The Beginning of An Ending

There was nothing Seraphine hated more than Lysander’s habit of pinning her down, not giving her a chance to catch her breath.

Her brown hair was scattered in every direction across the grass as her head kept moving from side to side. Her laughter rang out nonstop as Lysander’s two hands sought an opening to tickle her waist.

“Stop—” she squealed between bursts of laughter, “—I can’t breathe.”

Her plea was met with a wide grin, as if the suffering of the girl beneath him were the most entertaining sight he’d ever seen. The girl struggled even harder. Her legs kicked aimlessly at the grass while her hands tried to grab the young man’s wrists. But every time she almost succeeded, he easily dodged and returned to attacking her sides.

“Help!” she cried again, this time nearly hoarse from laughing too much.

The young man chuckled softly, feeling not the slightest bit guilty. Nevertheless, there was a careful precision in his every movement. He never fully pinned the girl down with his full weight. One of his hands always supported his own body, ensuring the girl beneath him felt only ticklishness and no actual pain.

After several attempts, the girl’s fingers finally managed to wrap around one of his wrists.

“Got it!”

With triumph radiating from her face, she pulled his hand with all her might. The young man hadn’t expected that counterattack. He lost his balance and fell closer to her. Out of reflex, one of his hands quickly braced itself on the grass beside the girl’s head.

Their movements came to a halt.

Suddenly, there was no more laughter. Their faces were only a few centimeters apart. The girl was still gasping for breath from laughing so hard. A few strands of curly hair clung to her flushed cheek, while her brown eyes stared straight into the dark eyes above her. The young man was silent too. The mischievous smile that had graced his face all along slowly changed. It didn’t disappear entirely, but softened into something that only appeared when he looked at the girl in front of him. A gaze that lingered too long to be just a joke.

The girl raised one eyebrow. “What?”

The young man didn’t answer right away. His gaze dropped briefly to the hair covering part of the girl’s face. With his free hand, he tucked a few strands of her curly hair behind her ear. His movement was so light, so natural, as if his fingers instinctively knew how to treat her.

“Nothing,” he finally replied.

“If there’s nothing, then why are you looking at me like that?”

The corners of the young man’s lips curled upward again. “Am I not allowed to?”

The girl rolled her eyes, but the small smile that appeared on her lips betrayed her annoyance.

“You’re annoying. You don’t know when to stop—” Seraphine paused for a moment, searching for the right words that wouldn’t make the man in front of her grin even more mischievously, “—and you’re way too full of yourself.”

Instead, he burst out laughing. “That last one is definitely not a flaw.”

The girl snorted in amusement.

From where they stood, the old castle of Veyl Academy loomed beyond the lake. Perched directly atop a rocky outcrop jutting into the water, it was composed of soaring wings, arched bridges, inner courtyards, and slender towers whose tips seemed to reach for the sky. The Astronomy Tower stood slightly apart from the main building on the eastern side; its windows were already beginning to reflect the light from within, while a few night birds circled low over the roof before disappearing into the forest framing the lake’s edge. The air near the water was cooler than in the academy courtyard, carrying the scent of wet grass, leaves beginning to rot, and a faint mineral scent that always appeared after a morning rain.

“Don’t,” she said, giving him a suspicious look.

“What?”

“If you touch my waist one more time, I’ll throw you into the lake and let whatever’s in there decide whether you’re still worth saving.”

However, Lysander only fixed his gaze even more intently on Seraphine, who was still beneath him. His face wore a calm mask, but to Seraphine it was deeply suspicious—especially as the corners of his lips slowly turned upward.

“That’s a pretty brutal threat coming from a member of Lumen. Aren’t you supposed to resolve conflicts with knowledge, logic, and a forty-minute lecture on moral consequences?”

“Knowledge helps me understand the problem. Logic helps me determine the solution. In this case, both agree that tossing you into the lake is the most efficient course of action.”

Lysander finally tilted his head to gaze at the lakeshore beside them. The afternoon sunlight fell on the side of his face, making his dark eyes—which were usually almost black—appear slightly more brown. That satisfied expression only reinforced Seraphine’s conviction that he’d been looking for trouble from the very beginning.

“So you admit that violence can be a solution.”

Seraphine tried as hard as she could not to acknowledge Lysander’s good looks, which she could easily see from below. His jawline, his nose, and even—could those be called onyx eyes?—his tousled hair, which became even more disheveled as the wind blew through it, made her snort in annoyance.

“I admit you’re a special case.”

Lysander smiled broadly, not taking it as an insult at all.

“I’ve always known I’m special.”

Seraphine raised an eyebrow as Lysander continued to stare at the lake. Before she could look away, her fingers darted toward his waist. The young man flinched.

“Hey!”

Now it was the girl’s turn to laugh smugly. She took advantage of his distraction to roll her body to the side and try to escape. But before she could move even a few centimeters, a hand had already grabbed her wrist.

“Cheater.”

“You started it.”

“And I’ll end it.”

“Don’t you dare—”

Too late. The young man pulled her back into the grass.

Their laughter erupted again. The curly-haired girl tried to strike back, while the black-haired young man easily dodged her hands. Every now and then they nearly rolled over each other, only to burst into laughter again when one of them failed to gain the upper hand. Neither of them seemed to care that their clothes were getting wrinkled or that the girl’s hair was now a complete mess. They were too comfortable, too absorbed in their own little game.

And perhaps that was what made the scene feel far more intimate than even a kiss. Not because of how close their bodies were, but because of how free they both felt when they were together. The girl, who usually seemed unable to let anything slip out of her control, was now laughing without a care for her messy hair or her clothes that were starting to wrinkle. Meanwhile, the young man—whose smile almost always held a hint of mischief—treated her with a tenderness hidden behind every prank. It was as if only in each other’s presence could they let down all their defenses.

They kept teasing each other and laughing until a cough was heard a few steps away from where they stood. Both of them froze. A woman wearing glasses stood not far away. Her lips formed a thin line while her eyes observed their positions with an expression that was hard to read. Then the woman adjusted her glasses.

“Miss Valence.”

The young man on top of the girl hurriedly moved off her body. Then the girl sat up, smoothing her thick, tousled hair and her dress, which had begun to come undone in several places.

Smiling awkwardly, the girl replied, “Yes, Professor?”

The professor shook his head at the couple who seemed to think the world belonged only to the two of them. He adjusted his glasses as he said, “Professor Valerian asked me to call for you, Miss Valence.”

The girl with the thick hair bit her lower lip and nodded hesitantly, knowing why she had been summoned to the principal’s office.

“I’ll be waiting for you there; make the most of your time,” the professor said again before excusing himself and returning to the castle.

“What does ‘make the most of your time’ mean?” the black-haired young man asked, glancing at his nervous girlfriend beside him.

Seraphine Valence shook her head. Sitting on the grass, she shifted closer to the young man, and slowly placed both her hands on his neck; instinctively, he placed both his hands on her waist.

Taking a deep breath, Seraphine looked into his dark eyes through her own brown ones and said softly, “You know I love you, right?”

“Of course—who doesn’t love Lysander Vaelmont?” he replied, grinning at the girl, who rolled her eyes at such a flippant answer.

Noticing the sad expression on his girlfriend’s face, Lysander pulled her toward him until Seraphine’s head rested against his chest, then sat her back up so she was sitting on his lap; her legs wrapped around his waist.

“What’s wrong?” he asked as he looked at her again.

Seraphine forced the cheerful smile she usually wore and then shook her head. “I’m fine,” she said cheerfully, “I’m going to meet Valerian.”

“And you’ll see me again after this, right?”

“Of course,” Seraphine nodded without hesitation.

“Meet me at Hidden Hollow?”

Once again, Seraphine nodded, smiling brightly at her boyfriend even though her eyes stung from having to force a smile that reached her eyes.

Seraphine pulled Lysander’s neck toward her, pressing her lips gently against his mouth and kissing him slowly, trying to feel how soft his lips were against hers, how full those red lips felt—fitting perfectly against hers—and how his hands wrapped tightly around her waist, possessively at the same time. Seraphine kissed him even more passionately as Lysander returned her kiss, his tongue exploring hers, and once again, she tried to imprint the sensation deep within her body.

“I truly love you,” Lysander said, continuing to kiss her.

It was… intense. Seraphine admitted it to herself.

“I love you too,” she replied, ending their kiss and hugging him tightly.

“It’s like you’re about to go far away, Seph,” Lysander chuckled, gently rubbing her back.

Seraphine tried hard not to let her tears fall and chuckled along with him as she released her embrace.

“We’ll see each other again, Lys,” she said.

“That’s right, we’ll see each other again,” Lysander smiled.

Seraphine quickly etched that smile into her memory. A broad smile that sometimes looked gentle, or even mischievous, and could even turn into a teasing grin. Then she noticed his slightly high but not overly pointed nose. Her gaze shifted to his eyes—deep black yet sparkling when caught in the light—and they were beautiful. They were framed by thick, perfectly arched black eyebrows. His cheekbones weren’t too high but fit perfectly with his slender face. He was truly handsome in his own masculine way.

He was utterly captivating—simply by the way he looked at her.

When she was done, Seraphine kissed those lips once more and stood up, saying, “I’m going to meet Valerian.”

Lysander stood up as well. “I’ll walk you there,” he said.

“No,” Seraphine shook her head, “just go meet the Misfits first while you wait for me.”

After Lysander nodded and kissed the back of her hand—a farewell gesture they’d often shared since deciding to be together—Seraphine reentered the castle without looking back. As she walked, she touched her lips, which were slightly swollen from their intense kiss; she could still feel the sensation of his touch, and she swore she wouldn’t forget it when she returned later.

It wasn’t easy for her to decide to be with Lysander. Considering his behavior, it only highlighted their differences in how they approached almost everything. Lysander always made decisions first without really thinking about the consequences, which made her wonder how they’d managed to walk side by side all this time when they were always at odds.

The affection Lysander showed was never truly gentle either. Whenever he wanted to show he cared, he did it in a loud and over-the-top way: cracking jokes, interrupting at the wrong moment, then putting on a face as if he had absolutely no idea why others were annoyed with him. Seraphine often wanted to laugh at his every move, but she always tried to hold back from snapping at him right away.

Especially when his mischief was detectable from a kilometer away—evident from the suspicious calm on Lysander’s face. Even the professors had run out of ways to discipline him, especially when The Misfits got involved. That group of boys, brimming with mischievous ideas, always managed to turn an ordinary day into chaos, whether targeting their fellow students or the professors themselves.

There was one time, even before Lysander greeted him that morning, when he knew something was off—especially when he saw Julian and Theodore standing near the auditorium bulletin board, pretending to read the same class schedule for nearly ten minutes with an attitude that was far too relaxed. As he walked past them, Lysander smoothed his hair as if he wasn’t quite satisfied with how it looked.

“Are you waiting for someone?” she asked as she managed to pass him.

Lysander’s smile widened at that moment, implying that he was giving everyone in the hall a chance to enjoy the view before class began. Seraphine snorted, but she didn’t have time to respond because a muffled sound coming from the direction of the bulletin board made her turn her head.

The schedule on the board began to move. The lines shifted to the side, making room for large letters that appeared one by one:

WARNING TO ALL VEYL ACADEMY STUDENTS.

Several students stopped walking to read it. Beneath the heading, the next sentence appeared:

LYSANDER VAELMONT WILL BE PASSING THROUGH THE LOBBY.

PLEASE REMAIN CALM AND DO NOT STARE FOR TOO LONG.

Laughter immediately filled the auditorium. Lysander stood up straight and walked slowly through the crowd, thoroughly enjoying every glance directed at him. He even raised his hand effortlessly to wave at the student whose laughter rang out the loudest. When someone shouted that the announcement must have been his doing, Lysander placed his hand over his heart with a look of offense.

“Me? If I’d written it, I would’ve added that my hair looks really great this morning, too.”

As if in response to his complaint, the writing on the board changed again.

ADDITION:

HIS HAIR ALSO LOOKS REALLY GOOD THIS MORNING.

Julian, Theodore, and Alistair burst out laughing, while Seraphine closed her eyes briefly and pinched the bridge of her nose. She didn’t need to look at Lysander’s face to know he must be feeling incredibly proud of himself.

The bustling hall that morning prompted Professor Kael to cross the room and approach them. He read the message on the board and immediately shot a sharp glance at Lysander.

“Mr. Vaelmont, erase that message immediately.”

Lysander glanced at the board with a look of surprise, as if he’d just noticed it.

“I can try, Professor, but I’m afraid the board is just trying to express its honest opinion.”

As the professor reached for a cloth to erase it, a small line appeared beneath the announcement:

COMPLAINTS MAY BE DIRECTED TO LYSANDER VAELMONT.

HE ENJOYS HEARING HIS NAME MENTIONED.

Seraphine moved immediately before Lysander had a chance to enjoy the laughter that welled up. She took the wooden board, touched the back of the frame, and felt the trace of Resonance left there. She would be very wrong if she didn’t recognize that trace. Beneath the edge of the board was a small rune; she pressed it once, which immediately cut off the flow of magic that had caused the letters on the board to move. The writing on the board stopped and slowly returned to the regular class schedule.

Seraphine turned to Lysander. “Very neat,” she said. “Too bad your trace was left in a place that’s so easy to find.”

Lysander stepped closer with a smile that betrayed not a hint of regret. “Of course. Otherwise, how else would I get you to come see me this early in the morning?”

Seraphine stared at him impassively, though the corners of her lips began to twitch. “You could try saying hello like a normal person.”

Lysander seemed to consider it for a moment before shaking his head. “That sounds a bit underwhelming.”

Seraphine continued up the increasingly deserted staircase. The windows grew narrower, while ancient runes stretched across the door arches like silver veins embedded in stone. She didn’t even recognize some of the runes, even though she was one of the top students in Runecraft. As she stepped onto the last stair, the Arc Lines in her hand felt warm.

Before her stood the principal’s office, in the tallest tower directly beneath the main observatory. The door had no nameplate, but who in Veyl didn’t know Professor Valerian? His long white beard and colorful robes always made him easily recognizable.

Seraphine raised her hand, placed her palm on the metal, and let a little Resonance flow through the Arc Lines. A blue circle glowed briefly before the door opened on its own.

The room inside looked more like a research lab than a professor’s office. Bookshelves covered nearly the entire wall, most of them filled with old journals that students weren’t even allowed to borrow. A map of the sky stretched between two tall windows. Several bronze instruments moved on their own atop a long table, their needles tracking something invisible in the air. On the other side of the room were three large rune circles drawn directly onto the stone floor using a mixture of pale-colored metals. Seraphine recognized some of the patterns as part of the Celestial Arts, but the rest did not come from any curriculum she had ever studied.

Professor Aurelius Valerian stood with his back to her in front of the window.

It was hard to tell his age. His hair was almost entirely white, but his back was still straight, and his movements were too quick for someone who looked as old as he did. He was wearing a bright blue academic robe. Both of his hands were behind his back, and several golden Arc Lines were still visible, slowly fading from his fingers—a sign that he had just used the Grand Form.

Seraphine closed the door.

“How did it go?” she asked spontaneously as she reached him.

“Everything’s fine, Professor,” she replied with a stiff smile.

“That’s not what I meant, Miss Valence. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

Seraphine tensed.

She hadn’t done it yet.

She didn’t even remember her task—to do what Valerian had ordered her to do. She didn’t remember it at all. All she remembered was that she had to record all his movements before she lost them.

Seraphine looked the professor straight in the eyes.

For a few seconds, Seraphine considered saying no. She almost wanted to reach into the pocket of her robe, take out the vial inside, and hand it to Valerian. If she did that right now, there would still be plenty of time for Valerian to send a communication form to Kael to find Lysander and tell him to drink the potion before Seraphine left. Lysander would wake up the next morning just like everyone else in Veyl, having forgotten that Seraphine had ever actually been there.

Seraphine heard her own voice.

“It’s done.”

The first lie came out so calmly that she almost hated herself for it.

Professor Valerian nodded.

“No reaction?”

“No.”

Seraphine forced her fingers to remain loose even though her nails were itching to dig into her palm.

“I mixed it into his drink. He doesn’t know.”

The second lie was easier—and far more painful.

The professor looked satisfied. He took a small list from the side of the table and marked a name Seraphine couldn’t see.

“Good. That means once the distribution is complete, there won’t be anyone left in Veyl besides me who still has a conscious memory of you.”

Seraphine lowered her head before the change in her expression became visible.

No.

Lysander would remember, and Valerian didn’t know it.

For the first time since that decision was made, Seraphine truly understood what she had done. Tomorrow morning, Lysander might mention her name and be met with a blank stare. He’d search Lumen and find that no one knew Seraphine Valence. He might ask for a list of students, look through the academy’s records, ask his friends—and no matter where he looked, the world would insist that the woman he’d loved had never been there.

Seraphine held her breath slowly.

He knew it was cruel.

But the thought of Lysander one day seeing the lake without knowing they had once sat there felt even more terrifying.

Valerian then took out another vial.

It was almost identical to the one still hidden in Seraphine’s cloak, but the liquid inside was slightly darker. Its silvery sheen didn’t float freely; instead, it gathered in a thin line at the bottom of the vial.

The professor held it out.

“And this one is yours.”

Seraphine didn’t take it right away. Her gaze shifted from the vial to Valerian’s face.

“Mine?”

The professor nodded.

“You have to drink the potion, too.”

For a moment, Seraphine thought she’d misheard him.

“What?”

“The basic formula is the same, but the signature is reversed.”

Valerian placed the vial in Seraphine’s palm when she finally reached out. The glass felt very cold, almost painful against her skin.

“The potion given to them erases the Association with you. This one does the opposite. It will seal your Association to the people, places, and experiences tied to the temporal signature of this era.”

Seraphine stared at the liquid in her hand.

The meaning of those words slowly sank in. And when she finally understood, her hand immediately tensed.

“So I’ll forget Veyl. Everything?”

Her voice came out much quieter.

Valerian didn’t answer right away. He chose his words carefully, as he always did when the truth felt too heavy to deliver without preparation.

“Most of your conscious access to your life here will, in theory, be cut off.” Valerian rested one hand on the table. “Mnemonic Severance will work to erase all your experiences, and once the process is complete, you shouldn’t be able to consciously remember your life in Veyl.”

Seraphine clutched the vial.

She wouldn’t be able to remember Veyl, her life here, all her activities at the Lake, and she wouldn’t be able to remember—the name caught in her throat before it could escape.

Valerian noticed the change in her expression.

“Will I forget Lysander, too?”

The question almost sounded silly because she already knew the answer.

Valerian nodded.

“Lysander, too.”

Seraphine turned her face away.

“Why do I have to drink it?”

Valerian took a deep breath.

“Because the mnemonic connection doesn’t work just one way. As long as you continue to maintain a strong association with the present, your Resonance will still have something to anchor itself to. Memories produce emotions, emotions leave traces on Resonance, and Resonance can trace those traces back to their source through the Veil.”

The professor pointed to the portal behind them.

“That’s why I don’t want to take any risks. We’re trying to send you home, not leave a thread that might one day pull you back.”

Professor Valerian’s final words made Seraphine’s chest tighten instantly, as if something invisible had just tugged at a fine thread right behind her ribs.

Pull you back.

What if I want to go back?

The question popped into her mind with a terrifying calmness. Of course, she didn’t voice it. She simply lowered her gaze to the vial still clutched in her hand, running her thumb over its surface, while the silvery liquid inside shifted with the tilt of her hand.

Professor Valerian seemed oblivious to the subtle change in his expression. His face remained calm, but the deepening furrow between his eyebrows indicated that he did not view what they were doing as a simple experiment at all. The light from the portal occasionally glinted off his white hair, making the shadows beneath his eyes appear darker.

“Temporal Arts are too poorly understood to allow a connection like this to remain open. If you bring this era’s memory resonance back to your original time, we don’t know how the Veil will react. You might experience a Fracture that causes the Portal to try to reform. One timeline could begin to pull on the other.”

“So that I can go home…”

Professor Valerian finally turned his full attention to her. There was no harshness in his gaze; rather, it was that controlled gentleness that made it even harder for Seraphine to bear.

“You must let go of this time.”

The sentence sounded too simple. Seraphine almost wanted to laugh at how easily the word “let go” rolled off the tongue of someone who didn’t have to do it.

She ran her thumb along the edge of the glass once more. The small gesture repeated itself unconsciously, as if her body were searching for something to do so her hands wouldn’t appear to be trembling too much.

“And what if I don’t want to?”

Professor Valerian didn’t answer right away. He watched Seraphine for a few seconds, perhaps assessing whether the question truly required an answer or was merely the final act of resistance from someone not yet ready to accept something.

“I won’t force you to drink it.”

Seraphine lifted her head slowly. Her gaze sharpened because she knew the sentence wasn’t finished, even though the professor hadn’t added anything.

“But you won’t let me get out of it either.”

Valerian took a slow breath and glanced briefly at the temporal circle. The white light on one of the outer runes flickered like a candle flame caught in the wind, and he quickly raised two fingers to steady it before turning his gaze back to Seraphine.

“That’s too dangerous.”

Seraphine gave a small laugh. There wasn’t a trace of joy in her voice; all that came out was a short, almost bitter-sounding breath. She nodded a few times as if she’d finally understood the unfunny joke, then turned her face toward the tall window on the side of the room.

“So technically, I have no choice.”

Professor Valerian held his gaze without trying to comfort her or deny it.

“I won’t insult your intelligence by pretending that choice is fair.”

That response left Seraphine silent for quite a while. There were many things she wanted to say, but they all felt too harsh or too sad to voice. What truly made her throat tighten was the possibility that in a few minutes she would be thinking of Lysander’s face for the last time, without knowing it was the last. She might go home, sit in a strange place that was supposed to be familiar, and then slowly lose one detail after another until, at some point, the name Lysander Vaelmont no longer existed in her mind.

Seraphine swallowed her saliva, which felt too dry. When she spoke again, her voice was much softer and more cautious.

“How quickly does the potion take effect?”

Valerian lowered his hand from the portal. For the first time since the conversation had begun, his expression softened slightly.

“Not immediately.” Professor Valerian pointed to the silver line settling at the bottom of the vial with a single finger. The light from the portal made it shimmer like living metal dust. “The formula is locked by a temporal transition. You can drink it now and retain all your memories as long as you remain on this side of the portal.”

For the first time in several minutes, Seraphine was able to take a slightly deeper breath. Her shoulders dropped slowly, though her grip on the vial hadn’t loosened.

“Then?”

“Once you cross the temporal boundary, the potion takes effect.”

“How long until I forget?”

“I don’t know for sure.” Valerian paused briefly, choosing his words carefully. “A few minutes. Maybe an hour. It depends on how strong your Association is with this time period.”

Seraphine almost laughed. How ironic, she thought, that if the strength of the Association were the only measure, the potion might take a lifetime to erase Veyl from her. But she quickly quashed that thought before it could grow into an unreasonable hope, since Valerian had warned her time and again that the Mnemonic Arts did not respect a person’s wishes simply because that person desperately wanted to hold onto certain memories.

“Is it possible I might remember again?”

“In theory, the Mnemonic Veil can be broken. But don’t plan your life around that possibility.”

Valerian shifted one of the journals on the table before continuing, as if he needed something stable between them while discussing a theory he didn’t even fully understand himself.

“Extreme resonance, artifacts that hold a strong signature, or exposure to a Form originating from a memory source can cause fragments to resurface. However, I don’t know if they’ll take the form of just a dream, a sensation, a nameless face, or an entire sequence of memories. There aren’t enough cases to be certain.”

Professor Valerian stared at the vial in his hand, then turned back to Seraphine. His voice was low this time, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

“If you want to go home, you have to drink it.”

Seraphine didn’t answer right away. She stared at the vial once more, for so long that the small object felt as though it weighed far more than its size suggested. Finally, with a movement deliberately slowed so her fingers wouldn’t drop it, she held the body of the vial with her left hand and pulled off the cap with her right. The faint sound of glass breaking was clearly audible in the room filled with the hum of the portal.

He brought the vial to his lips and detected only a faint metallic scent mixed with an aroma that reminded him of the first rain hitting old stones after a long summer. The liquid he was about to drink was too ordinary to be a potion capable of erasing his entire life here. There was no smoke, no excessive light—only a faint silver shimmer that kept shifting beneath the surface as her hand began to tremble.

She pressed her lips to the rim of the glass, then tilted it. A small amount of the liquid touched her tongue before the entire contents flowed into her mouth. Seraphine forced herself to swallow it all at once, afraid that if she stopped halfway, she wouldn’t be able to finish it.

At first, she felt almost nothing until the bitterness finally hit her belatedly. A metallic taste filled her entire tongue and the inside of her cheeks, followed by a chill that ran down her throat, causing her to grimace involuntarily. For a few seconds, she even found it hard to breathe.

The Arc Lines on both of Seraphine’s hands suddenly lit up. She quickly opened her eyes and stared at the lines emerging from beneath her skin. The color wasn’t the bright white of the Temporal Resonance that had previously reacted to the portal, nor was it the soft blue that usually appeared when she cast magic. This time, all the lines were a pale silver, starting at her fingertips, spreading across her palms, then rising a few centimeters toward her wrists before stopping. The light pulsed once, twice, then vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

Seraphine immediately lifted her head. Her gaze darted wildly around the room as if she had to confirm, one by one, that everything was still in its place. The old bookshelves still lined the walls. The celestial map was still moving slowly. The portal was still pulsing within the temporal circle. Professor Valerian was still standing a few steps in front of her. Lysander’s maroon blazer still draped over her shoulders and body.

That name still appeared.

Lysander.

Seraphine almost let out a breath like someone who had just managed to surface after being underwater for too long.

Valerian stepped a little closer, observing her pupils and Arc Lines with the attention of a professor who was also making sure one of the most dangerous experiments of his life didn’t fail immediately.

“Do you still remember?”

Seraphine looked at him. Her breath was still slightly shaky, but this time there was a clear sense of relief she couldn’t hide.

“Everything.”

Valerian nodded slowly. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly when he saw that Seraphine still recognized her surroundings.

“Good. That means the lock is working as designed.”

Seraphine placed the empty vial on the table very carefully. The glass met the wood with a soft clink that was almost drowned out by the hum of the portal. Just as she was about to pull her hand back, her fingertip accidentally brushed against the edge of her cloak, causing her to freeze instantly—she knew exactly what lay just beneath that layer of fabric.

Lysander’s vial, still intact and untouched by its owner.

Seraphine stared at her cloak, not daring to move for several seconds. Professor Valerian had already turned toward the portal to check the stability of the runes, so his back was now facing Seraphine. That moment felt like a final invitation to confess everything. She could open her bag, take out the vial, and call out to Valerian.

All she had to do was say five simple words: Lysander hadn’t drunk the potion yet.

The professor might get angry, might panic, but they still had a little time.

“Are you ready?”

No. She wasn’t ready at all.

Seraphine didn’t answer right away. She walked over to the large window and looked down on Veyl from above. The castle stretched out below them as a mass of dark stone and golden light, its tall towers piercing the night sky, while the Grand Hall shone brightest at the center of the complex. From that distance, Seraphine couldn’t make out anyone’s face, only small silhouettes moving behind the windows.

Yet she still imagined Lysander was there. Perhaps he was waiting for her at Hidden Hollow, bringing her food because he knew Seraphine was often late when summoned by a professor. Perhaps he’d glanced at the door countless times and was starting to get annoyed that she hadn’t arrived yet.

Tomorrow morning she might wake up as the only person certain that a woman named Seraphine Valence had ever lived in Veyl. No friend would be able to confirm her memory, no professor would recognize the name, and no student would know who she was looking for. Seraphine didn’t know whether leaving that memory behind was an act of love or the most selfish punishment she had ever inflicted upon herself.

But she knew one thing for certain: she couldn’t erase it.

Seraphine finally tore her gaze away from the window. When she turned to Valerian, the small smile she managed seemed too fragile to truly be called a smile.

“Yes.”

Professor Valerian didn’t question her answer. He returned to the temporal circle and stood directly in front of one of the main rune arrays. Both of his hands rose to chest level, then his fingers began to form the Form in slow but highly precise movements. His right hand rotated outward, palm open facing the portal, while his left hand moved to form a small circle that locked in the direction of the Resonance. A golden light immediately flared up along Valerian’s Arc Lines and flowed from his fingertips toward the runes on the floor.

Almost instantly, the portal responded. The rift, which had previously revealed only mist on the other side, began to open slowly, forcing the two layers apart. Objects around her began to move—some books opened on their own, papers on the table shifted, and strands of Seraphine’s hair lifted from her shoulders as the Veil’s current began pulling everything toward the center of the circle.

“Professor.”

Valerian turned his gaze toward her without breaking his concentration.

“Yes?”

Seraphine opened her mouth. One sentence was about to slip out.

If anything happens, protect Lysander.

But just before her words turned into sound, she remembered the lie she’d just told. As far as Valerian was concerned, Lysander would soon be drinking the potion—or more precisely, the professor believed the dose had already entered his system. In a few hours, according to Valerian’s plan, Lysander would no longer have any reason to need special protection from someone named Seraphine Valence.

Seraphine swallowed those words back.

The bitter taste of the potion still lingered faintly on her tongue.

“Thank you.”

Valerian’s expression softened. A faint smile appeared—small but sincere—a stark contrast to the serious expression he’d almost always worn during the two years they’d spent searching for Seraphine’s way home.

“Go home.”

Seraphine stared at the professor for a few seconds before slowly shifting her gaze over her shoulder, toward Veyl visible through the window. Night had fully fallen. The castle’s lights made the building look warm amid the darkness of the mountains, and for the first time, Seraphine understood that one could truly leave home while heading toward a place that was, technically, her own home.

She closed her eyes.

Not a single one of her past lives came to mind.

Instead, it was Lysander who appeared.

His image was so vivid that Seraphine almost felt she could touch him. He was lying on the grass with his head resting on his lap, his black hair tousled from training, a lazy smile spreading across his face as he deliberately dropped a leaf onto his book using Forcecraft. The next image shifted to Lysander laughing as he called her “Seph,” then a warm hand touching her cheek, lips resting on her forehead, and that infuriating expression that always appeared whenever he managed to leave Seraphine speechless. His voice sounded so real inside her head, declaring his love with such conviction that Seraphine, at the time, had simply rolled her eyes and called him arrogant.

Seraphine’s fingers tightened their grip on the blazer’s collar. Her knuckles turned white and her midnight-blue cloak wrinkled in her fist, but she didn’t care. For as long as she could remember, she had wanted to hold on to every detail as tightly as possible—the sound of Lysander’s voice, the shape of his smile, the feel of his hand, the way her name sounded when he called it.

Remember me.