Chapter 7: The Ascender
Charlie looked towards Livia and said with a soft smile "It's all because of lady Navis. I came to find her"
Livia was surprised after suddenly hearing her name being mentioned.
"Wha…t?"
Charlie grinned as he approached, his voice carrying a lighthearted tone. "Ah, you see, I had no choice but to come all this way," he began, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "My lady here," he gestured dramatically towards Livia, "has been ignoring me for far too long—didn't even bother to read my letters. I was left heartbroken, truly."
He paused for effect, then continued, "So, with my dear father's blessing, I abandoned the sword, picked up a wand, and enrolled in the magic department. After all, what better way to stay close to the one who's been so determined to avoid me?" He chuckled, clearly enjoying the reaction of the crowd.
With a flourish, Charlie dropped to one knee, looking up at Livia with exaggerated sincerity. "Lia, my dearest, I've crossed lands and oceans, forsaken my training as a knight, and embraced the arcane arts—all for the chance to study by your side. Now, won't you reconsider and accept my humble proposal?"
Livia, caught off guard by his theatrics, blushed furiously. The shocked murmurs of those around them only added to her embarrassment. In a flash, she hurled the water ball spell she conjured before straight at Charlie's face, soaking him instantly. "Get lost, you idiot! Don't come near me again!" she shouted with flushed cheeks, before spinning on her heel and ran off towards Elena; who was still standing behind everyone, lost in her own world again.
"Lord Owen, are you alright?" Gaius spoke hesitantly seeing Charlie's miserable state.
"Do I look like I'm alright?" Charlie stood up while shivering. "Dmn, it's iced water, she's as fiery as ever, to think she'd cast this on me"
He ignored Gaius plus all the surrounding murmurings and went to a corner to call his butler "Gareth"
Instantly a black shadow popped up from behind a tree and materialized into a middle aged man.
[ Imagine the picture above. Yep, it's Henri Fayol, I'm a commerce student :P ]
"Young lord, you…" Realizing that others were still gazing here, Gareth didn't say anything. With a sigh, he casted a spell on Charlie, which dried up all of his clothes, including him. The spell also warmed up Charlie's shivering body.
"You don't need to say anything. I know that I shouldn't have behaved like that in public, but I can't help it after seeing her so many years later" said Charlie while looking at Livia's departing figure with a teasing smile.
[ Au note: Don't ask me why there's this scene when they are all just kids. Infact I myself don't know what I'm writing. ]
Seeing such a Charlie, Gareth couldn't do anything but shake his head helplessly.
Gareth Hawthorne, eldest son of Viscount Aldric Hawthorne.
…
Back to Elena,
Here's the continuation, building from where you left off:
---
**Back to Elena**
Elena stood apart from the crowd, her silver hair catching the afternoon light, her gaze fixed on something none of them could see.
Letizia, standing at the edge of the servant's row, watched her mistress with quiet concern. She had learned to recognize this look—the distant eyes, the slow breathing, the way Elena's fingers would sometimes trace invisible patterns in the air. It was as if she was watching a memory only she could access.
The class was still buzzing from Charlie's theatrics. Livia had disappeared behind a cluster of noble students, her face still flushed. Gaius was explaining something about fireball theory to Felix, who kept glancing at the spot where Charlie had knelt. The warriors across the field were stretching, preparing for their own drills.
But Elena saw none of this.
She was in another time. Another life.
*The wind moves first*, she thought. *Always. It's the breath of magic. The first element to answer.*
In her mind, she was back in a future that no longer existed. A training ground scarred by battle. Hands that were older, rougher, steadier. A sky dark with smoke.
*Wind. Then friction. Then fire.*
Her fingers twitched.
Letizia noticed it first—a faint shimmer around Elena's hands, like heat rising from summer stone. She blinked, thinking it was a trick of the light.
Then she saw the sparks.
Tiny. Brief. Like lightning trapped in glass, flickering around Elena's fingers, her wrists, the loose sleeves of her training dress. They danced without sound, without heat—just *light*, sharp and silver, circling her like confused fireflies.
Letizia opened her mouth to call out, but the sound died in her throat.
The leaves at Elena's feet began to stir.
It started small. A whisper of wind, curling around her ankles, lifting the hem of her dress. Then the leaves rose—a handful at first, then more, spiraling upward in a lazy column. Green and brown, spinning faster, climbing higher.
The students nearest to her were the first to notice.
A girl stopped mid-sentence, her hand frozen in the air. A boy turned, his eyes widening. Gaius, still explaining fireball theory, felt the shift in the air and looked up.
"Your Highness?" someone whispered.
Elena didn't hear.
The column of leaves had become a vortex now—a small cyclone, barely taller than she was, spinning with a soft hum. The air around it shimmered, and Letizia realized with a jolt that she could *see* the wind, like heat waves on a summer road.
Then came the light.
It flickered deep within the vortex, a flash of blue-white, gone before anyone could name it. Another flash. Brighter. Longer.
*Crackle.*
A sound like static, like the moment before a storm breaks. The hair on Letizia's arms rose. Across the field, Professor Isabella's head snapped toward Elena, her practiced calm slipping for just an instant.
The vortex spun faster. The light inside it grew steadier—not flickering now, but *burning*, a core of lightning at the heart of the wind. Leaves charred at the edges, curling into ash that spiraled upward like dark snow.
*Wind friction*, Elena thought, somewhere deep in her memory. *Enough speed, enough pressure—and the air itself becomes fire.*
She raised her arms.
She didn't mean to. Her body moved on instinct, following a rhythm learned over fourteen years that no longer existed. Her hands opened, her fingers spread, and the vortex *answered*.
It shot upward—a column of wind and light, too bright to look at, too fast to follow. It rose ten feet, twenty, pulling ash and leaves and *something* from the air itself, and for a moment, the entire training ground was bathed in silver light.
Then it was gone.
The wind died. The leaves fell. The sparks faded.
And Elena stood in the center of it all, her arms still raised, her hair settling around her shoulders, her eyes finally—*finally*—clear.
She blinked.
The training ground was silent. Every student, every professor, every servant, was staring at her.
Liana's mouth was open. Gaius had gone pale. Felix was clutching his practice wand like a lifeline. Even Professor Isabella, who had taught magic for decades, looked like she was seeing something for the first time.
And Letizia—
Letizia was crying. She didn't know why. Her cheeks were wet, her heart was pounding, and all she could think was: *She did that. My mistress did that.*
Elena lowered her arms slowly. She looked at her hands, then at the circle of scorched earth at her feet, then at the faces of her classmates.
*Oh*, she thought. *I did it again.*
She kept her face still, her voice steady. "The wind," she said, as if explaining something simple, "is the first element to answer. If you let it, it will show you what it can become."
No one spoke.
Here's the revised continuation:
---
Elena stood at the center of the scorched earth, her arms still raised, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The silence around her was absolute—no whispers, no murmurs, not even the rustle of cloth as students shifted their weight. They were all staring at the blackened circle where grass and wildflowers had been moments before. Where *life* had been.
*I destroyed it.*
The thought cut through the fog of memory like a blade. She looked at her hands—small, pale, an eleven-year-old's hands—and saw the ash clinging to her fingers.
*I destroyed it !!!.*
Elena whispered to nobody.
She raised her hands again.
This time, she was fully aware. This time, she *meant* it.
A ripple of fear passed through the students. Some stepped back. Gaius grabbed Felix's arm. Even Professor Isabella's hand twitched toward her wand.
But Elena wasn't summoning destruction.
She closed her eyes and reached deeper—past the wind, past the lightning, past the fire that still tingled in her fingertips. She reached for the green, the growing, the *living*.
*Water and earth*, she thought. *The roots remember.*
She opened her eyes.
Her hands moved—not in a spell, not in a chant, but in something closer to a prayer. Her fingers brushed the air, and where they passed, green followed.
The grass returned first. Not slowly, not like nature taking its time—it *surged*. Blades of green pushing through ash, through scorched soil, climbing higher and higher until they reached her knees. Wildflowers followed, splashes of white and yellow spreading across the clearing like spilled paint.
The students gasped. Felix stumbled backward. Liana, who had been watching with sharp, calculating eyes, went very still.
But Elena didn't stop.
The trees at the edge of the clearing—their bark charred, their branches bare—began to heal. New leaves unfurled from blackened wood, bright green against the dark. Vines climbed the trunks, wrapping them in fresh growth. And the grass—the grass kept rising. Past Elena's waist. Past her shoulders. Higher than her head.
Letizia, standing at the edge of the servant's row, could no longer see her mistress. Only a sea of green, swaying in a wind that had no source.
Then—a whisper of air. A sound like shears closing.
A blade of wind swept across the clearing, clean and precise, not cutting, not destroying—*trimming*. It moved in arcs, in curves, in shapes that had no name but felt like intention. Where it passed, the grass fell to neat, even lengths. The vines retreated to orderly spirals. The wildflowers settled into beds that looked almost... arranged.
When the wind stilled, the clearing was transformed. Not wild, not tame—something in between. A garden that had been tended by hands that knew what they were doing. Grass at ankle height. Flowers in gentle clusters. Trees with new leaves that shimmered in the afternoon light.
Elena lowered her hands.
She stood in the center of it all, her training dress still pristine, her silver hair still still, and for a moment, she looked less like a student and more like something the old stories would have called a *dryad*—a spirit of the green, the growing, the eternal return.
Professor Isabella found her voice first. "Your Highness," she said, and her voice was not quite steady, "where did you learn... that?"
Elena didn't reply, she was too immersed. It took sometimes before she came to senses.
Elena turned to face her. Her face was calm, but her eyes—her eyes were ancient.
"I researched it," she said. "And practiced it. In my yard. Didn't expect it would develop to such a height. Actually, I even get fearful of my hand and arms, it took many years to develop. Even though I research. It was God Gifted. All THE ASCENDERS ARE TALENTED. The Firebird protects us, just like ancient dragons."
A pause. The words hung in the air, simple and impossible all at once.
Professor Isabella opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
Charlie, who had been standing at the edge of the crowd with Gareth, let out a low whistle. "Remind me never to challenge Her Highness to a gardening competition."
Livia, who had returned to his side at some point, elbowed him sharply. "Shut up."
But she was smiling.
Letizia, still standing at the edge of the servant's row, felt her heart swelling with something she couldn't name. Pride, yes. Wonder, certainly. But also something else—a quiet, fierce certainty that she had made the right choice when she swore herself to this girl.
*My mistress*, she thought. *That is my mistress.*
And for the first time since she had entered the Imperial Academy, Letizia was not afraid of what anyone thought of her.
Because if Elena Rosalind De Acender could do *that*—could destroy with one hand and create with the other, could call fire from the air and green from the ash—then surely, surely, there was room in this world for a clumsy maid who had promised to become the best servant anyone had ever seen.
She straightened her back. Lifted her chin.
And watched.
"..."
The silence that followed was heavier than any spell.
—
[Au Note: It has been 2 years since I last wrote it. This one was hard to write as I forgot most of the novel.
Don't worry, I am not dropping this novel, I am trying my best to write even if the chapter update is irregular. :P]
Time: March 22, 2026
Total words: 2142
New edition: 2216 words./ 2321 words including the poem.
Time: 9:56 pm.
…
The poem and song of this chapter. A gift from Deepseek!
Chapter born from two years' wait
Elena rising, sealing fate
Fire and ash, then green returns
A princess shows what power earns
Charlie soaked, Livia flushed
Gareth sighed, the garden hushed
Letizia stood a little taller
Watching her mistress be the caller
The firebird watches, dragons sleep
A line of blood runs vast and deep
And somewhere far, in a silver cat
Seven souls don't know where they're at
But that's for later. Now? Just rest.
Shoulders down, put work to rest.
You built something real today.
Let it sit. Let it stay.