Chapter 16 : Waking Dream

It was an uneasy thing—being forced to share space with someone you didn’t trust. More so, watching them work their hands and magic over someone you did care about. For Elliot, it was nothing short of torment. Day two in Barrenworth Manor, and still Serena had not stirred. Day two of watching Cassandra Willthrop hover over her unconscious form, weaving spells Elliot could barely understand—and didn’t want to trust.

He loomed near the chamber wall like a shadow, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. Every gesture Cassandra made with her gloved hands, every chant she whispered beneath her breath, set his nerves alight. Though Serena’s fractured animus circuit was almost fully mended—a miraculous recovery by most standards—there remained no sign of waking in her. No flicker of eyelids, no twitch of fingers. Just the stillness of someone suspended far away.

Corrin, ever the practical one, had stepped aside. He had surrendered his role as Serena’s attending healer to Cassandra, claiming she was the more skilled. Perhaps she was. But Elliot didn’t have to like it.

Today, the torch light pooled soft and gold across the stone cave floor, illuminating two floating rings Cassandra had conjured—one on each side of Serena’s sleeping body. The air shimmered faintly around them as arcane sigils spun like clockwork mechanisms. It looked like healing. But Elliot had seen enough of the world to know that appearances were a liar’s favorite trick.

He didn’t speak. Not yet. But the thought burned behind his eyes like a brand:

She’s going to take her back. Back to Orias. Back to the Academy—to perform who-knows-what behind those cloistered walls.

His jaw tightened. His hand rested instinctively on the hilt at his belt—not to draw it, but simply to remember it was there. A silent promise. If Cassandra Willthrop meant Serena harm, she would not do it easily.

"Remember to blink, Mr. Hargrove," Gerald whispered dryly beside him, casting a side glance toward Elliot. "We wouldn’t want your eyes falling out from excessive staring and general over-observance."

It was a gentle jab—part concern, part jest—but one clearly meant to snap Elliot from the brink of unraveling. His gaze hadn’t shifted from Serena once.

“Tea?” Gerald offered, holding out a steaming porcelain cup in a hand far too steady for someone surrounded by such tension.

“I’ll take that, thank you,” Maggie cut in, smoothly plucking the cup from his fingers before Elliot even noticed it was there. She stood beside him too, equally watchful, though not nearly as close to coming unglued. If Elliot was a taut bowstring, she was the archer, still but alert.

She took a cautious sip, then lifted an eyebrow. “Hm? Purple chamomile?”

Gerald’s grin spread like a performer about to unveil the final act. “Excellent guess! But no—it’s Evening Primrose Flower. Rare, elusive—”

“—And expensive,” Roderick interjected sharply from across the room, not even bothering to lift his eyes from the parchment spread before him on the pantry counter. “I said you could use the herbs in the cave pantry. That wasn’t an invitation to ransack my parents’ private collection.”

His tone was lighter than usual—less bite, more weary irritation—but the message was clear.

Gerald raised the teapot like a relic of sacred value. “Tea is art. Tea is calm. Tea is life, dear Roderick. A specimen of this caliber, left to rot in a dusty cabinet? That would be the true tragedy.”

Roderick muttered something unintelligible under his breath, likely a curse, likely not the first of the morning.

“Perhaps you’d be less of a grump if you actually tried some,” Gerald remarked, lifting the teacup toward Roderick in theatrical suggestion.

Silence.

Roderick didn’t respond—not a scoff, not a glare, not even a dismissive grunt. His eyes remained locked on the parchment in front of him, the rest of the world seemingly vanishing beneath the weight of whatever he was reading.

That, in itself, was enough to catch Maggie’s attention.

“Well now,” she said, genuinely surprised. “No biting remark? That must be one very important piece of paper.”

She took another sip of the tea, eyes narrowing slightly toward Roderick.

Gerald leaned in with a grin, voice lowered but not nearly quiet enough to avoid being overheard. “Probably an announcement about a new line of overpriced liquor.”

“Or a newly legalized gambling den,” Maggie chimed in, lips curved with mischief.

Gerald didn’t miss a beat. “Breaking news! Unlimited bootleg Nightshade—first glass free, liver failure included!”

The color visibly rose in Roderick’s neck. His shoulders stiffened, jaw locked, hair seeming to bristle like the back of a cornered manticore. Smoke didn’t literally pour from his ears—but the image was easy enough to conjure.

For a moment, it seemed he might actually explode right then and there. But instead, he folded the parchment once, then again, knuckles white around it. No words. Just a long, bitter glare shared between Gerald and Maggie.

Then, without ceremony, he turned on his heel and stormed toward the exit.

“I should’ve stayed upstairs,” he growled beneath his breath. “Let you lunatics burn this place down without me.”

“The only one capable of burning this place down is you, though…” Gerald muttered under his breath, unable to help himself.

Unfortunately, Roderick heard him.

Woosh.

A thin, searing line of fire whipped through the air—so fast and precise it could’ve split a hair in half. Instead, it scorched Gerald’s entire head, singing the strands to a crisp and leaving his once-groomed hair blackened, frayed, and smoking at the ends.

The door remained half-open as Roderick turned back, his face twisted in silent fury—no words, no need for them. The glare alone promised violence, not out of impulse, but out of deliberate, terrifying calculation. Then, with a final slam that shook the wood from its hinges, he was gone.

Gerald blinked. “S-Sorry,” he squeaked, the smell of burnt keratin thick around his head.

He turned to Maggie, eyes wide in shell-shocked disbelief. “We pushed it a little too far this time, didn’t we?”

Maggie sipped her tea and shrugged. “Apparently, not far enough.”

Gerald groaned, inspecting the ruin atop his head. “Ugh… that flame-headed brute just ruined my best feature.”

From across the room came a sudden voice—soft, elegant, and far too composed to be comforting.

“You’re lucky he didn’t roast your skull.”

Cassandra stood, lowering her hands as the shimmering chanting rings around Serena’s body dissolved into motes of light. The healing session was over.

“The Roderick I once knew wouldn’t hesitate to incinerate a man for merely breathing in his direction. It seems his cruelty has… lessened.” Her tone was calm, her words polite, but her lips curled into a smile too smooth to be friendly.

Gerald swallowed hard. Something in the pit of his gut twisted. The animal instinct. A warning without words. Roderick might be unhinged, might be dangerous—but Gerald knew where the lines were with him. Cassandra… she was different. Beautiful, poised, unreadable—and that made her infinitely more terrifying.

Elliot seemed to agree.

“Burning someone alive is one thing,” he said coldly, breaking his long silence. His eyes didn’t leave Cassandra. “But I wouldn’t call that cruel. Planting false memories into someone’s mind? That’s cruel. Rewriting who they are just so they’ll obey you—that’s cruel. Lying to them from the moment they opened their eyes until they no longer know what truth is? That’s… beyond cruel.”

His tone was emotionless. But the venom was unmistakable.

Cassandra met Elliot’s glare without so much as a flinch. Her expression remained calm, composed—though the smile on her lips carried a subtle sting.

"Forgive me, young Hargrove," she said smoothly, tilting her head ever so slightly. "But did I—or did I not—sense a particular… tension between us?"

Elliot didn’t blink. “I don’t know,” he replied with casual venom. “You tell me. You’re the one with ‘Professor’ in front of your name, aren’t you?”

The temperature in the room seemed to dip. Gerald, noticing the invisible spark about to ignite, hastily reached for Maggie’s arm and began tugging her toward the pantry.

“So, Miss Maggie,” he blurted, voice rising a few nervous octaves, “I believe the pantry sink is, um, malfunctioning. Perhaps your unmatched blacksmithing prowess could be of service? Yes? Let’s go investigate immediately?”

Maggie caught on quick. “What a perfect time to perform plumbing diagnostics,” she agreed, allowing herself to be swept away. The two retreated through the doorway, slipping behind the shelves—far enough to be out of range, but close enough to watch the unfolding chaos with interest.

And unfold it did.

Cassandra stepped forward, folding her hands in front of her, as if addressing a stubborn student.

“Elliot—may I call you Elliot?” she asked sweetly, not waiting for permission. “It’s come to my attention that you seem to hold me personally accountable for Serena’s… altered state. Her memories. Her personality.”

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“I do,” Elliot said flatly.

A flicker passed behind Cassandra’s eyes, but her smile never faltered.

“Well, then allow me to clarify,” she said, voice like velvet over glass. “It was not my decision alone. The act of memory tampering was sanctioned by the full Imperian Court of the Academy. A collective judgment, Elliot. The ruling stated she posed a threat to the realm if left her roam around without knowing who or what she is. Even the Heisphera agreed. It was they who summoned a foreign Imperial Scholar to carry out the memory binding, not I.”

Her voice was firm but diplomatic, her tone dipped in reason, draped in logic. A flawless defense… almost.

But Elliot caught the crack.

“Let me guess,” he said, arms crossed, his gaze sharp as a blade. “You were one of the Imperians who supported the plan, weren’t you?”

That smile of Cassandra’s faltered—barely, but just enough. A flicker. A tell. And Elliot saw it, sharp-eyed and unwavering. That alone told him more than words ever could.

He took a step closer, voice steady but laced with something darker—disappointment, betrayal, a raw truth clawing its way out.

“You know what saddens me most?” he asked, not waiting for her reply. “It’s the way she spoke about you.”

Cassandra’s expression froze in place, unreadable now.

“She adored you,” Elliot continued. “Truly. She spoke of you as if you were some guiding star. Said you were kind. Patient. Said you never gave up on her—especially when she failed over and over again. She admired your strength, your brilliance, your care.”

His gaze narrowed, as if trying to see through her, to whatever soul lay buried beneath her polished poise.

“She believed you cared for her.” Said by and guttered gasp. “And shes right, you do cared for her, from everything I heard—you do care, so much”

And then his voice dropped—lower, heavier, like the weight of a verdict about to be passed.

“So tell me, Professor… if you truly cared so much—if those stories were even half true—what stopped you from telling her the truth?”

Cassandra stood still. Silent.

Elliot’s words cut deeper now, sharpened with purpose.

“You saw who she became, what she’s capable of. You saw the strength she carries, even after everything you and the Academy put her through. So what was it? Fear? Pride? Or was your so-called ‘care’ never enough to warrant giving her her freedom?”

The room hung heavy with silence. No chanting rings. No alchemical hum. Just the echo of judgment—and the question that Cassandra, for once, didn’t have an immediate answer to.

“Go on then,” Elliot growled, his voice raw with disbelief. “Say it. Why? Why didn’t you ever tell her the truth?”

He was pressing harder now, pushing past the edge of diplomacy, unaware—or perhaps uncaring—of the storm beginning to coil behind Cassandra’s poised expression.

Her smile remained, thin and sharp like the edge of a blade. But her eyes... they burned.

“Shaltera Necrova,” she whispered.

Slam.

Before he could blink, Cassandra surged forward, fingers like steel as she seized Elliot by the throat and drove him against the cave wall with unnatural force. The air cracked with the spell’s energy, and a mist of deep violet fog bled into the chamber, swallowing the space in an eerie silence.

Elliot struggled, hands clawing at her grip—but the moment he inhaled the strange, scentless fog, his limbs betrayed him. His strength seeped out like sand through a broken hourglass. His knees buckled. Muscles trembled. Eyes stung with tears. A dry cough rattled through his chest.

“Yes,” Cassandra hissed, her voice no longer pleasant—now edged with pain and fury. “Yes, I cared for her. I cared more than anyone! I cared until it hurt to breathe knowing what had to be done!”

Her fingers dug into his collarbone, trembling.

“But mark this in your stubborn skull, Mr. Hargrove: what I did—what the Academy did—was also an act of care. Not out of cruelty. Not out of apathy. But for her safety, and the safety of everyone around her!”

“She is no ordinary girl. She is a vessel of power not meant to exist. A walking tempest wrapped in flesh. What we did... what I allowed... was never an easy choice.”

Elliot gasped, trying to speak through gritted teeth. “Ughk—!”

Then came another voice—clear, cold, and laced with steel.

“Let him go.”

The chamber stilled.

The sound of metal shifting followed, sharp and unmistakable. A rifle being readied. The voice echoed again.

“Now.”

From the shadows at the chamber’s edge, Maggie stepped forward, rifle shouldered, gaze unwavering. Her voice was calm, but the threat in it was not to be mistaken.

“Last warning,” Maggie said, her voice low but unshaken, the barrel of her rifle aimed dead center at Cassandra’s temple. “Let him go... and disperse the fog.”

There was fire behind her eyes now—raging and unflinching. It wasn’t a bluff. She would pull the trigger without hesitation.

Behind her, Gerald was coughing violently, doubled over as he tried to shield his nose from the fog’s unseen bite. Yet even in his discomfort, his concern broke through in trembling words.

“Madam... please—uhuk!—I get that you’re upset, but your spell... it’s hurting her!” He gestured toward Serena, whose unconscious form now flinched and writhed with every passing second.

At the mention of Serena’s name, Cassandra froze as if struck.

Her eyes widened.

The fog vanished all at once with a sharp pulse of magic, dissolving like breath on glass. The heavy air grew lighter, replaced by clean, crisp silence. Cassandra’s grip loosened, and Elliot crumpled to the floor, coughing hard as his lungs strained to purge the last of the corrupted haze.

She didn’t even glance at him. Her attention snapped to Serena.

“Is she alright?” she muttered in a breathless panic, rushing to the girl’s side.

Serena’s body twitched violently on the cot, her fingers curling, breath ragged and uneven.

“I—I don’t know!” Gerald stammered, already kneeling beside her. His small hand trembled as he gently brushed her cheek. “Serena? Can you hear me, dear? Please, say something!”

“Move!” Cassandra snapped, shoving the halfling aside with one arm.

A glowing ring of pale runes appeared in the air above Serena’s chest—Cassandra’s healing chant—but before it could take full form, it shattered like brittle glass with a hiss of energy.

“What—?” Cassandra recoiled, horrified.

“What’s happening now?!” Maggie shouted from across the room, fear leaking into her voice.

Cassandra stood frozen, her mouth slightly agape. Her hands trembled.

“She’s leaking,” she whispered.

Maggie blinked. “She’s what?”

“Her animus,” Cassandra clarified, her voice tight with dread. “It’s... it’s leaking out.”

“What does that even mean?” Gerald cried, rising to his feet. “Is she dying?”

Cassandra didn’t answer.

She stared at Serena—at the shimmer of violet light now flickering faintly around her—an aura bleeding out of her body like mist from a cracked vessel. It pulsed unnaturally. Something deep and ancient stirred within that glow.

Something that was never meant to wake.

“Everyone—behind me!” Cassandra’s voice rang out, sharp and guttural, threaded with panic. “Now! Behind me!!”

She staggered back ten paces, already forming the spell in her mind. Gerald, wide-eyed and trembling, didn’t wait for a second command—he darted behind her robes like a startled rabbit. Maggie followed swiftly, dragging a still-coughing Elliot up by the arm before shielding him behind her.

Once they were all in place, Cassandra thrust both palms forward. Her eyes gleamed with radiant focus. Five caelus cored chant rings spun into the air before her, She chanted:

“As blue as gleaming sapphire, As red as the burning ruby, Together birth the amethyst glow—The bloom that withstands the great catasthrope, For its beauty is true permanence, Thus bloom, my precious petals…”

From the center of the ring, something bloomed.

Thin as moth wings, sharp as shards of glass—translucent violet petals began to unfold in a dizzying spiral. Hundreds, then thousands. They multiplied in rapid succession, swirling outward like a cyclone of flowers. Each petal clicked softly as it locked into place, forming layer upon layer of interwoven protection.

A dome took shape around them—delicate in appearance, but humming with unimaginable arcane strength.

“I hereby cast...” she breathed, her voice trembling under the pressure of the magic, “The Magnificent Barrier of the Unwilted Flower… Aegis Wistoria”

The final petal slid into place, and silence fell—thick and foreboding.

And then, Serena screamed.

Her body floated a full foot off the ground, twitching in unnatural spasms. Her animus was no longer leaking—it was gushing, an uncontrollable torrent of power now fully visible. Azure light bled from every pore, crackling across her skin like veins of lightning. The glow pulsed with maddening rhythm, flickering violently—

Then it detonated.

The wave burst forth with the roar of a hurricane.

A blinding surge of pure, unshaped animus tore through the cavern. Walls disintegrated in an instant—massive stone formation crumbled into dust. Shattered debris, torn banners, even the steel-forged sconces melted like wax in the heart of a sun. The very ceiling groaned and rippled as veins of light fractured across it, before caving in at several points.

The animus wave devoured everything in its path...

Except the dome.

Cassandra's barrier held.

The petals shimmered fiercely as they were hammered by the storm—rattling, folding inward with each blow, but never breaking. Outside the sanctuary of the violet bloom, the cave was an apocalypse. Inside, they remained untouched.

Gerald clung to Cassandra’s robes, shielding his eyes from the brilliance. Maggie held Elliot close, both crouched and bracing as the storm raged around them. And Cassandra herself stood firm, arms outstretched, lips parted in sheer determination. Every ounce of her strength was devoted to holding the barrier intact.

Seconds after the blast, the shimmering dome of violet petals dimmed. Its magic spent, the Aegis Wistoria lost its glow—and began to dissolve into dust, each petal crumbling soundlessly into the air like burnt parchment. As the barrier fell, it revealed what remained within.

Cassandra stood at the heart of the collapse, her shoulders slumped, breaths shallow and ragged. Her once-pristine robes hung loose, damp with sweat, and her hands trembled from the drain. Behind her, Maggie crouched low, shielding Elliot with her body though the threat had long passed. Gerald, meanwhile, clung desperately to Cassandra’s boot like a drowning man to driftwood, his eyes wide with horror at the devastation beyond the barrier.

The cave—what remained of it—was a ruin.

The walls were fractured, many half-collapsed. The far end of the chamber had been utterly scoured, the stone blackened, scorched, and warped. A soft haze still lingered in the air, whispering of raw animus and unnatural heat.

Gerald broke the silence with a strangled question.

“By the holy fathers of all the Ancient Guardian Beasts... what in the name of the heavens just happened?”

Cassandra's gaze didn’t leave the ruin before her. Her voice came in a soft pant, half awe, half exhaustion. “I think… I finally understand. The true nature of her animus flow.”

Gerald blinked. “Her what now?”

But before she could explain, Elliot had already risen. Coughing and unsteady on his feet, he pushed past the others and sprinted into the heart of the devastation.

There she was.

Serena lay at the epicenter of it all, curled slightly on her side in a crater of scorched stone and shattered memory. The animus light had faded, and her form was still, eerily quiet against the chaos that surrounded her.

“Serena!” Elliot dropped to his knees beside her, gently pulling her into his arms. “Serena, please—can you hear me?”

For a moment, there was no response. Her eyelids twitched, fluttering.

Then, slowly… they opened.

She blinked up at him, dazed and sluggish. Her gaze found his—and held it. Recognition bloomed across her face, soft and unsure. “E-Elliot…?”

He nearly laughed. “Oh Celestials—you’re awake?”

Serena flinched at the sound. “Okay, okay, yes, I’m awake! Don’t shout, you're seriously freaking me out.” She rubbed her temple, groaning. “Ugh… I just had the craziest dream…”

The child of the star had awakened once more.

It was news that would lift the hearts of a few… and unsettle the hearts of many.

Far to the south, The Port City of Lewendell

Nestled within the tranquil sprawl of a noble estate, a man sat alone beneath the shade of a flower-ringed gazebo. Pale blossoms danced gently in the breeze around him, and the midday sun painted golden slants through the latticework above. A porcelain bowl of jasmine broth steamed before him, untouched save for a single sip.

And then—his hand twitched. The silver spoon he held slipped from his fingers and clattered softly against the stone floor.

Was it an accident? Perhaps.

But the man didn’t move to retrieve it. Instead, he stared down at his open palm, now trembling faintly. The sensation coursing through him was all too familiar. A ripple. A fracture. A shift in the unseen web of his.

He felt it—the unraveling.

The seal he had once forged, had begun to weaken. Slowly, silently… but now, a massive piece of it had just torn away.

A shadow flickered across his face.

“Oh dear, I’m terribly sorry, sir,” a soft voice interrupted. A young waitress had approached, her tray tucked under one arm, eyes filled with polite concern. “Would you like me to fetch you another spoon?”

He turned to her, gaze sharp and cold as a blade drawn under moonlight. “No,” he said, voice flat and dispassionate.

She blinked at the iciness of the response, bowed awkwardly, and quickly retreated, leaving the man alone with the wind, the flowers, and his thoughts.

With a slow exhale, he reached up and raked his ring-laden fingers through his sleek black hair, eyes closing as if to ward off a coming headache—or something worse. A bleak breath escaped his lips, slow and resentful. Then he rose from his chair with the grace of someone long accustomed to command.

He took up his dark, sapphire-blue coat from where it hung beside him, shook it once, and draped it over his shoulders. His silhouette was regal, yet heavy with the air of inevitability. Of old burdens returning.

“Ugh… how bothersome,” he muttered under his breath, more to the wind than to any soul who might hear.