“Aurora… Miss Aurora, wake up!”
Once again, Aurora was pulled from sleep by someone calling her name—but this time, she awoke not into a dream, but back into the real world.
She rubbed her eyes and turned toward the girl shaking her awake.
Her vision was still hazy from sleep, and for a fleeting moment, Aurora mistook the figure before her for Beatrice.
For that one instant, she truly thought she had returned to the past.
“Beatrice…?” Aurora murmured, confused.
“Who?? Beatrice? As in Professor Beatrice?!”
At the mention of that name, Avila immediately stiffened.
She whipped around to glance behind her, as if checking for a ghost.
Only after confirming no one was there did she let out a breath of relief.
“Phew, thank goodness…”
“If that grumpy old hag were here, I’d die on the spot!”
Aurora narrowed her eyes and finally saw clearly—it was Avila.
“My apologies, Miss Avila. My vision was still a little blurry just now.”
“Eh, no worries at all, no worries! Totally understandable. But wait—how do you know Beatrice? I don’t think I ever told you my teacher’s name…”
“You’re not seriously…”
Realizing she had slipped up, Aurora avoided Avila’s gaze and looked nervously to the side.
“I—I just heard it in passing, that’s all. Someone once mentioned that there’s a famous professor named Beatrice at the Orphia Magic Academy. They even showed us a portrait of her.”
“Really? Didn’t think that old witch was that well-known…”
But then, as if remembering something important, Avila shook her head quickly and spoke in a more urgent tone:
“No, no—that’s not what I meant to say. Hurry and get up, Miss Aurora! Just now, I sensed something… a trace of black magic in the air. I’m afraid there may be cultists nearby.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper, as though worried someone—or something—might overhear her.
“Cultists…?”
Aurora’s mind immediately flashed back to those cultists from her time with her second host—the ones who ruined Beatrice’s legs and shattered her dream of traveling the world.
She would never forget their hideous, frenzied faces.
Aurora got out of bed, still in her pure white nightgown, and walked to the window. She drew the curtains open.
The moonlight outside was bright and heavy.
Aside from a dragon-drawn carriage parked by the roadside and the soft flickering of blue streetlamps powered by magic stones, there didn’t appear to be anything unusual.
But Aurora noticed it immediately—the air was too quiet.
So quiet, it felt like even the moonlight touching the ground might make a sound.
“Something’s wrong…”
Her gaze shifted to the carriage outside.
The dragon harnessed to the redwood coach was lying down, seemingly asleep. But—
“There’s no breath… the dragon is dead.”
And not from a struggle or any visible signs—its death had been sudden, silent, and in its sleep.
This kind of unnatural, eerie death—was a method commonly used by cultists.
Clatter-clatter.
A sudden noise from behind snapped Aurora’s attention back inside.
She turned around and saw Avila scrambling in a panic, hastily stuffing her things into her bag.
“What are you doing, Miss Avila?” Aurora asked, puzzled.
“Running, obviously!” Avila replied, still frantically packing.
“What, you want to wait around and be caught as some cult’s ritual offering?”
“Our professor always told us, if we ever run into cultists—just run. We’re no match for them!”
“And besides! I remember she specifically warned us—those cultists especially like to target witches, spirits, and fairies! They might’ve come just for me!”
Grabbing Aurora’s hand, she tried to pull her toward the door.
“Come on, let’s go before they find us!”
But despite Avila’s tugging, Aurora didn’t move an inch.
“Miss Avila, you should leave while you still can.”
Aurora gently pulled her hand free and calmly returned to the bed to begin getting dressed.
Avila froze, stunned. She suddenly remembered—Aurora didn’t seem to have a clear destination.
Was she planning to bring her back to the academy?
Or… was this where they parted ways?
Although she had only known Aurora for less than a day, Avila couldn’t bear the thought of someone so kind, polite, and beautiful falling victim to cultists.
“Aurora! Why don’t you come to the academy with me!” Avila suddenly blurted out.
Aurora, in the middle of buttoning her dress, froze in place.
If she went to the academy, she might run into Beatrice.
That—was exactly what she feared.
“You’re so pretty, and you seem super well-mannered too! I’m sure the academy would be more than happy to give you a job as a maid!”
“I… I appreciate your offer, truly. But someone needs to stop these cultists, don’t you think?”
Cultists usually operated near the borders of the three kingdoms.
A place this close to the First Kingdom’s capital was normally far too secure for them to approach.
Which could only mean—something terrible was about to happen.
“You want to take on the cultists head-on?!”
“Oh come on! Sure, you might be a maid who knows magic, but you’re still just one person! That’s way too reckless!”
“We should call the city guards! They’ll send reinforcements and catch those creeps in one sweep!”
Avila was practically gaping at her.
A maid—saying she was going to stop cultists?
Was she crazy or just way too brave?
“In that case, Miss Avila, please alert the guards on your way out. Tell them to send backup as soon as possible.”
“In the meantime… I’ll do my best to prevent innocent people from getting hurt.”
Aurora took a green leaf, placed it in her mouth, and calmly walked out the door.
“Wait—wait, you’re really going?!” Avila called after her.
“Ugh, what a stubborn idiot!” she groaned, stomping her foot in frustration, unsure of what to do.
*****
Outside the inn, Aurora walked toward the dragon carriage.
She placed her hand on the dragon’s horn. Surprisingly, it hadn’t completely died—
The breath of life, though faint, still lingered inside it.
Its life force had been suspended right at the brink of death.
Aurora could sense it—the final moments of agony were still wrapped around the creature’s soul,
Frozen in terror, smothered by pain.
“You poor thing…”
Aurora brushed aside the white strands of hair that hung over her forehead, revealing a smooth, porcelain brow.
She leaned forward, pressing her forehead gently against the dragon’s armored hide.
“Show me… what happened to you.”
In that instant, a golden magic circle lit up where her forehead met the creature’s.
But rather than a traditional magic circle, it looked more like a golden clock, woven with intricate arcane patterns.
Twelve hours marked the rim with delicate precision, and even the hour and minute hands—crafted from golden threads—ticked forward, one second at a time.
Minutes passed.
Suddenly, Aurora’s eyes flew open.
Golden glyphs still flickered in her irises—like a lingering sunset, or the final burst of a firework before it faded into the night.
“Rest now,” she whispered.
As the incantation left her lips, the last traces of the dragon’s fragile life faded completely into stillness.
Aurora slowly stood.
Her gaze shifted toward the alley to the west.
In her eyes now burned not sorrow, but fury.