That night.

By the fire, Cerqin spotted White Feather—the scarred woman—her face wan as ash, the flames painting clawed shadows across her cheek.

Days on the road had locked her in the carriage, knights “educating” her in turns; even a Fifth Rank body buckled like a bent bow.

White Thought sat beside her, passing over a steaming bowl of broth; in that soft glow, ruler and subject vanished like mist before dawn.

They looked more like sisters, the younger tending the elder, a quiet lamp set beside a sickbed.

Cerqin ladled herself a bowl, slid in by White Thought, propped her chin, and smiled—“you owe me” practically stamped on her face like a playful seal.

White Feather lifted her eyes, a single glance at Cerqin across White Thought; no words, no ripple, her expression flat as still water.

White Thought hesitated; fear flickered like a moth behind her eyes—being forced potions had carved a reflex into her bones.

She just opened her mouth when Spring Tide’s group climbed down from the carriage; White Thought shot up at once, bowed, and thanked her.

“Thank you for your mercy, Your Highness the Holy Maiden.”

“Why aren’t you thanking me!”

“Um… thank you too, Miss Cerqin…”

“Why’s that so reluctant, hey—”

“You bully her that much and won’t even let her be scared?”

Silver Luan plopped down beside Cerqin, gave him a side-eye, and mussed his hair with her tail like a cat swatting cotton.

The silent White Feather rose then and bowed to Spring Tide, who was about to sit, her movements crisp as a drawn blade.

“Thank you, Lady Holy Maiden, for taking in Her Highness.”

“I’m not a princess anymore.”

“All right, no need to be so stiff. White Feather, you did break the law; I can’t erase it all, but I’ve pushed for leniency.”

“It’s very lenient, honestly. If the Empire had caught you, trading with the Demon Race is a death sentence by itself.”

Cerqin pounced on Spring Tide’s words, ready to say more—“ow!”—then glanced down; Silver Luan’s tail was exploring where it shouldn’t.

“Hold on, what are you doing—hey!”

The circle around the fire ignored their fooling; Aileaf clearly wanted in, but Cerqin sat too close to White Thought—no room even for Aileaf’s slim frame.

“I understand. Thank you, Lady Holy Maiden.”

The last days had been tiring, but not truly hard; as a punishment, for some it would have felt like a reward made of soft quilts.

Aside from the trouble of finding a normal lover later, it beat the lash and cold stone of a real cell like spring rain beats winter chill.

Spring Tide went on, voice even as falling snow.

“You kept those prisoners in line—robbed wealth, didn’t slaughter. Aside from the Demon Race business, you wouldn’t have served long. But your original felon status is tricky.”

They’d already dug up White Thought and White Feather’s pasts: becoming criminals had been a calamity dropped from a clear sky.

Within the Sanctuary, that earned a lighter hand, a willow branch instead of an iron rod.

As for the Demon Race—Spring Tide, Holy Maiden of the Sanctuary and near the top of one of the continent’s strongest powers, knew deeper currents under the ice.

Deals with the Demon Race? If the harm stayed small, the Sanctuary often looked away; in the Holy Dragon Empire, the fear of demons was Imperial theater.

Even this raid on Northfort hadn’t turned into a massacre; the vanished were mostly convicts, led off like straws in a river current.

For a clash that size, the death count was shockingly low, like thunder without lightning.

“Oh, right… White Thought, you’re a Nun of the Sanctuary now. You’re qualified to help.”

“Huh?”

At Cerqin’s words, White Thought blinked and stared, confusion rising like steam.

Cerqin pried the long tail off her lap, grinning like a fox with a chicken feather in its teeth.

“Straight meaning: you’re allowed to help. That takes some burden off White Feather, doesn’t it?”

“Wait!”

White Feather’s calm shattered like ice under a boot. Yes, it was a loophole, but she didn’t want White Thought to see her at her worst.

“How mean.”

“I’m not! I’m helping them get closer.”

“In that case, next time you mess up, I’ll send you straight to the Law Enforcement Hall. We’ll all go help.”

“Eh? Wait—no!”

Spring Tide sniffed, ignored Cerqin’s flailing, and sipped her soup; Cerqin wilted, lips puckered like a sulky carp.

“Come on, it was just a joke…”

She muttered, then looked to White Thought, finally letting her tone turn steady.

“I did say you’d help me, but no experiments yet. Little White Thought, are you into Arcanotechnology?”

“Arcanotechnology? I do have some interest.”

As a royal of a small nation, her schooling ran deep; in magic theory and rune construction, she outstripped Cerqin like a river outpaces a brook.

Magic runes and engravings aren’t the same as Arcanotechnology, but both are ways to steer mana. Different roads, same stars.

“Great. This is for you.”

Cerqin pulled a Fundamental Compendium of Arcanotechnology from her storage bracelet and handed it to a puzzled White Thought.

“It’s a basics book. Read it when you can. Then be my assistant.”

“Mm… all right.”

“White Feather, you’ll help too.”

“Ah?”

The scar on White Feather’s face twitched visibly; a haze of bewilderment softened her tired look like dusk softens hard edges.

Across the fire, Spring Tide raised her eyes at Cerqin, said nothing, and drank; Silver Luan smacked her lips, pointedly ignoring the obvious plea.

Cerqin fell quiet and drank her soup; the air settled, calm as a pond under moonlight.

Spring Tide’s silence loosened a knot in Cerqin’s chest; relief drifted through her like warm wind.

After the hearty meal, she stood first and walked for the carriage; passing White Feather, she paused and patted her shoulder.

The Love God’s power flared in an instant, sweeping White Feather’s fatigue away like sunlight melting frost.

Spring Tide glanced at the carriage, then exchanged a look with Silver Luan and Aileaf; all three shook their heads with wry smiles.

“This one…” Silver Luan chuckled, tail tip flicking like a playful flame.

“Lady Holy Maiden…”

White Feather stared, stunned, strength flowing back into her limbs like water filling a well.

“Take the good will,” Spring Tide said. “As for punishment—you led prisoners to rob and extort, but no deaths, so we’ll end it here.”

“But you can’t join the Sanctuary yet. For now, obey Cerqin and serve as her assistant. No pay.”

She rose and headed for the carriage; Silver Luan and Aileaf downed their soup and followed in her wake like birds lifting into night.

White Thought and White Feather stayed by the fire, dazed; freedom had fallen on them like a soft snow no one expected.

A few days later, the caravan reached the outer ring of the imperial capital. Holy Dragon City blazed with wealth that dwarfed other towns.

Even the air glinted with luxury; the outer wards teemed with grand merchant caravans and traders in ornate dress flowing past like a jeweled stream.

Even common folk looked sharper here, their hems clean, their collars straight, like flowers tended by a careful hand.

On the avenues, races mixed and thrived. The only jarring notes were slaves in chains, eyes dulled like stones under silt, led along on iron tethers.

Holy Dragon City had fewer prisoners than Northfort, but they were “finer stock”—young men and women with faces like carved jade.

Crossing into the inner city, the mood changed again; streets glittered with rich trimmings, and nobles and slaves multiplied like banners in a parade.

“The air’s packed with… odd emotions.”

Stepping out of the carriage for air, Cerqin frowned; unease brushed her skin like cold silk.

Carriages crawled through the city; outside, the breeze couldn’t even muss her hair. She’d planned to just breathe and drift.

“What is it?” Spring Tide slipped out as well, catching Cerqin’s murmur.

“I smell something familiar…”