I was remembering, as if my body had once danced this waltz under a moonlight drenched in war.
My feet moved before I consciously ordered them to. My arms flowed, positioning the phantom weight of my scythe. My breath slowed in time with invisible rhythm, the kind only heard by those who had hunted in elegance and silence.
And then came the visions—
Flashes of Nyxaria Vladiscar, hair slicked back, crimson veil fluttering behind her, scythe in hand as she spun through illusions, her enemies screaming as they struck only figments.
Words echoed in her blood.
"Don't let them fight you. Let them dance with you first."
My eyes fluttered open, glowing faintly from within.
A system chime rang softly in my mind.
[Memory-Thread Transfer at 17%]
[Your mirages are waiting, my lady.]
The frost-marbled floor beneath me had begun to shift.
No longer a throne chamber, my surroundings dissolved into something between a ballroom and a battlefield—phantom architecture woven by the System in response to my intent. Smooth obsidian tiles stretched beneath a twilight sky, veined with red silk. Massive gothic mirrors circled me, suspended in midair by threads of violet mana. Each mirror bore one reflection—and each one was me.
But distorted. Delayed. Untrustworthy.
[Memory-Thread Synchronization: 38%]
[Mirage Generation Training: Initiated]
[Objective: Flow with your ghosts. Learn their rhythm. Do not let them predict you.]
My scythe, Nyxiphage, appeared in my hand in a flicker of bloodlight, its elegant length pulsing in time with my heartbeat. It was weightless yet absolute—an extension of will, not weapon.
I took my stance, the Silken Veil base automatically folding into the Mirage Waltz's beginning sequence. And I moved. A graceful sidestep left behind a flicker.
Not me and yet almost me. The mirage moved half a second late, mimicking the motion with uncanny precision. Another step—spin—pivot—slash.
Three more specters bloomed, each one more perfect than the last. They flickered in and out of sync with me, orbiting in elegant chaos.
"This isn't a typical fight," I whispered to myself, breath ghosting in the frozen air. "It's a performance."
I needed to move faster. So I did. The air blurred and my scythe sang.
One afterimage dove forward in a mirrored slash, and as it vanished—I stepped in its place. The real me struck. And struck again.
But the system wasn't letting me grow complacent.
Suddenly, hostile figures emerged. Silhouettes of armored foes and winged beasts materialized from threads of voidlight, weaving in through my mirages like dancers with daggers. They moved to strike.
I didn't panic. My breath steadied. I leapt backward into my third mirage, phasing into its place just as a lance of light shattered the space where I'd stood. From that angle, my next slash was unseen—perception bypass triggered.
[Critical Hit: Backlash Damage Reduced by 60%]
[Phantom Strike Successful — Combat Flow Rating: Elegant]
I smirked, sharp and satisfied. "Again."
~ | 💮 | ~
Two Hours later...
[Memory-Thread Synchronization: 72%… 81%… 93%…]
[Final Calibration: Complete the Crimson Ribbon Arc to finalize absorption.]
I gathered my focus.
Blood mana spiraled around my ankles as I performed the Crimson Ribbon Arc, my scythe slicing in a sweeping, whirlpool arc—each stroke trailing mirrors behind it like a comet-tail of death.
Phantoms flared, clashed, and converged. Then stillness.
[Widow's Weave: Crimson Fang Scythe Style – Second Form Acquired]
→ Widow's Mirage Waltz
→ Mirage Generation, Phantom Step, Crimson Ribbon Arc Unlocked
→ Combat Affinity: +3 to Dexterity | +2 to Illusional Arts | +1 to Bloodthread Sync
I lowered my scythe. My chest rose and fell slowly, like I'd just finished a waltz set to a requiem.
"I think this is enough for now." I started strolling back to the throne. I needed to use the rest of my time here, reading.
Nested behind the throne of bone and silk, the Crimson Realm Library is sealed behind a blood-stitched archway that only opens in response to my presence. No one else—not even projections or constructs—can enter unless invited by my soul. The scent of ink, frost, and old grief filled the air the moment the doors creaked open.
The library was alive, formed from my Still-Bloom dreams and soul-bound memory. Each shelf, each tome, each whispering page was a reflection of me—my ancestry, my pain, my magic.
The walls were constructed from interwoven root-veins and black marble lined with silver glyphs. Bookshelves stretched in organic spirals like the ribs of a slumbering beast.
I stopped infront of one of the bookshelves and picked up a memory-loom, tomes bound in soul-thread that let me relive scenes from my bloodline. I scrimmed through it to get an idea of what it was about. Then closed it. "Dark magic, huh?" I turned and headed back to the throne to read.
"Sounds like its going to be a very productive sleeping session."
~ | 💮 | ~
I opened my eyes with a soft sigh as I awoke from my Still-Bloom. Selene was already nearby, setting my breakfast on the table. It smelled delicious.
Steam curled from a glass cup of blood tea laced with crimson rose syrup. Next to it, a delicate arrangement of berry scones, buttered brioche, and violet-glazed fruits waited on a silver tray, her usual silent indulgence to coax me back into the world of the waking.
"Good evening, my lady. Your appetite returned faster this time," Selene murmured without turning, her voice cool and smooth like frost on glass. "That's good."
I sat up slowly, the silken threads of my nightgown slipping down my shoulder. My body still ached faintly—echoes of the frostwork threading itself through my soul. But it was a familiar pain. A quiet ache of progress.
"Any changes?" I asked, my voice raspier than usual.
Selene finally looked at me. Her eyes were sharp and unreadable. "Your mana pool has increased by 2.5%. You have surpassed your mother's record. Congratulations, Mistress."
Selene's words hung in the air like frost suspended mid-fall—light, chilling, absolute.
I blinked slowly, brushing a lock of hair behind my ear as I absorbed her statement. "Surpassed…?"
Selene gave the faintest incline of her head. "Mistress Nyxaria peaked at 3 minutes, 37 seconds during her Frost-Thread Immersion. You maintained full Frost-Thread Synchronization for five minutes, twelve seconds. Rather unprecedented, Mistress. I would dare say it was even dangerous. Quite impressive."
She turned her gaze back to the table, adjusting the placement of the brioche by a fraction, as if the universe itself might tilt if it wasn't symmetrical.
"Is that sarcasm at the end I here in your monotone voice, Selene? It wouldn't be wanted or warranted, I can assure you," I muttered, voice dry.
"I have no idea what you are speaking of, my lady," she replied smoothly. "Sarcasm is not one of my many capabilities I possess."
I gave a quiet snort. "Right. I totally believe you."
"Of course," Selene nodded, a smile escaping her lips ever so slightly. "By the way Mistress, I brought news from your grandmother. She has sent you a list of school supplies first-years must get for the first semester."
I waved a hand vaguely. "I'll look at it later when I go to the Sanctum."
Selene placed the blood tea within reach, the silver spoon already stirring of its own accord. The scent of rose and iron filled the space between us, warm and oddly comforting.
I reached for it with steady fingers, taking a slow sip. The syrup bloomed on my tongue—sweet, sharp, grounding.
"…So," I murmured, eyes lowering to the cup, "how long will this take?"
Selene paused.
The question, though casually spoken, was not simple. Not with me. Not with the Vladiscar bloodline. Not with what I was becoming.
"The process time differs from person to person," she said at last. "But by my estimate and how well you use the Frost-Thread Immersion, I would say it should take about 2 months and 3 weeks."
She set the tray down on the table and met my eyes again.
"The soul is not an easy thing to fix, however. Thankfully Mistress Nyxaria and Mistress Velomirra taught me the Vladiscar soul arts when I was young. I will do everything I can to help you heal your wounded soul, my lady."
I nodded once, accepting the truth even as it unsettled me.
I took another sip of tea and glanced toward the frost-veined window. The moon was rising softly, hollow and silver.
"…Selene."
"Yes, my lady?"
"The tea has gone cold."
***End of chapter.
----
Here's a personalized Mana Growth Log for Nyxaria, documenting her progression using Frost-Thread Immersion as part of her post-bath discipline. This log mimics a System-generated report with notes possibly added by Selene and Velomirra.
🩸🧊 [System Sub-Log: Mana Growth Tracking — Subject: Nyxaria Vladiscar]
📅 Ritual Initiation Date:
Cycle 2, Moonphase I – After her third immersion in the Mirror-Frost Baths
💠 Training Method:
Frost-Thread Immersion (Vladiscar Variant) — Post-Bath Ritual Sequence
🩸 Bloodline Affinity:
Crimson Widow — High absorption efficiency; accelerated mana-thread memorization
Ancestral Blood Compliance: 100%
Soul Resonance: 100% (Stabilized post-immersion)
📈 Mana Capacity Progression Log
Session
Duration Maintained
Thread Stability
Soul Temperature
Mana Pool Increase
Notes
#1
3 minutes
Fragmented
32%
+1.2%
Light shaking, early tremors. Selene assisted with withdrawal.
#2
5 minutes
Partial Weave
41%
+2.5%
Breathing pattern improved. No visible frostbite.
#3
7 minutes
Stable
58%
+3.7%
Mirtorlilies responded positively. Minor hallucinations noted.
#4
10 minutes
Fluid
70%
+5.1%
Self-directed core-weave achieved. Cold resistance increased.
#5
14 minutes
Pristine
81%
+6.4%
Ancestor echo felt—possibly her mother. Mirror did not fog.
#6
17 minutes
Crystalline
91%
+8.2%
"The frost sang to me." Memory-thread linked to scythe.