[Time]: Day 29 of Enrollment, 04:05 PM[Location]: Yggdrasil Academy · Dormitory [Golden Bough] · Room 302
Hathaway reached out to the screaming crystal, and behind her the familiar hum of mana gathered. Victoria had raised her hand, ready to cast the [Privacy Barrier] again, respecting the boundaries of a roommate with the reflex of someone who had never once been asked to.
"Wait, Teacher," Hathaway turned around. "Don't block it. I... I want to introduce you."
Victoria paused, her hand hovering in mid-air. She raised an elegant eyebrow.
"Are you sure? Family interactions are usually... private. And judging by the volume, potentially hazardous."
"You saved my life this month," Hathaway said earnestly. "If I pass tomorrow, it's 90% your credit. My mothers should thank you."
Victoria lowered her hand. She sat back in her high-backed chair, crossing her legs with the grace of a queen granting an audience.
"Very well. I shall endure the gratitude."
Hathaway tapped the crystal.
BZZZT.
The heavy metal ringtone cut off, and the holographic projection flared to life above the desk to deliver, in high fidelity, a domestic disaster zone.
Sitting in the center of the frame, looking exhausted but glamorous in a silk robe, was Anna. She was swirling a glass of cheap wine (poured into an expensive crystal glass to hide the quality).
Behind her, Margaret was pacing back and forth, muttering equations that sounded suspiciously like lottery calculations.
"Hey, survivor," Anna greeted, her voice husky and warm. "You look terrible. Skin and bones. Have you been eating?"
"I'm fine, Mom," Hathaway smiled, her shoulders relaxing. "Just cramming."
"You look like a ghost," Anna sighed, shaking her head. "When you come home, I'm making you eat ten steaks a day. Rare."
Anna shifted the camera angle. "Speaking of coming home, look who's getting impatient."
The camera panned to the Velvet Armchair by the fireplace, where, swaddled in a mountain of cashmere, sat The Egg: watermelon-sized, pulsing, the runic patterns on the shell glowing in time with the heartbeat inside.
"Little Potato!" Hathaway called out softly.
The Egg Violently Wiggled.
Thump. Thump.
The heavy egg rocked back and forth, leaning forward as if trying to roll off the cushion to get closer to the screen.
"Whoa, easy there!" Anna laughed, reaching out to steady the egg. "She does this every time we mention your name."
"The doctor came by this morning," Anna explained, gently stroking the shell. "She says her shell is paper-thin. Her mana is spiking. She's ready to hatch any day now."
"Any day?" Hathaway’s breath hitched. "But... I still have exams. I might miss it."
"She won't let you miss it," Anna said, her eyes soft. "She's stubborn. Just like Margaret. She's holding on."
"Holding on?"
"We haven't named her yet, Hathaway," Anna said quietly. "We have a list, sure. Margaret wants something aggressive like 'Thunder' or 'Valkyrie'. I want something classic. But we decided to wait."
Anna looked into the camera, her expression serious and affectionate.
"You are the Big Sister. In the Old Code, the privilege of Naming belongs to the Firstborn. We are waiting for you to come home. We want you to give her her True Name."
Hathaway's throat closed. The hologram smeared.
In her previous life on Earth, she had a younger brother. When he was born, she was moved to the periphery: the parents fawned over the heir, named him, planned his future, and Hathaway became the extra mouth to feed, the background character who got told to keep it down during his piano practice.
But here? Margaret was crazy, Anna was chaotic, they were broke, and they had been holding the most sacred ritual of a Witch's life in escrow for a month because the Firstborn had midterms. They were asking her to lead.
"I..." Hathaway’s voice trembled. "I'll be there. I promise."
"Good." Anna smiled. "Then pass that exam. Don't do it for the grades. Do it so you can come home early and stop this Little Potato from rolling into the fireplace."
Hathaway wiped the corner of her eye, sniffed loudly, and stepped aside to reveal the silver-haired figure sitting in the shadows of Room 302.
"Mom, Margaret. I want you to meet my roommate. And my tutor. This is Victoria Wellington."
In the background, Margaret stopped pacing, her head snapping toward the screen like a predator hearing a twig snap.
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"Wellington?!"
Margaret rushed the camera until her face filled the frame, her DNA identifying the hereditary enemy somewhere well below the level of conscious thought, and her Ludwig Red Eyes flared.
Where Hathaway's eyes were mutated, Margaret's were functional biological flashlights. The brightness spiked to 150 Lumens: a tactical strobe fired point-blank into the lens.
"HISS!"
Victoria physically recoiled in her chair, covering her sensitive eyes with her sleeve like a vampire exposed to the sun.
"Light pollution! Dim your lights, you walking lighthouse!"
"A Wellington!" Margaret bared her teeth, oblivious to the pain she was causing. "I can smell the moldy old money from here! Why is my daughter rooming with a Broken Lens?!"
"Are you squinting at me?! Don't you dare squint at a Ludwig!"
Margaret's gaze swept the dark background of Room 302.
"It's pitch black in there! It's a crypt! A tomb! Oh my poor baby! No wonder you're so thin! You've been living in a Wellington Grave for a month!"
"Is she feeding you moldy bread?! Is she making you analyze poetry in the dark?! This is abuse! I'm calling the school board! I'm buying the school board!"
"Margaret, shut up!"
Clink.
Anna calmly set her wine glass on the nightstand. Then, she moved.
She grabbed Margaret by the collar of her pajamas and physically hauled her backward, clamping her other hand firmly over her wife's mouth.
"Mmph! Mmmph! (Let me at her! She's turning my daughter into a bat!)"
"Ignore the background noise," Anna said smoothly. She effortlessly shifted her struggling, overpowered wife into a one-armed headlock, freeing up a hand to casually adjust the collar of her own robe.
Anna's gaze landed on Victoria, who was elegantly wiping tears from her blinded eyes.
"My sincere apologies, Miss Wellington," Anna said, her voice warm, steady, and carrying the perfect weight of aristocratic etiquette. "I am Anna. Hattie's mother. Please forgive Margaret. She gets... overexcited about lighting conditions. We are working on her medication."
Victoria blinked her vision clear. On the other end of the projection, a woman was conducting perfect social grace with one hand while the other kept a lunatic in a headlock.
Victoria straightened in her chair, recognizing a fellow diplomat. She responded with a polite nod.
"It is acceptable, Lady Anna. I am... accustomed to high-energy interactions."
"You are too kind," Anna sighed, a tired smile touching her lips.
She looked at Victoria, then at Hathaway, who was sitting obediently (and quietly) next to her.
"Hattie told us you've been tutoring her for the A1 Exam," Anna said, her tone filled with honest gratitude. "We know our daughter. She has... 'unique' logic circuits. For you to guide her through the Logic Construction phase in just one month, that must have required the patience of a saint."
"It was... a challenge," Victoria admitted, glancing at Hathaway. "But she is persistent."
"That she is," Anna chuckled.
She swirled her wine glass, her expression shifting to one of genuine hospitality.
"Miss Wellington, we owe you a debt of gratitude. If you ever find the dormitory too stifling, or if you simply wish to escape the noise of the academy, please feel free to visit our estate. It is just a modest 400 acres, but it is quiet."
"We have an excellent library," Anna added, hitting the exact point that would appeal to a Wellington. "And unlike the Academy dorms, our wine cellar is open 24/7. I have a bottle of 'Starsong' vintage that I think you would appreciate."
"That is... very generous of you," Victoria said, her stiff posture easing.
"I may take you up on that offer. The dormitory tea is indeed... lacking."
"Wonderful." Anna raised her glass in a toast. "Good luck with the exam, Hattie."
She turned to Victoria, and her smile changed register.
"And Miss Wellington, try to get some rest. You look like you need it more than she does."
"I intend to," Victoria replied, raising her tea cup in return.
Margaret began working an elbow free of the headlock.
"Hattie, hang up now," Anna commanded with a smile. "Before your other mother starts biting."
"Yes, Mom! Bye!"
Click.
Hathaway slammed the connection shut, the hologram went out, and the room went silent. Hathaway stood facing the empty air with her face burning, keeping her back to the chair behind her for as long as physics allowed.
"I am so sorry," Hathaway groaned into her hands. "Margaret is insane. I hope she didn't permanently damage your retinas."
"Your family..." Victoria’s voice floated from behind. It was dry, cool, but surprisingly thoughtful. "...is balanced."
"Margaret is the chaos engine. Loud. Bright. Unfiltered." Victoria paused, tapping her finger on the desk. "But your mother, Anna: she is the Control Rod. She apologized with perfect etiquette, offered a culturally appropriate gift (wine and books), and suppressed a hostile entity, all without spilling her drink."
Victoria picked up her tea, looking at the empty air where the hologram had been with a hint of respect.
"She is... reasonable. For a Ludwig, she is surprisingly civilized."
Hathaway let out a nervous laugh, slumping into her chair. "Yeah. Civilized. Let's go with that."
"Now. We are done for the day." Victoria placed her cup down, and the Social Mode went off shift. "Your brain requires an evening of doing nothing before—"
Buzz.Buzz.
The crystal on the armrest pulsed, low and rhythmic, like the heartbeat of an antique clock. The light came up deep purple, and the name assembled itself in the air above the armrest.
Cecilia.
Hathaway froze. Her stomach went cold and heavy, because she remembered exactly how she had used that name to pry open Victoria's defenses a month ago.
A month ago. To provoke Victoria into teaching me, I looked her in the eye and lied.I claimed that Rhode said: "Victoria is just a cheaper copy of that Failure of an Heir."
That sentence was the dagger she had twisted to make Victoria angry enough to care, and it was unfalsifiable.
Hathaway knew her cousin. If Victoria ever confronted Rhode about it, the Golden Lion would probably just sneer and say: "I don't remember saying it, but it sounds like something I would say. So what?"
I am safe, Hathaway thought, staring at the purple light. The only witness who could expose me would confirm it instead.
But looking at Victoria now, I realize I played a very dangerous game. I used the name of the Wellington Heir as a cheap bargaining chip. If Victoria had ever seen through me... I wouldn't be sitting here. I'd be ashes.
Across the room, Victoria sat up straight, fixed her collar, and smoothed a wrinkle that did not exist on her skirt. The composure that had survived a point-blank flashbang lasted exactly as long as it took the purple light to spell out a name. Her long, slender fingers rose to trace the rune for the [Privacy Barrier].
Right, Hathaway thought, watching the mana gather. Block me out. This is a Wellington family call, and I am an outsider. I am a Ludwig.
The blue rune hovered in mid-air, spinning, unfired. Then Victoria turned her head toward Hathaway, blue eyes unfocused, and the weight of that gaze landed anyway.
She is doing the math, Hathaway realized. I just showed her Margaret at 150 Lumens. I let her walk the entire chaotic Ludwig inventory. So now she thinks it is only fair to open hers.
Victoria sighed. Her shoulders came down, her hand lowered, and the [Privacy Barrier] dissipated into sparks of harmless blue light that, to Hathaway, weighed more than a mountain.
Don't, Hathaway screamed internally, her fingers closing on the fabric of her skirt. Don't give me this 'Fairness'. I showed you my family because I am proud of them. I got to you with a lie about your sister. Put the barrier back up. Charge me for the ticket.
"Stay quiet, Hathaway," Victoria whispered. Her voice was soft, almost obedient.
"And please... be normal."
She tapped the crystal.
Connection Established.