Charlotte blinked, lashes fluttering like moth wings, and said, "Really?"

Shelika met her eyes, rain-still and steady.

"It's true."

Charlotte listened and lowered her head, her mood sinking like dusk settling.

Regret, because she didn’t finish it herself? Shelika wondered, a shadow rippling across her thoughts.

Turns out, Shelika was overthinking.

"Yay!" The blunt Blood Clan girl burst into joy. "As expected of my revered sister!"

After that frank cheer, the joy rang on, like bells in a festival.

"Does everyone think I died?" Shelika asked, returning to business like a blade sheathing.

"Yes..." Charlotte lowered her head, her voice dim as smoke. "Our sisters and brothers believed the news. And Her Majesty, she—"

Charlotte faltered, words snagging like cloth on thorns.

That look drew Shelika’s attention, like a hawk catching a flicker.

"What about Mother?" she asked, breath held like a string on a bow.

"The Queen was very sad," Charlotte said, grief pooling like rain in a gutter.

"Sad?" Shelika heard it and felt confusion rise, a ripple under ice.

By blood, Shelika is the Dark Blood Clan Queen’s third child. Blood runs thick, and Shelika often claimed the Queen’s favor in public.

In truth, their bond was thin as paper. That “favor” was political varnish.

They met rarely in private and clashed in council, views sparking like flint and steel.

That friction became one reason Shelika volunteered to go to the Doran Kingdom sixty years ago.

In short, power weighed heavier than kinship between Shelika and the Queen.

Given all that, Fulin didn’t believe the Queen would mourn “her” death.

So Shelika asked on, voice light as a feather, "Besides sadness, what else?"

Charlotte glanced up, then dropped her gaze again. "The Queen hasn’t attended council for a long time."

"How long?" Shelika asked, a bead of worry forming like dew.

"About half a year," Charlotte whispered, her words drifting like mist.

"I see..." Shelika closed her eyes and sighed, breath a willow leaf falling.

After a few beats, Charlotte rallied. Fight lit her eyes like sparks. "My lady sister, you should go see her. Show yourself. Let everyone know you’re alive!"

Shelika gave a lonely smile. "I’ll do that, but—"

"But what?" Charlotte blinked, eyes fluttering like sparrows.

"I need to visit the Holy City first, and keep it quiet."

"The Holy City?" Charlotte tilted her head, curiosity peeking like a cat. "Why?"

"Because there’s something to handle." She said it, and resolve flared in her eyes. Her aura sharpened like winter steel.

Charlotte watched that and breathed awe. "As expected of you, my revered sister!

"Unlike me..." She lowered her head, grievance soft as ashes. "I thought taming beasts would let me shine. I did nothing right. Lost to a human knight, got kicked out of the legion..."

Charlotte’s poor, bedraggled look tugged at Shelika, like wind on a paper lantern.

Though she knew that pity was extra, a ribbon on a blade.

"It’s okay." Shelika still cupped Charlotte’s cheek, gentle as warm rain. "You still have me, don’t you?"

Soon, she realized she’d overdone it, like pouring tea past the rim.

"My lady sister... waaah!" Charlotte’s eyes broke like a levee. Tears and snot flooded her face again.

"Good girl, hush now~" Shelika soothed, voice a soft quilt.

She comforted her for a long while, smoothing the sobs in her arms like stroking a fretful cat.

After that came small talk, homely and warm, like a kettle simmering.

Time slipped toward dawn, pale as rice paper.

"I should go," Shelika said, words like the last ember dimming.

"Are you going to the Holy City?" Charlotte asked, reluctant as glue.

"I’ve still got matters here. I won’t leave at once. If anything comes up, find me at the Gray Pearl."

"Then... come visit when you can!" Charlotte perked up and waved, cheerful as a sunbeam.

"Mm. See you."

As she left, that simple face lingered in Shelika’s mind like a pressed flower.

For fooling a child so pure, guilt budded in Fulin’s heart like a thorn.

But—

"I’m doing it for a quiet life," she told herself again, a mantra like a river stone.

In her heart, Fulin smoothed it over, same as always.

Shelika returned to the Gray Pearl Inn at dawn’s edge.

Strands of sunrise fell on her smooth shoulders, leaving a faint sting on her skin like nettles.

She bore the slight discomfort and walked back into the lobby, steps quiet as silk.

Behind the welcome desk, the proprietress looked up, eyes glinting like fish scales. Curious, she asked, "Oh? Back already?"

"Mm."

Casual as cloud, the owner asked, "Didn’t do anything you’d regret, did you?"

Shelika answered with a question. "Why do you think I did something shameful?"

Mind your shop, not my soul—Shelika grumbled inside, irritation flicking like a snake tongue.

Hearing the distance in her tone, the owner backed off. "Then forget I asked."

Back in her room, Shelika lay on the soft bed. The inner racket emptied like a tide, and memories of the Dark Spirit Empire rose.

Honestly, aside from its strange faith and uncanny peoples, Fulin found the empire not that unusual.

It felt ordinary, like any other Nordland nation.

One thing was clear: it felt ordinary because she wore a Blood Clan role now, not the human knight she once was.

If a Nordland human walked in here, how deep would the hatred run? The outcome was obvious, dark as storm water.

After a ramble of thoughts, Fulin—the one playing Shelika—recalled the chance meeting with Charlotte.

She remembered how she’d comforted her without thinking, like a hand finding a fallen leaf.

Sinking into the plush mattress, Fulin let the persona slip away and asked herself, "Am I really that gentle?"

She had held a near-stranger so softly. By common sense, that was over the line, a lantern hung too low.

Then Fulin thought of her past life.

An ordinary office man, labeled "cold inside," like ice under glass.

Fulin didn’t like it, but facts sat heavy, like stones in a pocket.

Work swallowed everything. Body and mind were hollowed out, so even obvious things blurred, like streetlights in rain.

So nearing thirty, aside from seven digits in the bank, love, friendship, family—

All those important things were absent, a table with no bowls.

Tired of frantic work, tired of dull days, tired of a saddle-sore future, so—

"I wanted a quiet life." That was Fulin’s wish, clear as morning tea.

"But how do I get it?" Fulin stared at her too-cute reflection and asked, confusion fogging like breath on glass.

Because now she was a character born only in Legend of Dawn.

A Chaos Vampire scion, a persona built strong by time and money.

If such a figure existed in reality, legend would cling like incense smoke.

"With someone like me, how can I ever live quietly?" Fulin muttered, frustration like grit in her teeth.