[Locatiohia Hospital – Night – Year: 1092 Ad Felicitas]

  Nadia Fernleaf found herself enveloped in her mother's tight embrace, feeling the trembling shoulders against her own. Tears dampened Nadia's shoulder, but she only clutched her mhter, burying her fa the familiar warmth that smelled of home gardens and oil paints. After they exged casual versation with Professor Friedrich, her mother eventually stepped outside to sit alone for a while, needing space to process the day's events.

  Sitting quietly on her bed, Nadia examihe new gsses her mother had givehe st pair had beeroyed itle—shattered like her illusions of what joining the Order would truly mean. She ran her fingers along the smooth frames, lost in thought.

  This was the first time she had felt so... uain. She had known that joining the Order would be difficult, but experieng it firsthand was entirely different. The weight of responsibility pressed down on her shoulders in a way she hadn't anticipated. She had alreferred the gentle pursuits of painting ndscapes or tending gardens with her mother. But now, the reality of her choice was sinking in, heavy and unavoidable.

  Her father was a member of the Order too, but he was stationed ihia City—a distaropolis far to the north of hia, too far to offer the fort she craved now.

  I wonder if this is really what I want...

  Her gaze drifted toward Friedrich, who was seated beside Alma's bed. His posture was heavy with exhaustion, the weight of the day evident in the slump of his shoulders and the deep liched around his eyes.

  A soft chime from his Lumina Core broke the silence, drawitention. She watched as he g the s, where the name Gideon Frostwhisper flickered briefly before he let out a long, weary breath that seemed to e from the depths of his soul.

  Nadia's curiosity piqued, and she straio listen, her eyes fixed on the se unfolding before her.

  "Fred, how are they?" the voice of Headmaster Gideon asked, his tone calm but tinged with that betrayed their close retionship.

  "They're stable. Thank you for c for me, Gideon..." Friedrich replied, his voice steady despite his obvious fatigue.

  "Don't sweat it. Though, I should start billing you for overtime," Gideon chuckled, the sound warm even through the holographiion.

  Friedrich's lips twitched into a small smile, the first Nadia had seen sihe i. "I owe you more than just thanks, Gideon. I promise, ime—it's my turn to take over whenever you need," he said, siy evident in every word.

  "Fet promises. Just take care of Alma, will you? She needs you more than the academy right now. And... I'm gd she's okay." Gideon's voice softened o words, revealing deeper emotio unspoken.

  The hologram faded, leaving the room in silence more. Nadia's gaze shifted to Alma, who stirred slightly in her bed, pale sheets rustling with her movement.

  "Dad... I'm sorry," Alma's voice was soft yet trembling, fragile as winter's first frost.

  Friedrich turned quickly, his gaze log onto hers with an iy that spoke of years of worry. He gave a small nod, but before he could respond, Alma tinued, her voice wavering.

  "She's...she's... back."

  Nadia's breath hitched, her heart suddenly pounding in her chest. Who's back? she wondered, her mind rag through possibilities. She had known Alma sihey were children, and never once had Alma mentioned a sister or anyone who might inspire such fear. The professor's wife was a mystery too—Nadia had never seen her, not even in photographs or casual mentions. Sihey arrived ihia, it had always been just Alma and Friedrich, a small family unit plete in themselves.

  Friedrich stepped closer to Alma, his haly g her cold fingers. No words passed between them for a long moment, but the warmth of his touch seemed to offer fort in the chilled hospital room.

  "Don't worry, Alma. We'll protect you," he said, his tone firm yet calming, the voice of a father who would move mountains for his child.

  Alma looked up at him, her eyes glistening with uears that caught the dim light. "Thank you," she whispered, the words carrying the weight of deeper fears.

  Friedrich pulled her into a firm yet gentle embrace, his body shielding her from uhreats that Nadia could only imagine.

  Nadia watched them, her thoughts swirling like autumn leaves as she drifted baories of their childhood, seeking uanding in the past.

  Alma had always been the quiet one, sitting beside her in css from their first day of public school all the way to graduation. At first, she had been reserved, almost unreachable, but over time, she had opened up to Nadia like a relut flower. She was impressive in every way—always at the top of their css, well-liked by both cssmates and teachers who stantly praised her intelligend diligence. Over the years, she had blossomed, being cheerful and generous with her knowledge, always willing to help others uand difficult cepts.

  Unlike me. I was just ordinary. The thought came unbidden, familiar in its bitterness.

  A, despite all that—despite her father being the ander of hia City, despite her brilliand popurity—she still saw Nadia as a friend worthy of her time and trust. It was almost unbelievable, a gift Nadia had never quite felt she deserved.

  Nadia turned her gaze to Alma, who now y sleeping, her face pale but peaceful in the soft glow of the monit equipment.

  I ever be like her? Strong, well-liked… The question echoed in her mind, familiar in its persistence.

  She thought back to the first time she ehe simution battle at thirteen, a memory that still stung with humiliation. Back then, every team she was assigo invariably lost. She could still remember the way her cssmates looked at her—their eyes filled with rese, as if it were her fault alohey had failed. It happened so often that she began to believe them.

  And then there were the darker memories—times she found her bag or her belongings missing from her locker, seemingly vanished into thin air. She had cried back then, alone in bathroom stalls where no one could witness her weakness.

  She didn't want to accuse her cssmates of doing it… but deep down, she had no idea who else it could have been. The uainty had been almost as painful as the loss.

  But Alma had always been there for Nadia, a steady presence by her side no matter what storms raged around them. Where others saw weakness, Alma had seen potential; where others offered criticism, Alma had offered friendship.

  Alma had once fided that she wao join the Order, and after graduating, she po ehe Order's division of Astra Vitae, which specialized ih, advanced medical research, and bioteology. Her eyes had shoh purpose when she spoke of healing the wounded and finding cures for the incurable.

  That was why, at eighteen, she had joihe Order without hesitation—and Nadia had followed, not out of any great ambition or talent, but simply so she could always stay by Alma's side, where she felt she belonged.

  The sound of measured footsteps drew her attention back to the present. Friedritered the room quietly, his gaze falling on Nadia, who remained awake despite the te hour.

  "You're not sleeping?" he asked, his voice geh .

  Nadia shook her head slowly, her eyes still trained on the shadow of her refle on the polished floor. "No..." she murmured, the word barely audible.

  Friedrich stepped closer, standing by her side like a sentinel. "Thank you, Nadia... Because of you, Alma is safe," he said, his expression filled with genuine gratitude that made her unfortable.

  Nadia shook her head quickly, her hands g on her p until her knuckles whitened. "No, sir... I didn't do anything. I just ran," she said, her voice trembling with self-recrimination. In her mind, she had failed—again.

  Friedrich took a deep breath, his gaze steady on Nadia's hunched figure. "That's not true, Nadia. Just being there for her… means more than you know," he said firmly, with the vi of someone who uood the value of loyalty.

  He moved to a chair beside her bed, sitting down slowly, joints crag with fatigue. His gaze shifted to the window, where the rain tio streak the gss, mirr the tears Nadia fought to hold back.

  "The truth is, Alma's been sick for a long time," he said, his voice l to a near whisper, as if speaking the words too loudly might make them more real.

  Nadia turned her head sharply, surprise cutting through her mencholy. "What? But she always seemed fine," she said, brows furrowing in fusion and .

  Friedriodded slightly, his eyes dropping to the floor before meeting Nadia's again. "She hid it well. But her dition worsened, enough to require treatment before," he expined softly, each word carefully chosen.

  Nadia sat in silence, her eyes glistening with uears as she processed this revetion.

  Was she sick all this time? She tried to remember—ever sihey were kids, Alma did have a history of going to the hospital, but not frequently enough to raise arms. There were days she missed school, exhaustion that seemed too profound for someone so young, but Nadia had never suspected anything serious.

  Friedrich smiled faintly, though his eyes held a deep sadhat spoke of sleepless nights and stant worry.

  "I'm truly grateful you've been by her side, Nadia… Thank you," he said, the words sincere despite their repetition.

  Nadia didn't respond verbally, only nodding slowly as silent tears finally escaped, streaming down her face like the rain outside. Her hands ched tightly at her sides, nails digging into palms.

  All she could do now was support Alma, repay everything from their years of friendship, and protect her from whatever threats loomed on the horizon—both the illhat pgued her and the mysterious "she" who had returned.

  She could only hope Alma would get the treatment she needed and recover, though deep down, she harbored a growihat her friend's illness might be beyond the reach of even the Order's advanced medical knowledge—incurable, impcable, iable.

  Outside, the rain tio fall, drumming a somber rhythm against the windows as Nadia made a silent promise to her sleeping friend. Whatever came , she would be always at her side.