CH 8: Meeting of Prodigies
The sky was still painted in shades of indigo when Isla awoke. The world was quiet, the air cool and crisp, the first light of dawn barely brushing the horizon. Without a moment’s hesitation, she slipped out of bed, her small feet padding against the marble floor as she made her way toward the training grounds.
Meanwhile, in another part of the citadel...
“M-Money… come back… I want… to buy… pudding…”
Valerica muttered in her sleep, a single tear rolling down her cheek as she tossed and turned in the sheets. Even in her dreams, the sting of her reduced salary haunted her.
At the training grounds, Isla stood before a wooden dummy clad in armor. She lifted a practice sword, too big for her small hands, and began striking. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Each hit was deliberate, her movements precise and consistent. Though her face remained as expressionless as ever, there was a quiet joy in the way she moved despite the pain in her hands. A calm, rhythmic determination that filled the morning air.
She didn’t notice the faint laughter or the sound of footsteps approaching from the distance.
“I can’t believe the Citadel is this big, Lady Accla,” said Sylveria, her voice soft and refined.
“Yeah! This place is huge!” Isao chimed in, her tone bright and carefree as her eyes darted around.
Accla, the Rapier Saint, smiled faintly. “Fufu, yes. Aethalgard’s heart is vast—and soon, this will be your new home. By the way, this is the training ground, isn't it nice?”
“Still,” another voice added, graceful and calm, “I wasn’t expecting us to arrive at the same time.”
Sayuri, the Katana Saint and Isao’s older sister walked beside them, her movements elegant and precise even in casual stride.
“Oh! Look! Sylvie! A girl!!!” Isao suddenly shouted, pointing excitedly toward Isla, who was still focused on her training.
Her uchikake fluttered wildly as she bolted forward, her dark hair streaming behind her.
“Ah, Ayaka!” Sylveria called, her tone amused as she hurried after her with light, dignified steps.
Sayuri sighed, pressing a palm to her forehead, though her lips curved in an affectionate smile. “Honestly… Ayaka, you’re wearing an uchikake, not training robes…”
Accla chuckled, shaking her head as she watched. Her eyes, however, lingered on Isla, the small, white-haired girl whose aura seemed faintly luminous under the rising sun.
“That child… white hair…” Accla murmured. “Is she who I think she is?”
Sayuri glanced toward Isla, her expression turning thoughtful. “I’m not certain,” she said softly. “But she might be. One of the prophesied children just like Ayaka and Sylveria."
And as the morning sun finally began to rise, its light spilled across the citadel, illuminating three children whose fates were about to intertwine.
“Hey, kid! What’s your name?” Isao called out cheerfully, giggling as she watched Isla swing her sword with wild, almost comical intensity. To her, the white-haired girl’s stiff expression and relentless strikes were both amusing and impressive.
Behind Isao, Sylveria had stopped in her tracks, watching in quiet curiosity.
Isla, however, didn’t even glance at them. Her focus didn’t waver, her strikes continued, sharp and deliberate. Then, with a faint click of her tongue, she muttered in her usual flat tone, “Tsk… annoying.”
Both princesses froze.
It was as if the air itself had cracked.
“W–what did she just say?” Isao asked Sylveria, her smile twitching as she blinked in disbelief.
Sylveria’s elegant composure faltered for the first time. She crossed her arms, her azure dress shimmering as she frowned. “Excuse me?” she said coldly, her brow twitching in clear irritation.
Without even turning fully around, Isla replied flatly, “Don’t bother my training, blue blue.”
Sylveria’s brain short-circuited for a moment.
“B–blue… blue?” she repeated, eyes wide, utterly flabbergasted. She, a princess of the Silver Kingdom, descendant of a royal line known for their elegance and divine beauty had just been nicknamed by a child she’d never met and was disrespected.
Isao, meanwhile, burst out laughing so hard she nearly fell over. “Pfft! Blue blue! Hahaha! That’s a good one!”
Sylveria shot her a sharp glare. “Ayaka!”
“What? It’s funny!” Isao said, clutching her stomach while giggling uncontrollably.
And in the middle of their chaos, Isla kept swinging her wooden sword, her expression perfectly still, focused, stoic, and completely uninterested in the two “annoying” princesses behind her.
“I’m Isla,” the white-haired girl said flatly, finally pausing her strikes to glance at the two. “I’ve given you my name. Now get lost, Pinky and Blue Blue.”
Both princesses froze again, then exploded.
“P–Pinky!?” Isao shrieked, her voice cracking. She looked down at her pink uchikake and pointed dramatically. “It’s traditional attire! And my names not pinky!”
Sylveria’s jaw tightened, a vein twitching at her temple. “Ugh! For your information, my name is Sylveria Silver! A Princess of the Silver Kingdom! Drill it into your head, you insolent child!”
Unfazed, Isla blinked once, tilting her head slightly. “…Okay, Blue Blue.”
“Y–You!” Sylveria sputtered, her poise crumbling.
Meanwhile, Isao was already over her outburst, laughing gleefully. “Hahaha! Oh, she’s perfect! I like you, Isla~! You can call me either Isao or Ayaka, okay?” she said, spinning around dramatically as if they were old friends already.
Sylveria groaned. “Ayaka, you are not helping.” Then, with a sharp exhale, she stepped forward, determination gleaming in her crystal-blue eyes. “Since you’re so confident, Isla… how about a spar? Let’s see what you can actually do... with real weapons.” She strode to the nearby weapon rack, her posture regal and deliberate, and pulled out a slender rapier that gleamed under the sun. Without hesitation, she tossed an iron great sword toward Isla.
The heavy weapon landed with a loud clang.
“Oooh, this is going to be fun,” Accla said with a knowing grin as she crossed her arms.
Sayuri, standing beside her, sighed softly. “Shouldn’t we stop them?” she asked, though there was unmistakable curiosity in her tone.
“Fufu~,” Accla chuckled. “This is a good chance for you to see Sylveria’s prowess firsthand.”
Isla, meanwhile, stared at the iron blade on the ground. She crouched, lifted it with both hands and frowned. “Heavy,” she muttered, before casually tossing it aside.
Then she walked over and picked up a wooden great sword.
“I’ll beat you with this,” she said simply, her tone matter of fact rather than arrogant.
But to Sylveria whose pride had already been wounded by nicknames like Blue Blue, that calm declaration hit like a slap.
Her eyes narrowed, her rapier gleaming as she took her stance.
“Very well then, Isla,” Sylveria said coolly. “Let’s see if that wooden toy of yours can keep up.”
