I woke to the rhythmic jostling of the carriage, the wooden wheels grinding against the well-worn road. My mind was slow to catch up, still fogged by exhaustion, the ember-burnt remnants of the fight lingering in my bones.

Seraphina stood near the window, arms crossed, her gaze fixed beyond the glass. The passing scenery—a monotonous stretch of milled earth and distant hills—was clearly failing to hold her interest. The weight of silence pressed against the carriage walls, the only sound the steady roll of the cart over flat terrain.

I sighed, rubbing the lingering tension from my temples. A quick check of my gloss revealed that our foray into the field of flowers had only lasted an hour. It felt longer.

"You really are the type that hates doing nothing," Seraphina mused, her voice carrying a small chuckle.

I leaned back, stretching out my sore limbs. "No, I'm the type who loathes boredom. And having those above me constantly be right."

Seraphina turned from the window, one brow curled in amusement. "Is that you admitting I'm right?"

"It is me saying that you are not wrong, Lady of the Broken Grail."

Her smirk widened. "So… yes." Then, without restraint, she burst into laughter—a rich, full sound that seemed to carry the weight of her amusement at my expense.

Before I could retort, Lumivis's voice slithered into my consciousness.

"Sire. Now that you have encroached upon an object for me to inhabit—much to my dismay—I must inform you that you now have only eighty more potential options remaining."

I exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Thank you, Lumivis. My competitive nature got the best of me." I paused. "Could you explain what the benefit of choosing forms for you actually is?"

"First of all," Lumivis began, his voice carrying the weight of a lecture, "any object that I bind with becomes bound to you. It is permanently part of your inner world. Secondly, the objects I inhabit grow in strength alongside you, as you are the source of my miasma. Thirdly, once you ascend, you retain any object bound with me."

I blinked. That… was a lot more significant than I had anticipated.

"Then why doesn't everyone contract an ancient spirit?"

Seraphina let out a sharp laugh. "Because it requires a massive amount of miasma at the first Soul Realm, and that's literally the only time one can make the pact." She turned toward me, arms still crossed. "Most people acquire their spirit through a sacrifice while forming their shell. Then, the spirit starts making bids on the person, competing with every other spirit that wants in."

I froze.

Wait. I was bid on?

"Correct, Lady."

My breath hitched at the title, but before I could reprimand Lumivis, he continued.

"Alexander here had four spirits vying for his contract. However, it was determined by the Royals overseeing the ritual that I had the highest affinity with him."

I felt my jaw tighten. Four spirits?

I had never even been aware that there had been a choice. I had always assumed… what? That Lumivis had simply been assigned to me? That it was fate?

Seraphina studied me, her sharp gaze flickering with knowing amusement. "Didn't know that part, huh?"

I shook my head slowly. "No. I had no idea."

She smirked. "That's royalty for you. They don't tell you everything—just the things they think you need to know."

Her words settled over me like a stone dropped into deep water, rippling outward.

Four spirits had fought to claim me. Why had Lumivis won? What were the others like? And more importantly… what did he mean by 'highest affinity'?

I exhaled sharply. There were too many questions and not enough answers.

"While I have you here, Lady of the Broken Grail, do you know anything about the territory I'll be assigned?" I asked, hoping a straightforward answer might steady the ever-growing tide of uncertainties pressing in on me.

Seraphina barely hesitated before responding. "Yup. You're getting a medium-sized stretch of rolling grassy hills. Not ideal for traditional farming, but perfect for grazing. Sheep husbandry would be your best bet—it'd complement your Arte well. Parchment and vellum aren't far removed from paper, after all. If you can attract a skilled bookbinder to your domain, you could start producing manuscripts. Maybe even craft your own books to step into."

I blinked. Sheep? That was… not what I expected. Yet, the logic behind it was sound. Paper, vellum, parchment—they were all mediums for the written word. If I controlled the raw materials, I wouldn't just be a Walker. I could preserve and create knowledge on my own terms.

"And the land itself? Any existing settlements?" I asked.

"Not much. A few scattered homesteads, maybe, but no real centralized governance. You'll be building from scratch."

I exhaled slowly. No existing infrastructure. No entrenched bureaucracy. No safety net.

No safety net.

That thought should have been terrifying, but instead, it sent a slow, simmering heat through my chest. No restrictions. No one else's rules. No bureaucracy to navigate. Just an expanse of rolling land and the freedom to shape it as I saw fit.

Still, that didn't mean it would be easy. A blank slate was just as much an obstacle as an opportunity. I had no foundation to rely on, no economy to support me, no trained warriors to defend it. Just me, a handful of settlers, and whatever I could scrape together.

Seraphina must have noticed the flicker of calculation in my eyes because she smirked. "You're already scheming."

"I'd be a fool not to." I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "You said bookbinding and vellum production. That's one industry. What else?"

She tilted her head. "Aside from livestock and parchment-making? Trade routes."

I frowned. "I don't even have roads."

"You will," she countered. "Your land might not be suited for traditional farming, but it's nestled between two major trade hubs. You could make toll roads, rest stops, even a marketplace."

That… that was actually a solid idea. If I couldn't cultivate the land in the traditional sense, I could cultivate its position. Make it a crossroads. A necessary stop.

And if people were passing through, then—

"I could tax goods and merchants."

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Seraphina snapped her fingers. "Now you're getting it."

I sat back, mind already working through the logistics. I'd need roads, security, an incentive for traders to stop in my territory rather than bypass it. That meant low tariffs, good lodging, and security.

Which meant…

"I'll need fighters."

Her smirk widened. "There it is. Took you long enough."

I exhaled sharply. "I assume you have a recommendation?"

"I do." She crossed her arms. "But you wouldn't like it."

I raised an eyebrow. "Try me."

She leaned in slightly. "Mercenaries."

I frowned. "Mercenaries are expensive."

"They are," she admitted. "But they're also disposable. You won't have to train them, house them long-term, or worry about keeping them happy once they've served their purpose."

She wasn't wrong, but… something about the idea didn't sit right with me. Mercenaries fought for coin, not for loyalty. If I wanted true stability, I needed my own forces.

"I'll consider them as a temporary measure," I conceded. "But long-term, I want my own standing guard."

Seraphina hummed. "That's ambitious. Soldiers need food, training, discipline. Do you have anyone in mind to lead them?"

I hesitated.

The truth was, I had no one. No loyal retainers right for the job. No trained warriors in mass combat. No one to enforce my will or protect the land I was meant to shape.

Seraphina caught the flicker of uncertainty in my expression and, for once, didn't tease me for it. Instead, she offered something unexpected— an answer.

"I know someone," she said.

I looked up, wary. "Who?"

"Wallace. A knight. He's not just muscle—he's a commander. Disciplined, experienced, and loyal to the cause he believes in."

"Loyal to the cause," I repeated. "Not to me."

She shrugged. "That's on you. Earn his loyalty."

I exhaled, thinking it over. A knight. A commander. Someone with the discipline to forge a real standing guard, to train men and enforce law. I needed someone like that, but…

"What's the catch?" I asked.

Seraphina's smirk was unreadable. "You'll see when you meet him."

That wasn't exactly reassuring, but at this point, I needed all the advantages I could get. If Wallace was as capable as she claimed, then I'd make sure he had a reason to stay.

"I'll take the introduction," I said.

Seraphina grinned. "Good. Then consider that your first step toward making something of your new domain."

No safety net. No guarantees.

Just opportunity—and the will to seize it.

***

The Queendom of Bast's grand capital—a city that, according to the gloss, changes its name with every ruler. A city so steeped in history and tradition that even the local network simply refers to it as the capital. The name may shift with the tides of leadership, but its heart remains the same.

And do you know what the heart of the capital beats for? Markets.

Markets upon markets.

Rows of stalls stretched as far as the eye could see, a seemingly endless sprawl of trade and barter. Fabrics dyed in colors so rich they seemed unreal, exotic spices perfuming the air with warmth and fire, smiths showcasing blades that gleamed under the midday sun. Bustling commerce wasn't just a facet of life here—it was life.

Bast was a nation born from the melding of tribes, much like the Nomadic Kingdom of Wyn, yet distinct in its own way. Here, humans remained the predominant race, just as they were across most of the continent. But they weren't the only ones.

Looking out from the carriage, I saw them—monsters and beasts walking openly among the crowds, carrying goods on their backs or using their massive limbs to transport wares. Some remained in their bestial forms, towering above the human merchants, while others had taken on more humanoid shapes, blending seamlessly into the throng of people.

Seraphina caught my staring.

"Surprised?" she asked, leaning back against her seat with a knowing smirk. "Unlike that damned magic-averse country, we don't force our people to conform to a single shape. If someone wishes to walk in their monstrous form, that is their right. If another wishes to remain wholly human, that is their right as well. Identity is one's own to decide—not something dictated by outdated laws or blind tradition."

I listened, but my attention was elsewhere.

Even among the overwhelming chaos of the market, something stood out.

I had seen cities before. Grand capitals. Markets filled with wealth and desperation alike. But here—I saw no one starving.

The poorest of the poor, those draped in tattered rags, weren't clawing for scraps. There were no hollow-eyed children begging on the streets, no desperate hands reaching out in vain. Instead, children—both from the lower class and the merchant class, even some from the upper class—were playing.

And not just any game.

Ember's Cup.

They played in the middle of the marketplace, laughing, shouting, their movements mimicking the footwork of warriors and duelists. The sight of it sent a sharp pulse through my chest, the aftershocks of my own battle still lingering in my bones.

Seraphina must have noticed the tension creeping into my shoulders because, before I could even voice my unease, she placed a steady hand on my shoulder.

"They're not playing the true version," she reassured me. "One: They're not even awakened yet, so they can't. Two: Those models they're using? Mass-produced, safe versions. No pain, no risk. Just a game."

Her tone was casual, but I still caught something underneath—an edge of pride.

This was the capital of Bast. A place where even the lowest of society had enough to live—enough to play, enough to dream.

It was a far cry from what I had known.

The carriage came to a stop with a final jolt, the creak of wood settling as the wheels found stillness.

I took a slow breath, my fingers curling against my palms. This was it.

Through the window, I saw it—the royal castle of Bast, the Castle of Eternity, where the Seat of Sorrows lay waiting. It wasn't just a throne. It was the place where rulers carved their legacies, where decisions that shaped the nation were made. And for me?

It was where my rise to Princedom began.

Seraphina stretched her arms, rolling her shoulders as if she were preparing for something far less significant than a royal ceremony. She had spent years within these walls—had been shaped by them. Meanwhile, I was about to step inside as a complete outsider.

She caught my hesitation.

"Nervous?"

"No." The word left my mouth automatically.

She smirked. "Liar."

I didn't bother arguing. Instead, I focused on the scene before me.

The Castle of Eternity was a structure that defied conventional grandeur. Its walls were built from blackened stone, deep as obsidian, but the veins of shimmering crimson and gold pulsing through them kept it from feeling like a tomb. The castle breathed with the will of those who ruled it.

And standing before the massive iron gates, flanked by towering banners of Bast's sigil, was a welcoming party.

No, not a welcoming party.

An evaluation.

A dozen knights in ceremonial armor stood at attention, their helms polished to a mirror sheen. Each bore the markings of a different noble house, their allegiance evident in the unique insignias etched into their breastplates. But their weapons—halberds, blades, and enchanted staves—were not merely decorative. These weren't just guards for show.

This was a test.

Seraphina, naturally, was unbothered. She hopped down from the carriage first, brushing the wrinkles from her outfit with practiced ease. "Alright," she said, glancing back at me. "You know the deal, right?"

"Remind me."

Her smile was sharp. "You walk through those gates, and from that moment on, every noble in that castle is watching. Some will want to challenge you. Some will want to test you. And some—" she gestured toward the knights waiting at the entrance, "—will want to break you before you even enter."

Of course.

It was never going to be as simple as stepping inside and claiming my title.

I exhaled through my nose and stepped out of the carriage. The moment my feet touched the stone, the knights straightened—not in a show of respect, but in preparation. Their grips on their weapons tightened, their gazes locking onto me like wolves assessing an unfamiliar presence.

One of them, a man with short, silver hair and a gaze like cold steel, stepped forward. His armor bore the sigil of the House of Vermillion, a name I vaguely recognized from my studies—one of the oldest houses in Bast's noble hierarchy.

He looked me over once before speaking.

"You stand before the gates of the Castle of Eternity," he said, voice even, unwavering. "And you claim the right to Princedom?"

"I do," I said, my voice steady.

A beat of silence.

Then, his lips curved into something that might have been amusement. Or disdain.

"Then prove it."

The air shifted—the tension turning razor-sharp.

I barely had time to process the words before he moved.

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