Astra:

  Morning… Who even made it up?! With great effort, I pried my heavy eyelids open and looked around. Ugh… I wish I could wake up somewhere else for once — anywhere but here. Timid rays of dawn, sneaking through the silk curtains, illuminated fragments of the room: gilded furniture upholstered in crimson fabric, the towering canopy bed I lay in, the impossibly soft pillow beneath my head… What a shame I never get proper sleep here.

  Fate really played a trick on me, making me born into twice-noble blood. Why twice? The Zauber family aren’t just aristocrats — we’re hereditary mages. The three pillars holding up Lampara are the Throne, Magic, and the Church. Nothing in this world can replace them.

  Wait, what was I thinking about? Oh, right — sleep. Mother and I live in my uncle’s castle, complete with servants, guards, and… well, to put it simply: too many people breathing down my neck. Maidens always wake before their masters, scurrying around to prepare the household for our grand awakening — as is tradition. They rush back and forth, chattering, clattering… I don’t know how the others tolerate it, but I can’t sleep through this chaos. A hundred times, I’ve begged uncle to enchant my room to be noise-proof. Sigh… Unfortunately, to adults, the complaints of a twelve-years-old girl are just "whims." Sleeping potions? "Too young for those, my dear." As if it’s my fault I wake at the slightest rustle! This trait would suit a mercenary or a wandering sorceress — not a highborn lady trapped behind castle walls.

  And another thing… Can I confess? I love daydreaming before sleep. The moment my head touches the pillow, a kaleidoscope of fantasies unfolds before me. And in my fantasies, I’m everyone I want — a heroine saving the world, an explorer seeking the edge of the earth, or even (giggle) a 'femme fatale' ensnaring prince after prince. I’m hopelessly imaginative. These mental adventures often stretch for hours, and… well, restful sleep becomes a casualty. But hey, it’s not my fault real life is so dreadfully dull!

  And today? Morning began with noise. Some clumsy oaf decided clattering past my room was a brilliant idea. Oh, just wait — when I’m in charge, not even a mouse will dare squeak without—

  "Good morning, Lady Rossa!"

  The door swung open, and a neat column of maids filed in — a dozen stern-faced women in rigid dresses. These were my bonnes, governesses handpicked from lesser nobility to mold me into a "proper lady." One began dusting, slamming trinkets onto the dresser with unnecessary force. Another yanked the curtains open. Ugh. I wouldn’t have minded lounging longer, but the universe’s Law of Universal Spite had other plans.

  "Lady Rossa, rise! You’re no longer child — you’ve graduated the Academy! Must we question your sense?"

  That was Lettie, the eldest, lingering in the doorway with a glare that could scorch stone.

  "Please awake! Lying abed is most unladylike!" piped a second, squeaky voice.

  Every. Single. Morning. Not only do I wake with the servants, but these harridans hound me into behaving "appropriately." Ugh.

  "Mmmph… I’m up…" I mumbled.

  If I didn’t respond, they’d yank the blankets off and drag me upright.

  Uncle, in his infinite generosity, assigned me a swarm of bonnes — each desperate to impress the castle’s master. They nitpick everything, scolding and prodding… Lettie leads the pack, the first to tattle to Mother if I "misbehave." A real delight, that one.

  I threw off the covers and sat up—

  "Absolutely not, Miss Rossa!" A bony hand seized my wrist. "Rubbing your eyes will cause swelling! Wait for the washbasin!"

  See what I mean? I can’t even blink without supervision! Here I sit, a canary in a gilded cage — fed six times a day, yet denied the slightest freedom! Arguing is pointless. Lettie has decades of experience "correcting" young ladies. Fine. Maybe once I’m grown, these torments will vanish. Hopefully.

  Eyes still half-shut, I stood and spread my arms, letting them prep me for another thrilling day. A noble miss must be combed, braided, and dabbed with scented towels… Excruciatingly tedious. I’d rather throw on a robe, lounge in the parlor with tea and a book... Luckily, uncle’s library is overflowing with them—

  "My lady, suck in your stomach!"

  "Huh? Ack—!"

  I’d zoned out — and nearly got strangled by my own corset.

  "Focus, Lady Rossa, or we’ll be late for breakfast," Lettie snipped.

  If not for all these ridiculous rules, we’d have been ready ages ago! Why must I be trussed up like I’m attending a ball?! Of course, a proper lady would never voice such thoughts aloud.

  ***

  Fifteen minutes later, Rossa was ushered to the dining hall. Comparing to her bonnes, she looked nothing short of regal — her hair braided into two neat plaits, her face lightly powdered, her dress was a masterpiece of silk with billowing bell sleeves. Paired with her haughtily raised chin and imperious gaze, the effect was dazzling. The only flaw? A slight wobble in her step from the unfamiliar height of her heels — though one would have to look very closely to notice.

  At the massive carved table, draped in immaculate white linen, her mother Bella sat.

  Anyone could tell at a glance she was Eastern-born — flame-haired beauty with striking blue eyes and curves that could launch ships. Rossa had inherited every last freckle, every delicate feature; she was her mother in miniature.

  Noticing her daughter, Bella turned her head, just slightly — and their eyes met.

  "Good morning, Mother," Rossa murmured, dipping into a flawless curtsy.

  Bella said nothing. Instead, she scrutinized the girl from head to toe. Rossa kept her eyes down, throat tight. She knew the drill: a single flaw, any crooked ribbon, any scuffed shoe — and she’d be sent back to change, breakfast forfeited.

  At the Academy dormitory, rules had been lax. Young wizard could eat when she pleased, as much as she pleased. But here? Every meal was a performance. Portions were meager, flavors muted — "suitable for a highborn lady’s constitution." Which meant she seized every chance to quiet her growling stomach.

  After a tense minute, Bella gave a curt nod. The bonnes behind the girl exhaled in silent relief.

  "Your toast and juice," Lettie announced, setting down a plate with two pitifully small slices of browned bread.

  "Will uncle not join us?" Rossa dared to ask.

  "I wouldn’t know," Bella replied, tone flat.

  "Miss, the Master Child of Truth departed before dawn," Lettie supplied helpfully.

  Bella set down her utensils.

  "Leticia."

  "Yes, my lady?"

  "Inform the chef I was pleased."

  "At once."

  Folding her napkin into a crisp pyramid, Bella rose and swept out without another word.

  "Your mother is in an unusually good mood today," Leticia remarked.

  ***

  Astra:

  Time drags unbearably when you're waiting. Keeping yourself occupied for an hour or two is easy—but it’s never enough. Sure, they say "childhood is the golden age," but I can’t wait for it to be over. If only I could wake up tomorrow already grown... Blame the Academy, probably. It spoiled me with freedom — no rules, no laws. Sigh. Too much of a good thing…

  "Lady Rossa!"

  "Huh?"

  "Focus, I beg you! Stop counting crows!"

  The sun was setting, flooding the room with deep crimson light. I’d spent the whole day playing the obedient little lady. I've endured everything: dancing, music, etiquette lessons, and even pushed myself during magic practice... I could barely stand. But the second my mind wandered, Lettie was displeased again.

  "Must I report to your mother? And what is this uncouth ‘huh?’ A lady responds properly!"

  "Who even cares..."

  "Excuse me?!"

  Oh no. Did I say that out loud?!

  "Miss Rossa—" Lettie pinched the bridge of her nose. "A Zauber must be refined! You must make your family proud and earn the admiration of the nobility! You’ll be wed soon — will you behave like a peasant? Your mother would perish from shame!"

  "And what if I don’t want to be wed?"

  You know, everyone has that one topic that sets them off. For me, it’s marriage. All I hear is "Look at that handsome lord," "Their family owns…," "Once you’re wed…" Every conversation circles back to it. As if I’m being raised for that single thing. I’m not a doll!

  "I fear my lady doesn’t understand—"

  "No. You don’t understand."

  That’s it. I’m done. The mask of composure prized by nobility shattered. I stood, slamming my palms on the table.

  "Don’t frown like that… Wrinkles, you know."

  "Leticia. Have you ever been married?"

  "What does that have to—"

  "Answer. That’s an order from your mistress."

  "...No."

  "Why not? Couldn’t find a fool willing?"

  "My lady—"

  Damn it! I lost control… My lip’s trembling, tears welling up — one more second and I’ll be sobbing hysterically. Lettie froze. She’s only seen me like this once before. Apparently, that was enough.

  "Miss Rossa, enough," another bonne cut in, sensing the tension.

  "Oops!" I accidentally knocked over the inkwell, still glaring at Lettie.

  "I’ll clean it before it stains the rug!" A third governess jumped in.

  The fury in my chest nearly erupted but Lettie smothered it in time. She rounded the table and hugged me. Ugh. She’s good at this…

  "Astra, my dear, calm down. I hear you. We won’t speak of this again, I promise. I know it’s hard — but we’re in the same boat. Please, see my position."

  Sigh… Just seconds ago, I was furious. Now? Guilty. How vile! The moment Lettie softens her tone and calls me "Astra," I cave.

  "I need air." I stepped onto the balcony.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  I hate admitting it, but she’s right. Yes, I’m forced to endure endless nonsense — but Lettie’s position is worse. If I fail, they’ll just repeat the lesson a thousand times. After all, Rossa-Belia-Astratu von Zauber is irreplaceable. Leticia? One misstep, and she’s tossed into the streets.

  The world is stupid. People obsess over trifles but neglect what truly matters. We live deaf to others, locked inside our own heads.

  Outside, it’s nice. It's warm here. With each breath, my anger fades, dissolving into the rustle of leaves. Uncle’s castle sits atop a hill, overlooking a peculiar — almost eerie vista. A sleepy village nestles in the valley, pressed against the dark, impenetrable wall of the northern forest. Those grim, towering trees look ready to collapse any moment, burying the villagers in a tidal wave of shadows… No, stop it. Don’t dwell on horrors.

  Remember the three pillars upholding the empire? While the throne rules Lampara and only a fool denies the Church’s influence, magic has long since bent all to its will. Look around — the castle grounds are pristine, manicured, with smooth brick roads winding down to the village. Gorgeous. And we’re as remote as the stars!

  Magic is the empire’s most valuable commodity. Whatever anyone claims, money rules the world, the rich always have the upper hand. And mages don’t just live lavishly, they’re free. Ugh, that word always gives me chills. Sorcery isn’t just a trade; it’s a philosophy. Mages choose their contracts, and their employers — whether to work at all. No one holds power over them. Almost no one.

  From my perch (the balcony, I mean), the disparity is clear: the farther from the castle, the smaller are the houses, the rougher the roads, and more trash litters the paths. This village is proof of magic’s grip on Lampara.

  Hm? Who’s that? At the hill’s base, guards are surrounding a strange man…

  "Miss Rossa?" Lettie cracked the door open, her look screaming "You’ve lingered too long — go back to lessons."

  The room had "aired out." The anger and resentment hanging in the atmosphere had vanished, replaced by the bonnes’ plastered-on smiles. Well. That’s their job. Sometimes, a good outburst helps — after a scandal, even etiquette drills feel lighter. Huh. Poor future husband of mine.

  And suddenly the door flew open.

  Mother sprinted in.

  "Astra, come with me!"

  "Wh—? Okay?!"

  What in the world?! Mother—running?! Never! Worse — she grabbed my wrist and dragged me after her! This violates every rule of ladylike conduct!

  ***

  Leaving Muresh blinking in bewilderment, the mage made his way across the village square toward the Master of Magic's estate. Rebellious wheat-colored strands peeked from beneath his hood, and a mysterious smile played on his lips.

  The villagers tended to retire before sunset, so the path was mostly populated by the Master's students. Neither rigorous study nor part-time work could drain the boundless energy of young sorcerers. After a long day, they clustered in groups, drowning their stress in drink, dance, and other, less restrained amusements — transforming the village into a sort of academic bohemia.

  Many still wondered — why had the Child of Truth chosen to exile himself so far from the capital? "Fish seek the deepest waters, men seek comfort" — so why willingly forsake civilization’s luxuries?

  The mage lifted his gaze. Along the soft-brick road, lanterns cast an eerie teal glow. Before he had taken ten steps, he was surrounded by warriors shrouded head-to-toe in black cloth. The Master had spared no expense on his guards — these were the elite warriors of the South, whose skill and discipline would make even the Praetorian Legion envious. The mercenaries didn’t draw their weapons; they stood motionless, hands at their sides. Only an expert would notice: beneath the calm, they were coiled like overwound strings, ready to snap and deliver death to any aggressor.

  Eyeing the professional killers, the mage slouched slightly, letting his shoulders droop. He had no intention of speaking first.

  After a minute of tense silence, the guards parted, and an old man stepped forward. He wore the same uniform as the other Southerners, but his shoulder bore a golden chevron, and unlike his comrades, his face was uncovered.

  "I fear you’ve chosen an inopportune time for a visit, young man."

  His voice was calm, almost casual. He smiled.

  "I’ve come to challenge the Master," the mage replied flatly.

  "Do you have an appointment?"

  "Magical duels require no prior notice. It’s written in the law." The visitor sighed, as if offended by the other’s ignorance.

  "In that case—" The guard captain pressed his palms together. "Kindly introduce yourself and permit this humble grandpa, Efendi, to examine your documents."

  "Antinus Dze," the mage said, flipping back his hood.

  "Hm." Efendi made a show of scrutinizing the parchment. "Teaching license… graduated early, top marks…"

  The old man was pretending to inspect the scroll, but his subtle command had already been relayed: Report the intruder to the castle.

  "Well, everything seems in order." He took an exaggeratedly long time rerolling the parchment. "Would you object to an escort?"

  "I don’t care."

  Atop the castle walls, lanterns began shifting urgently. Antinus exhaled.

  "Something the matter, honored guest?" Efendi inquired.

  "I dislike crowds."

  "Then perhaps you should’ve challenged a beast in some distant mountain cave instead of the esteemed Master."

  The mage didn’t bother arguing. He merely quickened his pace.

  He wanted this to over — as soon as possible.

  ***

  The duel was set to take place in the clearing before the castle walls. The guards formed a circle, creating an impromptu arena. A crowd had gathered — servants, apprentice mages, and curious onlookers — most of whom were on the castle master's side, of course. The interloper was met with a barrage of insults. The very idea that some upstart dared challenge a luminary of magic unsettled the crowd.

  The torch flames flickered, a cold wind swept through, and the spectators parted like water yielding to oil. A figure emerged, leaning heavily on a staff.

  "To arrive at such a late hour, so boldly, so discourteously — is a disturbance to an old man on the verge of sleep, young man," the Master intoned as he stepped into the circle of guards.

  "Attempting to suppress me with your aura before the duel is no better, old man," Antinus countered, sparking fresh outrage among the Master's supporters.

  The Child of Truth laughed heartily, then struck his staff against the ground, demanding silence.

  "You are bold! I like that! But tell me — are you aware that close combat is forbidden in magical duels?" Beneath his hood, the old mage’s lips curled into a mischievous smile.

  "I am. A turn-based duel, then?" Antinus rolled up his right sleeve — revealing an ordinary arm of an absolutely ordinary human.

  "Precisely, young man. The law is paramount."

  A turn-based duel — a contest of endurance. One mage attacks, the other defends. They alternate until one yields, is incapacitated, or dies.

  Mimicking Antinus, the Child of Truth rolled back his own sleeve, exposing a forearm etched with runes, fingers threaded with fine cords, different talismans were attached to them. His hand was a grotesque tapestry of arcane sacrifice.

  With identical ceremonial motions, both mages drew rhodium-plated amulets from their robes.

  "Before God and witnesses, I swear—" Antinus began the oath, but the Master cut him off.

  "Wait! Perhaps we should postpone?" The Master’s gaze lingered pityingly on wizard’s unmarked arm — so plain, so unmagical.

  "I don’t need concessions."

  "But you’re unprepared! You could be seriously harmed! Come study under me, and in twenty years—"

  "Your kindness to an opponent may cost you your reputation," Antinus said coldly.

  "Well, if you insist…" The old man sighed.

  "Before God and witnesses, I swear to honor the labor and patience of my teacher."

  "In defense of my honor, I swear to respect my opponent."

  As the Child of Truth finished his vow, the duelists’ amulets flared, threads of translucent mana were weaving between them. The contract was sealed.

  The Master raised his hand, index finger aimed at Antinus. A talisman ignited. A searing sphere of blue-white flame erupted, forcing the crowd to shield their eyes — and engulfing Antinus in magical fire. The spell ended with a deafening crack.

  "Oh-ho! I’m intrigued—!" The Master’s surprise was genuine as the intruder dispersed the flames with a wave. The Child of Truth prepared his counter.

  Fwoosh!

  A tiny blue orb shot from Antinus’ palm, leaving a shimmering trail. The Child of Truth wove defensive gestures, but the orb pierced his wards effortlessly, tore off his hood, and singed his hair. Soaring past the arena, the spell struck the castle gates. The earth trembled; the steel-reinforced doors collapsed inward. Silence fell, broken only by the moans of those knocked down by the blast.

  "Your move, respected Master."

  The Child of Truth had a reputation for kindness. He often faced challenges — and always avoided lethal measures, preferring to humble opponents without lasting harm. Many thus became his students. Today, to the crowd’s dismay, his usual “stun tactic” failed. His mercy had backfired.

  One reason was Antinus’ unorthodox appearance. Magic required rituals — years of study, crafting talismans, tracing intricate patterns. Mages like the Master scarred even their flesh. To cast without preparation? Impossible. The Master had mistaken Antinus for a novice.

  "I… yield," the Child of Truth conceded, weighing the odds. He understood: next time, the stranger wouldn’t miss.

  Many Academy graduates sought teaching licenses, eager to share magic’s wonders. But the Mages’ Guild, centuries old, had no shortage of renowned instructors. Some professors attracted hundreds, even thousands of students, leaving newcomers no chance. Conflicts arose until the Academy officially sanctioned duels between teachers. The loser’s best pupil would be given to the winner.

  Antinus scanned the crowd. Not a single pair of eyes met his ones. Students turned away, hiding behind one another. They knew the law — but none wished to leave the Master for an unknown.

  "Dalta, my boy…"

  "N-no! Don’t give me away!"

  At the Master’s call, a lanky youth stumbled forward — his coarse features and square jaw marked him as a shepherd’s son.

  "Please, I beg you! I’ll do anything—!" Dalta prostrated himself, forehead thudding against the dirt.

  "These duels have brought troubled times… but the law must bind us all, lest it become meaningless," the old mage sighed.

  "I can choose," Antinus offered, watching tears streak the shepherd boy’s muddy cheeks.

  "You’re being deceived, young man!" A woman’s voice rang out. A noblewoman stepped forward, leading a freckled, red-haired girl.

  "Meaning?" Antinus arched a brow.

  "Literally! The Master means to pawn off a dud on you!"

  "Bella…" The Child of Truth mouthed her name, chagrined.

  "Quiet, brother! How low you’ve fallen… Does ‘honor’ mean nothing to you?"

  "Little sister—" The Master’s face twisted — shame, fury, disappointment. As if struck.

  "Lying to a colleague before witnesses? Every dog here knows your best student!" The noblewoman rested a hand on Rossa’s head.

  "Is this true, Master?" Antinus asked.

  "To my deepest shame—yes. My niece… I hadn’t wished to name her."

  "Of course not! The Academy professors rated Astra’s potential at two full moons! She’s not just clever, beautiful, and impeccably bred—" Bella spoke loudly, pausing for effect.

  "Two full moons?!" Antinus blinked.

  "Imagine! More than all these wretches combined!" She disdainfully indicated the Master’s students.

  Lampara’s night sky held two moons: a large white one and a smaller violet. The latter, since antiquity, was called the "mage’s moon," believed to bless the world with magic. The Academy, honoring this lore, graded students by its phases. Rating of "one full moon" made you a prized pupil, and "two" were near miraculous.

  "Your conduct, brother, spits on our lineage. First, you lose to a novice — then you surrender. Coward! Hanging’s too good for you!"

  Bella’s relentless assault fed the Master’s guilt. None dared intervene — the Zauber name held absolute authority here.

  "Cat got your tongue? My advice: renounce your title. Don’t anger the Lord. YOU should bear the penalty for defeat — not a twelve-year-old. If you dare hand my only child to a stranger, by tomorrow, the empire will know true nature of the ‘great’ Child of Truth…"

  The air around the Master rippled. His grip on the staff turned his knuckles white.

  "They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions," the old man’s eyes darkened, his whisper icy. "Yes, I’m a coward. A liar. I admit it. But a knife in the back? I never expected that from you. Still bitter I dragged you from your drunken revels?"

  "Silence!" Bella shrieked.

  "Why should I? An eye for an eye, little sister!" Mana cascaded from the Master’s body, frosting the grass. "Let all hear of your scandals — why I brought you here, to save you from your sins!"

  "Y-you—!" Crushed by his aura, Bella clutched her daughter.

  "You are a noble married woman... and such a life you led in the capital... No matter. I vowed to save you, and I will. You won’t escape my healing grasp! Efendi!"

  "Here!" The guard captain materialized like a shred of darkness torn from the night.

  "Confine my sister to her chambers. Let her reflect."

  "At once!"

  Even subdued, Bella tried to protest — but the Southerners moved too fast. Antinus, having won the duel, now found himself an unwitting spectator to a family drama.

  "All of you — disperse. Now," the Master murmured. The crowd obeyed instantly.

  "Uncle!" Rossa rushed forward as the Child of Truth swayed. His breath came ragged; the emotional toll was evident.

  "Shall we proceed inside?" the old mage offered weakly.

  "I regret to say but I’ll be teaching the girl at my place."

  "Certain? My facilities are hardly lacking…"

  "I am."

  "I see…"

  The Child of Truth sank onto a chair brought by servants. Childless himself, he’d poured all his affection into his niece. Losing the duel, he’d naively hoped to host Antinus — to watch Astra grow.

  "Master, if it’s inconvenient, I’m willing to consider other students—"

  "Spare the courtesy. You’ve shown true power — peerless skill. My eyes aren’t so dim. Don’t mistake this for pity, but Astra… she’s the last joy left to me. If you can fulfill her potential, I ask no more."

  Tears welled in the old man’s eyes as he looked at Rossa. For seconds, they held each other’s gaze, dreading the inevitable.

  "Uncle…"

  "My dear niece… Ahem. But first — do you truly wish to study magic?"

  "Huh? No—I mean, yes, but… I can’t just—" Rossa stammered, glancing anxiously toward the castle.

  "I’ll speak with your mother once she’s calmed. Think of yourself first."

  "B-but… if I refuse to study under—" Astra looked at Antinus. The duelists’ amulets still pulsed with mana. "If I refuse, you’ll be stripped of your rank!"

  "You’re kind," the Master smiled, stroking her hair. "But today decides your fate. For once, be selfish. Yes, defying the duel’s terms would cost me my title — and a hefty fine. So be it! If my blood is happy, I’ll live my days as a simple old man."

  "So… you know each other?"

  "Antinus? I’ve never met him!" The old man chuckled. "Remember how I taught you to focus? Clear your mind. Listen to your heart. The duel’s contract is absolute. Refuse him, and you will never be able to study magic."

  "I… I want to learn…" Astra chewed her lip, fists clenching her skirt. Never before had she been asked to choose her own fate.

  "Then it’s settled! Antinus, won’t you at least stay for tea? I’d like to know you better."

  "Another time. My affairs won’t wait."

  "Ah, I understand…" The Master sighed.

  "I’ll send word for the girl’s belongings. Is there a teleportation circle here?"

  "Yes, yes — near the forest, past the village… And please — take care of Astra."

  "I will."

  "We’ll meet in a month, in Lophos, dear."

  "Mhm…"

  The Master hesitated, then nodded to himself and withdrew. The spectacle was over; the clearing emptied, leaving only the young mage and the little witch. Astra stood with her back to Antinus, shoulders trembling as she watched her uncle going away.

  Finally, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief, she turned. Her demeanor had shifted entirely. Around family, she’d been demure, obedient. Antinus warranted no such deference. She lifted her chin, crossed her arms, and scrutinized him like a farmer eyeing a sickly mule.

  "Shall we go?" Antinus tilted his head slightly.

  "If the gentleman would deign to introduce himself before issuing commands, he’d do his reputation a great service," she sniffed, lip jutting.

  "Antinus Dze."

  "Ha! That’s it?"

  "Pretty much."

  "No house? No lineage? How savage. No manners, no breeding. So — where are we going?"

  "We’re leaving. Time is short." He pulled up his hood and strode toward the village.

  "What?! You won’t even let me change?! I’m in a dress—!"

  Fists clenched, she stomped — but it was futile. Though her flushed cheeks and narrowed eyes radiated fury, her new teacher’s back only grew smaller in the distance.

  "Cad!"