No matter how the situation changed, time flowed steadily on. Ordinary days piled up until her birthday drew near. Yet Chartia wasn’t excited—she was drowning in sighs and worries.

Tap tap.

Slender fingers drummed the table edge at a steady rhythm. Instead of piles of gifts, only an old diary and magic materials she’d brought from the estate lay scattered across her desk.

She skimmed over words she’d read countless times, organizing her questions.

The Grand Duchess’s relationship, the former Marquis Blanche’s research, and the existence of black magic.

All were problems to which Mother held the keys. But she couldn’t readily go ask, because of the reactions Mother had shown.

How she’d worried about Chartia meeting the Grand Duchess, how she’d been reluctant to send her to Rubenitar, and how she’d deliberately hidden the story of the former Marquis Blanche who’d been a light mage.

‘Why?’

There were more than a few suspicious points. But she couldn’t commission an investigation either. Setting aside that the target was her mother, the head of Ash—the most capable organization—was Cain, Mother’s disciple.

‘Should I ask her directly after all?’

If she thrust evidence at her so Mother couldn’t even make excuses, wouldn’t she give up and spill everything?

Just as she was deep in serious contemplation, someone suddenly knocked from outside.

“Lady Chartia. Your friend has arrived.”

“Yes, could you bring her here?”

Chartia sent Marie down and hurriedly shoved the materials and diary deep into a drawer. Just as she barely finished tidying the messy desk, her guest appeared with perfect timing.

It was Rachel Avery, her dark brown hair neatly braided as always.

“Rachel!”

After returning from the trip, as soon as she’d recovered somewhat, she’d sent an invitation to House Avery. To keep her promise that she’d be the one to invite next time. And so finally today, Rachel had come to visit.

After her sincere confession, perhaps because they now shared a big secret, they’d grown much closer. Chartia approached Rachel without reserve and exchanged warm greetings.

“Thanks for coming all this way.”

“Not at all. Did your trip go well?”

Rather than simply asking after her, worry showed on Rachel’s face. She even examined Chartia’s condition from head to toe.

Come to think of it, before the trip, Rachel had given her a warning.

[I dreamed you were severely ill. Please be careful of dark places.]

So the dark place meant underground. Chartia smiled bitterly, realizing this belatedly.

If she’d dreamed of severe illness, had she perhaps also seen her body stained pitch black? She traced the marks still not erased beneath her clothes, then withdrew her hand.

‘No need to show her something horrific.’

She pulled down her long sleeves unnecessarily and answered like nothing was wrong.

“I can’t say it went well since I only remember lying sick in the carriage. Though I did learn how exhausting long-distance travel is.”

“Haha, it is tiring even just sitting still.”

“Right. But still… it was enjoyable.”

It wasn’t a lie. The sea he’d shown her was still vivid before her eyes. That moment alone could make her repeat the same journey over and over.

Perhaps sensing the layers of complicated stories accumulated in that brief pause, Rachel changed the subject.

“Oh, I forgot to write this in my last letter—about the surveillance. Father’s side has been quiet since the supply transport ended.”

“Actually, I wanted to ask you something related to that.”

“Hm?”

This was actually another reason she’d called her.

Chartia poured fragrant tea and set the teacup down with a clink before Rachel. Amid the fresh, sweet aroma spreading, she began a rather stiff conversation.

“Last time I accidentally—no, deliberately—eavesdropped on the Count’s conversation. I caught part of the sponsor list then. Among them, by any chance…”

Chartia paused and slowly caught her breath. Moving her tongue, stiffening with conflict and hesitation, she finally forced out the word.

“Do you know someone called Lucy?”

<To my precious light Lucy, who gave me every emotion in my long life, I leave this record.>

That pet name written at the bottom of the diary, probably referring to her mother.

After agonizing for a long time over the somewhat familiar name, she’d finally remembered. Unbelievably, from the conversation between Count Avery and Marquis Blua.

[The problem is… the amount of… sent from… has decreased…]

[Do you mean… ‘Lucy’…?]

Overwhelming confusion rushed in. Maybe she’d heard wrong. She doubted herself that much.

And for good reason—why would the Emperor’s dog Blanche anonymously send Magic Tower goods to Chester?

‘Because the two were friends in the past? Because it’s true that Mother betrayed the Grand Duchess?’

Before questions she couldn’t answer definitively, Chartia hoped her memory was wrong. But Rachel’s eyes widened, then she soon confirmed it.

“Yes, I know.”

“…”

“She’s been sending expensive magical items for a long time.”

Ha. She barely swallowed the exclamation that burst out. Soothing her sinking heart, she continued questioning.

“Then do you know that person’s identity? Or is there a way to find out?”

“Mm, that would be a bit difficult. Father doesn’t know the identity either, so I’ve often heard him arguing with other family heads over whether to trust them or not. Since His Highness the Grand Duke says there’s no problem, we continue receiving support though…”

“His Highness the Grand Duke approved…?”

Did the Grand Duke not know the other party was her mother? Could someone who’d dug into the existence of black magic completely forget a childhood friend’s pet name?

Clearly in the original work, Mother sided with the Emperor and made great contributions to rooting out Chester’s rebellion. But why…

‘I really have no choice but to ask Mother directly.’

The furrow between her brows deepened as much as her deepening worries and thoughts. 

Perhaps sensing the unusual atmosphere, Rachel grew serious as well and whispered in a lowered voice.

“Is there a problem with this person called Lucy?”

“No… I think it might be someone I know. I’ll consult with you when I’m certain. Thanks for telling me.”

“I’m glad I could help.”

Though she might feel hurt that Chartia didn’t explain in detail, Rachel’s cheeks flushed at having been helpful. Then, like she’d remembered something forgotten, she clapped her hands.

“Ah! I had something to give you but completely forgot.”

“Hm?”

“It’s nothing much but… this is a birthday present.”

Rachel carefully pulled out a palm-sized square box from the large wicker basket she’d been carrying since entering the room.

Chartia couldn’t even think of accepting the gift placed on the table and just blinked blankly.

‘A birthday present…’

In the past, when the hospital gathered children with birthdays each month for an event, she was always excluded. She only learned when she was somewhat older, but it was because Father had arranged for her not to attend events where photos might be taken.

So the only birthday gifts she’d ever received were a toy pen stuck in the doctor’s pocket and four strawberries a caregiver secretly brought.

Maybe the reason her birthday never felt real, why she wasn’t excited, was because she had no expectations for birthdays. Chartia accepted the gift a beat late.

“…Thank you.”

Not something handed over like charity—one item from among things someone happened to have—but something prepared purely for her alone. She carefully opened it.

Inside the square box was a round glass orb slightly larger than her palm.

“An orb…?”

“That’s a long-distance message orb. You can exchange simple messages with the matching paired orb.”

Rachel added an explanation that it was useful when distances were too far to use messenger birds, or when waiting for a courier to deliver letters felt tedious.

Had she chosen this gift because correspondence was briefly cut off when Chartia left for Rubenitar? 

When she lightly placed her hand on the orb, it miraculously resonated with a humming sound.

“And as I said, since it exists as a pair… I’m keeping the other one. So even if we’re far apart, we can contact—no, report to each other.”

She quickly corrected her word choice and suddenly met the gaze she’d been avoiding.

“You’ll need it.”

Not that she hoped it would be so, but a voice filled with certainty that it definitely would be.

Would Rachel be going far away in the future? Or perhaps the one leaving might be Chartia herself. Like Rachel had done, Chartia didn’t pry further and smiled faintly.

“I’ll treasure it.”

Only after the gift-giving ceremony ended could the two enjoy tea and share only light, pleasant stories befitting their meeting’s purpose.

After exchanging conversation for a while, the sun was already setting. Rachel checked outside the window and rose from her seat with a reluctant face.

“Then I’ll be heading back.”

“Yes, get home safely.”

Chartia rose as well and followed her. She planned to see her off to the front of the estate.

But just before leaving the room, Rachel stopped and turned around hesitantly.

“Rachel?”

“…Actually, I have something I want to ask too.”

“What is it?”

Through lips thick with hesitation, an unexpected question leaked out.

“Those wounds—they happened while trying to save him, didn’t they?”

Her faintly smiling face hardened stiffly. She hoped the wounds Rachel mentioned were different from the ones she was thinking of, but Rachel’s gaze was fixed on her body, especially toward her arms where the scars were severe.

There was no way she could see the skin covered by clothes, so when had she known?

“How did you…”

Rachel’s smile, clouding like mixed paint, had a bitter edge somewhere.

Rachel approached silently and carefully grasped her wrist. When the hideous marks hidden beneath the sleeve were revealed, she covered her mouth.

“Good heavens…”

Negative emotions like shock, pity, and regret rapidly swept through her. Finally, with only sadness remaining, Rachel spoke with difficulty.

“…I wish you didn’t love that person.”

Chartia couldn’t give any answer. If she could have, she would have done so long ago. But that was impossible even to hypothesize.

Before that ambiguous response, Rachel’s voice rose a bit higher.

“Maybe—no, really, you… you could die!”

Her breathing gradually shortened and her face flushed red. Watching the emotions surge like fierce wind, Chartia belatedly parted her lips.

“Did you see a future where I die?”

At the direct question, Rachel’s lips twisted.

What Rachel could see were only fragmentary glimpses originating from misfortune—tragedies or deaths. 

In fact, when she first saw the Young Duke of Chester and the Crown Prince at the party she attended with the Count, her father had secretly hoped she’d witness the Crown Prince’s misfortune.

But that night, what she saw was the Young Duke’s death.