Chapter 108 The Half-Blood Princess (2)
Chapter 108 The Half-Blood Princess (2)
Years passed, and Agnes continued following her master’s teachings—studying magic, practicing summoning, and reading endlessly whenever Vitka was away. Her life was monotonous: books, gazing through the window, and sending her summoned creatures to observe the city from afar.
By the time she reached twenty, her skills had grown sharp.
One afternoon, a small wind-bird she had summoned fluttered down from the castle roof and perched on a tree in the bustling main square. Through its eyes, Agnes watched merchants shouting prices, carriages creaking, and children darting between stalls. She had seen such sights countless times—yet something new caught her attention.
“He’s here again… right on time for work,” she murmured with a small smile.
Through her summon’s eyes, she saw a young man. He lifted crates from a carriage into a store, muscles tensing as he worked, movements steady and sure. His face, lit by the sun, was striking—handsome, commanding attention without knowing it. Agnes lingered, captivated. He worked earnestly, spoke humbly to the townsfolk, and even drew laughter with his easy manner.
“I want to meet him…” she whispered. Then a thought bloomed, one that had waited years to surface.
If I could be with a man… I could conceive a child. I could make a family.
Her cheeks flushed at the realization.
But just then, a presence stirred near her chamber. Agnes quickly severed the link with her summon, straightened her robes, and rose to greet her master.
“Greetings, Master. I hope your travels were fruitful,” she said politely.
Vitka entered, her face lined with fatigue and age. “Only so much,” she sighed. “There’s always trouble in some corner of the kingdom. Still, I found a few books that might help us decipher yours.” She set the volumes down on the table, then arched a brow at Agnes’s restless, bright eyes. “Something happened… you look different. In fact, you look… better. Happier.”
Agnes hesitated, twisting her fingers together. “Master… I wonder… how could I meet a man?” Her voice was shy, almost trembling.
Vitka’s expression darkened.
Agnes lowered her gaze, cheeks burning. “I’m already twenty years old. I think… I’m old enough to have a child. I want… to have a family.”
Vitka sat her down gently, cupping her face with a troubled hand. She sighed, voice heavy. “Agnes… forgive me for never telling you sooner. I wanted to spare you, but…”
Her words fell like iron. “...You cannot have children...”
Agnes blinked. The room tilted. Her body swayed, nearly fainting. “But… why not? My mother and father had me… even though they were different races.” Her voice cracked, tears spilling freely.
Vitka closed her eyes, pained. “Normally, different races cannot produce children together.”
Agnes clung to the hope. “Then… I’ll find an elf mate, if that’s the case—”
But Vitka shook her head. “Humans, elves, dwarves, beastkin—all are separate. And when, by chance, a hybrid is born… the law of the realm itself forbids them from bearing offspring. The gods decreed it. Once a hybrid is born, that line ends.” Her voice trembled. “That is why hybrids are so often shunned… cursed children, rejected by all.”
The words rang inside Agnes’s skull until they were nothing but echoes. Her tears stopped, her breath slowed. She sat utterly still.
The light in her eyes guttered out, as if someone had blown on a fragile flame. Her face emptied of expression. Her lips moved faintly, monotone.
“Oh. I see.”
Vitka’s chest tightened. She pulled Agnes into an embrace, but the girl didn’t respond. Her arms hung loose at her sides, her body limp, cold.
Vitka whispered, desperate. “Listen, child. That doesn’t mean you can’t find someone to love. You can still live a life filled with joy—it will just be harder. But for now, I advise patience. The hatred against demi-humans hasn’t vanished. Perhaps… in ten or twenty years, when this generation passes and the next forgets the wars, you’ll find more acceptance. You have the gift of a long lifespan…”
But Agnes’s gaze was fixed past her, staring at nothing. Quiet. Numb.
Vitka tightened her hold. “In the meantime, polish yourself. Learn more magic. Grow strong enough to defend yourself. And I promise—one day, someone will arrive. Someone who will love you dearly. The morning sun will rise, bringing the hope of a new day…”
And just like that, the years slipped away. Agnes immersed herself in study; she knew nothing else, though she lacked any true goal. She assisted her master with investigations, and when Vitka was absent, she simply watched the world through her window.
Her little summoned bird still flew beyond the castle walls, spying on the young man who had once caught her attention. But now he was older—married, with children of his own, working contentedly alongside his family in a modest shop.
Time flowed differently for her. Her elven blood preserved her youth, but solitude weighed on her spirit, etching an invisible age upon her heart.
Every so often, she glimpsed her half-siblings—the king’s other children. Hardened by training, they ignored her just as her father did, proud warriors devoted to the crown.
By the time she turned thirty-five, small changes had begun to stir.
One afternoon, in a hall, two young maids fumbled over a spilled drink.
“Carla, we’re going to get chewed out!” Diana whimpered, barely more than a teenager. Her peer Carla trembled as they both bowed clumsily when Agnes approached.
“Sorry! Sorry!” they stammered.
Agnes raised a hand, summoning a tiny water spirit—a formless swirl no taller than a child. It whirled across the rug, humming softly, and in moments the stain vanished, the fabric spotless once again.
The maids gasped. “Wow!” they said in unison, bowing low.
“Thank you, my lady!”
Agnes blinked, startled. No one had ever spoken to her with such respect. “…It’s nothing,” she murmured before walking away.
Unseen by her, a knight in brown and black armor had arrived. His voice was deep but gentle.
“Carla, Diana—His Majesty is waiting for you.”
The maids straightened at once. “Ah, yes, Sir Joseph! We’ll go right away.” They bowed to Agnes one last time before hurrying off. The knight also bowed politely. “Excuse me,” he said, passing by.
Agnes froze for a moment. I’ve seen him before… one of Father’s guards? The thought lingered, surprising her.
From that day, she made an effort. She greeted the maids whenever she crossed paths with them, even tried to smile. Slowly, she managed to build a bond with the two girls.
By the time she reached forty, the world around her was changing. Old knights had passed, new faces filled the kingdom. Her father and her master bore the marks of age. Though Alden still stood tall and strong, Vitka looked wearier with each passing year.
One day, her master summoned her to her private chambers. The room resembled a vast laboratory—tables cluttered with books, glowing crystals, and etched circles of magic sprawling across the floor.
“Agnes, come here,” Vitka said, excitement glimmering in her tired eyes. “I uncovered new words from your mother’s book—using this parchment.”
Agnes hadn’t cared at first, until she heard her mention her mother. She stepped closer, heart quickening.
Vitka spread out the parchment. It was intricate, filled with complex figures, interwoven runes, and countless points joined by lines. “If this works… if what the book says is true, we could summon great creatures. Creatures of immense potential.”
“Strong creatures?” Agnes asked warily. “Isn’t that dangerous?”
“Every spell carries danger,” Vitka admitted. “But from what I’ve deciphered… these aren’t ordinary summons. They would be champions—called from another realm, not of this world.”
Her voice dropped lower. “I checked the oldest tomes of the former royal family. They speak of legends—human beings summoned through a door, who helped build the first human kingdom. But the records warn… it was forbidden by the laws of the realm, and by the gods themselves.”
Agnes’s eyes widened. The phrase law of the realm struck her like a blow, echoing the curse that bound her own fate. Why would her mother have possessed such a book?
A fragile spark ignited within her chest—hope, faint but alive. She leaned in, listening with rapt attention.
Vitka’s tone turned grave. “This ritual will demand tremendous power… and the right place to open the door.”
Agnes’s thoughts, if champions could bend such laws… then perhaps this was the key. Perhaps this was her mother’s secret, her reason for keeping the book.
Later, in her chamber, Agnes sat at her desk with a teacup resting beside her. She turned the pages of the old book slowly, her mind heavy with thoughts.
Drawing out the green gem that had once belonged to her mother, she held it close to her eyes and whispered, “Mother…”
Her other hand reached for the book but struck the teacup instead, spilling its contents across the desk.
Agnes flinched, then steadied herself. With a trembling hand, she summoned a spirit. “Aqua—come to me.” The spirit appeared and obeyed, draining the water and wiping the desk clean.
But Agnes’s focus never left the stone.
The gem pulsed faintly—then, for a brief moment, shone with a strange light in her palm.
Agnes gasped softly as a strange sensation rippled through her. She could feel it—her magic being drawn into the green stone.
Frowning, she focused again. She channeled power into Aqua, her water spirit. The vortex swirled and expanded at her command—yet once more, she felt a sliver of her energy siphoned into the gem.
Her brows knit in thought. She lifted the stone, examining it closely as it glimmered faintly in her palm.
Does this… store magic?
She had sean enchanted items that could direct or transform magical energy into something else—but never of one that could simply hold it, like a vessel.
“This must be one of the requirements for the summoning…” she whispered.
Her heart tightened. Inevitably, her thoughts turned back to her mother. She tried to picture her face, but the years had blurred it—leaving only fragments of warmth and memory.
“Mommy…” Agnes breathed, her voice trembling.
Still focusing on her spell, she unconsciously shaped Aqua’s form. The water swirled higher, its body elongating, gaining her own height and build. Slowly, almost hesitantly, features began to form upon its fluid face.
Agnes squeezed her eyes shut, clinging to the memory of radiant warmth—the soft smile, the tender arms that had once cradled her to sleep.
When she opened them again, the spirit stood before her, its shifting features bearing a resemblance to the mother she had lost—or at least, to the fragile memory she still carried.
Tears streamed down Agnes’s cheeks. Her voice cracked.
“Mommy…” she whispered again. “Why did you have to die? I… I need you.”
Her trembling hand rose to touch it. To her shock, the skin felt solid, warm. A sob tore free from her throat.
“I know you’re not her… but just for a moment… please, hold me.”
The spirit obeyed. Its arms wrapped around her, fragile but firm, embracing her like a mother would. Agnes clung to it, burying her face against the fleeting illusion, tears soaking into skin that wasn’t truly there. For that brief instant, she was no longer alone.
But the magic was unstable. The form quivered, then cracked like glass under strain. The face dissolved, the body collapsing back into a rippling vortex of water. It slipped through her grasp, leaving only cold droplets on her skin.
Agnes fell to her knees, sobbing. “No… don’t go… please…” Her hands clawed at the empty air, desperate to hold on to what her magic could not keep.