TO&FQ: Book 1 - Chapter 50 (RAW)

Well guys, it was quite a ride! This is the final chapter of Book 1! Thank you all for reading!

Chapter 50 - A Return to Academia

The closing pages of a courtesan’s are that of a withering flower. Beautiful color and fragrance are forever soon lost, with nobody caring to spare the once subtle bloom a second glance. For youth flies as fast as the fleeting clouds, and fortune passes without lingering.

- Verses from the Flower Quarter of Al-Lazar by Unknown.

It did not take long for Seraphina to recover from her momentary lapse of control. After all, she had endured far worse in both her current life and her previous one. Unlike an ordinary teenager, Seraphina possessed the mental fortitude to weather such trials with a certain degree composure.

Despite her resilience, her feelings toward her mother remained complicated. It was not love—at least, not in the way most would define it—but something akin to affection was perhaps growing within her. The unfamiliarity of this fierce, one-sided bond unnerved and confused her. Seraphina had never experienced such raw, overwhelming displays of emotion before, and it left her both scared and deeply unsettled.

Disgusted with herself for her fleeting vulnerability, she spent the remainder of that day immersed in a flurry of activity. Her quill danced across parchment as she wrote a cascade of letters in her elegant, flowing hand. Most were crafted to further her ambitions: polite seasonal greetings to barons and counts, or subtle threats to those over whom she wielded influence. Others were dictated to her assistant, Miriam, focusing on the management of her burgeoning candy business in the capital.

Seraphina’s enterprise was thriving, thanks in no small part to her friend Rashana’s connections. Through Rashana’s family bank, Seraphina had secured a rare and highly illicit ingredient—the Dust of Al-Lazar. This highly addictive substance, used sparingly, became the secret ingredient in her candies. The trace amounts included in her recipes were not enough to trigger the drug's effects, but they ensured her confections were irresistible to all who tasted them.

Over the next few and precious days, reports flooded in, confirming the success of her creations. Her boiled candies were a sensation across Aranthian society, beloved by both commoners and nobles alike. However, the skyrocketing demand strained her factories and farms to capacity. Seraphina needed more cheap, semi-skilled labor to sustain her growing empire. After pondering the issue for an afternoon, she devised an inspired solution.

With calculated precision, she arranged for the purchase of an orphanage in the capital. Bishop de Francey, eager to rid the Church of the financial burden it represented, sold the facility for a nominal donation. Seraphina wasted no time repurposing the orphans, putting them to work in her factories and fields. In her view, she was turning idle children into productive members of society, giving them a purpose they would otherwise lack.A solid fifteen-hour workday, she believed, would quickly mature them and toughen them up for the world at large. Efficiency and discipline, she told herself, were the keys to improving Aranthian society.

Eloise, one of her most trusted allies, contributed to this success by developing new flavors for the candy line. Among them was Seraphina’s personal favorite: Valny Fruit Crunch. Life was progressing astonishingly well despite the recent setback.

*****

After her morning yoga practice with Ibn, Seraphina sat under the gazebo, surrounded by the vibrant wisterias of her garden, their blossoms still in full bloom despite it being so late in season. Alone, she sipped tea and read a small book of poetry—one of her secret indulgences. She paused, blushing slightly at reading a particularly lurid verse. Wanting to wash away such thoughts, she began to sing a soft, lilting melody. Her voice, sweet as honey, lured a chorus of birds to her in droves.

Once the birds were within reach, she attempted to communicate with them directly. However, their simple minds, driven by basic needs like food and survival, proved challenging to influence. Still, with the aid of her song and small morsels of food, she managed to coax a few of them into following basic instructions. Her patience for the endeavor, however, was short-lived. With a small huff of frustration, she dismissed the feathered flock. Before they scattered, she caught one of the slower birds, feeding it live to her grateful pet serpent, Cornelia.

Perhaps, she mused, creatures with higher intelligence—like her darling Cornelia—would be more worth her time.

Later, she made a quick stop by the kitchens, procuring some fruit from Catherine, the doting servant who was almost a second mother to her. Then, walking briskly to the stables, she sought out her father’s warhorse, Kicker. Without the need for reins or harness, the massive stallion followed her obediently, lured by the promise of a ripe Valny fruit in her hand.

Using small chunks of the fruit as incentive, Seraphina guided the fearsome horse through a series of intricate tricks. Her magical necklace heightened her connection to the animal, allowing her to feel the stallion’s affection—though it was tied as much to her gifts of fruit as to her commanding presence. She was pretty sure that, if she commanded it, Kicker would gallop through fire for her. This, of course, was her rightful due and with a long suffering sigh the young girl wondered why people could not be quite as simple.

Satisfied with her experiment, she led Kicker back to the stables. The stallion followed her meekly, as docile as a lamb, despite his reputation for stubbornness. The stable staff, watching in stunned silence, were still utterly mystified by how the young girl had completely enthralled the notoriously unyielding warhorse.

*****

Even with the improvements she had made to the carriage, the ride could still be bumpy at times. Yet, compared to the long-haul coaches used by most commoners and minor nobles, it was positively luxurious—designed as it was from the start for a royal passenger.

This time, at her parents’ insistence, her escort had orders to make no unnecessary stops. They prepared a detailed itinerary and required both Seraphina and the newly knighted Sir Frest to swear they would follow it. Thus she had been given very, very little leeway to further her goals along the way.

It was Seraphina herself who had recommended the then-Sergeant Frest, extolling his chivalrous deeds to secure her father’s blessing. Though initially reluctant, the Duke Anatoli could not refuse his daughter for long. When the Duchess gave no objection, he granted Sir Frest one hundred and twenty acres of land, with the obligation to provide forty men-at-arms in wartime and pay a modest tax in peacetime.

As heir to the Sarien Duchy, Seraphina was given the distinct honor of knighting him herself.

Seraphina had stood at the center of the keep’s courtyard, the late afternoon sun casting a golden glow across the assembled crowd. Regal banners fluttered in the breeze, each bearing her house’s sigil, and the air buzzed with hushed anticipation. Many of the townsfolk had gathered to witness a rare event: a knighting ceremony for a man of the most humble origins. An ornate wooden platform served as the focal point, draped in crimson cloth. Brass trumpets rang out a triumphant fanfare, echoing off the high walls.

Frest, dressed in the freshly polished armor of the King’s Guard, knelt before Seraphina with both humility and palpable excitement. His gaze remained fixed on the carved stonework beneath his feet, conscious of the beautiful figure looming above him. Seraphina herself radiated quiet authority that belied her young years. Her ceremonial cape, stitched with intricate gold thread, billowed gently behind her, and in her right hand, she grasped a slender sword whose blade gleamed with razor-sharp promise.

She began reciting the ancient oaths, her voice measured and resolute, each syllable laced with the power of her voice. The courtyard fell silent save for her words, every onlooker transfixed. With a slow, deliberate motion, Seraphina lowered the sword, pressing the flat of the blade lightly against Frest’s right shoulder, then his left, completing the formal rite.

As she finished dubbing him, the flat of her blade touching his shoulder, she uttered the words that the common-born man had only ever dreamed of hearing in his wildest childhood dreams. Since the first time he swung a stick and decapitated a weed as a child, he had wanted to one day become a knight. 

“Arise, Sir Ferdiad Frest,” she intoned, the very smallest of smirks on her lips.

She had given him what he wanted more than anything else in the world—not wealth or power, but the position and respect of his peers. With that single act, much like she had done with the warhorse Kicker, she had secured his loyalty for life.

Seraphina sighed wistfully at the memory. There had been something in Frest’s eyes—a look that reminded her of her mother Anaselena’s gaze, yet was somehow entirely different. Frustratingly, she could not put her finger on what set it apart. With another soft sigh, she turned her attention to the carriage window, taking in the sweeping view of Academy Town, Meridian.

Nestled in a valley, Academy Town Meridian sprawled like a gleaming jewel by the sea, threaded with winding canals that crisscrossed the city in a grand, living tapestry. The brackish waters glimmered under the sun, carrying gondolas on their shimmering surface. Seraphina watched ships sail in and out of the bustling port, likely hailing from the distant islands of Qis and Quas, as well as from the vast Empire beyond. At this distance they looked like toys, but she knew full well that the trade galleons were truly massive in size.

Rising above the tiled rooftops, a colossal structure of glass caught her eye: the famous hothouses of the Academy. Within those transparent walls, scholars cultivated a host of strange and fabled flora—towering tropical ferns, luminescent mushrooms, and blossoms that only bloomed under certain phases of the moon. Not far from this verdant wonder stood the Mage’s Tower, an elegant spire of ivory stone that reached toward the sky. It served as a beacon of arcane learning and one of the most prestigious magical institutes in Aranthia.

Her gaze then settled on the imposing silhouette of the Great Library of Meridian. It was claimed that it housed every volume ever penned in the history of Aranthia, making it an unparalleled repository of knowledge. The city’s canals, shimmering glass structures, and majestic towers formed a harmonious blend of commerce, scholarship, and mystery—a testament to the boundless curiosity that defined Meridian.

“Why are you sighing so, Lady Seraphina? Is it travel sickness, if so I have just the thing…” the doll-like Eloise offered her, clasping her hand in worry.

“Not travel sickness, Eloise, darling. I fear that someone may target my life in the Academy. These past months it seems that I have made as many enemies as I have friends and allies,” Seraphina lied as casually as she breathed.

If anything, an assassination attempt might even spice up her time there. Free experience points were always welcome.

The boy Ibn looked as if he wanted to say something, but wisely chose to hold his tongue. Still, a worried expression remained in the depths of his scarlet eyes.

There was a sharp rap on the carriage’s wooden frame. Her maid, Miriam, obediently slid open the small shutter to speak with the driver.

“We’ll be arriving shortly, Lady Seraphina,” said Haze, the Bard, holding her broad-brimmed hat in one hand. Her orange hair lay loose, tousled by the wind of their journey.

“Excellent. Is there anything else?” Seraphina asked, affecting an air of indifference.

Haze offered a faint, apologetic smile. “Sir Frest insists we not stop until we reach Meridian.”

Seraphina scoffed. “What? We are refined ladies, hardly accustomed to such rigors. We simply must stop for lunch.”

“Sir Frest believes it’s necessary for your safety,” Haze replied.

Seraphina looked ready to protest further when Eloise, quietly observing, decided to speak. “You mentioned someone might attempt to harm you,” she pointed out. “Perhaps we should listen to Sir Frest.”

Regret flickered across Seraphina’s face—she had fabricated that threat for her own purposes, never expecting it to inconvenience her. “If he so insists,” she sighed, “then so be it. But what are we to do about lunch?”

Haze passed a neatly packed hamper through the shutter to Miriam. “Sir Frest anticipated this. He had the last inn prepare a meal for us.”

“Very well,” Seraphina murmured, dismissing Haze with a small wave of her hand. The Bard closed the shutter, and Miriam lifted the hamper’s lid.

Her eyes lit up. “Sandwiches, fruit… quite a nice assortment, milady.”

Seraphina perked up. “They included the cured ham I like, I hope?”

“Yes, milady.”

“Wonderful. I’ll have one of those. Eloise, what about you?”

“Just fruit for me. All this traveling is wearing me down,” Eloise answered, rubbing her temples.

“I find myself quite in agreement,” Seraphina said, though her tone carried a touch of exasperation. “But at least have something more substantial. I do believe you will vanish if you do not eat properly.”

She inwardly winced, realizing her words sounded like a nagging aunt. Thankfully, Eloise merely smiled. “If you insist, Lady Seraphina, I’ll try a ham sandwich as well.”

Miriam began distributing the sandwiches when a loud rumble from the carriage’s far corner drew their attention. Seraphina sighed. “Ibn, if you’re hungry, speak up. Miriam, see to it that he’s fed. I will not have my page starving. The shame of it.”

The young Hazagadami boy, far less loquacious of late and much more moody, nodded gratefully. He tore into his sandwich with the enthusiasm of a growing youth. The fruit posed more of a challenge. It was a Kariconi—a spiky-shelled delicacy from southern jungles. He held it uncertainly, struggling to find a way in. With a huff, Seraphina took the fruit from his hands and cracked it open with ease.

“Here,” she said, handing it back. “Honestly, what will I do with you?”

“Thank you, Lady Seraphina,” Ibn mumbled, cheeks flushing.

The carriage resumed its jostling progress, its occupants filling the space with light, idle chatter. Though she would never admit it, Seraphina felt a flutter of excitement at the thought of visiting Meridian. The city—and its famed Academy—promised a wealth of new possibilities. 

She knew in her heart that the Church would also send her nemesis, Este Lize, to Meridian, and part of her both welcomed and dreaded the inevitable conflict that was sure to follow. 

It seemed the stage had been set for the next chapter of her life in this new and magical world.