The memory did not dissolve with the moonlit terrace. It carried on, flowing like a dream into the next morning.
Alice stirred awake in her room, the walls pale with dawn. She dressed carefully, folding each piece of her uniform with a neatness that betrayed habit more than eagerness. The silver threads of her hair caught the light as she fastened her collar and straightened her skirt, lips pressed in a thin line of quiet focus.
When she emerged, the dining room waited. The table was already set, sunlight pouring through the high windows, touching crystal glassware and polished plates until the whole room gleamed. Her mother sat at the head, cup of steaming tea in hand, her presence filling the room as though the house itself bent toward her.
“Good morning, Mom,” Alice said, her voice light.
“Hi, Alice. How was your sleep?”
Alice smiled, small but genuine. “Hehe, good, Mom. Especially after seeing you dance.”
Her mother arched a brow, lips curving. “Aw, look at my baby girl and her silver tongue. Haha. Now eat—we’ll be late for school if you dawdle.”
Alice giggled and took her seat. The plates brimmed with bread, fruit, and eggs, but she picked at them slowly, stealing glances at her mother across the table. There was warmth here, yet beneath it a weight lingered—an unspoken expectation, like the silence before a bell chime.
As Alice rose from her chair, the heavy front door creaked open. Boots pressed against the polished floor, the sound carrying into the dining room.
A tall figure filled the doorway, broad-shouldered, early thirties, his dark hair trimmed neatly above a strong, handsome face. His build bore the unmistakable weight of training, every movement steady with the confidence of a soldier returned home.
“Father!” Alice cried, her voice breaking into joy as she dashed forward.
He laughed, warm and full, catching her in his arms and lifting her clean off the floor. “Haha, oh, how I missed you, Alice.”
“Aw, Father, too tight!” she squeaked, though her laughter betrayed no real protest.
“Then stop being so huggable,” he teased, lifting her just up longer.
Alice laughed as her father toss her in the air and catch her a few times.
At the table, her mother rose with a smile that softened her features. “Welcome back, dear.”
“I am home,” he said, brushing a quick kiss to her cheek. His tone, though light, carried an edge of relief. “It’s good to be back, away from those pesky officers for once.”
Alice stayed close at his side, eyes bright. For a moment, the room brimmed with a warmth so whole it felt untouchable, as if the house itself breathed easier with him there.
“You’re going to school?” her father asked, loosening his cloak as he stepped further into the dining room.
“Yes, Father.”
“Take a day off today. I’ll tell your teacher personally.”
Alice pouted, clutching her satchel to her chest. “Huuuh, but I want to study.”
“Edwin,” her mother said, brow rising. “Don’t teach Alice to slack off.”
“Haha, it’s just for today,” her father replied, waving a hand. “And I’ll buy you a book, Alice.”
Her silver eyes sparked with sudden interest. “If it isn’t Basics of Magic by Archmagus Lewin, I don’t want it. Mint condition, too.”
Her father blinked. “Didn’t you already learn that in school?”
“Yeah,” Alice admitted quickly, “but this is by Archmagus Lewin. There must be something different in there.”
Archmagus Lewin was one of the most renowned mages of the past century, a scholar who lived off writing magic manuals. His name made his works prized possessions, and even the simplest volumes cost more than most could afford. To Alice, though, it wasn’t about prestige. To her, Lewin’s words might hold the key to seeing magic in ways no ordinary teacher could explain.
Her father’s lips twitched into a grin. “Heh, look at this child bargaining. Well, I don’t want to waste money on some glorified nerd’s book, so how about this—I’ll ask a copy of Eidrecht manual from my office.”
Alice’s eyes lit up instantly. “Really?”
“Anything for you, my lovely daughter.”
“Hehehe, yay! You’re the best father.”
Her mother only shook her head, watching the whole ordeal with a sigh that was half exasperation, half fondness.
“Oh, don’t be like that, Syl,” her father said, winking at her. “Besides, I have an announcement to make. Wait for me in the dining room.”
“All right dear.”
He strode off, leaving mother and daughter behind. A short while later, he returned dressed in casual clothes better suited for home than duty—an informal tunic and trousers, simple but still carrying the sharpness of a man who was never fully off his post.
“So,” her father said at last, settling into his chair, “I’ve finalized everything with the military.”
“You did?” Syl leaned forward, tension flickering in her eyes. “What did they say?”
“They approved my early retirement.”
The words lingered in the memory, but Lina’s focus wavered. She blinked, pulling her gaze from the projection.
“I don’t get it,” Lina said, frowning. “He looks too young for retirement. How does that even happen?”
Halwen’s gaze stayed fixed on the projection. “The Reich allows early retirement after fifteen years of service, which means Vierna’s father had already served long enough. But not everyone can petition for it. The privilege is granted only to those with merit or notable achievements.”
“But why would the Reich even have that kind of policy?” Lina pressed.
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
“They allow it because it looks like encouragement,” Halwen replied. “On paper, it rewards achievement. But in truth, it’s an illusion. The payment for such petition is financially crippling, no one in their sane mind would ever consider that. In the end, the Reich always wins—either you pay a fortune for that so-called ‘reward,’ or you keep serving until you’re old enough for proper retirement. And the payment isn’t even the worst price.”
Lina’s brows knit. “What do you mean?”
“People will look at you differently,” Halwen said, his voice low. “They’ll whisper that your achievement made you too proud to serve. That pride stains the very merit you earned. Some will claim you fought not for the Reich, but only to buy yourself a life of leisure.”
Leopold remained silent. As always, he neither nodded nor disagreed. But in the stillness of his presence, it was clear Halwen’s words needed no correction.
Lina fell silent, turning her eyes back to the memory.
“Well they did charge me more since apparently I am a valued member of the corps.” Her father said smugly.
“How much did they charge?” Syl asked carefully.
Her father’s smile held the trace of a grimace. “Fifty million shingles. I already paid it—used our savings.”
“Fifty million—” Halwen coughed, startled at the words spilling from the projected memory.
Lina glanced at her uncle. She remembered her mother’s single piece of jewelry, worth a hundred shingles, and how she had not even been allowed to touch it. The one time she accidentally dropped it, her mother had grounded her for a month. If a mere hundred shingles carried that much weight, then fifty million was unthinkable.
Even the Arkmarschall’s face, usually carved from stone, shifted into a frown. That alone told Lina the scale of what Vierna’s father had done.
She turned back to the screen.
“Dear, we only have a few million in our savings,” Sylvaria said softly. “How do you get the rest of it?”
“I mortgaged the house. We talked about this.”
Sylvaria exhaled slowly, her hands folding on the table. She had known this day would come, had known Edwin would go through with it, yet seeing it spelled out in coin left a hollow twist in her chest.
“Remember, Syl,” her father said firmly, as if reading her doubt. “This is for all of us, especially for Alice. If we keep this household tied to the military, when we’re gone it will be hard for her—harder still if she’s confirmed to have Faintborn.”
“Don’t say that!” Syl’s voice cracked sharp, anger flashing in her eyes. “She just has silver hair!”
“Sylvaria.”
The name, spoken like a command, cut through the room. Silence followed.
Her father’s gaze softened, though his tone stayed steady. “We don’t need to wait for the test to tell us what we already suspect. And if it is true, if she had Faintborn, would you stop loving her? Simply because her mana is low?”
Sylvaria’s eyes dropped to the floor, her lips pressed tight.
“…”
Edwin continued. “There has to be more to life than mana. Honestly, I’m tired of the military too. The campaigns, the slaughter, the weight of command. We’ll retire to the countryside, start a vineyard and also a winery. And when we’re gone, Alice can continue it. She’ll only serve her five mandatory years, then she’s free.”
“I know but…”
His words hung between them, heavy and fragile. From where Alice sat, she saw her father’s eyes soften as he looked at her mother, voice low, almost pleading. “Syl, I need you on this. This isn’t just for me, it’s for us. Most of all, it’s for Alice. The business will give her peace, a safe future.”
Alice didn’t fully grasp the weight of his question, only that it pressed sharp between them. Her mother’s lips parted, then closed again, her gaze slipping toward the floor.
The silence deepened. Alice, caught in the middle, clutched at her mother’s sleeve. Her voice came small. “Mother… I’m sorry.”
Sylvaria’s eyes dropped to Alice. The fury drained away, and in its place came the softness Alice knew best. She felt her mother’s arms draw her close, fingers trembling as they threaded through her silver hair.
“It’s not your fault, Alice,” she whispered. “And your father is right. Even if you were a Faintborn, I would still love you. Always.”
Her mother’s gaze then lifted to her husband. The hard line of her shoulders eased, and when she finally spoke, her voice was low, steady, stripped of its edge. “I’m sorry, Edwin. You are right.”
Relief softened his face, the stern soldier giving way to the man beneath. “Thank you, Syl. I love you. And Alice—” he turned toward his daughter, his tone gentler than ever, “I know you want to study magic, but I’m sorry. This is the best path for you.”
“It’s okay, Father,” Alice said quickly, almost eager to soothe him. “Actually, winemaking involves a lot of magic, you know. I read about it. Do you know—”
She launched into her explanation, hands animated as she spoke of spells that sped the fermentation of grapes, wards that protected vines from frost, and charms to balance the sweetness of fruit. Her parents exchanged a look, then simply watched, listening as though the whole room had shrunk to her voice alone. They didn’t know where she had read it, but her passion left no room for doubt.
“Haha, our vineyard will be a huge success with you around, Alice,” her father said, grinning.
“Hehe…” Alice ducked her head, cheeks warming.
“By the way, Father, have you ever actually made wine before?”
“Alice, don’t—,” Sylvaria groaned.
“Oh my, my,” Edwin said, puffing his chest with mock dignity. “Let me tell you about a young man whose dream was to make the greatest wine ever…”
And so it began. He recounted, like a historian telling the fall of an empire, his younger days—how he picked grapes by hand, experimented with soil, even tried planting his own vines in barren fields. His gestures grew animated, his voice swelling with every remembered detail.
Sylvaria buried her face in her hand, shoulders sagging. Clearly, this was not the first time she had suffered through the tale, and just as clearly, it was word-for-word identical each time.
But Alice? Alice leaned in, eyes shining, quill scratching furiously as she took notes on everything—every trick, every failure, every little flourish. Her eagerness only fueled Edwin further, until he was striding the room like a lecturer, painting the air with his hands.
Hours slipped away. Finally, with the air of a general delivering his final command, Edwin declared, “…and that is why the Firestone Press method is nothing but overrated showmanship, while the Moonrest Fermentation remains the pinnacle of true winemaking craft.”
“Woooow,” Alice breathed, eyes wide. Then, mischievously, “Anyway, Father, can I taste your wine?”
Edwin froze. Sylvaria arched a brow before cutting in sharply. “No way, young lady. You’re still far too young—and don’t you dare try to weasel your father into it.”
Alice giggled, throwing up her hands. “Hehe, worth the try.”
Edwin chuckled, shaking his head. Then his eyes lit as though another memory had struck him. He snapped his fingers. “Ah, that reminds me. I also found that flower you showed me once—the Silverveil Bloom.”
“Woah, really, Dad?” Alice’s eyes lit up.
“Yes. I didn’t have the chance to pick it on my journey, but tonight I’ll take that road again. I still need to pay the landowner the rest of his money for the estate. I’ll make sure I pick it up on the way”
Sylvaria’s expression sharpened. “You downpaid an estate? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“We’ve spoken about the vineyard plan for a while now,” Edwin said with a shrug. “We were just waiting for my retirement to be approved. Since I knew they’d grant it, I downpaid. I don’t see the problem.”
“It is a problem,” Sylvaria said firmly. “I’m your wife. Next time, don’t make decisions like this without me.”
Edwin raised both hands in mock surrender, smiling faintly. “Haha, you’re right, Syl. I didn’t think too much about it. But yes—once we open the vineyard, I’ll tell you everything in painstaking detail.”
Despite the strain of their earlier words, the air gradually softened. The sharp edges of conflict dulled, replaced by a quiet ease. Somehow, the quarrel gave way to laughter again, as though love had mended what pride had frayed.
The three of them lingered together after, passing the hours in a rare stillness. They read, played, laughed—little things that made the house feel whole.
By afternoon, around the second bell, Edwin prepared to leave. He donned his cloak, kissed Sylvaria’s cheek, and ruffled Alice’s hair before stepping out.
“I’ll meet with the landowner,” he said. “Settle the last of the payment. And I’ll make sure to bring back the Silverveil Bloom.”
“Really, Dad?” Alice’s eyes lit with excitement.
“Yes. It’s the last flower for your collection. I’m sorry I didn’t pick it up the first time—I couldn’t wait to break the news.”
“Hehe, it’s okay, Father.”
“Stay safe, Edwin,” Sylvaria said. “Be careful on the road. There are bandits about.”
“Oh, don’t you worry. A mere bandit wouldn’t harm me. I did slay that dragon, remember?”
“Stop bragging,” Sylvaria muttered.
“But you love hearing about it, especially after—”
Alice caught the sight of her mother’s cheeks coloring, though she didn’t understand what her father had almost said.
“Anyway, come back soon, Father.”
“I will. Goodbye, Syl. Goodbye, Alice.”
He kissed Sylvaria once more, then stepped out into the fading light.
Alice watched him from the doorway as he walked away from their home, clutching her hands together in hope that he would return soon.
And comment, i will make sure to reply to each one.
Should i change the direction? making the winery thing become real?
