“We got so many people thinkin’ that Venustaluna is where all our modern magical advancements come from, but they don’t know what they’re talkin’ about — liars and priests, the lot o’ them. You want to know where it really comes from? Well now… tell me, have you ever heard of The Chain of Dreams?”

  -Dragomir Sandu, ex-mercenary of the Iron Badgers and deserter of the Kobold Wars

  The days that followed Dahlia’s discussion with her father passed at a crawl. Her dance lessons were increased by hours each day, all while her free time was devoured by the new task of profiling her potential suitors. It took her until the fifth day to finally put the pen down and, even then, she had only just finished the assignment in time. The awakening ceremony was only half a candle away, early in the afternoon.

  “Well, at least I won’t be left alone with my thoughts for too long. Completing my assignment may have been horrific, but at least it kept me occupied. Now though…” She trailed off, her eyes drifting to the small shrub sitting on the corner of the desk. “Not much to do but wait. What do you think Kitten, would you mind helping me pass the time?”

  She didn’t wait for a response, instead reaching out and pulling the tiny shrub close. It was a cute round thing, and one of the few plants Dahlia kept in her room. Without even thinking about it, she began to gently pet the tight ball of leaves, treating it like its namesake as she started to run through her thoughts.

  “You know, if it weren’t for how horrific the entire experience was, going through all of those files would have actually been pretty interesting.” Flipping through the pages before her, she ignored the pang of dread she felt and instead tried to focus on the less stressful aspects of it all. “Mom and dad… for one reason or another, they never wanted to teach me about modern history and politics; everything I know is absurdly outdated as a result. So seeing these files… it’s like a small window into the modern world.”

  She glanced down at Kitten, the shrub just as stationary as ever, and smiled.

  “No, this doesn’t mean I’m suddenly a genius at history. It’s just… nice, I suppose, to catch a glimpse of the world beyond my textbooks or the estate.” She pointed at one particular page, positioning it so the shrub could look. “Like this, see? My own information is so outdated that I didn’t even realize that we’ve moved onto our seventh empress, like… what? Two and a half centuries ago? Dear gods, my information is out of date.”

  Sighing, she continued paging through the documents, reluctantly looking over her work one last time. She’d done a good job, all things considered. She might have despised the subject matter, but a solid dose of fear of her father and pride in her own work led her to do a good job regardless of any other issues she had. And oh did she have issues.

  “All right, first up is Viceroy Ahmad. He’s a foreign dignitary from the Kuyūthā Sultanate and, if I’m being honest, I initially thought he was going to be the most palatable of the options. He was only recently granted title by Her Majesty Celeste Kallisto —you know, the empress I just learned about— and apparently he’s also a trusted foreign advisor for Archduke Camille Lévesque, acting as his liaison for Venustaluna’s church down south into the Sultanate. Sounds reasonable enough, right? Well it’s a lot less reasonable once you learn that he’s also directly involved in human trafficking as well as supplying mistreated foreign workers to the Lévesque Grand Duchy.”

  She looked down at the plant and gave a wry smile.

  “I know: absolute charmers, the lot of them. Don’t worry though Kitten because next on the list is… also horrendous. Count Zmeul doesn’t appear to have the same international issues that the Viceroy had, but he’s still notorious for how he treats family and servants alike. For one reason or another, he’s developed a habit of disfiguring every single person that works at or lives in his manor, to the extent that they’re almost unrecognizable. Based on the documents I have though, the main reason he’s even been included along with the other two suitors is due to his sudden surge of resources. A couple years back, Zmeul County suddenly uncovered three separate silver mines and has since been on the fast track of becoming the most powerful county within the western half of the Amarei Grand Duchy.

  She gave Kitten a faux-serious look, “That’s probably a big deal or something, I’m sure. What stands out even more is that, beyond his penchant for abuse, suddenly coming across three silver mines is suspicious as hell, but I don’t know any more than what I’ve already said; the whole thing is apparently a well guarded secret. All of that is to say… the little duke-to-be might actually be the most ethical prospective suitor, as fucked up as that is to say. Unfortunately, I feel as though that’s more due to his shorter lifespan rather than any redeeming quality. The kid just hasn’t had enough time to turn into a monster like the others but I can’t say my expectations for him are particularly high.”

  Sighing, she let her gaze look over page after page but eventually slapped the pile of papers down with a huff. The nausea always came back, no matter how much she tried to distance herself from the reality of things.

  “I’d like to say all three of them were chosen to torment me but if I’m being honest with myself… well, it’s not that these three aren’t scum, but I’m starting to suspect my problem is deeper than that.”

  She ran a hand over the shrub, even scritching beneath its leaves in place of where she imagined ears would be. It was calming in a way; she knew it wouldn’t make up for a real pet, but she craved the physicality and contact that came with it. Anything to make her feel less alone.

  “I thought about it a lot, you know? I should be looking forward to getting a suitor to save me from my parents. I should look forward to anything if it means I’d have a chance to be free and happy — even more-so considering how it’d leave my parents content, just like I’d always wanted growing up. Getting a suitor should check all the boxes but I just… can’t bring myself to stomach it.” She chewed on her lip as she thought it over but finally a derisive chuckle wormed its way out. “I might just hate men: how is that fair? Wait, damnit, does that make me sexist?”

  The girl leaned back in her chair and shook her head, as if trying to knock loose whatever unhealthy thoughts were hiding there.

  “I don’t know, Kitten. It’s not like I’ve even had the chance to go outside and meet people beyond family connections and servants, yet apparently I’ve already written off half of the world’s population. What am I, an idiot?” She paused, taking a sip of ginger tea that had long-since gone cold; she didn’t care though so long as it helped quell the nausea. “It’s not just the sense of being worthless and powerless I feel either. I definitely do feel those things when I’m told I have to marry, but this is… worse than that. I’m used to feeling belittled. I’m used to being overwhelmed and anxious. But there’s just something about being pawned off to the most beneficial man my father can find that makes it all so much worse.”

  Dahlia’s hand paused as she caught herself raising her voice and she glanced down to the shrub in her lap: “Sorry, I got a little carried away. Why don’t we focus on something else, yeah? I mean, I definitely have a lot to think about so it wouldn’t hurt to put the suitor thing on the backburner.”

  Rearranging the pile of papers before her into a nice and neat stack, Dahlia tossed back the last of her tea and flopped on her bed, letting her eyes drift to the ceiling joists above. She wanted to squirm. She wanted to pace and fidget and do anything to distract herself from her other greatest worry.

  “Getting a light attributed aspect probably isn’t going to happen.” Her voice sounded hollow to her own ears; this wasn’t something she had ever admitted out loud before. “Today’s the ceremony, right? So it’s probably for the best if I face reality now rather than be slapped in the face with it later. And I mean, even if I do get a light-based aspect, I don’t know how much that will matter in the grand scheme of things. I don’t have the burning lion bloodline —that much simply can’t change— so if I want to be able to change dad’s mind then I’ll need a light aspect that’s genuinely impressive, and counting on that just seems a little too far fetched.”

  She rolled to her side, smirking at the plant she left on the desk. “I didn’t say I’m giving up hope entirely! It’s just, you know… maybe it’s about time I approach things a bit more pragmatically. I have so many plans for my magic, I’m actually stupidly excited to awaken my aspect, but with all of the hopes I have tied to what my aspect is… well, it makes it hard for me to even properly look forward to it all. So you and I are going to change that!

  “Right now all I have is step one: nothing goes wrong!” She threw her arms in the air, celebrating the imagined victory, only to pout at the shrub. “Right, well like I said, there’s a reason we need to workshop things. With that in mind, let’s look at my options assuming things don’t all go perfectly and I suppose the most obvious option is the one I’ve been forced to consider the last few days: marriage. I’m gonna be honest though Kitten, I’m not particularly thrilled to even be considering this one.”

  She sighed and once again rolled around on her bed. It was like her brain refused to focus on things going wrong. The anxiety that kept creeping up on her never truly went away, but ignoring her issues helped, regardless of how unhealthy that approach was. Gradually forcing herself to come to terms with how things likely weren’t going to work out was painful in a way she had always attempted to avoid, but she was beginning to come to a new understanding that forced her to think about it all the same: she craved agency.

  All Dahlia’s life, the girl had convinced herself that she could control her fate. That if she worked hard then she could win love, if she was patient she might earn respect, and if she was clever enough she could prevent the worst from happening. It was self deception every time, but she had convinced herself that she had the ability to dictate what would happen to her. Unfortunately, as time passed it became progressively more clear just how little she could control and that left Dahlia with two options: to accept she was —and always had been— powerless, or to strive to achieve the agency she always wished she had.

  The girl grit her teeth and refused to let a little bit of anxiety force her to give up.

  “Option one is worthless. Objectively speaking, going along with my parents’ wishes might be the path of least resistance, but I refuse to just give up like that. What they want from me isn’t something I’m willing to trade. Not for their praise. Not for their love. Nothing. So if I don’t get an aspect that allows me to bargain with them, I’m going to have to start breaking out of my comfort zone. Which leads us to option two!”

  Dahlia smiled sheepishly at Kitten before continuing, “I’m making a big deal out of these options, but I’m kinda going at this blind and making them up as I go. What would option two be anyways? Awaken my magic and then use it to assassinate my parents? Yeah! I can even destroy the manor and have it collapse on them! Ok… but like, maybe we’ll put a pin in that one. It can be option seven or something: it doesn’t look good if it’s only option two.

  Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Going for something less extreme I could always… just not obey my parents? What would that even imply? I maintain the status quo, don’t do anything new, but remain single at the same time?” The girl grimaced just at the thought, “No, that’s almost as bad as going along with what they want. Besides, if I fail to get a good aspect but then refuse them outright, I’m more likely to end up dead than anything else. I mean, I’ll admit that I still like this more than option one but that’s about as low of a bar as there’ll be.”

  Dahlia smirked, “Maybe option three can be offing myself before they get to me—” Her expression immediately fell and she cast an apologetic look to her shrub, “You’re right, sorry, that was in bad taste. I… I’ll try not to think of that as an option. Besides, it’s not like I actually want to die —hell, I think I might be greedy to finally actually live— but it’s just hard not to let myself slip into more morbid thoughts. I guess the final option that’s the most straightforward would be running away from home and… honestly, I might need to settle on that.

  “Escaping the estate itself probably wouldn’t even be too hard: the real problems come after. I don’t know the world. I don’t know people or have connections, or anything. Hell, it doesn’t matter how many books I’ve read, unless I get a particularly self-sustaining aspect, I doubt I could even survive out there by myself. The servants never help me with anything so my skillset is better than your average noble, but I’m still too sheltered to be able to handle myself on the streets or in the wild. That’s not even taking into consideration how my parents own the barony. It wouldn’t be as simple as just running from an ordinary home, I’d need to avoid anyone they sent after me as well. Still though, I think this might be my best option so far.”

  Stretching and climbing off her bed, she again walked up to the shrub, giving another couple pats and enjoying how the whole thing jiggled in response.

  “I’m starting to think about option four though. Waiting. It’s, uhh, strategically viable?” She blinked quickly, hoping to look endearing but, shock of all shocks, the plant didn’t respond. “Yeah, so maybe that’s a bit of a cop-out, but I genuinely think it might be my best option, you know, other than the whole committing murder bit. Honestly, even if I need to escape in the long run, I think my best bet is to wait. I’ll find out what my aspect is and by the time the debutante rolls around, hopefully I can come up with a more concrete plan? If I want to run away from home I’m going to need connections, or a support system or… something, and the debutante will offer a chance for me to obtain those.”

  Finally, with a bit of a contented sigh, Dahlia placed the potted plant back to its original position and began rummaging around in her closet. As she did, pulling out a collection of ritual materials and ceremonial robes, she continued to call out behind her.

  “Nuh-uh! Option four totally wasn’t my way of putting off an important topic. Think of it like… a tactical retreat! Yeah, that’s it. Totally not shirking my fears and anxieties to my future self, not at all. Besides, I need to get ready! We can think about the scary future later, ok Kitten? I promise.”

  Dancing around her room, the girl began to organise the materials and going over the ceremony’s process in her head, one last time. An awakening ceremony didn’t need to be performed in any single way. Some cultures completed it with an academic-like rigour, treating every new person like a potential experiment. Other cultures treated the whole event as a joyous thing, using it as an excuse to enjoy lavish festivities.

  In Dahlia’s case, her family happened to be well acquainted with the abbot of the local Church of Magical Guidance. Though the faith of Venustaluna wasn’t unanimously celebrated in the region, it was respected enough for her parents to use it. If she had to hazard a guess however, Dahlia found it more likely that the Abbot was known to be reliable enough that he would keep a secret if anything ‘shameful’ might occur.

  Regardless of the reasons for choosing the church, the ritual itself was interesting enough to hold the girl’s interest. It required unique ceremonial robes, specially treated perfumes, and multiple body salts and similar rubs as well. The process felt a little too close to mummification for Dahlia’s liking but, looking back at her history and theology studies, she realised that her comparison wasn’t even too far from the truth. Although mummies had preservatives added to the mix, the perfumes and rubs were used in both cases as a form of mana mediation. For the dead, it was supposed to prevent them from rising as undead, while for her awakening ceremony… presumably there would be other effects.

  Awakening ceremonies in all cultures had their pros and cons; it just so happened that the robes, perfumes, and rubs in this version of the ceremony caused massive and potent hallucinations when first awakening one’s mana. It was said that this had the benefit of making a person closer to the deity of magic and also allowed them to develop their magical abilities faster. The only trade offs were the expense of the materials and the hallucinations that came with them.

  Though she was planning to verify it soon enough, the way she understood the ceremony was that the hallucinations would be directly related to her aspect: the more magically compatible she was and the more potent her aspect, the more vivid the hallucinations. Apparently there was one person who awakened the rare aspect of ‘war’ and they had gone on a killing spree during their ceremony due to the intense hallucinations, though she questioned how realistic that story even was. Regardless, it was certainly interesting and she couldn’t help but feel a little more weary from it.

  Of course, her parents didn’t care about trivial matters like nightmarish visions. They would look devout to their peers by going to the church and if Dahlia suffered due to their decision then, well, it’s not like they’d be worried for her. They actively tortured her on a regular basis, so what was one extra thing?

  Instead of the more stressful concerns though, Dahlia was just excited to learn that the methods used would help speed up her magical development. Despite all of her fears, deep down she still loved magic theory and, after waiting so many years, she couldn’t even imagine the experience could be a bad thing. Even if the hallucinations were bad and even if she didn’t get an aspect she wanted, she was still ecstatic to finally get a taste of magic and, as she continued to get ready, her excitement only grew.

  Finally though, just before she needed to cover her face with the ritual’s veil, the girl shuffled over and placed a soft kiss on her shrub. She knew it was silly. She knew that. But it helped her so much that she couldn’t imagine not having the plant by her side at the end of each day.

  “Take care, Kitten, I’ll be back. You guard the place while I’m away, ok?”

  And with that and a small self-satisfied giggle, she draped the last of her ceremonial robes over her head and began to make her way through the manor’s halls. She felt almost absurd as she walked past servants with every inch of her body covered and perfumed. She could barely see through the veil’s white fabric and, between her limited vision and the length of extra fabric around her feet, Dahlia had to shuffle forward slowly making her look even more like an undead than the funerary scent already implied.

  Unfortunately, due to how restrictive the robes were, the walk to the carriage was a long and painful process of careful shuffling, but she arrived without having tripped even once and was embarrassingly proud of that fact. Unfortunately, her almost giddy mood was met only by a handful of servants who offered nothing but the bare minimum, speaking as if on script and ignoring Dahlia entirely otherwise.

  “The Baron and Baroness have already left ahead of time to socialise. We were simply told to deliver you at the rear door of the church and for you to enter directly from there. You’re to stay still and wait once you enter.”

  There was little for her to do from that point forward. The short commute went smoothly enough and was, more than anything, just mind numbingly boring for the girl. No one bothered Dahlia but no one spoke to her either, leaving only an awkward atmosphere that always seemed to occur whenever the servants were forced to interact with her. Add on that the carriage was fully enclosed and Dahlia couldn’t even look outside, unable to see scenery nor the local town, and the entire event felt practically designed to mock her. She was outside the estate, beyond the bounds of anything she had seen before, and yet even now she remained trapped.

  It wasn’t until they finally arrived at the church that the girl was given access to the outside but, even then, the thick veil obscured her vision so much that it hardly mattered. It was all she could do to just follow what was expected of her, stepping in to the rear entrance of the building and waiting. The room was dark, silent and, between her robes as well as the thick scent she was covered in, the entire situation was almost unbearably claustrophobic. It wasn’t until nearly an hour later that a collection of footsteps was heard, and she very nearly collapsed from the sheer gratitude of finally having everything begin. As the steps entered the room, Dahlia tried to count how many people would be witnessing the ceremony —more than the Abbot and her own parents, certainly— but narrowing it down to a specific number was beyond her. As she tried to make sense of all the noise though, one sound broke through the rest: the coughing of an old man clearing his lungs before interrupting the murmured conversations spread throughout the room.

  “Ahem. We will start immediately as there would be no value in delaying further, but I must ask that your bloodline analysts go about their duties only after the initial part of my ritual is complete. The entire procedure on my end typically takes between a knuckle to upwards of an hour depending on the aspect.”

  The voice was raspy and raw; the poor guy sounded like half his lungs were full of phlegm and had already lost his voice from talking too long with the Baron and Baroness. Nonetheless, he took to his duties with a zealous fervour typically reserved for, well, zealots. Assuming this was the Abbot, zealotry wouldn’t even be much of a shock. At the thought, Dahlia was suddenly rather appreciative for her veil: concealing her own poorly timed humour was a surprising positive, all things considered.

  Trying to ignore the almost manic excitement she was beginning to feel now that the ceremony was finally happening, the girl instead turned her focus back to what the Abbot was saying, along with trying to make sense of what was being done to the room in order to prepare. It seemed like he added his own personal censers to burn around her while also applying some variety of magic circle on the ground, written in… chalk? No, but not soap either. Some type of lye compound most likely, though she wished she could actually look at the stuff to know for sure. Nevertheless, once she realised that he was inscribing something, Dahlia raised an eyebrow in surprise.

  Inscriptions could have been purely ceremonial like she assumed the censers were, but now she wasn’t so sure. She found her mind racing to try and make sense of what was happening and was delighted by the challenge of breaking down the man’s method of casting while half blindfolded. The inscriptions implied a constructive schema of some sort —formulaic and controlled— but the oils, salts, and fumes from the censers added scent-based, chemical, and particulate manipulation that would have typically existed beyond traditional constructivistic sigils, meaning there was almost certainly a channelling component to the schema as well…

  She nodded to herself, pleased with her impromptu analysis despite wishing she could see it all much more directly. It was a custom schema, or at the very least a niche one, and breaking it apart to analyze every piece sounded like an absolutely delightful way to spend an evening or two, but even now she was happy enough as is. It’s not that it was particularly important, more just something of interest — a hobby to engage with, if anything. Dahlia had settled on her own personal schema ages ago, but picking things apart and seeing what made them tick was the kind of mental exercise perfect for distracting her, subduing any lingering anxieties while also putting her more excitable energies to good use.

  More time passed and Dahlia happily stood there and theory crafted the entire time until finally the Abbot approached her and had her hold onto a soft, crumbling crystal. As he did, the old man spoke in an almost whispered tone as he instructed her.

  “Be gentle now. Alraune’s quartz is very expensive and delicate. Once the first part of the ritual is complete it becomes worthless but until then, hold on to it like it’s your child.”

  Dahlia squinted through the cloth to see the strange fist sized lump in her hands. It was light brown with the slightest tinge of pink if the light hit it right. She passed a finger over its surface and little gritty fragments rubbed off. She frowned: the comparison of the stone to her own green, soft, and lovely children rubbing her the wrong way. Despite her small grievance though, she continued to gently hold the quartz after realising just how much trouble would be caused by damaging it. It was at this point that the old man’s hoarse voice sounded once more, but this time there was a hint of ceremony in how he spoke. Gone were the forced and whispered tones, replaced by a voice that had practiced oration for decades.

  “Let us begin.”

  Going forward, I'll be shifting to a one weekly upload schedule with one new chapter released every Tuesday.

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