She raised her hand and pressed it against her chest.
Her heart was beating. The Mana Heart Crystal was beating. And that shard of black crystal was beating too.
Three heartbeats, three rhythms, intertwined like a song she couldn’t understand.
“What do you really want?”
She asked softly.
The sun sank below the horizon, leaving only the last traces of afterglow in the infirmary.
Lyra was sprawled by the bed, breathing steadily.
Her silver-white hair spilled between Freya’s fingers, soft and warm.
She had been asleep like this for a while now—probably too tired. She had kept watch all day without closing her eyes, and now she had finally given out.
Freya didn’t pull her hand back. She leaned quietly against the pillow, gazing out the window at the darkening sky.
A lingering dull ache remained in her chest, as if something was slowly wriggling inside. She raised her other hand and pressed it against her chest, feeling the three distinct heartbeats.
Her own: steady and strong.
The Mana Heart Crystal’s: soft and warm.
The black shard’s: cold and chaotic, like a beast trapped in a cage, stirring restlessly in the darkness.
Why had it shot into her heart?
Irina had already lost control. The Holy Sword had pierced the core of the Remnant of Evil God. Everything should have ended.
But this shard was like a last-ditch counterattack, or a premeditated transfer.
It had chosen her.
Why?
“Boss…”
Lyra’s groggy voice interrupted her thoughts.
Freya looked down.
Lyra was still lying there, eyes half-open, with a drowsy, unfocused look.
“You’re still awake?”
“Can’t sleep.”
Lyra rubbed her eyes and sat up straight. Her red eyes shone unusually bright in the twilight.
“What are you thinking about?”
“…About why I passed out.”
Lyra’s expression shifted slightly. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then swallowed it back.
After a few seconds of silence, she spoke.
“Boss… are you going to faint again?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then what should we do?”
Freya was silent for a long time.
“I’m going to Winter Order.”
Lyra blinked.
“Winter Order? What for?”
“They have the oldest library on the continent. Maybe there are records about that thing inside Irina. Maybe there’s a way to seal it.”
She paused.
“I’m not sure. I don’t know when it will act up again.”
Lyra looked at her for a long time, then nodded.
“I’m going with you.”
“No—”
Lyra cut her off.
“Wherever Boss goes, I go.”
Freya looked at her, at those red eyes filled with determination and stubbornness.
“The Academy won’t allow it.”
“Then I’ll drop out.”
Lyra’s voice was calm, as calm as if she were talking about the most ordinary thing. “I wasn’t an official student anyway. I’ll just follow you.”
Freya fell silent.
She remembered how Lyra had first looked when she arrived at the Academy—crouching under the phoenix tree, her red eyes glowing in the dark like an abandoned little beast.
Later, she slowly adapted to life here. She got her own bed, that nearly worn-out copy of the Monster Bestiary, and friends like Anke and Sophie.
She was no longer a homeless orphan.
This was her home.
But she said—
“Wherever Boss goes, I go.”
“Lyra.”
Freya’s voice was very soft.
“Aren’t you afraid?”
“Afraid of what?”
“Afraid that following me will bring danger. Afraid that—”
“Not afraid.”
Lyra cut her off, her red eyes fixed straight on her.
“Nothing is scary as long as I’m with Boss.”
Freya looked at her for a long time. Then she reached out and gently ruffled that fluffy head.
“Okay.”
Outside the window, the last trace of afterglow vanished. Night fell. In the distance, the chirping of insects rose and fell like a tireless nocturne.
Lyra lay back down by the bed, holding Freya’s hand, and closed her eyes.
“Boss, are we leaving tomorrow?”
“Mm.”
“Then I’ll go pack tonight.”
“No rush. You can pack in the morning.”
“Okay.”
Lyra nuzzled against Freya’s palm like a spoiled little animal.
“Good night, Boss.”
“Good night.”
The night deepened.
Freya lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
She didn’t know what the journey to Winter Order would bring. Maybe she’d find answers. Maybe she’d find nothing.
But she had to go.
Not to save the world. Not to become a hero. Just to live.
To live so she could protect the people she wanted to protect. To live so she could uncover the true secret of the Heart Crystal her mother had left her.
She closed her eyes.
Darkness surged in, but there were no dreams.
No one answered her.
By the time the window was completely dark, Lyra was fast asleep.
She was lying by the bed, her cheek on her arm. Her silver-white hair spilled down, covering half her face.
Her breathing was light and slow. Occasionally her lashes fluttered, as if she were having a bad dream.
Freya didn’t move. She just watched her quietly.
The dim lamplight fell on Lyra’s face, coating her silhouette in a soft, warm glow.
There were faint dark circles under her eyes. Her lips were chapped and peeling. Her fingers clutched tightly at the corner of Freya’s blanket, as if afraid she might run away.
Freya reached out to touch her hair, but her hand hovered in midair for a moment, then withdrew.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to touch her. It was that she was afraid of waking her up.
She had finally fallen asleep.
Freya looked away, staring at the ceiling.
White. Clean. No markings at all.
She stared at that white expanse, but her mind was full of chaotic thoughts—
The black crystal shard. The Mana Heart Crystal her mother had left her. The temperature of the Holy Sword as it trembled in her hand. Irina’s eyes, black-purple, filled with resentment and madness.
“What do you really want?”
She asked again, softly.
She didn’t know whether she was asking the shard or asking herself.
The next morning, before the sky was even fully light, Lyra woke up.
She lifted her head, and her first reaction was to look at Freya.
She was still lying down, but her eyes were open, staring at the gray-blue sky outside the window.
Morning light fell on her face, making her pale skin look almost translucent.
“Boss, did you stay up all night?”
Lyra’s voice was a little hoarse.
“I slept. Just woke up early.”
Lyra didn’t believe her.
She looked at the faint dark circles under Freya’s eyes, at the slightly red rims, but didn’t call her out.
She stood up and stretched her stiff limbs.
“I’ll go get water. Boss, lie down a bit longer.”
She ran out, her footsteps thump thump thump fading into the distance.
Freya lay there, listening to the footsteps grow fainter and fainter until they disappeared at the end of the corridor.
She slowly sat up, pushed back the covers, and stepped barefoot onto the cool floor.
The moment she stood, a faint sting pulsed in her chest. Not intense, but impossible to ignore.
She pressed her hand to her chest, took a deep breath, and waited for the pain to pass before walking slowly to the washroom.
In the mirror, she saw herself: pale face, dark circles under her eyes, chapped lips.
She looked at her own reflection, at those calm, unruffled light purple eyes.
She was still herself. No different.
She lowered her head, turned on the faucet. Cold water ran over her hands, cool and refreshing.
She cupped a handful and splashed it on her face, feeling more awake.
By the time Lyra returned with breakfast, Freya had already changed.
A light gray outer robe, her light purple hair tied back with a ribbon. She looked clean and crisp, like a poplar washed by rain.
“Boss, you’re ready?”
Lyra set the tray on the low cabinet, her red eyes sparkling.
“Mm.”
“Hurry and eat! Then we’ll pack up!”
Lyra pushed the congee toward her.
“Grandfather said we need to bring thick clothes. Winter Order is very cold. He also said to bring dry rations because you might not be used to the food there. And he said to—”
“Lyra.”
Freya interrupted her.
“Huh?”
“Did you see Grandfather?”
Lyra nodded.
“After you fell asleep last night, I went back to the dorm. Grandfather was there.”
She paused.
“He was so worried about you. His eyes were red, but he didn’t cry.”
Freya lowered her head and looked at the steaming bowl of congee.
“What did he say to you?”
“He said to take care of yourself. And he said—”
Lyra paused.
“He said he’s proud of you.”
Freya was silent for a long time. Then she picked up the bowl and slowly drank the congee.
It was very hot. She blew on it, and white steam rose, blurring her vision.
She drank it spoonful by spoonful, each one slow, as if savoring something precious.
“Lyra.”
“Mm.”
“Thank you.”
Lyra froze for a moment, then grinned, showing that little wolf fang.
“You’re welcome! Boss’s business is my business!”
After eating, they began to pack. Freya didn’t have much—a few changes of clothes, the Starry Sky Remnant she had been reading, and a silver ring left by her mother.
She picked up the ring and examined it in the light.
On the silver band was engraved a small ice flower—the crest of House Dale.
Her mother had worn it while she was alive. After she passed, Grandfather gave it to Freya.
“This was your mother’s,” Grandfather had said. “She asked me to give it to you when you grew up.”
Freya slid it onto her finger.
The ring was a bit big, so she had to wear it on her thumb.
She twisted the ring, watching the ice flower refract tiny glimmers of light.
“Boss, your mom was really pretty.”
Lyra crouched beside her, looking at the ring in her hand.
“Mm.”
“Was she as hard to make smile as you?”
Freya was silent for a moment.
“She smiled easily. Easier than me.”
“Then why don’t you smile?”
Freya lowered her head, looking at the ring.
“Because there’s no one worth smiling for.”
Lyra was taken aback. She stared at Freya, at that still-calm, expressionless face.
Suddenly her nose felt a little sour.
“Boss.”
“Mm.”
“From now on, I’ll make you smile.”
Freya looked up at Lyra’s serious, burning red eyes.
She didn’t answer. She just stood up and adjusted the ring on her finger.
“Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“Winter Order.”
When they walked out of the infirmary, Anke and Sophie were already waiting outside.
Anke’s eyes were red, and she was holding a large bundle.
Sophie stood beside her, expression stern, lips pressed into a thin line.
“Are you really leaving?”