*************
Of course, wariness lingered back then when the Marquis first invited her to his household.
Scarlette never expected that upon arriving at the Valehart estate, she would not be greeted by servants trained in noble etiquette, nor by a steward acting on behalf of their master—but by the Grand Marchioness herself, Asterion Valehart's birth mother.
That alone unsettled her.
Standing before the noblewoman, Scarlette felt a familiar discomfort stir within her chest. She was painfully aware of her humble origins. Titles, bloodlines, and noble decorum had always drawn a clear line between people like her and people like this. And although the Grand Marchioness had once been a concubine within the Viscount Middleton household, she was still undeniably a noblewoman—respected, acknowledged, and now elevated as the birth mother of the revered Marquis of Silveria.
More than that, she was recognized as the Emperor's niece.
Scarlette learned that detail later, but even without knowing it at the time, she sensed the weight the Grand Marchioness carried. Not arrogance. Not superiority.
But quiet authority.
It was then that a certain name resurfaced in Scarlette's thoughts—a name she had seen etched in stone years ago within the Hall of Great Adventurers at the Adventurers Guild.
Asterielle Valehart.
Scarlette remembered pausing before that name longer than she intended. Asterielle Valehart, once an S‑Rank Adventurer, stood among those immortalized not merely for strength, but for legacy. Unlike many who chased glory recklessly, Asterielle was remembered for walking away—choosing life, choosing family, choosing a different path.
Scarlette respected that.
Later, learning that Asterielle was the sworn sibling of the Emperor, everything began to fit together. When the House of Valehart was publicly acknowledged as a branch family of the Silveria royal line and Asterion was granted the title of Marquis, it shook the noble world to its core.
The reaction was loud.
But the response from the mother and son was quiet.
Even after being treated as royalty, neither behaved like one.
They remained composed. Restrained. Humble.
That alone earned Scarlette's attention.
Still, she did not want anyone intruding into her life.
She had already resolved that loneliness was safer. Cleaner. Easier to control. Attachments led to complications, and complications led to wounds that never truly healed.
And yet—
Scarlette remembered the Grand Marchioness's voice all too clearly.
*********
"I recognize that look," the woman had said softly. "The way you close yourself off. To protect your heart."
There was no judgement in her gaze. Only understanding.
"Trust is difficult. Pain teaches us to lock things away. But I hope—someday—you find the courage to open your heart. Not for others, but for yourself. You've carried that burden long enough."
*********
The words lingered longer than Scarlette expected.
They struck something uncomfortably familiar. Not because they echoed those of a certain person from her past—but because they carried the same quiet truth.
Her chest ached.
She did not want the Grand Marchioness to worry, so she accepted the words with a respectful nod and said nothing more.
But from that moment forward, matters only grew more troublesome.
Scarlette never anticipated that upon formally meeting the Marquis, the man would offer friendship—casually, sincerely, and without ulterior design.
It bewildered her.
Friendship—from a war hero?
From a man whose name alone commanded respect across the Empire?
To her?
She did not understand what Asterion Valehart was thinking. Offering something so personal to a commoner—especially to an adventurer who kept her distance from everyone—felt reckless.
So, she refused.
Bluntly.
At the time, she believed that being involved with the royal family alone was already the most troublesome complication of her entire life. Adding the Marquis into that equation seemed unbearable.
If the offer had been made to anyone else, it would have been accepted immediately—eagerly. Being associated with the revered Marquis meant security, influence, opportunity.
Scarlette wanted none of it.
She declined politely, assuming the matter would end there.
She was wrong.
The Marquis was persistent.
Too persistent.
He sought her out at every opportunity, unbothered by her rejections, unfazed by her cold demeanor. Adventurers who witnessed these encounters drew their own conclusions, and gossip spread quickly.
Rumors crystallized.
Within weeks, it became an open secret within noble circles—something even the Emperor heard about.
Scarlette developed a headache that never truly faded during that time.
Since Asterion refused to accept no as an answer, she eventually agreed to his offer—not out of desire, but resignation.
Thus began their strange, inconvenient friendship.
He didn't know back then about my ties to the royal family, she reflected. But it didn't take long before he found out—and that fault lies squarely with the Crown Prince.
Scarlette exhaled slowly and returned her focus to the present.
At the rear entrance of the city gate, the clash between Ryan and Fenix had yet to subside.
Fenix was visibly losing control.
Ryan pressed forward relentlessly, his strikes measured and precise, leaving Fenix little room to retaliate. The heavier man's breathing grew erratic, frustration carving deep lines across his face.
He's panicking, Scarlette noted coolly.
Fenix searched desperately for an opening that never came. His strikes grew wider. Slower. Sloppier—driven by rage rather than reason.
That kind of anger only leads to mistakes.
Scarlette sensed something shift.
Not in the air—but within herself.
Earlier, when Asterion spoke of Lunaris Astra, she felt something stir beneath her skin. She remembered the moment distinctly—how the name alone unsettled her, drawing a faint, uncomfortable sensation along her spine.
Now, as she observed the fight, that feeling returned.
A subtle warmth bloomed beneath her clothing—between her shoulder blades, where an old, hidden mark lay dormant. It did not burn. It did not hurt.
It responded.
Scarlette stiffened almost imperceptibly.
…That again.
The sensation faded as quickly as it surfaced, yet the unease remained. She did not understand it. She did not like it.
I don't know what that heirloom is, she thought. But I don't believe it reacts by coincidence.
Her gaze sharpened back onto Ryan.
Focus.
At the center of the confrontation, Fenix finally shattered under pressure, staggering back several steps. His anger had reached its peak—and now betrayed his footing.
Ryan stopped.
He recognized the moment clearly.
Without chasing advantage, he retreated as well, lowering his blade just slightly.
Both men stood apart, chests rising and falling heavily, sweat and dust clinging to their forms. The crowd around them held its breath, uncertain whether the fight had truly ended—or merely paused.
Ryan, on the other hand, also withdraw when he notices the other person back away and both of them stop their attacks as both were panting heavily because of the intense battle.
***********