Chapter 136 — The Day She Was Born (Part I)
Ivaline had turned fourteen this year.
At least—
That was what she decided.
She had never celebrated a birthday before.
And, frankly, she saw no reason to begin now.
Chronicle had once explained the concept to her—why people marked a specific day each year, why they gathered, why they prepared food and gifts and words.
To Ivaline, the explanation had sounded… ornamental.
Inefficient.
She did not know the true date of her birth.
There had been no records.
No family ledger.
No memory preserved by anyone who cared enough to write it down.
The date she used now was self-assigned—a point chosen merely to measure the passage of time.
It could be wrong.
Days off. Weeks. Months.
Perhaps she had already turned fourteen long ago.
Perhaps she had not yet.
There was no way to verify it.
From her perspective, that made the entire occasion unreliable.
And celebrating it required resources.
Extra food.
Extra spending.
Extra preparation.
If she wished to mark it properly, she would need to hunt additional game or purchase better ingredients.
Both required time.
Both required money.
Neither improved survival rate or combat efficiency.
So in her evaluation—
It was simply another day.
But today—
Something shifted.
“Guess I’m fourteen today.”
The words left her mouth casually, as if she were commenting on the weather.
Seraphine, who had been gently wiping Ivaline’s shoulder with a warm towel after their bath, froze mid-motion.
“…Huh?”
“Fourteen,” Ivaline repeated. “Based on the date I set.”
“…Today’s your birthday?”
“Not exactly.” Ivaline shook her head slightly. “I don’t know when I was born. So I chose today to count my age.”
She said it the way one might explain changing boots.
Simple.
Practical.
“I’m an orphan. There was no record.”
The explanation was complete.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
Logical.
To Ivaline, it required no further discussion.
To Seraphine—
It was a direct hit.
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier!?”
Ivaline blinked.
“…It’s just another normal day.”
“Of course it’s not!”
Seraphine’s voice cracked somewhere between disbelief and panic.
“Uwaaa—gosh! This is urgent!”
She scrambled backward, nearly slipping before wind mana surged around her instinctively.
“I’m sorry, love, but I have to go now! I’ll see you later! I love you!”
In less than three breaths, she dried herself with wind magic, dressed at impossible speed, kissed Ivaline’s cheek mid-motion—
—and launched herself out the door.
The air swirled in her wake.
Silence followed.
Ivaline stood there, towel still in hand.
“…Why did she react like that, Chronicle?”
“Because,” Chronicle answered gently, “a birthday is rarely about the accuracy of the date.”
“…Then what is it about?”
“It is about the fact that you exist.”
Ivaline frowned faintly.
“That day—real or not—is the day others acknowledge that you were born. That you came into the world. That you are here.”
“I was here before,” she replied.
“Yes. But no one celebrated it.”
She paused.
“I didn’t have anyone before.”
“Yes,” Chronicle said softly. “But now you do.”
Silence stretched.
The logic still did not align perfectly in her mind.
“They want to celebrate because your existence allowed them to meet you,” Chronicle continued. “Your birth created the possibility of this present.”
“…I don’t understand.”
“I know.”
He did not force it further.
Instead—
“Go tell those close to you. As you are now. Edwyn. Tomas. Corvix. Brannic. Edric. Harlund. Dr. Suniel. The guild. Perhaps even the orphanage.”
She considered the instruction.
She did not see the purpose.
But she trusted Chronicle.
“…Okay.”
The bell above the door chimed.
Edwyn looked up from kneading dough.
“Hm? Ivaline—”
“Today is the day I use to count my age,” she said plainly. “So I turned fourteen.”
He blinked.
“…Today’s your birthday?”
“Un. When I told Seraphine, she ran away saying it was urgent.”
Edwyn went very still.
The bakery, warm and scented with fresh bread, felt suddenly quieter.
Without speaking, he turned.
Selected his finest loaves.
The ones baked at dawn.
Still warm.
He placed them carefully into a woven basket, covered them with clean cloth, and handed it to her.
“It might not be much,” he said, voice gentler than usual. “But happy birthday, Ivaline.”
She accepted it automatically.
“…Thank you.”
She stepped outside.
Stared down at the basket.
“…Why?”
Chronicle chuckled softly.
“Because bread is something you give to someone you’re glad is alive.”
She processed that.
“…Tomas next?”
“Yes.”
When Tomas heard the words, he froze mid-motion.
The baking tray slipped slightly in his hands before he caught it.
“Sniff… Today’s your birthday?”
“Yes.”
“…Why didn’t I ever ask?”
“It wasn’t necessary.”
Tomas wiped his eyes quickly with the back of his arm.
“No. No, it was.”
He inhaled sharply, forcing composure.
“Come back around noon, alright? I’ll bake you a cake.”
“…Why?”
“To congratulate you.”
He managed a watery smile.
“And to say I’m glad you were born.”
Her steps slowed slightly when she left.
The pattern was repeating.
Corvix’s reaction was… intense.
The moment she informed him, his expression twisted into something complex—
Joy.
Possessive pride.
Murderous protectiveness.
Paternal warmth.
All at once.
If asked, he would insist this was perfectly normal.
Nasha, however, shrieked and fled to the far corner of the shop.
Something about his smile felt illegal.
“So,” Corvix said slowly, folding his hands. “Today is the day.”
“The day of what?”
He ignored the question.
Snap.
Employees materialized.
Measured Ivaline with ruthless efficiency.
Height. Shoulder width. Arm length.
All recorded in under thirty seconds.
They vanished just as quickly.
“Nasha,” Corvix said calmly, without looking away from Ivaline, “make sure it’s finished before evening.”
“Yes sir—!”
She disappeared as if chased by a demon.
Corvix leaned forward slightly.
“Happy birthday, Ivaline.”
“….”
She bowed.
Left.
Confusion level: rising.
Brannic burst into laughter the moment she finished speaking.
“HAHAHAHA!! Little miss birthday, huh!?”
Edric nearly choked from laughing.
“That’s huge!”
“Oy! You lot!” Brannic roared. “You know the drill!”
“Aye!”
Guards scattered immediately.
News spread faster than fire through dry grass.
Toward the guild.
Toward the orphanage.
Toward anyone who would care.
Edric slapped his chest.
“Today, meat’s on me! I’ll grill the best cuts you’ve ever had!”
“…Why?”
“Because you turned fourteen!”
“…That’s just aging.”
“BWAHAHAHA!!”
She stopped asking.
As she walked through town, something subtle began to shift.
People smiled at her differently.
Not the smile reserved for the Silver Ward.
Not respect.
Not awe.
Not caution.
Something warmer.
Shopkeepers whispered.
Children pointed.
A baker’s apprentice ran past carrying ribbon.
Someone else hurried with flowers.
Ivaline watched all of it with growing bewilderment.
“Chronicle.”
“Yes?”
“…Why are they reacting like this?”
“Because for the first time,” Chronicle said quietly, “your birth is not an accident of circumstance.”
“…?”
“It is an event.”
She did not understand that either.
But she continued walking.
Unaware—
That the town was already moving.
Preparing.
Aligning.
For the evening.
Because this was not the day she was born into the world.
This was the day—
The world would declare it was glad she had been.
