The early sun spread across the spires of Langley, bathing the duchy's streets in golden light. Birdsong blended with the sounds of busy markets, creating a familiar daily rhythm. Merchants called out their goods, and children dashed between stalls, laughter bouncing off the cobblestones. The duchy was flourishing. At the center of it all was Selene Cromwell.
In the grand study hall of the estate, sunlight filtered through stained glass, casting shades of blue and crimson over an ivory porcelain teacup in Selene's pale hand. She sat at her desk, going through the weekly trade records. Agricultural yields, textile production, ore exports—all were on the rise. The figures made sense. The systems she had refined over the past month were working.
She raised the teacup to her lips and took a quiet sip, but then stopped. A metallic taste hit her tongue. Confused, she lowered the cup and looked down.
A crimson droplet splattered onto the paper. Then another.
Selene touched her upper lip and pulled her fingers back—stained red.
Her brows knitted together as she quickly dabbed her face with a handkerchief, looking around. No one noticed. She stood and walked to the mirror behind her desk. Her eyes looked sharp, but subtle shadows lingered beneath them. For a moment, her reflection seemed to waver, as though water was running over the glass. She blinked, and it vanished.
"Fatigue," she murmured. "I'll cut back on coffee."
She folded the handkerchief and returned to her desk, taking notes as if nothing had happened.
Later that day, in the Langley Academy's restored west wing, Selene stood in front of a panel of professors. Scrolls detailing educational reforms and requests lay on a long oak table. Sunlight warmed the room, and the buzz of scholarly chatter filled the air.
"I propose we reform the second-tier curriculum to emphasize local innovation," Selene said, her voice steady. "Langley's strength lies not in imitating the capital, but in creating its own identity. The skills we develop should serve our community first."
Nods followed, some skeptical, some impressed.
Elias Langley leaned against the stone wall in the back, arms crossed, eyes focused on her.
One of the professors, an older man with iron-gray hair, spoke up. "But who will fund these expansions in the long run?"
Selene responded without hesitation. "The duchy's trade revenue has doubled in the last three weeks. With smart investment, we can triple it in two months. The academy will sustain itself through partnerships. Designs, engineering, and patents can be sold to trustworthy foreign buyers, all under Langley's seal."
Murmurs of approval spread through the room. She smiled faintly. This was progress.
But then something changed. Her vision blurred for a moment, the faces in front of her smudging like wet ink. The normal sounds faded, replaced by a soft, pulsing hum. Her legs wobbled slightly.
A hand steadied her. Elias.
"Selene," he said quietly. "You look pale."
She steadied herself, brushing him off with practiced ease. "I just stood too quickly. That's all."
"You need to rest," he urged.
"I have work to do."
Their eyes locked for a long moment. Elias's gaze was sharp and calculating. She looked away and continued the meeting as if everything was normal.
That night, Selene stood on her balcony, looking over the illuminated streets of Langley. The moon was high, casting a pale glow over the rooftops. In her hand was another cup of tea, now untouched.
She touched her lip again. No blood this time.
But something felt off. Deep inside, a pressure pulsed—a sensation that didn't belong. Her body felt warm, but her fingertips were cold. Her breath slowed. The world quieted.
For a moment, her heartbeat echoed like a drum inside her skull. It was racing.
She gripped the balcony rail. "Calm," she whispered to herself. "This is nothing."
But her energy was not calm. It twitched under her skin, recoiling and trembling as if something was trapped.
Behind her, the door creaked open. Elias stepped out, his hands behind his back.
"You're still awake," he said.
"So are you."
"I sensed something was wrong." He approached but remained at a respectful distance. "You've been pushing yourself too hard."
She smiled faintly. "This is nothing to me, Elias."
He studied her for a long moment before replying. "Even steel can break under too much strain."
Selene turned away. "Steel only breaks when it has flaws."
A silence fell between them. Then Elias spoke again, quietly.
"I hope you're not flawed, Selene."
She stayed silent.
He left without another word.
Alone once more, Selene gazed at the horizon.
Langley was thriving. Its people were safe. The academy's lights were on.
Everything was proceeding as planned.
And yet, her hands trembled ever so slightly—shaking with something she could not comprehend.