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Book 1: Chapter 19: To Stand Beside The Storm
🕑 Added 2025-06-18 14:33:10 +0000 UTCChapter 19:
To Stand Beside The Storm
After Clara gave her gift to Grace, they waited in the warm hush of the classroom.
Clara hummed under her breath, like a bird ready to take flight, while Grace sat quietly, watching the slow creep of the sun across the stone floor. Waiting.
It didn’t take long.
The heavy oak door swung open with a soft creak.
Their instructor entered, his brown robe billowing slightly with the movement. A man of no particular importance, yet useful. The way all tools should be. His hand rested heavily on a small, stiff-shouldered figure.
Elen.
The instructor's voice rang out, bright with pride.
"Ladies," he announced, "today is a special day. Lady Elen of House Trivelle has awakened her Mana Core!"
Clara gasped beside Grace, clapping her hands in delight.
Grace, however, just sneered inwardly. Her inner thoughts became more and more twisted and maybe a little bitter, but Grace didn’t notice it.
Of course, she did. Little Miss Trivelle, acting like she pulled a star out of her arse. Fucking brilliant. Another imbecile thinking she's special.
Outwardly, Grace clapped politely, her smile perfect.
The teacher beamed as he guided Elen to her seat.
"Given this wonderful event," he continued, "today's lesson will focus on Mana Cores; their nature, development, and significance."
Grace leaned back slightly, hands folded primly, and prepared herself for a flood of pointless drivel.
"Now," the teacher said, "to understand Mana Cores, remember this: Awakening typically occurs between the fifth and tenth year of life. Most awakenings happen around the ninth year."
Clara nodded eagerly, scribbling notes already.
"When a Mana Core awakens," the teacher continued, "it forms at the First Circle. That means every new Core-holder is, by default, a First Circle Mage."
No shit, Grace thought darkly. Thank you, Captain Obvious.
"Zero Circle spells," the man added, "are simpler spells used by those without a Core. Basic, but still useful." He tapped the board with his stick. "The Circles represent the density of mana within the Core. As it condenses tighter, the Core strengthens, increasing both mana capacity and physical resilience."
He turned, smiling as if delivering the secret of immortality. "Thus, someone with a Mana Core might never cast spells at all, yet still reach extraordinary heights as knights or warriors."
Grace drummed her fingers lightly against the desk, feigning interest.
"Remember," he said, "a mage's rank is measured by the highest Circle spell they can cast, not solely by their Core's Circle. A Third Circle Core owner may only be able to cast Second Circle spells, it depends on skill, affinity, and study."
Clara scribbled faster, her head bobbing in awe. Grace simply sighed inwardly.
Yes, yes, density, mana, body strengthening, fucking fireworks—I get it. Move along, you tedious sack of lard.
The teacher, oblivious to Grace’s mental commentary, smiled at Elen.
"Because Lady Elen awakened with a Nature Mana Core, she can now perceive and draw upon the Nature mana flowing around us." He gestured broadly. "Each 'Gift' from the gods is fundamentally a mana type. Nature mana offers specialization into schools such as wind magic, plant magic, and life magic."
Clara’s eyes were huge.
"You’ll be able to talk to trees!" she whispered.
Elen flushed slightly, ducking her head, clearly overwhelmed by the attention.
Grace fought the urge to roll her eyes.
Talk to trees? Fucking marvelous. Maybe she can gossip with the hedges next.
The teacher continued, drawing diagrams of Core density and mana flow across the blackboard. Grace dutifully copied them, her penmanship elegant and cold.
But her mind wasn’t on the lesson. It was on the slow, inexorable pressure she felt building in her chest. A hunger. A wrongness. A sickening sense that while everyone here celebrated a "miracle," they were blind to the real storm gathering right under their noses.
They were ignoring her… and…
T̶h̷e̷y̵ ̶i̷g̴n̶o̵r̴e̸ ̴y̷o̶u̷ ̷m̶y̴ ̵l̷i̵t̴t̷l̵e̶ ̸w̵o̶r̸l̷d̴ ̶w̸a̸l̸k̷e̷r̵,̸,̵,̵ a deep, distorted voice spoke in Grace’s head.
Her fingers tightened on her quill until the wood creaked under the pressure.
I will not be ignored, she thought savagely. Not by this world, not by its fools, not by anyone.
The voice chuckled, thick and wet, like something old shifting behind her mind.
And then Grace stilled.
The pressure at the edge of her thoughts wavered. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
For the first time in months, her thoughts stumbled over themselves — unshaped, messy. A heavy fog edged into her mind, whispering promises she didn’t recognize. Her vision swam, the letters on her parchment twisting subtly, unnaturally.
Control. Focus.
Grace inhaled sharply through her nose, closing her eyes for half a heartbeat.
And under her breath, barely audible, she whispered:
“Dominatus.”
One of her three pillars. Control. Superiority through restraint. The silent strength of holding the leash — even when the leash was wrapped around her own mind.
The fog recoiled. The pressure folded in on itself, curling back into the pit where it belonged.
Grace’s heart steadied. Her grip loosened on the quill. Her smile returned; slow, sweet, practiced.
Just as the teacher’s voice broke through the tension.
“Lady Grace?” he asked, stopping mid-sentence. His brow furrowed slightly. “Is everything... alright?”
Every eye in the room turned toward her, Clara’s filled with worry, Elen’s sharp and uncertain.
Grace opened her eyes, the picture of innocence. She placed the quill down delicately, folding her hands atop her notes with perfect composure. “Yes, Master Ardan,” she said brightly, her voice the soft melody of a good child. “Forgive me. I was simply... caught in thought.”
The teacher smiled, reassured, while Clara sighed in relief beside her, and Elen watched a moment longer before glancing away.
Grace tilted her head just enough to catch the sunlight in her hair. Inside, she breathed slowly, carefully. But she could feel it, a heartbeat not her own pulsing quietly in the shadows of her mind.
Waiting. Watching.
Not yet, she thought coldly. Not until I'm ready.
--::--
The moment passed. The teacher, reassured by Grace’s sweet smile, cleared his throat and resumed his lecture.
“As I was saying—” he began, tapping the blackboard again, “—once a Mana Core has awakened, it changes how a person perceives the world.”
He sketched a simple figure in chalk, a silhouette surrounded by tiny swirling lines.
“A Core user,” he continued, “can sense mana itself. The currents, the flows, the invisible rivers that dance through the air. And more than that, they can see it.”
Clara leaned forward in awe; her hands clutched under her chin.
“But remember,” the teacher said, tapping the figure’s head lightly, “while all mana is visible to someone with a Core, the type aligned to their affinity shines brightest to their senses. A Nature mage, for example, will see the lush threads of Nature mana clearer than any other kind.”
Elen sat perfectly straight, absorbing every word. Her eyes flickered once, briefly, toward Grace, but she said nothing.
The teacher smiled, clearly enjoying himself.
“However,” he added, voice lowering slightly, “there are limits.”
He drew a second figure, this one outlined heavily.
“You cannot see another mage’s Mana Core directly. Not unless they actively use it. The Core itself remains hidden within the body, a secret heart of power. Only when someone gathers mana from their core to cast a spell does their power become visible.”
He turned, chalk tapping the board rhythmically.
“That is why, in a duel or battle, you can never truly know the Circle of your opponent until they cast. Until they call their mana forth, they could be a First Circle apprentice or a Ninth Circle archmage.”
Clara’s mouth dropped open slightly. “So… you have to guess?”
The teacher chuckled. “No. You read. You watch. You survive.”
“And affinity is the same?” Elen asked quietly.
He nodded approvingly. “Correct, Lady Elen. Until a mage uses mana actively, their affinity, be it Light, Nature, Water, Shadow, or otherwise, remains concealed.”
He turned fully to the class, arms folding behind his back.
“This is the great masquerade of magic. Strength and identity, hidden until revealed.”
Grace sat silently, her quill idle, her smile flawless.
The teacher gestured toward Elen, his voice warm.
“And today, with Lady Elen’s newly awakened Core, we have a rare opportunity. Perhaps she might attempt to feel the mana of her affinity, the Nature mana around her.”
Clara gasped, and Grace watched, cool, detached, expectant.
Elen, to her credit, only nodded once and closed her eyes.
The teacher gave her a moment. Silence fell. And slowly… the air shifted.
Very faint. Very delicate.
Something unseen began to stir, the threads of mana responding to Elen’s clumsy but earnest attempt.
Nature mana, gentle and soft, always eager to be seen.
It bloomed at the edges of the room, invisible to Clara, faintly visible now to Elen’s barely-born senses.
But then…
As Elen reached deeper…
Something shuddered.
The threads near Grace... twisted.
For a breath, the Nature mana recoiled, as if touched by something foul.
Elen’s brow furrowed sharply, her fingers twitching once. She felt it, something wrong, just beyond her grasp. A ripple of cold pressure where there should have been life and warmth.
Grace sat, unmoving, smiling her perfect smile.
And around Grace, she could see them; tiny points of pink and purple light. Not the soft green threads of Nature mana. No, these were different. Strange. Alien.
Small orbs. Flickering. Drifting lazily in the air like dust motes only she could see.
And when they brushed against the mana currents...
The mana died.
It didn’t twist or flow away. It didn’t resist. It simply ceased to exist, snuffed out like a candle crushed between two fingers.
Elen stiffened, her breath hitched. She opened her mouth to speak…
And then she met Grace’s eyes, Grace was looking at her. Directly. Calmly. And slowly, almost imperceptibly, Grace shook her head.
Once.
Not a threat. Not anger.
Just a silent command.
Elen froze.
She understood, immediately, instinctively. She wasn’t allowed to speak. She wasn’t meant to see. This… this was a secret. A dangerous one. Grace's gaze didn't waver. It wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t kind. It was absolute.
You will not speak.
And then Elen knew; Grace had done this on purpose. The strange orbs, the twisted mana, the silent command, it wasn’t an accident.
It was a message: I have a Mana Core too. I’m stronger than you. I control when and how you see me.
Elen swallowed hard and lowered her gaze, pretending to study her hands.
Her mind raced. Grace wasn’t just a child who happened to be talented. She was something else. Something deliberate. Something far ahead of anything Elen had ever known.
And Elen, for all her new power, was still just learning to walk.
Across the room, the teacher continued his lecture, oblivious to the silent conversation crackling in the air.
Grace simply smiled, sweet, composed, unbothered.
But Elen knew, Grace had revealed just enough to make sure she understood: There were rules here. And they belonged to Grace.
Elen lowered her gaze, focusing on the faint smudges of ink on her fingertips, her heart thudding against her ribs like a warning drum.
Her mind whirled.
Grace had a Mana Core.
Not just any Core, one powerful enough to snuff out mana itself, casually, effortlessly, while still pretending to be a polite little duchess-to-be. And she had hidden it. All this time.
Elen breathed carefully, schooling her face into calm neutrality.
Then she began to interpret the situation by herself:
It wasn't just pride.
It was strategy.
Grace wasn’t some spoiled child flaunting her talents. She was playing a deeper, colder game, hiding her strength, until the moment it could no longer be challenged.
Because Ronan — her only surviving brother — wasn’t a mage.
He had no Core. No magic. No divine blessing.
But Grace did.
And in a realm ruled by strength. Power mattered.
With a Core, with time and cultivation, Grace would eclipse her brother. She could become the true heiress of House Ashford.
And that’s why she hid it, Elen came to the conclusion. Not out of fear. Out of patience.
Waiting until she was strong enough to claim her place outright, without mercy, without question.
A shiver ran down Elen's spine, but she forced her fingers to unclench.
This was not something to fear. It was something to serve.
She had already made her choice when she stepped into the Duchess’s halls. When she bowed her head to Grace during those first lessons. When she threw herself between a blow and Grace’s still, watching form.
Her mother had sacrificed everything for this chance.
And Elen would not waste it.
If Grace is the storm, she thought, then I will walk at her side.
Not blindly. Not foolishly like Clara, who chased after smiles and kind words.
Elen would understand her. Would follow her. Would rise with her.
Even if the path led into shadows.
Especially if it did.
After all, her favorite stories had always been the ones where the villains won.
And in the eyes from Elen, Grace wasn’t just a chance anymore.
She was the future.
