CHAPTER 37: THE SEIR OF FATE.

"Ria!"

In the thick silence weighed down by grief and magic, the Duchess voice called out again—soft, steady, yet so powerful it cut through Arianne’s haze of emotions.

She turned to her quickly, her chest heaving, tears streaking her face.

Her mother’s eyes opened slowly, calm despite the blood at her lips.

"Calm down, my child," Lady Crimson said gently. "You’re hurting everyone here."

Arianne blinked, as if awakened from a deep trance. Her gaze swept the room. She looked at the pale faces of servants, their breathing ragged—all worn from the violent outburst.

Some had blood dripping from their ears and noses, protected only by the former Duke’s barrier.

"I..." Arianne’s voice cracked.

"Listen to me, my child" her mother continued, still smiling faintly through her weakness. "Don’t fall apart just because I’m leaving, you know. Fate has chosen this path for me... and I’ve accepted it."

Taking a breath in, she continued.

But you... you my beautiful girl still have your long journey to walk. You are not alone. Your father, your grandparents, your brother, aunt—they’re still here. And... there are more out there. People who will come love you deeply."

’So deeply that they slaughter anyone who even touches you, with malicious intent.’

Lady Crimson’s voice grew softer, but not weaker.

"If someone hurts you, don’t let that hate consume you. Don’t become the blade that cuts everything down just to stop the pain. Even if I’m gone... live. Please, live freely. That’s my last wish."

She coughed—blood staining her lips—but she raised a trembling hand.

"Promise me, Ria. No matter what happens... never let yourself fall into darkness."

Arianne listenting to her mother words, perhaps the last one, collected herself. She held her mother’s hand tightly as tears spilled once more. "I promise..."

Her mother smiled. A calm relieved smile.

"That’s like my babydoll." She said.

"I told you to not call me that" Arianne said crying.

"Hahah" she laughed.

She exhaled softly, her body seeming to relax for the first time in harsh days. But just as the room began to still—something changed.

The atmosphere thickened—but not with fear or despair. No.

It was sacred.

It pressed on the soul, not the body. Like time itself slowed to watch what would unfold.

A golden light wrapped around the Duchess’s form. Her silver-white hair shimmered, turning radiant gold. Her dim eyes now glowed—like twin suns set ablaze for one final time. Above her head, a crown appeared—not made by architect, but by something greater.

It was formed of golden light and diamond thorns, intricate, regal... divine.

There was another name by which the Lady Of The Crimson Palace was called.

The Divine Seir Of Fate.

*****

In Academy City.

In the heart of Academy City—where towering spires touched the sky and mana flowed through the air like a living current—two figures darted through the narrow back alleys, their footsteps echoing softly.

Tap. Tap.

A blur of gold moved with grace and speed. The boy’s hair, the color of molten sunlight, flowed behind him like liquid fire.

Sweat beaded on his sharp chin before dropping silently onto the stone below. His features were carved with precision—too flawless to be ordinary. Almost inhumanly handsome.

At his waist, twin black daggers rested in their sheaths, the metal glinting under the soft afternoon sun. Cold, silent, dangerous.

But it was his eyes that drew the world in—golden-red, like the first light of dawn breaking over bloodied fields. They were kind, but behind that kindness was something sharp, something aware.

Raymond Von Whiteshade.

Tap. Tap.

Another set of steps fell in rhythm beside him, followed by a sigh that was all too familiar.

"You know, in just three days of being together, I’ve realized you’re seriously way too annoying."

The voice came from another boy—just as striking, but in a different way. His jet-black hair flared in the wind, slightly tousled yet effortlessly perfect. His teal green eyes gleamed like polished emeralds, bright and cutting, filled with exasperation.

A long spear, sleek and vicious, was strapped to his back, the weapon looking like it belonged on a battlefield, not behind a student.

Samuel J. Darkstone.

Raymond turned towards him slightly, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Well, that’s mean."

He said, amusement flickering in his eyes.

However Samuel just clicked his tongue, his face souring further.

Samuel exhaled through his nose, clearly done with the chase.

"Let’s just catch them and get this over with."

Raymond gave a small nod. "Alright." He knew when to stop pushing.

Their pace quickened, as they glided through the alley like wind. Ahead of them, two figures darted clumsily between walls, one clutching a brown purse close to his chest as if it held his life.

"Ah, shit!" the thief snapped, eyes widening as he glanced back—and saw the two boys rapidly closing in. Their breathing was steady, movements sharp, and unlike the thieves, they looked far from exhausted.

"I told you not to underestimate them!" the one with the purse hissed. "Just ’cause they’re kids doesn’t mean they’re weak. They’re clearly here for the entrance exams!"

"How was I supposed to know they were freakin’ monsters?" his partner spat, twisting back again—

"Huh? Where did they—?"

His voice cut off.

Gone. The alley behind was empty.

And then—

"Searching for someone?"

The voice came from ahead.

Both thieves skidded to a stop, panic blooming in their chests. Raymond and Samuel now stood directly in front of them, having somehow appeared like ghosts—one smiling faintly, the other scowling like he had better things to do.

The boys hadn’t even drawn their weapons yet. They didn’t need to. Their presence alone was more than enough.

The two men stood frozen, their breaths heavy and ragged. Their faces were half-covered with crude, worn masks, only their wild eyes visible through the slits.

One gripped a rusted sword in his trembling hand, its edge chipped and dull. The other hefted an old battle axe, its blade stained and notched from age and neglect.

Despite their weapons, it was clear—these weren’t skilled fighters. Just desperate thugs who had made the mistake of their lives.

Raymond’s golden-red eyes narrowed, glinting faintly in the afternoon light. Samuel cracked his knuckles, his spear shifting ever so slightly behind his back.

"You still want to fight?" Samuel asked, his voice low, irritated.

The one with the sword swallowed hard, but didn’t move.

The alley fell silent.