“Is she willing?”
Grandfather was silent for a long time.
“No. But she didn’t have a choice.”
Lyra turned to the next page.
In this photo, Cecilia was holding a tiny baby.
The baby was wrapped in a white swaddle, only a small face visible, eyes closed, with long lashes.
Cecilia looked down at her, and her smile was different from before—
Not a bold, unrestrained laugh anymore, but a gentle, soft smile, like the first ray of sunlight in spring.
“This was right after Freya was born.”
Grandfather’s voice finally had a hint of emotion.
“Cecilia named her ‘Freya’—in the Ancient Language, it means ‘light.’ She said this child was her light.”
Lyra’s nose suddenly stung. She lowered her head, not daring to look at the photo again.
“What happened later?”
Her voice was a little hoarse.
“Later, when Freya was six, a rare Black Tide Beast Riot occurred in the Northern Frontier.”
Grandfather’s voice was very calm, calm as if telling a story unrelated to himself.
“Cecilia went to assist and was severely injured. She could have survived—with her strength, those magical beasts couldn’t harm her. But she used her own body as a shield to save a trapped villager.”
Lyra’s fingers slowly tightened.
“By the time she returned, it was too late.”
Grandfather’s voice finally had a crack in it.
“She called Freya to her bedside, shut herself in the room, and spoke with her for a long time. No one knows what they said. When Freya came out, her eyes were red, but she didn’t cry. She just said, ‘Grandfather, Mommy fell asleep.'”
The room fell silent.
Lyra kept her head down, tears falling onto the photo album, landing on Cecilia’s bright smiling face.
She quickly tried to wipe them away with her hand, but only smeared them more.
“Later, Freya told me,” Grandfather’s voice grew even softer.
“Her mother left her something. A Mana Heart Crystal inside her heart. She doesn’t know why her mother left her this, nor what that heart crystal is for. All she knows is that it’s the last thing her mother left her.”
Lyra recalled the secret in Freya’s heart—
Serar had said the Theocrat foresaw something unusual there. So that’s what Cecilia left her.
Not a curse, not a burden, but a mother’s last gift to her daughter.
“Does Boss know what that heart crystal is for?”
Grandfather shook his head.
“No one knows. Cecilia didn’t tell anyone, including Freya. She just left it there. Maybe one day, Freya will discover it herself.”
He paused.
“Or maybe never.”
Lyra lowered her head, looking at the photo of Cecilia holding Freya in the album.
She suddenly understood why Freya was so stubborn, so cold, so unwilling to let people get close.
Because she had known since childhood that once some people leave, they never come back.
Rather than wait for them to leave, it’s better not to get too close in the first place.
“Grandfather,” Lyra’s voice was very soft.
“I’ll stay with Boss. Always with her.”
Calanso looked at her, at her earnest, burning red eyes.
He reached out and gently patted her shoulder.
“Good.”
Night grew deep. Lyra returned to Freya’s room.
The door was ajar. She gently pushed it open and entered.
Moonlight streamed through the gap in the curtains, falling on Freya’s light purple hair.
She was sleeping deeply, her brows slightly furrowed, as if having a bad dream.
Lyra crouched by the bed, looking at her.
She watched for a long time. Then she reached out and gently took Freya’s hand lying outside the covers.
That hand was a little cold. She wrapped it in both hands, warming it little by little.
“Boss,” she said softly.
“I’ll always be with you.”
Freya didn’t wake up.
But her brows seemed to relax a little.
Outside the window, the moon peeked out from behind the clouds, bathing the entire room in silver.
In the distance, the orange cat crouched on the windowsill, squinting and yawning.
When Freya woke up, the sky wasn’t fully light yet.
Moonlight seeped through the gap in the curtains, drawing a thin silver line on the floor.
She turned her head and saw Lyra lying beside her bed, her silver-white head resting on folded arms, sleeping soundly.
Her hand was still holding Freya’s, not letting go all night.
Freya didn’t move. She just quietly watched Lyra’s sleeping face.
She remembered how her mother used to keep vigil by her bed like this when she was little.
Back then, she was afraid of the dark. Every night she didn’t dare close her eyes. Cecilia would sit by her bed, hold her hand, and tell stories over and over until she fell asleep.
She had forgotten most of those stories, only remembering that her mother’s voice was very light and gentle, like a spring breeze.
Only the last story she remembered clearly. It was the one Cecilia told her on her deathbed, not spoken aloud, but told directly into her heart.
That story had no sound, no words, only an indescribable something, like a seed buried deep in her young heart’s veins.
Years passed, and that seed never sprouted. She gradually forgot its existence.
After her mother left, she was never afraid of the dark again.
Because she knew no one would come in the darkness. She had to learn to illuminate herself.
“Boss…”
Lyra’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
She lifted her head, those red eyes half-open, still clouded with sleepiness.
“You’re awake…”
“Mm.”
“What time is it?”
“It’s still early. Sleep a little more.”
Lyra shook her head, sat up straight, and rubbed her eyes.
“Can’t sleep anymore. Boss didn’t eat dinner last night. Are you hungry? I’ll go find you something to eat.”
Freya looked at her, at her face still marked by sleep, at the little wolf fang slightly visible from yawning.
“Not hungry.”
“Liar.” Lyra stood up and patted her skirt.
“You haven’t eaten anything all night, you must be hungry. I’ll go check the kitchen. The cook at Grandfather’s place wakes up early, there’s bound to be something hot.”
She started to walk out, then suddenly stopped at the door and turned back.
“Boss.”
“Yeah.”
“Last night I looked at your mother’s photo album.” Her voice was very soft.
“She was so beautiful. Her smile was so nice.”
Freya didn’t speak.
Lyra stood there, looking at her for a few seconds, then grinned.
“Boss’s smile is also pretty. You just don’t smile enough. Smile more from now on.”
She pushed open the door and ran out.
The sound of footsteps gradually faded.
Freya sat on the bed, staring at the half-open door for a long time.
Then she got up, walked to the window, and pushed it open.
The cool morning breeze rushed in, carrying the scent of grass and earth.
The distant hills were shrouded in a thin layer of mist, appearing and disappearing.
She remembered how her mother often took her to climb that hill, pointing into the distance and saying, “Freya, look, those are the Northern Mountains, that’s the Castor Family’s palace, and that’s the whole Empire. When you grow up, all this will be yours.”
“I don’t want any of this,” she said back then.
“I just want Mommy.”
Cecilia smiled, a very gentle smile, but carrying a hint of sadness she couldn’t understand at the time.
“Mommy can’t stay with you forever. So you have to learn to grow up on your own.”
Less than a year after that day, Cecilia died.
Freya never blamed her mother—
She knew her mother hadn’t meant to leave her. She had just chosen to save someone else.
Only sometimes she would wonder, if her mother hadn’t saved that person, would she still be alive?
Would she still sit by her bed, holding her hand, telling stories?
But she quickly stopped thinking that way, because she knew if her mother hadn’t saved that person, she wouldn’t be her mother anymore.
“Boss!” Lyra’s voice came from downstairs.
Freya looked down.
Lyra was standing in the open space downstairs, holding a tray with two steaming bowls of congee and a dish of side dishes.
She tilted her head up, her red eyes sparkling.
“The cook made congee! It’s still hot! Come down quickly!”
Freya looked at her, at her silly smiling face, at that little wolf fang sparkling in the morning light.
She turned around, left the room, and walked downstairs.
In the dining room, Calanso was already sitting there.
He also had a bowl of congee in front of him, but didn’t touch it, just sat quietly like a sculpture.
Seeing Freya enter, he lifted his head, a flash of complex emotion passing through his light purple eyes.
“Slept well?”
“Mm.”
Freya sat down across from him.
Lyra placed the congee in front of her, arranged the side dishes, then sat down next to her and began gulping down the congee.
She drank quickly, making slurping sounds. Grandfather looked at her eating manner, a faint smile appearing on his aged face.
“Eat slowly, no one’s fighting you for it.”
“It’s delicious!” Lyra looked up, with rice grains still at the corner of her mouth.
“Grandfather’s congee is better than the Academy’s!”
“Then drink more.”
Freya picked up her bowl and drank slowly.
The congee was very hot. She blew on it, and white steam rose, blurring her vision.
She suddenly remembered how her mother used to cook congee for her when she was little.
Cecilia wasn’t good at cooking; the congee she made was always either too watery or too thick, but Freya always finished it cleanly.
“Freya.” Grandfather’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
She looked up.
“That heart crystal your mother left you,” Grandfather paused.
“Is it still inside your body?”
Freya put down the bowl.
“Yes.”
“Do you know what it’s for?”
Freya was silent for a moment.
“I don’t know. Mother didn’t tell me. She only said, ‘When you need it, you will know.'”
Grandfather looked at her, for a long time.
“Do you need it now?”
Freya didn’t answer.
She didn’t know.
She didn’t know what that heart crystal was for, why her mother left it to her, or when the “when you need it” would be.
All she knew was that the heart crystal was in her heart, beating, intertwined with her own heartbeat, indistinguishable.