Chapter 107: Awakening

Not red, not blue, but something in between—an unpredictable purple.

In sunlight, it looked like a frozen flame.

In shadow, it looked like a bottomless pool of water.

“Sister Sophie said that if I hold it and meditate, I can awaken my magic.”

Lyra crouched at Freya’s feet, looking up with bright red eyes.

“Boss, what element do you think my magic will be?”

Freya looked at her. “I don’t know.”

“I hope it’s fire! That way I can help you grill meat!”

Freya was silent for a moment.

“…You awakened your magic just to grill meat?”

Lyra nodded matter-of-factly.

“Of course! What else? If there’s a fight, I’ll just use my fists!”

Freya didn’t say anything. But she reached out and gently rubbed that fluffy head.

“Go give it a try.”

Lyra grinned, gripped the stone in her palm, and closed her eyes.

At first, nothing happened.

Sunlight streamed in through the window, falling on her golden-brown hair, enveloping her in a warm halo.

She sat there, still as a statue.

Then—

Freya saw it.

A faint light seeped through the gaps between Lyra’s tightly clenched fingers. Not gold, not silver, but an almost transparent light, like crystal refracted rays.

The light was weak—as weak as a candle flame flickering in the wind, threatening to go out at any moment. But it was there.

“Boss…”

Lyra opened her eyes. Those red irises were full of surprise.

“I think… I felt something.”

“What did you feel?”

Lyra looked down at her hands.

“My stomach feels warm, like I drank a big bowl of hot soup. And also…”

She looked up, and suddenly a glint flashed in her red eyes—

It wasn’t reflected sunlight. It was light born from deep within her, her very own light.

“I heard a voice.”

Freya frowned slightly.

“What voice?”

Lyra tilted her head, as if trying to catch an echo that had already faded.

“A distant voice, like it came from beyond the mountains. It said…” She paused.

“ ‘You’re finally here.’ ”

The room fell silent.

Freya stared at Lyra—at her red eyes that were brighter than usual, at the stone still faintly glowing in her palm.

She suddenly remembered what Serar had said—

“There’s something very interesting about you.”

She remembered the black mist in Lyra’s dream, the woman who looked exactly like her, and those words: “You’d make a fine heir.”

“Lyra.”

“Hmm?”

“From now on, before you make any decision,”

Freya’s voice was very soft.

“you need to tell me.”

Lyra blinked, then nodded firmly.

“Of course! I’ll tell you everything, Boss!”

She didn’t know why Freya had suddenly said that, but she knew the Boss would never harm her.

Whatever the Boss told her to do, she’d do.

Whatever the Boss told her not to do, she wouldn’t do. It was that simple.

Far away, Irina stood by a window, staring at the lighted window.

Her fingers tapped lightly on the window frame, one tap at a time.

The book was burned. Her mana was damaged. Ross’s control had been broken.

But she still had something—something Freya didn’t know about.

She lowered her head and looked at her chest.

There, a small, glowing mark.

It wasn’t a Mana Heart Crystal—

That was Freya’s thing, and she hadn’t obtained it yet.

This was something else. Older. Darker. More like a curse.

The Black Mist had given it to her.

That night, she had dreamed—

In the darkness, a mass of black mist drifted before her and said, “Do you want power? Power strong enough to defeat Freya?”

She had said, “Yes.”

Then the Black Mist had drilled into her chest, leaving this mark.

“You’re finally here,” the voice had said.

She didn’t know what that Black Mist was, nor why it wanted to help her.

All she knew was that it had given her power—

A power different from magic, more secret.

And now, she needed that power.

Irina withdrew her gaze and turned, walking into the shadows of the room.

She sat on the edge of the bed, closed her eyes, and began to meditate. The mark began to glow—a dark purple light, like clotted blood.

She felt something stirring inside her, like a sleeping beast slowly opening its eyes.

“Soon,” she murmured.

“Freya, you’ll see who the real winner is.”

Outside the window, the moon hid behind the clouds.

The night grew deeper.

Night had fallen deep. In the dormitory, only the dim glow of the lamp remained.

Lyra sat cross-legged on her floor mat, holding the Purple Crystal Stone in both hands, eyes closed.

Freya sat on the edge of the bed, watching her quietly.

An hour had passed. At first, nothing happened—

Lyra just sat there, her breathing steady, as if asleep.

Freya didn’t disturb her. She simply opened the Starry Sky Remnant and read page by page, occasionally glancing up at her.

Then, the change began.

First, a sliver of light.

It seeped through the cracks between Lyra’s clenched fingers—very faint, like the barely visible white of dawn on the horizon.

But it was pure. As pure as early spring snowmelt, as the moonlight of deep autumn.

It was the light of Light-element Mana.

Freya put down the book and focused.

The light grew brighter.

Lyra’s hair began to stir without wind, the white strands shimmering with a silvery luster in the glow.

Her brows furrowed slightly, as if she was striving to grasp something.

That light spread from her palm, climbed up her arms, flowed across her shoulders, washed over her chest, and enveloped her entire body in a soft halo.

Then, a second light appeared.

It emanated from her back—not the brightness of light, but the gloom of shadow.

Dark purple, like clotted blood, like the breath of an abyss.

It tangled with the Light-element Mana—not opposing, not merging, but in a more complex dance, twisting and revolving like a yin-yang fish in symbiosis.

Freya’s pupils contracted slightly.

Light and darkness.

Two completely opposite, naturally incompatible attributes—yet both awakening simultaneously within Lyra.

This was unprecedented in magical history—

No, there had been one. Legend said that a thousand years ago, the Holy Sword Hero who sealed the Evil God possessed both light and dark magic simultaneously.

But that was a legend. No historical records existed, no evidence to support it.

Lyra opened her eyes.

Those red irises now burned with golden flame in one half and sank into the dark abyss in the other.

She looked at Freya, her lips parting slightly.

“Boss… I saw…”

“What did you see?”

“Light. And darkness.”

Her voice was a little dazed, as if describing a dream she had just woken from.

“They were fighting inside me, but also holding each other. Such a strange feeling.”

Freya stood up, walked over to her, crouched down, and looked her in the eye.

“Does it hurt?”

Lyra shook her head.

“No pain. Just… full. Like I ate too much.”

Freya was silent for a moment, then reached out and took Lyra’s hand.

The palm was very warm. Two completely different temperatures flowed beneath her skin, intertwining.

The side of light was warm, like a winter fireplace.

The side of darkness was cool, like a deep autumn stream.

Both sensations came through her palm at the same time, yet they didn’t clash—they coexisted harmoniously.

“Boss,” Lyra said softly.

“Am I weird?”

“No. You’re not weird.”

Freya released her hand.

“You’re just… very special.”

Lyra blinked.

“Special? More special than Serar?”

Freya looked into her eyes—now restored to a pure red—and saw her own reflection in them.

“More special than him.”

Lyra grinned, showing her little wolf fang.

“Then that’s good! I want to be the most special. That way, you won’t forget me, Boss!”

Freya didn’t answer. She stood up, walked back to the bed, and sat down.

“Try again. See if you can control them.”

Lyra nodded, closed her eyes.

This time, the light appeared quickly—

A golden, warm light gushed from her palm.

She opened her eyes and watched the light dance in her own hand, like a playful little sprite.

“So pretty…”

She murmured.

Then she turned her hand over, and another light appeared—

This time it was dark purple, gloomy, like a solidified piece of night.

It wasn’t as lively as the golden light; it just lay there quietly, like a silent guardian.

Lyra looked at that dark purple light and suddenly felt very close to it.

Not because it was pretty, but because it reminded her of her former self—

Before she met the Boss, she had been like this.

Quiet, silent, curled up in the darkness, waiting for someone to pull her out.

“You can put them away now.”

Freya’s voice came from beside her.

Lyra nodded, clenched her fist. Both lights went out at once.

She looked up at Freya, her red eyes sparkling.

“Boss, can I use magic now?”

“No. You’ve only awakened your mana. You haven’t learned any spells yet.”

“Then teach me!”

Freya looked at her—at those eyes full of expectation and longing.

“Starting tomorrow.”

“Yay!” Lyra threw her arms around Freya’s waist, buried her face in her chest, and nuzzled.

“Boss is the best!”

Freya didn’t push her away.

She just reached out and gently rubbed that fluffy head.

“Sleep.”

Lyra nodded, let go, and slipped back under the covers.

She closed her eyes, a smile still hanging on her lips.

Soon, the sound of even breathing came.

She was asleep.

Freya sat by the bed, watching her sleeping face for a long time.

Then she stood up, walked to the window, and pushed it open.

The night breeze blew in, carrying the chill of deep autumn.

She gazed at the thick darkness in the distance, recalling the two completely different lights that had appeared when Lyra awakened.

Light and darkness, coexisting in one person.

This was unprecedented in magical history.

She remembered what Serar had said: “There’s something very interesting about you.”

She remembered the black mist in Lyra’s dream, the woman who looked exactly like her, and those words: “You’d make a fine heir.”

Those clues were like scattered beads. She could vaguely see the thread that strung them together, but she hadn’t quite grasped it yet.