRACK.
The sound of Elara's fist striking Rhaegalur's jaw echoed through the ceiling beams. It was a sharp, precise blow, fueled by all the frustration of a woman who had waited for hours fearing the worst. The giant's head snapped sideways, but he remained motionless, taking the hit with infinite patience.
Hayjin, despite the pain in his ribs, couldn't help himself. Seeing the imposing Dragon God the one who could pulverize mountains take a right hook from a peaceful healer of Exilia without batting an eye was simply too much. He began to chuckle, a hoarse and painful laugh that made his chest heave.
"You find it funny, do you?" Elara turned toward him like a predator.
Before Hayjin could respond, he felt a sharp flick on his forehead not a real punch, but a very energetic punitive tap that made him groan. "And that's for you! For following this brainless muscle-head on a suicide mission! You're both idiots, that's what you are!"
She straightened up, smoothing her apron with a brusque gesture, her eyes still shooting sparks. But then, her gaze suddenly softened, returning to that of the woman who healed every wound with love. "Dinner is almost ready. Root stew and wild ox meat. And woe betide you both if you don't clean your plates."
As the sun rose over the kingdom of Opes, far from the menacing peaks and rarefied air of Exilia, the dawn painted the spires of the royal palace in a warm, molten gold. The light filtered lazily through the towering windows of Zhilian's bedroom, shattering into a thousand colored reflections across the white marble floor and the silk embroidery of the long curtains, which gently stirred in the morning breeze.
Inside the room, the silence was almost sacred, broken only by the regular breathing of the princess, who was still curled up beneath a mountain of azure velvet blankets.
With a stealthy, coordinated movement, the bedroom door opened. A small group of maids and stewards made their entrance, moving with the silent grace of those accustomed to not disturbing royal slumber. Leading the group was Riko, Zhilian's personal head of service a very young girl with a stern yet deeply caring gaze. She held a finely chiseled silver tray from which exhaled the sweet, enveloping scent of freshly baked pastries, herbal infusions, and fresh fruit.
Riko approached the bed with measured steps, stopping a meter away. With a fluid nod of her hand, she ordered the other maids to gently draw back the curtains of the canopy bed.
"Princess Zhilian," Riko began, her voice a firm yet melodious whisper, carefully practiced for an awakening that wouldn't jolt the senses. "It is time to wake. The sun has already cleared the walls of the outer city, and your breakfast is ready."
Zhilian let out a soft groan, burying her face even deeper into the goose-down pillow. She turned to the other side, clutching the blanket like a shield against duty and the new day, her long hair scattered across the sheet like disheveled threads of silk.
"Just... just five more minutes, Riko..." the princess mumbled, her voice thick with sleep, almost childish compared to the regal tone she usually exhibited in public. "The bed has decided to keep me prisoner today. It's a plot by the sages, I'm certain of it."
Riko couldn't suppress a small, indulgent smile, though her posture remained impeccably straight. "I fear the sages possess no such authority, milady. Furthermore, the royal chef has prepared the southern vanilla cream pancakes you love so much. It would be a true shame to let them get cold. Not to mention the wild berry black tea."
At those words, Zhilian's stomach let out a soft rumble, betraying her semblance of resistance. The princess opened a single eye, looking at Riko with an expression of feigned suffering, before slowly sitting up. She rubbed her eyes with her fists, yawning openly as the maids hurried to arrange the pillows behind her back to make her comfortable.
"Alright, alright, you win, as always," Zhilian said, flashing a sleepy, grateful smile. "Thank you, Riko. And thank you all. You are my salvation every morning."
Riko bowed her head slightly, placing the tray across Zhilian's lap with absolute precision. "It is our duty, and a pleasure, Princess."
Just as Zhilian was about to reach for the steaming cup of tea, an unusual noise shattered the quiet of the room.
BAM!
Followed by a thunderous WHOOSH and the unmistakable sound of a mass of water crashing against something solid. Then, a crystal-clear, sharp, and ringing laugh echoed from outside.
Zhilian froze with her hand mid-air, her eyebrows arching in surprise. "What in the...? Riko, what was that? Is there a flood happening in the courtyard?"
Before the steward could answer, another sound like the collapse of a stone wall lightly rattled the windowpanes. Driven by curiosity, Zhilian carefully pushed the tray aside and got out of bed, slipping her feet into her fur slippers. She headed toward the large arched window that overlooked the private royal gardens, the ones usually reserved for the royal family's meditation and afternoon strolls.
She drew back the curtain and looked down.
There, in the middle of what had once been a perfectly manicured English lawn, was Wren. Her younger sister, as well as her primary rival for the throne of Opes.
Wren was wearing clothes unusually practical for a princess: a light tunic that allowed her ample freedom of movement, with her sleeves rolled up to her elbows. In her hands, she clutched an ancient grimoire bound in blue and silver leather, its pages turning on their own, moved by a magical breeze. But what struck Zhilian most was the expression on her sister's face. Wren wasn't just studying; she was literally vibrating with joy. She had a smile of pure, untainted happiness plastered across her face an expression Zhilian hadn't seen on her in a very long time.
Wren took a step forward, fluidly pivoting her hips and raising her hands to the sky. From her open palms, three intertwined streams of water erupted, rapidly shaping themselves in the air, turning first into perfect spheres, then into sharp darts, and finally into an enormous wave that crashed into a row of boxwood hedges pruned in the shape of swans, reducing them to a mass of broken branches and mud.
"Yes! Exactly! The flow must be constant, not intermittent!" Wren exclaimed aloud, talking to herself as she consulted the grimoire, her eyes gleaming. "If I modify the fluid density equation at the base of the magical core, the stability increases by forty percent!"
Zhilian, from her second-floor window, observed the scene. Seeing her younger sister so radiant, so genuinely passionate and happy, melted something in her chest. Despite the competition for the crown, despite the snide remarks and political tension that the nobles always tried to stir up between them, Wren was still her sister. And seeing her smile like that, without the shadow of courtly duties crushing her, brought an identical, soft, and protective smile to Zhilian's own face.
"Look at how hard she's working..." Zhilian whispered to herself, resting her chin on her hand as she continued to look down.
Shifting the focus entirely to Wren, the situation in the garden was decidedly more chaotic than it seemed from above. The young princess was immersed in her world of formulas, mana, and dreams. Every time she cast a water spell, manipulating it with a mastery that had been growing by leaps and bounds over the past few days, her thoughts flew to a single person: Hayjin.
Hayjin is about to return, Wren thought, and that thought was the true driving force behind all that morning fervor. The messengers say he could be here in Opes within a few days. I can't let myself be caught unprepared. When he left, I was just a girl taking her first steps in theoretical magic. I want him to see my progress. I want him to see that I've changed, that I've become strong. I want him to be... proud of me. Maybe when he sees what I can do, he'll stop treating me like a child and finally look at me as... as his equal.
A thrill of excitement ran down her spine. With a sharp flick of her wrist, she recalled the water scattered across the lawn, condensing it into a gigantic spiral that began to spin tempestuously around her body, lifting her blonde hair and making her eyes shine a deep, intense blue.
"Princess Wren! For the love of the Gods, I beg you, pay attention!"
The desperate voice belonged to the head steward of the gardens, an elderly man named Johan, who had just emerged from behind a patio column along with two assistants. Johan held his hands to his few remaining hairs, staring in pure horror at the surrounding destruction. The beds of rare roses imported from the eastern kingdoms were completely submerged in mud; a marble statue of the first king of Opes had been dislodged by the water pressure, and the lawn looked like a swamp after the passage of marsh monsters.
"We beg you to be careful, Princess!" Johan continued, advancing cautiously to avoid being hit by a splash. "You are literally demolishing the east wing's royal garden! It took three years to grow those swan-shaped boxwood hedges! One of the sages could pass by here at any moment for his routine inspection!"
Wren didn't interrupt her spell. She made the water spiral take one last, spectacular lap above her head before letting it collapse into a harmless downpour of rain, further soaking the already saturated ground. She turned to Johan, the grimoire still floating by her side, and that smile of absolute, brazen happiness remained plastered on her face.
"Oh, come on, Johan, don't be so melodramatic!" Wren replied, giggling as she wiped a drop of water from her cheek with the back of her hand. "No harm done, really! Besides, it's not like I have to clean it up, right? That's what the staff is for! And look on the bright side: water is good for plants. I just moved up the weekly watering schedule. And maybe I gave Great-Grandfather's statue a little rinse too it was so covered in dust!"
Johan opened his mouth, shocked by such impudence, but before he could formulate a sensible reply, Zhilian's elegant, light footsteps echoed on the stone path leading to the garden.
The elder princess had come down. She had quickly slipped on a blush pink silk dressing gown, leaving her hair loose over her shoulders. She looked fresh, relaxed, and still carried her steaming cup of tea, its aroma immediately clashing with the smell of wet earth in the garden.
"Good morning, little sister!" Zhilian exclaimed warmly, advancing toward her with open arms and a radiant smile that conveyed all the good humor of her awakening. "What a splendid sight to start the day! I heard you all the way from my room and couldn't help but come down to say hello!"
Hearing her sister's voice, Wren's expression instantly changed. The smile of pure joy tied to the thought of Hayjin tightened into a neutral, almost annoyed line. Without a word, without even meeting Zhilian's gaze, Wren reached out a hand toward the grimoire, catching it mid-air so it closed with a loud clack, and refocused on the empty space ahead of her.
With a fluid movement, completely ignoring her sister's greeting and physical presence, Wren began to trace a new magic circle in the air with her fingers, summoning small spheres of water that began to orbit around her knuckles. It was as if Zhilian had suddenly become transparent.
Zhilian, however, wasn't fazed in the least. She was used to this attitude of detachment and feigned indifference that Wren used as a defensive shield. In fact, she found it amusing. She decided to seat herself on a nearby stone bench which had fortunately escaped her sister's watery fury and took a sip of her tea, continuing to speak in a bright, calm, and entirely spontaneous tone, as if they were having the most normal conversation.
"Ah, I meant it, the day today is simply wonderful, don't you think?" Zhilian began, looking up at the clear sky before resting her eyes back on Wren's back. "The air is so crisp, and there isn't a single cloud on the horizon. It's the kind of morning that makes you feel lucky to be alive. Oh, and you really should go up and taste the breakfast Riko and the others prepared. That new pastry chef is a true prodigy, I swear. The vanilla pancakes are something celestial, soft as clouds. If you aren't careful, I'll end up eating them all myself, and you know how much I care about my figure, but it's impossible to resist such delicacies."
Wren continued to act as if nothing were happening. With a sharp motion, she hurled one of the water spheres against an empty terracotta pot at the back of the garden, shattering it into a thousand pieces. The stewards in the background winced, but Wren didn't bat an eye. Her fingers moved quickly, drawing more mana from her core.
"And anyway," Zhilian continued, not at all discouraged by the younger girl's stubborn silence, "I was watching your movements from the window before coming down. I must admit, Wren, you are improving by leaps and bounds in magical manipulation. The way you manage to keep the water pressure constant while changing the shape of the spell is truly remarkable. I remember last year you struggled to keep a single sphere stable for more than ten seconds without it exploding in your face and soaking all your clothes.
Now, on the other hand, look at this: you're practically redrawing the geography of the royal garden with a single grimoire. The sages will surely be impressed when they see the reports from your academy, though perhaps Johan will be a bit less so when he has to explain to them where the boxwood swans went."
Zhilian laughed heartily at her own joke, resting the cup on her lap and looking at her sister with genuine pride.
Wren, for her part, continued to masterfully ignore her. She took a deep breath, opened the grimoire again with a theatrical flourish, and began to murmur a formula under her breath, focusing all her attention on the flow of mana coursing through her veins. Her ears were slightly red perhaps from the exertion, or perhaps because Zhilian's words had hit the mark but she categorically refused to turn around, reply, or even let out a breath that might betray her awareness of her sister's presence.
The royal garden remained suspended in that bizarre dynamic: on one side, the watery destruction and stubborn silence of a young princess determined to surpass her limits for someone she held in her heart; on the other, the untiring chatter and serene smile of an older sister who, despite everything, continued to look at her with infinite affection.
The water sphere orbiting lazily around Wren's knuckles faltered. Zhilian's voice, with that incredibly light, unbearably melodious, and effortless tone, kept creeping into her ears like an invisible nest of wasps. No matter how hard Wren tried to focus on the grimoire, on the lines of force imprinted on the ancient parchment, or on the exact calculation of the mana density; her older sister's presence was a magnet that distorted everything.
In the end, the spell's stability gave way. With a soft pop, the sphere deflated, turning into a lukewarm drizzle that soaked Wren's already muddy boots.
The young princess stood frozen for a few seconds, her back straight and shoulders tense. Johan, the head steward, who was still monitoring the situation from afar with his heart in his throat, held his breath, fearing a royal explosion of anger. But Wren didn't yell. She exhaled slowly through her nose, letting the grimoire slide down her side, hovering a few inches from the ground thanks to a faint strand of residual energy.
She turned around slowly, planting her feet into the soft, muddy earth. Her face no longer wore the mask of detachment from before, but rather a sly smirk, steeped in that time-tested irony the two sisters had used for years as their favorite battleground.
"Oh, please, Your Impeccable Royal Highness," Wren began, crossing her arms over her chest and tilting her head slightly to the side, while a streak of sweat slid down her temple, mixing with the magical water. "I didn't know the Chair of Magical Criticism had been entrusted to someone who spends her mornings bargaining with velvet blankets and being hand-fed by stewards. Truly, I am moved by such theoretical mastery."
Zhilian didn't flinch. She raised her teacup to her mouth, taking a theatrical little sip, her eyes gleaming with genuine amusement behind the porcelain rim. "Knowledge, my dear Wren, is also acquired by observing the efforts of others. And I must say, from the second floor, the sight of your frustration was absolutely illuminating. Much more effective than any treatise in the royal library."
Wren took a step forward, letting the mud make a squelching sound beneath her sole. "Did you come all the way down here just to comment on my failures from last year, or is there a reason behind this display of blush silk right next to a swamp? Because, you know, if the sages see mud on your train, they'll probably blame me for that too."
"Oh, I'm certain of it," Zhilian chuckled, tucking a lock of hair that the breeze had blown across her face. "But you must admit that my train is the least of this garden's problems. Look over there. That boxwood swan on the right looks like it was chewed on by a land dragon with digestive issues. Johan is on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and I think if you cast one more spell, he might resign to become a hermit in the mountains."
A few meters away, Johan pressed a hand to his chest, nodding weakly in Zhilian's direction, as if thanking her for giving voice to his inner drama.
Wren gave the devastated hedge a distracted glance and then turned back to stare at her sister, narrowing her eyes. "Johan will survive. He made it through the War of the Three Kingdoms and the introduction of the new silk trade taxes; a little magical water won't kill him. And besides, I was reflecting on your words... 'Worrying about your figure'? Really, Zhilian? You spend more time in front of the mirror admiring yourself than doing any other activity that requires more than a bit of physical exertion. If you eat another one of those vanilla pancakes, the only thing at risk of suffering is the patience of your seamstresses, who will have to widen your royal corsets for the third time this month."
The jab was direct, but delivered in a tone so playful and theatrical that even Johan's two assistants had to bite the inside of their cheeks to keep from bursting into laughter in front of the princesses.
Zhilian rested her cup on the stone bench, feigning offense. She pressed a hand to her chest, exaggerating her expression of disdain. "What insolence. This is pure and simple slander from a younger sister who cannot accept the genetic superiority of primogeniture. My corset is doing just fine, thank you very much. It is the very bone structure of the kingdom of Opes that demands a certain stature to carry the crown with dignity."
"Right, let's keep calling it 'bone structure,'" Wren retorted, taking a step closer until the shadow of the bench brushed her. Her tone, while remaining light, began to take on a different, denser, more targeted edge. The ironic smile remained fixed on her lips, but her eyes suddenly grew sharper, as if she were preparing the most important spell of the morning. "But we both know you didn't come down here this early just to check on my magic level or the health of the bushes, Zhilian."
Zhilian raised an eyebrow, maintaining her relaxed half-smile. "Oh? And what did I come down for, let's hear it. Enlighten me, my young seer."
Wren made a calculated pause. She leaned forward slightly, resting her hands on her knees, her gaze locked onto her older sister's. "You came down because I know you visited Hayjin a few days ago, and you probably know that Hayjin could cross the gates of the capital at any moment."
Hayjin's name resonated through the garden like a clear chime, instantly shifting the atmosphere. The wind seemed to die down for a moment, letting the sound of water droplets falling from the leaves fill the silence.
Zhilian's expression didn't change, but her eyes grew imperceptibly sharper. She remained seated on the bench, her back straight, listening to her sister with a composure that felt almost like a silent challenge.
"And what of it?" Zhilian asked, her voice maintaining a serene calm. "It is only natural that I am informed about the movements of our guests and allies. It is part of my duties as heir."
"Your duties, of course," Wren said, straightening up with a snap and letting out a bitter but competitively affectionate laugh. "The crown princess's usual excuse. But this time, things will be different, Zhilian. I know you all too well. Every time something beautiful happens to me, every time I receive something new, something extraordinary, bizarre, or powerful, you are always there. With your perfect smiles, your impeccable diplomacy, your carefully staged words. You arrive, you charm everyone, and in the end... poof. It all becomes your property. The nobles hang on your every word, the knights swear allegiance to you, and even the palace cats prefer your caresses."
Wren took a step to the side, gesturing widely toward the grimoire still floating beside her. "You've always stolen the spotlight from everyone, Zhilian. It's your superpower, I admit it. All you have to do is walk into a room to make everyone else fade into the background. But this time... this time I won't let you do it. This time, Hayjin won't become your property."
Zhilian kept her gaze anchored to Wren's. The firmness in her younger sister's voice wasn't driven by malice or actual political resentment; it was the pride of a girl who had found something or someone she considered sacred, a space where she didn't want her older sister's institutional perfection coming in to disrupt things.
"Hayjin is not an object to be possessed, Wren," Zhilian said, her tone softer, almost pedagogical. "He is an eccentric young man, a visitor with a mind that reasons according to logics we can barely comprehend. He is not a knight-errant to be added to one's stable of admirers."
"Don't play dumb with me!" Wren interrupted, pointing her index finger at her, though a corner of her mouth twitched with a repressed urge to laugh. "You know exactly what I mean. I don't mean 'property' in that sense. I mean I won't allow you to wrap him in your web of royal charm, turning him into just another piece of your inner circle of advisors or devoted worshippers. He... he helped me, at the beginning. He looked at my formulas, he laughed at my mistakes without judging me, and he pushed me to look at magic from a completely new perspective. Those stupid calculations he uses... those quirky equations... they belong to me, in a way. They are our bond."
Wren took a deep breath, her chest rising beneath her wet tunic. Her initial fervor began to dissipate, giving way to a vulnerability she desperately tried to hide behind a proud posture. "I want him to see me when he returns. Not 'Crown Princess Zhilian's younger sister.' I want him to see the progress I've made on my own during his absence. I want him to understand that I can walk by his side without needing your shadow to protect or obscure me. So yes, I'll say it again: you won't steal my spotlight this time. That's a promise."
Silence returned to the ruined garden. Johan and his assistants had strategically retreated around the corner of the portico, understanding that the conversation had taken a turn far too private for servants' ears.
Zhilian sat motionless on the bench. She observed her younger sister: her slightly ruffled hair, her cheeks warm from exercise and emotion, her hands unconsciously gripping the fabric of her tunic. There was so much energy in her, so much life unguided by court protocols, that for an instant, Zhilian felt a tiny pang of benevolent envy.
A light smile, incredibly sweet and devoid of any malice or irony, made its way onto the older princess's face. It was the smile of a sister seeing, for the first time, a profound and irrevocable change in the child she had grown up with.
Zhilian leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees and interlacing her fingers beneath her chin. Her eyes caught her sister's, locking them in place.
"Wren..." Zhilian began, her voice reduced to a calm, almost confidential whisper. "Are you... in love with Hayjin?"
The question struck Wren with the force of a third-tier impact spell.
Her proud posture collapsed instantly. Her eyes widened in shock, and for a full second, she seemed to forget how to breathe. The magical grimoire completely lost its mana support and dropped to the ground, landing with a dull thud on the wet grass, but Wren didn't pay it the slightest attention.
A violent, sudden, and unstoppable blush started from the base of her neck and rushed up her cheeks, until it tinted even the tips of her ears a color that rivaled the destroyed roses in the garden.
"W-What?! What... what kind of question is that?!" Wren stammered, her voice rising an octave, losing all its previous confidence. She tried to avert her gaze, staring intently at a puddle near her feet as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. "I... I am a princess of Opes! I don't... I don't indulge in such nonsense from serialized romance novels for ladies-in-waiting! I appreciate his mind! His... his scientific knowledge! His way of... of questioning the laws of the world!"
"Wren," Zhilian interrupted her, her smile widening, her eyes shining with infinite tenderness. There was no mockery in her voice, only the pure joy of witnessing a moment of absolute truth. "You are blushing so hard we could use your cheeks to light up the castle hallways tonight. And you're stammering. You never stammer, not even when the sages yell at you because you almost set the library on fire."
Wren put her hands to her face, desperately trying to cover her burning cheeks, but it only made her look more guilty. Her fingers toyed with her hair, twisting it into small strands. For a few moments, the only sound was the distant noise of the palace waking up.
The young princess let out a long, defeated sigh, slowly lowering her hands but still refusing to look her sister in the eye. Her arrogance had vanished, replaced by a genuine, almost childish shyness that showed her true age.
"You are truly unbearable..." Wren whispered, her voice so low that Zhilian had to strain her ears to hear it.
"Well?" Zhilian pressed, softening her tone even further. "It's just a big sister's curiosity. I promise I won't write it in the state journal."
Wren kicked a small stone into the mud, watching its trajectory before it stopped against a column. She took a deep breath, clenching her fists at her sides, and finally, with a thread of a voice that sounded like a secret confessed at an altar, she spoke.
"...Maybe, yes."
The words hung suspended in the morning air, light yet definitive. Wren finally raised her eyes, meeting Zhilian's. There was a lingering spark of defiance in her eyes, which were red from embarrassment, as if to say: Yes, I said it, now try laughing if you dare.
But Zhilian didn't laugh. Her smile grew even softer, and a wave of deep affection washed through her eyes. She rose slowly from the stone bench, smoothing down her dressing gown with a natural gesture that, this time, had nothing theatrical about it. She took the few steps separating them, careless of the mud staining the hem of her blush silk, and stopped just inches away from her younger sister.
She reached out and, with extreme gentleness, gave her a playful little tap on her still-warm cheek, just as she used to do when they were children and Wren would hide behind the curtains after causing trouble in the palace corridors.
"Good," Zhilian said, her tone returning to its usual crisp, protective self. "Then that's all the more reason not to be found with dark circles under your eyes and an empty stomach when he arrives. A clever boy like Hayjin will certainly appreciate a powerful mage, but a starved, mud-covered aspiring queen might scare him off before his time."
Wren blinked, surprised by her sister's reaction. She touched her cheek where Zhilian had tapped it, feeling her embarrassment finally begin to fade, replaced by a sense of familiar warmth. "So... you won't tease me for the rest of my days?"
"Oh, I will tease you immensely, have no doubt about that," Zhilian retorted, spinning around fluidly and picking up her now-cold cup of tea. "But I will do it within the walls of my bedroom, not in front of the court. And above all, I will only do it after we've had breakfast. Did I mention there are vanilla pancakes? If we wait any longer, Riko will send the guards to look for us and the chef will refuse to cook for the rest of the week."
Wren watched her older sister head toward the portico, moving with that innate grace that seemed completely unaffected by the surrounding disaster. She bent down, picked up her magical grimoire, wiping its leather cover with the sleeve of her tunic, and clutched it to her chest.
"Fine, then," Wren called out, quickening her pace to catch up with her. "But I demand my fair share, Zhilian. And if I find out you ate the last wild berry pastry, I swear I'll turn your bathwater into a solid block of ice the next time you decide to take a hot bath."
"Oh, what a terrifying threat," Zhilian chuckled without turning around as they crossed the palace threshold, leaving behind the devastated garden and a visibly relieved Johan who was already shouting hurried orders to his assistants to repair the damage.
"I mean it!" Wren protested, falling into step beside her along the wide, sunlit marble corridor. "Water magic has many practical applications; watery vengeance is one of them."
Their voices, filled with banter, laughter, and that unique closeness that only two rival sisters could understand, continued to echo through the corridors of the palace of Opes, slowly fading as they headed toward the dining hall, ready to face the new day and everything Hayjin's return would bring with it.