She thought as she picked up her utensils with the grace of a noblewoman, hiding fire behind a porcelain smile.
Jovita scowled but shifted her gaze to Lython.
"Lython dear, those special classes I mentioned-those begin tomorrow."
He blinked. "Ah... right. You mentioned it last week, but you didn't say what they were."
"You're grown now. You'll understand everything soon enough. For now, eat. I have a long day ahead, and I won't tolerate noise while I eat."
Monertan and Divonne exchanged puzzled glances.
"I wonder what that's all about..." Monertan muttered.
Divonne's eyes flicked to Lython. There was a subtle tension in his shoulders. A shift in his expression.
‹He's nervous. I will speak to him about it later>
The clinking of silverware was the only sound that filled the dining room for several minutes. Jovita had gone silent-her knife slicing through her steak with calculated precision, every motion calm and measured, like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.
Divonne ate slowly, methodically. She kept her posture perfect, her expressions neutral, but beneath the surface, her mind was sprinting.
It started a week before your twelve birthday...
The words echoed in Divonne's mind. The fragmented memory of Lython's farewell letter was slowly resurfacing. Her fingers clenched into her gown as the vision blurred into focus...
Jovita rose from her seat at the long, grand table, her plate empty. She didn't spare a glance at the siblings seated with her-just quietly left the dining hall with stiff shoulders and soulless eyes.
Lython sat unusually silent.
"Brother, are you okay?" Monertan broke the stillness, his tone tentative.
"I'm fine," Lython replied, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "No need to worry about me."
"You haven't been around lately. How's your swordsmanship training?" Monertan asked again, concern shadowing his gaze.
"Busy," Lython said with a shrug. "That's all. What about you? You're off to the Sorcery Academy soon, right?"
Monertan nodded. "Yes, I'll be leaving in a few days. It's strangely bittersweet."
Divonne leaned in, smiling brightly to lift the mood. "I'm proud of you both. My big brothers are amazing!"
But Lython's expression darkened. "Divonne, there's something I need to warn you about...
Aunt Jovita. She's making arrangements to have you betrothed soon."
"What?" her smile faltered but she already knew.
"You're still a child," Lython continued. "She might send you off to someone powerful, someone... cruel. I am scared that I might not be able to stop it."
Divonne's voice was small but firm. "Don't worry, big brother. I'm strong. I can protect myself."
But deep down, she remembered.
< The legal age for betrothal was thirteen. I engaged to Count Maconor shortly after. At fifteen, forced into marriage. It wasn't a union. sale-my Aunt exchanged me land.>
Her eyes glazed over.
‹He didn't touch me until I turned eighteen, but he have to. His presence alone was a prison. The dungeon my cell whenever defied him. He'd threaten to kill brothers if ever spoke. No one in his household helped me. He even had son with late wife who barely came across, what name. remember>
Lython's touch on her shoulder broke the spiral.
"Divonne?"
"Yes, sorry-I was lost in thought."
"Is something troubling you?" Monertan asked gently.
"No, not at all. I'm just... tired."
Lython took her hand. "If you ever feel lonely, just hold my hand. You're not alone, Divonne."
She smiled faintly. "Thank you. Monertan-best of luck at the Academy. You'll do amazingly."
But as they all smiled, Divonne's mind sharpened.
Later that day, in the quiet of Divonne's room—
"Willer, Void, Marto—come out."
The air shimmered, and the three spirits appeared in a radiant glow before her bed.
"You summoned us, Master," they said in unison.
Divonne nodded. "Yes. Before I tell you what I intend to do next, I need you to explain my mission is exactly"
Willer, the Spirit of Water, flocked forward. "Nine years from now, an event takes place that must never happen again. A year before your death in the previous timeline, the First Prince was accused of high treason… and beheaded on the spot by the Emperor"
Divonne's brows furrowed. "Accused? He killed the Second Prince during the Second prince's birthday banquet. It happened infront of everyone that attended"
She blinked slowly as the image played in her mind like a burned-in nightmare.
"It appeared that way to the crowd," Willer explained. "But he was not in control. He was possessed—by a demon. One tied directly to the Third Prince."
Divonne's eyes widened. "That's impossible. The First Prince was born with divine powers. Weren't his powers immune to dark magic?"
"They were," Willer said gravely. "But those powers were sealed. Long before the incident, his abilities were locked away in the Infinite Dimension."
Marto stepped in. "The Infinite Dimension is a realm of no return. Only spirits and Spirit Masters can access it. Right now, you are still too young. Your aura is fragile and underdeveloped—entering it could trap you forever."
"What?" Divonne stood, alarmed. "I could get stuck in there?"
"Yes," Marto replied. "Your powers are growing, but they are yet to fully withstand that plane."
Void added, "At this stage, your vulnerabilities are twofold—demons and the Infinite Dimension. While demons can't possess a Spirit Master, they can harm you if you're not ready to block or retaliate."
Divonne took a steadying breath. "Okay… understood. So how long has the First Prince lived without his powers?"
"Exactly nine years," Willer answered. "They were sealed when he was fifteen. He was executed at twenty-five."
"So his mysterious disappearance at fifteen…was when his powers were taken?"
Willer nodded. "Yes. And in this timeline, it has already happened. He disappeared last year."
Divonne sat back down slowly. "Do you know where he is?"
"We don't," Willer admitted. "But we know who sealed his powers"
Divonne narrowed her eyes. "Was it the Third Prince?"
Willer's tone grew darker. "No one else knows, but… the true Third Prince died moments after his birth. His body was taken over by a powerful demon—Acrylles."
Divonne's jaw tightened. "So… the First Prince was the only one powerful enough to defeat him."
"Exactly. And before he could unlock his full strength, Acrylles sealed it away."
"But why didn't Acrylles just kill him when he had the chance?"
Void replied this time. "Because even demons have limits. Especially when they're young. Just like your powers now—Acrylles was still developing within that child's body."
Divonne crossed her arms, intrigued. "I assume you know all this because spirits can sense demons?"
"We read them like books," Willer confirmed.
Divonne gave a bitter smile. "So he watched the First Prince's power grow… and panicked. Sealing it was the safest route."
"Yes," Marto agreed.
Divonne scoffed. "Let me guess. World domination? Wants the Imperial throne for himself?"
"You're not wrong," Void answered. "He was banished from the demon realm after trying to overthrow the Demon King."
"Then why didn't he just launch a full attack instead of sneaking into a baby's corpse?"
"Because demons are powerless during the day," Void explained. "Even those summoned by sorcerers are controlled by the summoner. Possessing a newborn gave him the freedom to grow unnoticed."
Divonne tapped her fingers against her arm. "That would explain the Emperor's strange death later on… And the rumors. The Third Prince was always strangely favored. The Second Prince even gave up his claim to the throne"
She paused, expression thoughtful. "He manipulated everyone and influenced court decisions. All while hiding behind a child's face."
The more she spoke, the deeper her voice dropped. Fury danced at the edge of her words.
Void asked gently, "What would you have us do, Master?"
Divonne stood, pacing slowly. "In my past life, I knew so little. I was kept like a prisoner in that hellish mansion. But I do remember something."
She stopped suddenly.
"At a tea party… someone mentioned the First Prince seemed to have two personalities. Some days he was himself. Others, completely deranged. They assumed it was drugs." She scoffed. "Idiots. The First Prince doesn't trust anyone enough to be poisoned. Especially not after seven years in exile."
She sat again, looking at the spirits with renewed clarity. "He was under a spell. Acrylles isn't working alone. And I'm not talking about the demon that possessed him—I'm talking about a sorcerer."
Marto's eyes gleamed. "So you believe he had magical assistance?"
"Definitely. The sorcerer likely came into the picture after the First Prince's return. Acrylles didn't see him as a threat until then. He must have found someone strong enough to cast a high-binding spell that would allow Acrylles to summon demons secretly despite being banned from the demon realm"
"Exactly" Willer agreed and continued "that explains why we couldn't sense a foreign magical aura him. Who ever the sorcerer was concealed it perfectly, making Acrylles move undetectably.
"It was a perfect cover" Divonne said "After all, even after returning, the First Prince barely stayed in the palace. He hunted magical beasts and kept to himself. That must've made him harder to trap"
"I wonder…" Divonne murmured. "Was the Second Prince kept alive as a backup plan? Just in case?"
"Very possible," Willer said thoughtfully.
"Then it's settled," Divonne continued. "I'm not strong enough yet to face Acrylles. Only Until I grow strong enough to unseal the First Prince's powers my mission regarding him can wait."
The spirits bowed their heads in understanding.
"But right now," she said, her voice low and sharp, "I do have the time to deal with someone else. My beloved Aunt Jovita."
"Understood, Master" they said together. "We are at your command."
Divonne gave a small smile, dark and satisfied. "Good. I believe we'll work very well together. You may go—I need a moment to think."
"As you wish, Master," they replied, then vanished into streaks of shimmering light.
"I remember now…"
Divonne's eyes darkened as the final fragments of Lython's letter came rushing back.
The full truth.
"It started after your twelfth birthday… but it never stopped."
She could barely breathe.
"The abuse lasted nine whole years," she muttered, her voice low and tight with rage. "That's why he never married. Why he kept avoiding people. He was lost and shattered."
Her jaw clenched.
"And Monertan…" she swallowed hard. "He wasn't spared either. Jovita… she got to him too. We were all tormented in our own isolated prisons."
She stood up, fury flaring in her sharp ocean-green eyes like a storm surging through calm waters.
"Oh, Aunt Jovita… dear, twisted Aunt Jovita." Her lips curled into a sinister smile. "Your death will be slow. And entertaining. Do try to look presentable when the time comes."
***
The Herisville siblings had all tasted despair in their previous lives, each in their own corner of the grand, cursed mansion. After their parents' deaths, their mother's younger sister—Jovita Herzmin—stepped in as their "guardian," though guardian was far too generous a word.
She was a shadow. A ghost who never truly cared. Her presence was felt only when it brought fear or pain. Her cruelty was sudden, sharp, and always calculated.
When Divonne was just days old, Jovita had already made up her mind. She never once touched her. Never cradled her. Never looked at her with anything but disgust.
All because she was Doreta Herisville's child—Doreta, the elder sister whom Jovita hated with a venom that had no cure.
Years ago — The Day After the Funeral
The newborn's cries echoed through the halls like a haunting melody no one could soothe.
"Wah… wah… wah…"
Lona, the head maid, stood before Jovita's chamber door, exhausted and desperate. She rocked the swaddled baby Divonne in her arms and knocked softly.
The door opened.
"My lady… forgive the intrusion," Lona pleaded, her voice cracking. "The baby's been crying for hours. We've tried everything… she won't calm down. Perhaps if you held her, even just for a moment—"
Jovita looked up from her tea, slowly placing the porcelain cup back onto its tray with chilling precision. Her eyes—cold and unreadable—narrowed at the child in Lona's arms.
"Lona," she said flatly, "do I look like that child's mother?"
Lona hesitated. "N-no, my lady, but—"
"Then why are you disturbing my peace?"
"Please, I only thought—"
"If you want to keep that pitiful job of yours, disappear before I lose my temper."
Lona bowed her head in shame. "Forgive me… I will see myself out."
"Good."
The door closed behind her, and the room fell silent—until the sound of porcelain shattering pierced the air. Jovita hurled her teacup against the wall, fragments skittering across the floor like razors.
"Aaahhhh!" she screamed.
Her personal maid, startled, rushed in.
"My lady—"
"Don't touch anything. Get out!"
"But let me at least—"
"I said out!"
The maid froze, then obeyed, disappearing without another word.
Jovita gripped her hair, pacing like a caged animal. Her breath came in broken gasps, her fury barely contained.
"This is your fault… Gordon Herisville," she spat. "You ruined everything! You should've stayed alive—should've chosen me, not her!"
Her voice cracked.
"You abandoned me… for that perfect, insufferable sister of mine!"
She collapsed to her knees, her face streaked with tears—yet her expression remained unnervingly composed.
Then she smiled. A smile that did not belong to sanity.
"Well then," she whispered. "Her precious children suffer. One… by one. Since you left them in my hands… I'll mold them into my masterpieces of pain."
And from that moment on, the Herisville children's fates were sealed.