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The next days passed like drifting petals on a slow stream. Eight gentle mornings came and went.
Grace wandered through them daily, always with Aurelian whom she now called Haze, draped about her wrist or shoulder. Sometimes she would seat herself by a bubbling fountain or beneath the shelter of a wide-leaved tree and speak to him in her soft, lilting elven tongue.
At first, her words were only gentle music to his ears, all flowing syllables and delicate sounds that meant nothing. But day by day, meaning began to take faint root. Aurelian found that with his sharp mind honed from his previous lives his intelligence far surpassed a normal person, he could grasp more than he once thought. By the end of that first week, he could follow more than half her words, to understand what she tried to tell him.
It was through Grace that the world began to open up to him.
One afternoon, they lay together on the soft moss under a cluster of silver birches. Sunlight dappled through the fluttering leaves, painting shifting coins of brightness over her face and over Aurelian's white scales. Grace spoke with the dreamy patience of one who loved to share secrets.
"This world of ours, little Haze, is far, far greater than these gardens, or even this estate, or even our Elven lands. My mother says there are countless lands beyond, home to so many different peoples it makes your head spin."
She counted them off on slender fingers, her eyes sparkling.
"There are humans, like Father's old friends who visit us sometimes. And dwarves in their deep stone halls, always forging things of wonder. Vampires with moonlit eyes who dwell in old towers and keep their own grim courts. Beastkin who roam the wilds in clans. Giants in the north who speak slow words heavier than boulders. Merfolk in coral palaces under bright waves and many more."
Aurelian flicked his tongue. Each new piece of knowledge made his mind hum with eager hunger.
She spoke of churches too. How the elves mainly worshipped the Mother of Nature, who was said to cradle all life in her green hands, and the God of Magic, whose breath made the very source of magic, Mana. Some also honored the Goddess of the Moon, drawing down her silver grace, or the God of Justice, who judged every soul.
"But there are darker gods too," she whispered, her voice lowering. "Twisted things… God of suffering, of madness. Mortals who worship them become hollow or sprout terrible mutations."
Aurelian's body tensed slightly, instincts prickling. He had known this might be a dangerous world with such twisted powers, but hearing about this still made him eager to grow stronger.
It was Grace who slowly introduced him to the idea of Transcendent beings.
On that evening, they sat by a pond ringed with tiny white blossoms that released faint lights after dusk. Frogs chirped and fireflies drifted lazily. Grace stroked his back as he lay curled on her lap.
"You know, little Haze… elves like us often walk paths of magic. It's in our blood, like sap in a tree. Mother says each race finds its own ways, humans are adaptable in mainly everything with some talented individuals suited for some paths, they might chase sword or spell or something stranger. Dwarves pour their souls into crafts. Vampires weave their power through blood and night. And we… we bloom in the currents of mana, or deepen our roots in nature."
Aurelian understood only half the words but pieced together enough to imagine sprawling roads, countless beings striving for power.
"But there are many paths of Transcendence. Many… sequences, as Mother calls them. She warns me never to pry too deeply yet. That even knowing too much can destroy a mortal mind."
Her fingers curled slightly in the white silk of her gown.
"There are stories of people who reached too far, learning secrets meant for higher ranks. Their souls twisted. Some went mad, babbling of horrors only they could see. Some bodies changed, sprouting scales, feathers, or shadowy things. Some killed… their own loved ones."
Aurelian shivered faintly. In truth, he found it thrilling. Power that deep always had teeth. But for now, he kept still and docile, as if only a clever little snake, so he could stay safely by her side.
Grace's voice brightened again.
"Mother did tell me one wonder. That beyond our reality lie spirit realm… layers upon layers, overlapping our world like veils. You might stumble into them if you're careless."
Her eyes grew wide with awe.
"Father says only those who reach at least the third rank dare wander there. It's too dangerous for weaker souls. Monsters dwell in those shadow realms, strange transcendent beasts, ancient spirits, ruins that float like drifting cities. He told me that once, a Marquis's heir stepped through by mistake and returned half-mad, half-ghost and sacrificed his entire family for pleasure."
Aurelian was truly surprised this time as he had never heard of such concept from his previous lives, he wasn't surprised at the mention of gods as he only thought of them as powerful beings who chased influence and fame, he has seen many such beings in his previous world. He could only imagine this realm curious to explore it once he became strong enough.
For these eight days, he let himself almost live like a simple creature. Each morning Grace brought him tiny dishes, slivers of honeyed fruit, bits of tender meat. She played gentle melodies on a slender harp, letting the notes drift through ivy. Sometimes she read to him from light books songs, old poems, silly tales of foxes who tricked farmers.
Each day he understood more. Not only words but the shape of this world. Its size. Its hungers. Its countless struggles for power wrapped in madness and ritual.
He thought often of what he might become here.
Grace promised often, with her bright smile, that once she went to the Academy, she'd learn the deeper truths. Then they would chase those legends together. And every time she said it, Aurelian found some echo in his old warrior heart that almost felt… warm.
It was on the ninth day that something different happened.
They sat under a trellis of tiny orange blossoms that smelled faintly of citrus. A servant came, a young elf with a calm faceholding something folded and crisp.
"A courier from Brightmere arrived, my lady. News from Loria."
Grace's eyes lit up.
"Oh! A paper! Thank you."
She patted the grass for the servant to set it down, then dismissed him with a nod. The young elf bowed and left.
Grace smoothed the paper eagerly. "I so love these… they carry stories from across the sea. Festivals, scandals, new fashions in human courts. It's like peeking into a hundred lives."
Aurelian lay curled beside her, head slightly raised. His tongue flicked at the faint scent of ink and foreign dust.
Grace's delight faded almost at once as her eyes caught the bold print. Her breath hitched.
"Oh… Mother Godess, no…"
Her hands trembled. Aurelian moved closer, pressing his cool scales against her wrist.
She read aloud, voice soft but strained.
"It says… two days ago in Brightmere, one of the loveliest cities of Loria, an evil order called the Pale Thorn carried out a great ritual slaughter. Hundreds dead. Most were human nobels gathered for the wedding of Prince Aleron of Loria to Princess Melis of nearby Caladorn. Nobles, priests, all caught up in the celebration."
Her hands clenched the paper tight enough to crumple it.
"They say the Pale Thorn used some terrible… artifact with three digits."
Aurelian felt a faint chill coil through him. This was the not the first time he had heard about Artifacts from her, a mystical treasures that when used comes at great cost such as sacrificing one's loved ones, memories and even their very lives.
Grace's eyes grew damp.
"They sacrificed hundreds of their own members to fuel it. Then infiltrated the wedding and sealed the space around the mansion… so no one could escape. But they didn't kill anyone from the wedding only sealed it to trap strong peoples from nobel circles, and even important peoples from churches to gain time to raid on defenceless Church of Sun and killed majority of believers and priests, by the time they broke free from the trap, it was too late. So many dead. They think… they think the Pale Thorn stole something sacred from the temple's vaults."
She pressed the paper against her chest, breathing hard.
For a long time there was only the rustle of leaves above them. Grace sat perfectly still. When she finally spoke, her voice was very small.
"This world can be so beautiful, Haze. Gardens, songs, gentle beasts. But then there are days like this that remind me… under all the soft moss, there's still a dark earth that drinks blood. And it's never satisfied."
Aurelian shifted, curling around her wrist tighter. Not in menace but almost protectively. He understood enough to know that this was grief. That she was frightened in a way she rarely let herself be.
Grace smiled down at him, tears glittering.
"Don't look at me like that, little one. I'm fine. Truly. It's just… hard to remember that even lovely cities like Brightmere can be turned into graves by cruel hands."
She folded the paper carefully, smoothing it again and setting it aside.
They sat there a while longer, quiet. Aurelian rested his head on her knee, eyes half-lidded. Grace combed her fingers gently through the frill behind his head.
"I hope when I go to the Academy," she whispered, almost to herself, "I'll learn how to stop such things. Not just watch them happen from afar. I want to be strong enough… wise enough… that even the Pale Thorn would tremble if they tried to hurt what I love."
Aurelian understood every word. But he couldn't help her, not for now. He flicked his tongue lightly across her wrist. She laughed, soft and choked with tears.
"Thank you, Haze. You're a very good listener. The best I've ever had."
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