Damon returned to the Academy with his usual carefree attitude—or at least he tried to maintain that appearance. After everything that had happened at home with Esther, his mind was still in a silent turmoil, a mixture of pride, excitement, and a kind of unease he wasn't used to feeling.

But as soon as he crossed the Academy gates and saw the training fields teeming with activity, all that inner turmoil emptied to make way for a single thought:

Where's Morgana?

He expected to see her immediately. Maybe leaning against the shadow of some pillar as she always did. Or training alone in the corner of the field, with that absurd concentration and impeccable posture. Maybe arguing with some instructor. Maybe fighting with some idiot noble.

But no.

Nothing.

No sign of her.

Damon frowned, but wasn't really worried—yet. The girl was unpredictable. Maybe she had decided to train away from the public. Maybe she was dueling in some indoor arena. Perhaps he was ignoring everyone for sport.

He walked around the knights' training grounds.

Nothing.

He passed the special weapons section.

Nothing.

He went to the stands where they usually talked, if you could even call it that.

Empty.

He stopped, resting his hands on the wooden chairs and taking a deep breath. The wind blew lightly, the sun shone brightly, the training sessions were going normally… but something seemed wrong. A specific kind of emptiness. A silence where there shouldn't be silence.

"Right…" he murmured to himself. "Where have you been, rebellious princess?"

After a few more minutes wandering aimlessly and starting to get irritated, Damon made the most sensible decision:

To ask the man who knew absolutely everything about the students.

Harven.

The assistant director—though everyone simply called him "instructor"—was exactly where Damon expected to find him: leaning against the fence of the center field, arms crossed and a serious expression on his face, watching two students duel.

Damon approached, but before he even got close, Harven spoke:

"No, you're not wrong. Your foot is too wide open, kid. The next hit will send you crashing to the ground."

A second later, the boy was thrown to the ground.

Harven sighed.

"They never believe it until it happens," he muttered to himself.

Damon scratched the back of his neck. "That's some scary skill you have."

Harven turned his head. "Damon."

"Instructor."

"Didn't you come to practice today?" Harven asked, his sharp gaze assessing him from head to toe, as if immediately identifying every tense muscle and every lack of flexibility. "You're different."

"Am I?" Damon raised an eyebrow. "What's changed?"

"Looks like someone who messed up," Harven replied, turning back to the students.

Damon coughed, uncomfortable. "Err… I didn't come here to talk about that."

"Great. Because I don't want to know," Harven finished.

Silence.

Damon cleared his throat. "I… was looking for someone."

"I imagine."

"Morgana."

Harven didn't answer immediately. He just kept watching the two young men trying to kill each other in the field—one of them using his sword as if it were a piece of wood. Harven clenched his jaw, clearly annoyed by the poor posture.

After a few long seconds, he simply said:

"She's not coming today."

"Today?" Damon pulled closer, not realizing how urgent his voice had become. "She hasn't come any of the last three days."

Harven sighed more deeply this time, as if he were about to say something he didn't want to.

"Damon, there's been a problem at the Duke of Arven's house."

Damon's eyes widened.

"A problem? What kind of problem?"

"I don't know all the details"—and it was rare for Harven to admit he didn't know something—"but I know it's serious. Serious enough to occupy the Duke and keep Morgana away from the Academy indefinitely."

This information hit Damon like a ton of bricks.

"Indefinitely…?"

"That's right."

"What happened?" Damon insisted, now out of patience.

Harven crossed his arms more firmly. "I only know that she was summoned to return immediately to the family estate. And when a duke summons urgently, it's not for nothing."

Damon took a deep breath, feeling something tighten in his chest.

It wasn't romantic concern—it wasn't that.

It was something more complicated.

Morgana Arven was a target. A mission sent by Elizabeth. An essential piece in his progress… and in the very strength he sought.

But, at the same time…

He really enjoyed confronting her.

The sharp conversations.

The feeling of being watched by those ever-attentive eyes.

The wild spirit she tried to hide beneath layers of rigidity and honor.

All of this made him feel a strange unease now.

"You don't know when she'll be back?" he asked, his voice lower.

Harven shook her head.

"No prediction."

Damon ran a hand through his hair.

"And there's no way to send a message? Bird? Magic seal? I don't know," he muttered.

"Arven's house is… isolated," Harven said, carefully choosing his words. "When there are internal problems among nobles of that level, magical isolation is a common measure. It prevents espionage. It prevents rumors. It prevents… outside involvement."

Damon frowned.

He hated this feeling of powerlessness.

"So I can't do anything?"

Harven shrugged.

"You can wait. And keep training. Which, by the way, you should be doing now."

Damon rolled his eyes.

"Seriously? I just received news like that and the answer is 'go train'?"

"Yes," Harven replied without hesitation. "If something happens to her or her family, you won't be able to help at all if you continue at your current level." His gaze hardened. "If you really care… or have any kind of relationship with her… get stronger."

Damon was silent for a few seconds.

Almost no one perceived things this way.

But Harven did.

Always.

"I'll be back later," Damon said, taking a deep breath and finally turning back towards the training grounds.

Before leaving, Harven added, in a serious tone:

"Damon."

He stopped.

"Don't underestimate nobles of ancient blood. Their problems often become the problems of the entire world."

Damon returned home still with a troubled mind. The feeling of emptiness that had gripped him as he searched every corner of the academy looking for Morgana remained stuck in his chest, as if he had forgotten to breathe since Harven had given him that overly vague explanation.

When he opened the door, he found Ester sitting at the table, organizing some papers and documents – probably reports of the work she did for Elizabeth. She looked up as soon as he entered.

"You're back early," she commented, putting down the paper. "Judging by your face, something went wrong."

Damon dropped his cloak on the back of the chair and sighed deeply.

"I couldn't find Morgana," he said bluntly. "I looked in the training grounds, the stables… I even asked the instructors. Nobody knew."

Ester raised an eyebrow, interested.

"So you went to ask Harven?"

"I did. He said that… there was a problem at the Duke of Arven's house." Damon began pacing the room, restless. "And that she probably won't be showing up at the academy for a while."

Ester closed her arms, leaning back in her chair.

"Problems in noble households… always a chaotic mess full of secrets." She sighed, almost as if it were the most common thing in the world. "Political fights, internal disputes, assassination attempts, broken engagements, forced alliances… the standard package."

Damon frowned.

"But something about the way he spoke… wasn't normal. Harven is always dry, but today he seemed… uncomfortable."

"Uncomfortable as in 'I'm blatantly lying,' or as in 'I can't tell you because I'm sworn to secrecy'?" Ester asked, crossing her legs under her dress.

Damon sat on the sofa, resting his forearms on his knees.

"A little of both. As if he wanted to say more, but couldn't. Or shouldn't."

Ester observed his face for a long moment, then let out a small sigh.

"The truth is, dealing with nobility is always irritating. They hide everything, especially when it involves the immediate family. But…" She picked up a piece of paper, quickly jotted something down, and put it away. "I can try to find out. Maybe there's a way to discreetly observe the Arven mansion."

Damon immediately looked up at her.

"Spy? Isn't that too dangerous?"

Ester gave a slight, almost provocative smile.

"Damon… I've spent most of my life doing exactly this. If I find an opening, it won't be a problem."

But before he could answer, she added:

"And I'm not doing this just for Morgana."

Damon blinked.

"Then why?"

"Because you've been acting strange since you got back," she said, raising an eyebrow as if analyzing him completely. "And when you act strange, it means you have important information hidden. I want to know what really bothered you."

Damon looked away for a second. The image of Morgana invaded his mind—the way she fought, her determined eyes, her always firm and controlled air… even when she was angry with him. And the way, in their last encounters, she looked at him with something he couldn't quite decipher.

"It's not just because she's a target," he finally confessed, sinking a little further into the sofa. "The feeling is one of… rupture. As if a part of the story is missing. Harven's explanation didn't resonate with the Morgana I know. She would never disappear without a fight."

Ester tilted her head.

"So you think she was forced to leave."

"Or that something happened to her," Damon replied immediately. "Something serious."

The silence that followed was heavy, dense. Ester finally rested a hand on her chin.

"If it's something truly serious, the Duke will hide it as much as possible. But nobles always leave traces—even when they try to erase them."

She stood up, walked slowly to Damon, and stopped in front of him.

"I'll start looking for information today."

Damon looked up at her, but before he could thank her, Esther continued in her firm tone:

"But you… you'll keep a cool head. There's no point in getting desperate."

"I'm not desper—" he began.

"Yes, you are," she cut him off without hesitation. "I know obsessive people. And you're close to that limit."

He opened his mouth to retort, but ended up letting out a humorless laugh.

"Maybe a little."

"I told you so." Esther turned her back, walking back to the table. "Now go train, distract yourself, or do something useful. Leave the investigation to me for now."

Damon stood up slowly, taking a deep breath.

"All right… But let me know about anything you find out."

Ester simply raised her hand, waving dismissively.

"If I find anything relevant, of course."

He walked to the door, but stopped before leaving, glancing at her over his shoulder.

"Ester…"

"Hm?" She didn't turn around.

"Thank you."

Her hand—for a moment—froze on the papers, as if the word had startled her.

But she resumed her movements a second later, replying almost indifferently:

"I'm just doing my job."

Damon smiled slightly before closing the door behind him.

But the truth is, even with Ester starting the investigation, the unsettling feeling that something was deeply wrong continued to burn inside him—like a premonition he couldn't ignore, no matter how hard he tried.

Something had happened to Morgana.

And he wouldn't rest until he found out what it was.

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