In the waiting area sat nearby the door that had just closed—a small chamber lined with shelves of books about magis spells and enchantments. Levain and Fifi had begun rummaging through them shortly after receiving Vemma's approval. The books were harmless, holding knowledge rather than secrets, but to a scholar like Fifi and a curious mind like Levain, they were treasures nonetheless.
Kaiser stood apart from the others, his back against the cold stone wall, his red eyes fixed in the direction of the sealed door. His arms were crossed, his posture rigid with barely contained tension.
Vemma and Rhea sat nearby, their voices low as they spoke. Both were brown magis—and, as it turned out, distant cousins. They had been catching up, sharing quiet words about family and Graitan and the passing of time.
More than an hour had passed. No sound came from the room.
Kaiser remained still, his silence heavy as stone.
Vemma glanced at him, reading the tension in his shoulders, the fire in his red eyes. She spoke softly, as if knowing what he was thinking.
"The walls are thick," she said. "No sound will escape the room, Lord Kaiser. It is to ensure whatever darkness or evil is contained within will not leak out."
Kaiser's gaze did not shift from the door. "So if Ayumu cries for help… no one would hear it. Is that what you mean?"
The room went quiet.
His words landed like a blade, cutting through the air.
Levain and Fifi stopped their rummaging. Rhea's hands stilled in her lap. The weight of his question pressed down on all of them.
They sat there, casually, while again Ayumu was left to face danger alone.
Vemma met Kaiser's gaze, her voice steady. "You must have faith in the chancellor. He would never allow any harm to befall Lady Ayumu. She is the last white magis."
Kaiser's jaw tightened. His voice was low, dangerous. "You knew, didn't you? That all of this was to happen."
Vemma held his gaze without flinching. "Yes. It was the chancellor's choice."
Kaiser gritted his teeth.
His thoughts churned darkly. If only the djinn had never been here in the first place—Ayumu would not have to face any of this. She would not have to stress, to worry, to bear the weight of a dark being that had attached itself to her shadow. She would be free.
But then, the sound of a door creaked open could be heard.
The sound echoed through the chamber, drawing everyone's attention.
Rhea and Kaiser were the first to dart toward the door, their footsteps pounding against the stone floor. They reached the entrance and saw Ayumu.
She stood in the doorway, her face pale, her golden eyes wide and glassy. Her white robes were slightly disheveled, her hair loose and tangled. She was pushing the door open with whatever strength she had left—her arms trembling, her breaths shallow.
"It is done," she said, her voice barely a whisper.
Rhea rushed to her.
Ayumu collapsed into her arms, hugging her tightly, her body trembling with silent sobs. She did not cry—not the way others might. But her sadness was deeper, more profound, spilling out in shudders and whimpers that tore at the hearts of everyone present.
Kaiser looked past them into the room.
Inside, on the floor, lay the chancellor.
He looked as if he were sleeping—his face peaceful, a gentle smile on his weathered lips. Surrounding him were crystals tears, scattered across the stone floor.
They must have come from Ayumu.
No one knew what had happened in that room. And no one dared to ask Ayumu in her current state.
They simply led her away, leaving the chamber behind, leaving the chancellor to his eternal rest and Vemma to attend to his body.
---------------------------------------------------
At night, the funeral for the chancellor was held.
The people of Graitan gathered in mass along the banks of the river—the same river that flowed from the waterfall inside the city walls and carried onward beyond the gates. Torches flickered in the darkness, casting dancing shadows on the water's surface. The air was thick with the scent of flowers and the soft murmur of mourning.
The chancellor lay in a light wooden casket, adorned with colorful, vibrant flowers—petals of every hue woven into the wood, forming patterns that spoke of life and passage. The people placed their offerings with gentle hands, whispering blessings and farewells.
Then the casket was set afloat on the river.
It drifted slowly, carried by the gentle current, and the brown magis released fireflies into the night. Their tiny lights swarmed around the casket like a living constellation, guiding it along the water as if escorting the chancellor to his final rest.
The people stood in silence, watching.
The casket grew smaller and smaller, until it was only a speck of light in the distance.
And then it was gone.
---------------------------------------------------
After the funeral, the ministers of Graitan called for a meeting.
The invitation was extended to Ayumu and Kaiser as well as they were the head of the noble families of white and black respectively.
They gathered in a grand chamber—an oval marble table at its center, surrounded by high-backed wooden chairs. The ministers sat in a loose circle, their voices rising and falling in heated discussion. The walls were lined with tapestries depicting the history of Graitan, ancient and revered. The ceilings were wrapped in climbing vines—thick, robust tendrils of green that had grown wild and strong, weaving through beams and curling around pillars.
Ayumu sat in a chair taht was placed slightly further from the table, her hands folded in her lap, her face solemn and distant. She wore her white robes, immaculate and graceful, but her eyes were downcast, her gaze fixed on the floor.
She said nothing.
Kaiser sat at the table among the ministers, his red eyes flicking between the bickering voices—but always returning to Ayumu. He watched her. Worried.
The ministers argued among themselves.
One, a dark magis with a stern face, slammed his hand on the table. "The will is as it should be. Follow it—that is the point of a will!"
Another, a brown magis with graying hair, shook her head. "Long has it been our tradition that white magis are to be chancellors. And now we have Lady Ayumu here with us. We should extend the offer to her as well before deciding to go forth with the will."
A third minister, a blue magis with sharp eyes, turned to Kaiser. "What do you think of this, Lord Kaiser?"
The bickering fell silent. All eyes turned to him.
Kaiser leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "I am in no position to go against the will of the chancellor. Best that we ask Lady Ayumu if she would like to become chancellor. If she refuses, then we proceed with the one appointed in the will."
The ministers murmured among themselves.
Then one of them voiced out to Ayumu: "Lady Ayumu, what say you to becoming our chancellor?"
Ayumu remained still for a long moment. Her head was still bowed, but she had heard every word.
When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, barely above a whisper.
"I am unworthy of such a seat, my lords and my lady."
A minister rose to his feet. "How can that be? You are the royal advisor of the Emperor in the Rodh palace. In a short time, you have done wonders, and word has travelled even here. You are most worthy. We beg you to be our chancellor."
Ayumu slowly looked up.
She wore a small smile—but it was filled with sadness, so deep and raw that it seemed to weigh down the very air around her.
"I was not born here," she said quietly. "I was born in a cabin in the woods. My mother and father were the only magis I knew when I was child. I grew up away from Epsos—away from Graitan. I know nothing of this place." Her voice trembled. "And because of me… the chancellor has passed... I am not worthy."
A minister intervened gently. "The chancellor's death is not your cause, Lady Ayumu."
Ayumu smiled again—that same sad, delicate smile.
She rose to her feet, her robes flowing around her like water.
"I am unworthy," she repeated. "I do not wish to be chancellor. Please excuse me."
She left the room.
The door closed behind her, and the ministers fell into murmurs once more.
The dark magis minister crossed his arms. "You heard her. Let us get on with it."
As the others resumed their bickering, Kaiser rose from his seat.
He excused himself without a word and followed Ayumu.
---------------------------------------------------
Ayumu had no idea where her feet were taking her.
But somehow, she reached the river.
The same river where they had sent the chancellor's casket adrift. The water flowed gently, catching the moonlight and scattering it into a thousand silver fragments. She walked onto the grassbed beside the bank and sat down, hugging her knees to her chest, her golden eyes fixed on the flowing current.
She did not turn when she heard footsteps approach.
Kaiser reached her and sat down beside her, close enough that she could feel his warmth, far enough to give her space. He did not speak at first—he simply sat with her, sharing the silence.
The night was quiet. The river murmured. The stars watched.
Finally, Kaiser spoke.
"Do not blame yourself for what happened, Ayumu…"
Ayumu's voice was soft, fragile. "How can I not… everywhere I go, death follows."
Kaiser's brows knitted together. He wanted to tell her that was not true—but Ayumu continued, her words spilling out like water from a broken dam.
"I have seen many people die because of me, Kaiser. My parents… my mentor…" Her voice trembled. "I stayed alone for so long so that no one else would die being linked to me—or protecting me. And yet, throughout my years of solitude, people around me still died. Still got hurt." She paused, her breath hitching. "And the chancellor… he spoke to me as if I were dear to him. He was a white magis..like me. I only knew him for a day. And today, he breathed his last breath in front of me. Because of me..."
She was shaking now. Crystal tears fell from her eyes, catching the moonlight like scattered diamonds.
"Am I cursed…?"
Kaiser moved closer, his voice firm but gentle. "Surely not. Do not ever think that." He reached out, his hand hovering near her shoulder before settling there. "I do not know what happened in that room, but the deed is done. The djinn is sent back. And the chancellor made his own choice to pass on at his own terms." His voice softened. "He did not name you as the next chancellor so that you would not be bound to this place. He wanted you to be free. So please, Ayumu…" He pulled her into an embrace, holding her against his chest. "Do not keep blaming yourself. I do not know what to do seeing you cry…"
Ayumu clung to him.
She cried until her strength gave out, until her sobs faded into quiet, shuddering breaths. Her body grew heavy against him, and she fell asleep in his arms.
Kaiser lay back on the grassbed, cradling her gently, his red eyes fixed on the moon above.
The grass was soft beneath them. The river sang its quiet song.
Footsteps approached.
Levain, Rhea, and Fifi appeared, their faces somber. They sat around the two of them, forming a circle.
Rhea looked at Ayumu's sleeping face, her heart aching. "Poor Ayumu… must she always be put in these situations? She is still so young to bear such hardships."
Kaiser spoke in a small voice, careful not to wake her. "I think it is best we leave Graitan tomorrow."
Levain considered this. "But Lord Kaiser, this is Lady Ayumu's first time here. Perhaps staying a while would allow her to mend her wounds and connect with her heritage. She was denied that in the past."
Fifi nodded. "I do not think the ministers will let us off easily anyway. They have arranged many things for us tomorrow. Perhaps we stay one or two days."
Kaiser fell silent.
He looked down at Ayumu, her face peaceful in sleep, her tears dried on her cheeks.
He did not want to stay.
But perhaps Levain and Fifi were right. Perhaps she needed this.