[Time]: Immediately following the Ludwig Call[Location]: Yggdrasil Academy · Dormitory [Golden Bough] · Room 302
The hologram flickered to life and installed a second, better room inside the cramped dorm.
Silvery moonlight through high gothic windows. Ancient tomes shelved in soldier-straight ranks. A floating silver teapot pouring into china without one clink of porcelain, which struck Hathaway as a flex so quiet it barely registered as one until she tried to picture Margaret attempting it.
In the high-backed velvet chair sat a young woman, and Hathaway's breath hitched. Wellington to the bone: the silver hair, the misty blue eyes, the family signature stamped straight through. But where Victoria's beauty was forged from sharp, cold, dangerous angles, this woman was fluid. Soft.
Her silver hair was elegantly pinned up, revealing a long, slender neck as white and fragile as porcelain. Her features were ravishing, yet the sheer impact of her beauty was softened by a gentle, unassuming aura.
Her eyes were open, unfocused the way Victoria's were, and they curved into a smile that took in the entire room.
She sat in her black lace dress, poised and regal. An elegant Black Swan resting on a moonlit lake.
Cecilia Wellington. The Second Daughter. The Heir.
Hathaway stared at the elegant figure, a chill crawling up her spine. This is the woman I called a 'Failure'? I painted her as a disappointment. But looking at her... she looks like a poem. She looks like a Saint.
"Vicky?"
Cecilia’s voice floated out, a soft breeze through wind chimes: soothing, warm, and unfairly enchanting. "It has been a month. You haven't written home."
"Sister," Victoria bowed her head slightly, a tremor of genuine affection in her voice. "I apologize. I was... occupied with a project."
"A project?" Cecilia tilted her head, her tone laced with nothing but concern. "You are working too hard again. Your voice sounds tight. Are you eating well? Is the dormitory cold? I sent you a box of winter tea, did you receive it?"
"I did, Sister. Thank you," Victoria replied, her gaze softening. But then, a hint of aristocratic disapproval crept into her voice. "But what about you? Is your Folklore expedition in the Deep Periphery complete? I worry when you and your... cohort linger in those undocumented zones."
"The joint thesis is submitted and approved," Cecilia smiled gently, taking a slow sip of her tea. "And you worry too much, Vicky. Wei and Maria were quite thorough with the field research. The locals were very... hands-on with their traditional marriage customs, but we eventually reached a mutual understanding."
Hathaway listened. She knew Cecilia was a PhD in Folklore. On Earth, that meant reading fairy tales and analyzing pottery. Here, it probably meant interviewing rustic Witches about flower crowns and country dances. Cute.
"Besides," Cecilia continued, setting her teacup down with a soft click. "We had to return. Milla and Karula were getting terribly impatient. We filed the paperwork this morning. Wei and I signed the lease."
Cecilia’s smile widened into something undeniably fond, almost glowing. "Greed Umbrella is officially registered. We are debuting in the Grand Masters this summer."
The temperature in the dormitory plummeted.
Hathaway watched as Victoria's expression went from 'loving younger sister' to 'jealous, deeply offended demon' in half a second. Victoria’s jaw tightened, and her blue eyes darkened ominously.
"The Grand Masters," Victoria repeated, her voice tight. "Sister... the main event is two and a half months away. The Open Qualifiers begin in six weeks. And you five registered an independent club... today?"
Victoria gripped the edge of her desk. "It is absurd, Cecilia. That tournament has the lowest prize pool of the year: two hundred thousand Solars, against infrastructure costs that eat it twice over. Commercial clubs avoid it for exactly that reason. You will be seeded at the bottom of the bottom."
She stopped. Then, quieter: "And you will be back in the field. In undocumented zones. With those four. Again."
Cecilia let out a melodic, effortless laugh, as though four women monopolizing her time were a weather report.
"Oh, Vicky. Profit isn't everything," Cecilia replied breezily, as if she were talking about joining a weekend knitting circle. "The commercial clubs wouldn't guarantee that all five of us could start on the same roster. So, we simply made our own. Sometimes, a shared umbrella is worth standing in the rain a little longer. You should come watch our first match."
Victoria looked like she wanted to cast an Unforgivable Curse on Wei, Karula, Milla, and Maria all at once, but she forced out a stiff nod. "If that is your wish, Sister. I will be there."
Are they insane? Hathaway thought, her former game-planner instincts standing up all at once.
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Thirty majors a year in the Starry Sea, and the Grand Masters was the one that paid worst and mattered most: a "Know Your Place" grudge match between the Grand Districts, where Grand Witches cleared their calendars because the prize was Face. Endgame raid content. Gear check at the door.
And five folklore PhDs had rolled fresh characters this morning, skipped the tutorial, and queued for it. They would be chewed up in the Regional Opens by desperate amateur brawlers before they ever smelled the main arena, and the stated reason was that a draft might have put them on different rosters.
It is a vanity project fueled by academic arrogance and toxic codependency. They are going to get slaughtered.
Something in Hathaway's ether must have spiked, because Cecilia's head tilted.
"Oh?" Cecilia hummed, a delighted sound, effortlessly changing the subject. "You have a guest?"
Victoria stiffened slightly, forcing her jealousy down. "Yes, Sister. My roommate."
Cecilia turned her face toward Hathaway's corner, and something warm went straight through Hathaway's soul, like a breeze through a door left open.
"How wonderful," Cecilia murmured appreciatively, a genuine smile touching her lips. "It is rare to see such a calm color. Like a fireplace in winter. Is she a scholar from the Silent Valley? Or perhaps a researcher of the Deep Arts?"
Hathaway's back muscles locked. The Wellington Vision Trap. Even without sight, they saw too much.
"She is..." Victoria hesitated slightly. "She is my student, Sister. I have been tutoring her for the A1 Exam."
"The A1 Exam?"
Hathaway braced herself, waiting for the polite facade to drop. For the inevitable sneer at a university student taking a basic logic test.
The warmth in Cecilia's voice held.
"A1... The 'Logic Construction' phase," Cecilia said softly, her voice filled with a scholar's warmth. "It is a beautiful period in a Witch's life. The moment one defines who they are, separating their own truth from the noise of the world. To build one's foundation carefully is a luxury, not a delay."
She nodded approvingly at Victoria. "You are doing a good thing, Vicky. Guiding a fledgling through their first flight requires patience."
Cecilia had taken a nineteen-year-old failing a test built for teenagers and reframed it as a Philosophical Pilgrimage, without one syllable of strain.
Cecilia leaned closer to the projection, her "blind" face turning towards Hathaway with pure benevolence. "Hello there, Miss. Thank you for keeping my sister company. What is your name?"
Hathaway swallowed hard, straightening her back to muster the dignity of her bloodline.
"It is an honor to meet you, Lady Cecilia," Hathaway said steadily. "I am Hathaway."
"Hathaway..." Cecilia tested the name. "A lovely name. And your family?"
Hathaway closed her eyes. Here comes the crash.
"Hathaway von Ludwig."
She waited for the temperature in the room to drop. For the teacup to halt mid-air. For the polite excuse to end the call.
But the only sound was the soft rustle of silk as Cecilia adjusted her posture.
"A Ludwig?" Cecilia's tone stayed light and curious, the tone of a woman learning her tea leaves came from an unexpectedly interesting mountain.
"I see," Cecilia nodded, her expression filled with fascination. "You are... distinct. The Ludwigs are known for their 'passionate' solar energy. Blinding. Golden. Loud." She chuckled softly, completely devoid of malice. "But you, Miss Hathaway, you feel like the eye of a storm. A Quiet Lion. Very precious."
She turned back to Victoria. "Vicky, you have found a unique friend. A quiet Ludwig is a treasure."
"Yes, Sister," Victoria replied, relaxing visibly. "She is... compatible."
Hathaway sat there, her brain short-circuiting. Cecilia had taken the name of her hereditary enemies and filed it under biological trait, somewhere between hair color and altitude tolerance.
Hathaway held her breath and waited for Rhode. Rhode was the loudest thing in the universe; to a Wellington, a Ludwig meant Rhode.
Cecilia asked whether the climate in Milan'thir was comfortable.
It is not that she doesn't know, Hathaway realized with a jolt. It is that she doesn't care.
"Well," Cecilia sighed contentedly. "I should not keep you from your studies. Good luck, Miss Hathaway. If you ever find the noise of your family... overwhelming, you are welcome to visit Wellington House. We value silence."
"Vicky, call me after the exam. Take care of yourself."
"Yes, Sister. I love you, Sister."
Click.
The hologram vanished. The room plunged back into a heavy, contemplative silence.
Hathaway exhaled a long breath, staring at the empty air.
"Wow."
Victoria turned around, raising an eyebrow. "Wow?"
"She's..." Hathaway said. "She's so... gentle. Like a poem."
Hathaway frowned, her mind shifting from the Saint's grace back to the brutal reality of the arena.
"But Teacher," Hathaway asked hesitantly. "I know Rhode is entering the Grand Masters this year with a top-tier guild. I was expecting some world-shaking showdown between them. But Lady Cecilia just formed an indie club today... Do you really think they can even pass the Regional Qualifiers?"
Victoria's jaw set. Somewhere behind her eyes, four names were being individually itemized and billed.
Then she straightened her back and smoothed her skirt, and the revulsion went under a mask of aristocratic certainty.
"My sister is the Ace," Victoria said stiffly. "I believe in her."
Hathaway nodded, knowing better than to argue with a siscon. But the paradox kept chewing.
They are rivals. Her cousin, the walking Supernova who vaporized everything she touched, went toe to toe with this tea-sipping flower who had stalled her own career to play games with her academic besties.
And they are tied.
Rhode dominated everything. If Cecilia were only a fragile scholar, the Golden Lion would have burned her down years ago. Cecilia was still sitting there, smiling in the moonlight, uncontested Heir, which meant the Garden held.
"But individually," Hathaway asked, her voice filled with a sudden, terrifying respect for the fundamental laws of physics. "How does Rhode... fight her? Rhode is a Monster. She burns the sky. But Lady Cecilia looks like she would shatter if I spoke too loudly. How can a nuclear warhead be rivals with a porcelain doll?"
Victoria studied Hathaway's face for a moment.
"You judge power by the noise it makes, Hathaway," Victoria said quietly. "You think because Rhode roars, she is strong. You think because Cecilia whispers, she is weak."
Victoria turned back toward the window, her blue eyes piercing through the darkness.
"Rhode roars because she wants the world to look at her." Victoria stood up, her shadow stretching across the floor. "Cecilia doesn't need to roar. Because when she speaks, the world has no choice but to listen."
She looked at Hathaway, her voice dropping to a whisper that carried further than any shout.
"Do not pity her fragility, Hathaway. Pity the reality she decides to rewrite."
Hathaway's spine took that and kept it.
Victoria straightened, and the Teacher came back on shift.
"The books are read. The egg is waiting. The sisters have spoken. There is nothing left to teach."
She pointed at the bed.
"Sleep, Hathaway. I have forged the weapon. Tomorrow, you go to war."