Skela was a child raised in Ha‑Shi Parish, under tolling bells and drifting snow.

It was a harsh, far‑flung place on the northern high plateau, a white tableland where winter clung like a second skin and roads froze like veins.

Supply lines broke like brittle twigs, so people still lived by hunting, their breath steaming like ghostly banners in the cold.

Because of that, Ha‑Shi Parish was one of the few corners of the Sarman Empire where the Church governed itself, faith a hearth‑fire against the killing wind.

Still, Skela never hated Ha‑Shi Parish, not the lonely steeple nor the sky like a slate lid.

It was the place that took her in, a warm bowl in frost, a door held open against the storm.

She had no memories of her past; even collapsing at the church gate was a story she learned like candle smoke from the Mother Superior.

The parish fed her, warmed her, taught her—bread with steam like clouds, a hearth like a red sun, a book like a lantern.

It was her only shelter in the blizzards of the Far North, a small island under a sea of white.

But every time she knelt to pray before the statue, she couldn’t help opening her eyes, craving a spear of sunlight through that quilt of thick clouds.

Something was missing in her heart, a hollow like a missing tile in a roof, and she didn’t know its name.

At seventeen, she finally told the Mother Superior about that ache, voice a thin thread in the quiet chapel.

After a long silence like snow falling, the Mother Superior placed a badge in her hands, the crest of Holywell Academy glinting like moonlight on ice.

“Sacred Heart will give you the answer you seek,” she said, fingers warm as silk as they brushed Skela’s hair, her eyes lit with both joy and sorrow.

When Skela realized she’d received the only Holywell Academy entry from Ha‑Shi Parish, fear rose like standing at a cliff’s edge above a storm.

She’d lived in this world‑sealed church for as long as memory, and she wasn’t ready for the world beyond the blizzard, nor ready to leave that guiding hand.

She begged in tears, voice knocking like rain on a closed door, but the Mother Superior only shook her head, steady as a mountain in wind.

“The Sacred Heart’s guidance is everywhere,” she said, like bells through mist. “At Holywell Academy, you’ll find an angel to care for and guide you.”

Skela couldn’t understand then, but like weather foretelling harvest, the Mother Superior was right.

On her first day at Holywell Academy, she met her angel.

“Lady Adelaide! I found this book in the library!” Skela’s eyes shone like stars under frost. “If I pour in mana, all sorts of un‑taught spells appear!”

Adelaide sat in her wheelchair like a silver crescent under a window, smiling as she patted Skela’s hair, her touch light as falling petals.

“To find something this marvelous—Skela, that’s incredible,” she said, warmth like tea in winter.

“Hehe~” Skela’s laugh bubbled like a spring, and the student council members nearby shrugged with grins like tilted sunbeams.

“Look at that,” one teased, voice popping like a firecracker. “Like a pup bringing a frisbee to its owner for praise.”

“I’m not a pup! You’re the pup!” Skela puffed her cheeks like little buns steaming.

“I didn’t say who,” the other replied, grin a fox’s flicker.

“Mm‑mm‑mm—!” Skela’s protest buzzed like a bee, but the room only laughed louder, sparkles jumping like embers, until Lady Adelaide’s wry smile cooled the blaze.

Why do they think I’m not serious—was my voice too soft? Should I roar like thunder? The thought flashed like heat lightning, yet her heart stayed calm.

Because she knew the student council were all good people, their kindness like lamps along a dark road.

The first time she came to the council room, Adelaide had worried aloud, her voice gentle as rain, if chatting with Skela would disturb the others.

But President Samir’s reply was steady as stone. “If Skela’s likely to join the student council, letting her adapt early is fine.”

Others nodded, hands like quiet flags, and Skela received an open pass into the room, joy warming her like a small fire in snow.

When they all agreed, Adelaide’s smile did stiffen for a heartbeat like ice glossing a pond, but Skela decided it was only her imagination.

Thinking that, she turned back to Adelaide and caught her gaze resting on the stain at Skela’s hem, worry pooling there like dusk.

“Skela…”

“Ah, this—someone left a cup of water in my locker,” Skela said, scratching the back of her head, grin crooked like a paper crane. “I spilled it when I opened it.”

Not every memory at Holywell Academy was sweet; some days tasted of salt tears.

Today it was a cup in the locker; yesterday her notebook had vanished like a page torn out by wind; the day before, her uniform was slit like a small wound.

She didn’t have money for two uniforms, so she stitched at night, needle flickering like starlight, all the way until dawn smudged the window.

Even a girl as unworldly as her could read the pattern like footprints in snow—someone targeted her on purpose.

But so what? The thought stood like a thin pine in a gale.

She felt wronged while stitching, tears melting like frost, yet next day Adelaide noticed the seam tracks, eyes soft as morning.

She asked with care, and before school ended, she handed Skela a new uniform, fabric warm as a hand held in winter.

Holding that almost body‑warm cloth, Skela felt that if she could be cared for like this, even daily bullying seemed a price worth paying, a feverish thought like smoke.

Calming down, she knelt before her small travel icon, breath steady as an altar flame, and scraped that unhealthy thought away like ice off glass.

What remained in her heart was simple—pure admiration and yearning for Adelaide, a vow to become a woman as gentle and elegant as her.

Days later, on her way to the council room, Skela saw a boy standing in the corridor, small as a sapling in wind.

He looked fourteen or fifteen, head lowered so his already slight frame seemed smaller, fine face hidden behind a veil of pale gold hair.

Skela frowned slightly; Holywell Academy’s entry age was seventeen, so a boy this young was a snowflake out of season here.

She walked to him and bent a little, voice soft as a shawl. “Little brother, are you lost?”

The boy lifted his head, and the face under those bangs was so delicate that it startled Skela like a bell suddenly struck.

For a blink she thought he was a girl, a misty illusion under lamplight.

“Mm…” His voice was a boy’s, but thin as a reed, a breath pulled through winter.

Seeing him like that, Skela remembered being lost her first days, panic fluttering like a trapped bird inside the ribcage.

He must be scared, must be alone on a white road—so she would help him like her angel did, a lamp passed hand to hand.

“Wait here a moment,” she said, words bright as coins. “I’ll be right back.” She turned, feet itching to fly. “Please don’t wander—”

“—Please don’t run in the hallway!” A disciplinarian’s voice cut like a whistle through fog.

“Ah, got it…” Skela slowed, quick steps tapping like rain, and hurried to the campus shop.

The shop fascinated her—shelves like forests; goods arrayed like colorful flags; and an instrument that heated drinks with Magic Crystal Stone, humming like a beehive.

The day Adelaide brought her here, bought her a cup of steaming sweet tea, her mind had gone blank like snow under sudden sun.

For a girl raised in the Far North, a sip of hot water sending white mist up in snowfall was already the highest luxury, a pearl in a shell.

To share that happiness, she swore to pass the warmth along, a coal hand‑carried through a cold night.

So even if the little can of hot drink was pricey for her, near extravagant as silk, Skela gritted her teeth and paid, courage a small flame.

The container warmed her palms like a living thing, and she suppressed the urge to sip, turning to run back to the boy, heart beating like drum taps.

Crack— A sharp sound like porcelain snapping a frozen stream.

Skela turned. Shards lay like white petals and a spreading puddle darkened the floor, their owner a brown‑haired girl staring through messy bangs like curtains.

“Thirty‑one…?” the girl said, a number dropping like a stone into Skela’s chest.

Called by her middle name out of nowhere, Skela’s brows knit like stitches, confusion shadowing her thoughts.

“Um… do we know each other?” she asked, words cautious as footsteps on ice.

Even as she spoke, something in her heart clicked wrong, a misfit cog grinding, the sense that she’d asked a foolish question.

Strange—why did this girl feel familiar, like a face half‑remembered in a cloudy mirror?

Heat bit her hand; the container had sloshed, hot water licking like a little flame, and the sting snapped her back.

“Sorry, someone’s waiting for me—we… we’ll talk next time!” she blurted, thoughts scattering like birds.

She ran, then looked back, an autumn leaf hesitant in wind, and the brown‑haired girl stood motionless, gaze fixed on Skela until a corner cut the line like a blade.

There was a delicate misalignment, a thread off by a hair, but helping came first, a compass point brighter than doubt.

Skela shook her head, quickened her pace, and returned to the boy, breath clouding like smoke.

“Here, for you!” she said, presenting the cup like a little sun.

“Eh…?” The boy looked at the fogging tea, bewilderment rippling like rings on water.

“It’s black tea with lots of sugar,” Skela smiled, words sweet as syrup. “Drink it hot, and your body will warm up.”

He nodded, lifted the cup like a bird’s nest, sipped lightly, and his eyes flew open like stars.

“It’s delicious…!”

“Right? Right?” Skela’s grin shone like ice catching light.

He nodded again and drank in tiny sips, a fawn at the pond, breath huffing little clouds, cautious and endearing.

Skela watched his care with a smile, feeling the tea’s warmth spread in her own chest like dawn.

“So, why are you here alone?” she asked, voice soft as feathers.

“...I’m looking for my brothers,” he said, words thin as thread, carrying a weight like stones.

Brothers? Students at Holywell? Teachers? The questions jostled like fish, and Skela shut her eyes, thinking, mind a snow‑field with few footprints.

She’d just transferred and knew few people—how could she help him find them, a needle in drifting white?

Ah—there it was! A spark flickered in her thoughts, a lantern lit in a fog.

She grabbed his hand, gentle but firm like catching a falling leaf, and tugged him along in a rush.

“I know a super pretty, super kind sister—she’ll help you find your brothers,” she said, hope ringing like silver.

“—I’ve told you, please don’t run in the hallway!!” The disciplinarian’s shout cracked like thunder.

“S‑sorry…” Skela stumbled, then settled into a fast walk, feet skimming like swallows.

Before she opened the council room door, voices inside collided like steel and fire.

“I don’t accept this,” one thundered, a firework voice. “Why dump Red Orchid Society into some corner? We’re the biggest club—give us center stage.”

“And then what?” the other answered, cool as a blade kept in cloth, yet heated under the wrapping. “Watch you blow up the academy’s stage again?”

“Last time was an accident! An accident!” The retort rattled like a string of crackers.

Most people avoided that kind of powder‑tinder scene, but Skela had seen storms and walked through them, so she opened the door wide like sunlight.

“Hi, everyone!” her greeting chimed like a bell, bright and simple.

All eyes swung to Skela and the boy, gazes like arrows in a fan.

“I found a kid in the corridor who needed help, so I brought him here,” she said, optimism leafing like spring. “Lady Adelaide, do you know his brothers?”

Adelaide’s expression shifted, a ripple under still water.

“Rather than ‘know’...” she murmured, eyes flicking to the boy, then to the royal brothers who’d just been arguing, her look caught like a thread between two needles.

“Rahman, why are you here?” she asked, the name falling like a key into an old lock.

"I... want to know what my brothers usually do at the academy," he said, his voice thin as a reed in the wind.

Watching Samir and the boy slip into easy talk, Skela froze, like a pond under sudden frost.

Rahman, Rahman—the name rang in Skela’s mind like a bell. A glance at their identical hair, and “Third Prince” slid into place like a puzzle piece.

"Huh?" Her thought popped like a bubble on water.

"Huh—?!" Confusion skittered like startled sparrows.

"So you're that impressive?!" Skela’s awe flared like a torch in dusk.

At Skela’s exclamation, Rahman’s face reddened like evening clouds, then his head drooped like a wilted blossom.

"I-I’m not great," he stammered, words thin as thread. "I’m not as smart or capable as my brothers. And... my water magic aptitude is only ‘Low’..."

With Rahman sinking like a stone in a stream, Skela couldn’t find words to soothe him. The student council room’s air dropped to ice, winter spilling through a crack.

It was then Lady Adelaide let a gentle smile bloom, like a lamp lit in mist.

"Looks like I’ve found a companion too," she said, her tone warm as brewed tea.

"Eh?" The little sound popped like a bubble of surprise.

"I’ve only got ‘Low’ water aptitude too, yet even so..." She waggled the pen in her hand like a small oar. "We can still help in our own ways, right?"

Rahman looked at the neat stack of files she had just finished, and his eyes opened like petals.

Seeing that, Neprah stepped up and patted Rahman’s head, hand light as a breeze.

"Ha, told you already—aptitude means nothing. Don’t sweat dust like that!"

"Yeah, high aptitude proves nothing. Your second brother is the best example," Samir said, words calm as stone.

"Exactly—wait, what do you mean by that? You picking a fight, Samir?!" His words sparked like flint against steel.

Watching the room turn lively like spring wind through a market, Rahman caught the mood; a soft smile curved his mouth like a crescent moon.

No wonder it was Lady Adelaide—her words were a winter hearth, two lines chasing away the cold. In Skela’s heart, Adelaide’s image grew angelic, like wings opening in light. Skela couldn’t help but pounce to her side, a cat seeking warmth.

Suddenly hugged at the crook of her arm, Lady Adelaide gave a slightly troubled smile, a ripple on quiet water.

"Don’t mess around..." Her voice fell soft as snow.

But halfway through, as if a thought flickered back, she leaned to Skela’s ear, a shadow brushing silk.

"Skela, do you have plans tomorrow morning?" she whispered, the question chiming like a secret bell.

"Hm? No," Skela answered, quick as a sparrow’s hop.

"Then, if it’s convenient, could you meet me at school around six? I... have something I want to show you." Her words hung like a veiled lantern at dawn’s blue edge.

When Skela heard it, her brain crashed for a beat, like a lamp snuffed by wind.

Eh? Morning? Alone? And she wants to show me something? Questions fluttered like moths around a flame.

Could it be... the legendary—date?! The word bloomed in her chest like a red peony.