Chapter 100: The relationship has soured

One, two—they hit the gravel silently.

“Can’t take it anymore?”

The Black Mist’s voice came from above.

“There’s more.”

The scene shifted again.

This time, she stood on a street she didn’t recognize.

It was almost dark, and street lamps were lighting up one by one.

She looked down at herself—

A tattered black cloak, filthy bare feet, dirt packed under her fingernails.

This was her from before.

She looked up and saw a girl standing in front of her.

She was wearing a student uniform, her light purple hair tied into a ponytail, holding a paper bag in her hand.

The girl crouched down and handed her the bag.

“Eat.”

That was Freya.

A younger Freya, with a hint of immaturity in her brows, but those light purple eyes were still just as calm.

Little Lyra took the bag. Inside was a large piece of bread, still warm.

She looked up to say something, but Freya had already stood up. She gave her a faint smile, then turned and walked away.

That smile was very slight, so slight it was almost invisible. But it was definitely a smile.

Lyra stood there, watching that fading figure, holding the bread in her hands, and the tears started falling again.

The scene shifted.

Same street, same tattered black cloak. She stood there, waiting for something.

Then she saw it—

Freya lying on the ground. Her chest had been torn open, her heart was mangled, and her light purple hair was soaked with blood, stuck to her cheeks.

She walked over, crouched down, and reached out her hand.

This time, she touched her.

Cold skin, stiff fingers, no more rise and fall of breathing.

She knelt there, pulling that cold face into her arms.

“Boss…”

Her voice was hoarse, not sounding like herself.

“Boss…”

No one answered her.

The person in her arms would never call her “Lyra” again, never ruffle her hair, never take her to eat grilled meat, never wait for her outside the Training Ground.

Nothing was left.

She cried.

She cried so hard her whole body shook, so hard she couldn’t breathe, so hard her tears washed the blood-stained face clean.

But that person never opened her eyes again.

“Do you see?”

The Black Mist’s voice surged from all directions.

“This is your fate. You can’t protect her. You can’t do anything.”

Lyra knelt on the ground, holding that cold corpse, motionless.

“But—”

The Black Mist’s voice suddenly changed, becoming soft and seductive.

“If you become my Heir, you can change all of this.

You can protect her, you can keep her alive, you can make her—”

“Shut up.”

Lyra’s voice was very soft, as soft as a snowflake landing on water.

The Black Mist froze.

Lyra slowly stood up.

She gently laid the Freya in her arms on the ground—

Even though she knew it was an illusion, even though she knew it wasn’t real.

She still smoothed her hair, straightened her skirt.

Then she turned around and faced the Black Mist.

Her eyes were red, still wet with tears. But she stood very straight.

In those red eyes, there was no fear, no collapse—only something the Black Mist couldn’t understand.

“You showed me all this—”

She spoke, her voice still a little hoarse, but every word was as clear as if carved into stone.

“To tell me I can’t protect Boss, right?”

The Black Mist didn’t speak.

“You’re wrong.”

Lyra stared at it.

“I couldn’t protect her because I had no power before.

But you’re not giving me power for free. You want something in return.”

The Black Mist was silent for a moment.

“You’re very clever.”

“I’m not clever.”

Lyra shook her head.

“I just know nothing in this world is free.

That’s what Boss taught me.”

She paused.

“What do you want in exchange?”

“Your freedom.”

The Black Mist’s voice dropped low.

“Your soul. You become my Vessel forever.”

Lyra was silent.

She looked down at the illusion on the ground—

Freya lay there peacefully, her light purple hair spread across the floor.

She looked for a long time, then raised her head.

“I refuse.”

The Black Mist didn’t move.

“You refuse? You saw her die.

You saw her get killed. And you couldn’t do anything.”

“I’ll get stronger.”

Lyra’s voice was very calm. “Without your power. I’ll get stronger on my own.”

“Getting stronger takes time. Will you be fast enough?”

Lyra didn’t answer.

She just stood there, staring at the Black Mist.

“And—”

The Black Mist’s voice suddenly carried a hint of amusement.

“Your feelings for her… aren’t just between master and pet, are they? Not just friends, either.”

Lyra’s brow furrowed.

“You want to protect her.

You want her to look only at you.

You want her to smile at you, and only at you.”

The Black Mist’s voice grew softer, like a whisper.

“When you see her standing with others, your heart aches.

When you see her being bullied, you’re angrier than anyone.

You want to keep her all to yourself.

That’s not loyalty, Lyra. That’s—”

“What?”

The Black Mist laughed.

The laughter echoed in the darkness, then gradually faded.

“You’ll know someday.”

The Black Mist began to disperse, like smoke blown away by the wind.

Lyra stood there, watching it disappear little by little.

“Wait! Explain yourself!”

No one answered her.

The darkness was breaking apart, light pouring in through the cracks. She saw the ceiling, the dim light, the copy of Monster Bestiary lying open by her pillow.

She woke up.

She was drenched in cold sweat, with tears still clinging to the corners of her eyes.

She sat up, gasping for breath, her heart pounding like it wanted to burst out of her chest.

“Lyra?”

A voice came from above.

She looked up.

Freya stood before her, light purple hair falling over her shoulders, those light purple eyes staring at her with a rare hint of concern.

“Bad dream?”

Lyra looked at her.

At her unharmed chest, at her calm face, at those eyes that were always cold but always made her feel safe.

Her nose suddenly stung.

“Boss.”

Her voice was hoarse, not sounding like herself.

“Mm.”

“I had a really long dream.”

Freya crouched down in front of her, meeting her eyes.

“What about?”

Lyra looked at her for a long, long time.

Then she reached out and gently took Freya’s hand.

Warm, soft, alive.

Her tears fell, splashing onto their clasped hands.

“I dreamed you died.”

She choked out.

“I dreamed you got killed. I was holding you, and you were cold all over…”

Freya didn’t speak, just looked at her. Then she reached out and gently wiped the tears from her face.

“Dreams aren’t real.”

“I know.”

Lyra sniffled.

“But it felt so real. So real.”

Freya was silent for a moment.

“What else?”

Lyra lowered her head.

“I dreamed… of a black shadow. It said I’d make a good Heir.”

Freya’s fingers tightened slightly.

“I refused.”

Lyra raised her head, her tear-washed red eyes shining brightly.

“Boss, I refused.”

Freya looked at her for a long, long time.

Then she gave a small nod.

“Mm.”

Lyra sniffled and suddenly broke into a grin.

The Little Wolf Fang gleamed in the dim light.

“Boss, I’ll get stronger. Not with anyone else’s power. I’ll get strong myself. And then I’ll protect you.”

Freya didn’t answer.

She just stood up, walked back to her bed, and lay down.

“Sleep.”

Lyra nodded, then burrowed back into her blanket.

She closed her eyes, but the last words of the Black Mist still echoed in her mind.

‘Your feelings for her… aren’t just between master and pet, are they? Not just friends, either.’

‘What is it?’

She didn’t know. She only knew that she didn’t want anyone to hurt Boss.

She just wanted to stay by Boss’s side, watch her smile, listen to her talk, eat the Honey Cake she bought.

What did it matter what those feelings were?

It didn’t matter.

She rolled over, facing Freya’s direction, and closed her eyes contentedly.

Outside the window, dawn was breaking.

—

In the morning, when Freya woke up, she saw Lyra already sitting on her floor mat.

She wasn’t sprawled out flipping through Monster Bestiary like usual. Instead, she was hugging her knees, staring out the window.

Morning light fell on her white hair, making the messy strands look fluffy.

Her profile was quieter than usual—so quiet it didn’t seem like her.

Freya watched for a moment, then sat up.

“Why didn’t you wake me when you got up?”

Lyra turned her head. Her red eyes still held the drowsiness of just waking up, but underneath it was something else.

“I was watching Boss sleep.”

She grinned, showing that Little Wolf Fang, looking no different from usual.

But Freya noticed—

There were faint dark circles under her eyes.

“Did you dream again last night?”

Lyra’s movements froze for a moment.

“…Yeah.”

“What about?”

Lyra looked down at her own toes.

“I forgot.”

Freya looked at her but didn’t press. She got out of bed and headed to the washroom.

When she reached the door, she stopped and spoke without turning around.

“If you dream about something bad… you can tell me.”

Lyra looked up at that light purple back, watching for a long time.

“…Okay.”

—

In the Academy Canteen, Anke was already waiting there.

Today her expression was more serious than usual. When she saw Freya and Lyra sit down, she lowered her voice.

“The Mutual Aid Society made another move.”

Freya picked up her teacup.

“What move?”

“Last night, Irina called all the core members to a meeting. It went on until very late.”

Anke paused.

“This morning, someone saw several high-ranking noble students go find her.

Those people never bothered with the Mutual Aid Society before.”

Lyra’s brow furrowed.

“Noble students? Why would they look for her?”

“No idea. But it can’t be anything good.”

Anke turned to Freya.

“Be careful. That woman won’t stop just because of what happened last time.”

Freya didn’t speak, just slowly sipped her tea.

Lyra sat beside her, stabbing at her meat with her fork. After a while, she suddenly set it down.

“Boss, I’m going to the restroom.”

She stood up and left.

Anke watched her retreating back, then looked at Freya.

“What’s wrong with her? She seems off today.”

Freya stared at that distant white back.

“…She had a bad dream.”

“What kind of dream?”

“She didn’t say.”

Anke fell silent.

She looked at Freya’s profile, at those light purple eyes gazing into the distance, and suddenly sighed.

“Freya, do you ever think… Lyra is…”