Reincarnated As An Archmage’s Daughter

Below them, the battle had shifted again. Lusha had apparently decided to demonstrate a technique, because she was now moving in slow motion while explaining her method to Collin, who had stopped attacking entirely and was watching with the intense focus of a scholar.

"The key to silk reinforcement," Lusha was saying, "is not adding more mana. It's compressing the existing strands at the molecular level. Watch."

She held up a single thread of spider silk. It glowed briefly silver, then seemed to tighten in on itself, becoming thinner but somehow more present—more real.

"Now try to burn it," she said.

Collin launched a stream of dark crimson fire directly at the thread. It held; not a single fiber blackened.

"That's impossible," Collin breathed. "I've burned through reinforced silk before."

"You've burned through standard reinforcement. This is compression reinforcement—a different technique entirely." Lusha's spider legs clicked once. "I'll teach you, but you'll need to improve your mana control first. Your output is impressive but wasteful. You're losing thirty percent of your power before it even reaches your target."

"I know. I've been trying to fix it for years."

"I can tell. Your casting stance is wrong." Lusha moved behind him, one spider leg gently adjusting his elbow while another tapped his shoulder blade. "You're tensing here and here. It's restricting your channel flow. Relax."

"Relax while casting fire. That makes sense."

"You asked for advice. This is advice."

"Collin!" Rena's voice cut across the training ground. "Stop letting her critique your technique and help me flank her!"

Collin didn't look away from the silk thread. "In a minute! I'm learning!"

"You're fraternizing with the enemy!"

"The enemy is teaching me molecular compression!"

Myra, meanwhile, had stopped attacking entirely and was practicing her footwork in slow circles, her violet fire dimmed to a faint glow around her hands. Every few steps, she glanced at Lusha for confirmation. Lusha nodded once. Myra adjusted her stance and continued.

The twins had stopped dueling and were watching the silk demonstration with identical expressions of fascination.

"Is your family always like this?" Hania asked Raylas.

"Always," he confirmed. "This is actually calm. You should see us during the winter festivals. Last year someone set the guest rooms on fire and we didn't even pause the gift exchange. Aunt Myra just redirected the flames toward the roast and called it improvised cooking."

"That's insane."

"That's Emberlyn." He took another sip of tea. "We're all a little mad here. Some of us hide it better than others. Some of us don't bother hiding it at all." His eyes flicked toward Dravin. "Your father understands. He's been dealing with us for two centuries. He knows that the only way to survive an Emberlyn is to stop trying to control the chaos and just... appreciate it."

Before Dravin could answer or freeze Raylas to the tree branch, which Hania estimated was about sixty percent likely—a woman with red hair pulled back in an elaborate braid approached the edge of the training ground. Her pink eyes took in the scene with visible exhaustion.

"Lusha," she called, her voice carrying easily across the training ground. "A pleasure as always. I see you've been entertaining my relatives."

"Merely assessing their combat readiness," Lusha said, withdrawing her spider legs with a series of quiet clicks. "They're progressing well. Collin still drops his right guard when casting. Myra's footwork has improved significantly. The twins need more practice working in tandem. Rena's compression ratio is better than last time, but she's still letting her temper affect her aim."

"You came here to interrogate us about the Noctis heir's disappearance," the woman said dryly, "yet you stayed to critique our training form."

"Both things can be productive."

Phenopa—for that was clearly who she was—turned toward Dravin and Hania. She inclined her head with calm dignity.

"Archmage Noctis. Princess Hania." Her pink eyes were warm but perceptive, taking in Hania's bandages, the golden sphere, and Dravin's posture. "I apologize for the chaos. When the Spider Queen arrived yesterday demanding to know if we'd kidnapped your daughter, things escalated."

"They always do with her," Dravin said.

"She's very convincing."

Hania was beginning to notice a pattern in how Emberlyns talked to her father. It was the same pattern she used, actually: the gentle pushback, the question that wasn't quite a challenge, the refusal to be intimidated no matter how cold the air got. She filed this away.

Phenopa turned her attention fully to Hania. "You must be exhausted. My grandfather-in-law talks about you constantly. 'The baby agreed with me,' he says. 'The baby understands.' He was very offended when your father wouldn't let him take you. He's been practicing his 'fun grandfather' persona ever since. It's been terrifying for all of us."

"Daddy's protective," Hania said, deploying her most innocent smile. "He thinks everyone wants to kidnap me."

"In fairness," Raylas called down from his branch, "someone did kidnap you. A vampire, apparently."

"Your great-grandfather is currently at the palace," Phenopa said, "reporting the destruction of several miles of southern coastline and trying to explain to the Emperor why the sea is currently in two separate pieces. He's going to be furious about many things when he returns."

"The palace?" Hania asked.

"He left early this morning," Phenopa explained. "The moment the sea was cut in half, the mana disturbance registered with every monitoring station in the South. The Mage Council demanded an explanation. The Emperor demanded an explanation. The fishing villages are convinced the world is ending. My grandfather-in-law went to handle the politics." A faint, tired smile crossed her face. "He's better at politics than anyone gives him credit for—when he's not being turned into jelly."

"That was Dad's fault."

"I'm aware. It's usually your father's fault." Phenopa glanced at Dravin. "No offense intended, Archmage."

Dravin didn’t answer. The twelve minutes were almost up. Hania could feel his patience thinning beside her, the air growing slightly colder as he grew ready to leave.

She should go. She knew she should. She was tired, bruised, her hands hurt, and the golden sphere kept bumping against her shoulder as if it wanted attention.

But the shadows between the columns at the far edge of the training ground were very dark. And Hania had felt something there earlier.

She did a mental tally of everyone present: Lusha, Dravin, Raylas, Phenopa, Rena, Collin, Myra, the twins, and two more Emberlyns whose names she hadn't caught—one with white fire and one with a deep amber shade that seemed to pulse rather than blaze.

Hania's brow furrowed. She looked up at her father.

"Dad?"

Dravin looked down at her.

"Where's Fluffy?" She paused. "I mean Val. Where's Valthazar?"

Dravin's expression didn't change, but his red eyes flicked toward the shadows between the columns.

"I don't know," he said.

"You don't know?" Hania's voice rose slightly. "You fought him. You tracked me across the entire continent. And you don't know where he is?"

"He disappeared during the whale's destruction. I was focused on retrieving you."

"But he's still alive, right? You didn't finish him after I passed out?"

"No."

"You're sure?"

"I would know if I had killed him."

As Hania pressed her father about Valthazar’s whereabouts, a new sound came from the southern horizon. A streak of blinding orange light tore across the sky. It was a Solar Eagle, a construct of pure elemental fire traditionally used by the Imperial Palace for high-priority summons.

The bird descended with terrifying speed, its wingspan casting a flickering shadow over the training grounds. It circled once and then hovered directly in front of Dravin, its talons made of solidified magma. Clutched in its beak was a scroll sealed with the Imperial Dragon’s Wax.

The eagle opened its beak, and instead of a screech, Duke Leonarth’s voice projected from the bird’s throat. It was smooth, honeyed, and sounded entirely too exhausted.

"To my dear friend, the Archmage Dravin Kuro Noctis.

I apologize for the intrusion, but news travels faster than even your frost. His Imperial Majesty has been informed of the... sculptural changes made to our southern coastline. He was particularly enchanted to hear that your daughter, the Princess Hania, has finally graced the South with her presence.

His Majesty wishes to host a small, intimate banquet in her honor this evening. He was quite insistent that she attend—going so far as to suggest that since she was 'rescued' on Imperial soil, her status should be formally verified by the Palace's medical mages before she is permitted to travel back to the North.

Please do not make me explain to the Emperor why his 'guest of honor' is missing. My leg still hurts, Dravin. Don't make it the other one."

The Solar Eagle disappeared into a shower of harmless golden sparks, leaving the scroll hovering in the air. The ground beneath Dravin’s boots instantly crystallized into a jagged circle of black ice.

"Verify her status?" Dravin’s voice was dangerously low.

Hania felt the golden sphere behind her shoulder bob nervously. She looked up at her father. The Emperor wasn't just inviting her to dinner; he was claiming jurisdiction over her because she was currently "on Imperial soil." It was a velvet-wrapped threat: Show me the child’s power, or she doesn't leave.

Raylas jumped down from his branch, his teacup miraculously still full. He looked at the hovering scroll, then at Dravin’s murderous expression.

"The Emperor has been looking for an excuse to see the 'Noctis Miracle' for years," Raylas said. "Using the Southern Coast’s destruction as a pretext is classic. If you refuse, he’ll call it a diplomatic snub and detain the estate until a formal apology is made."

He turned his gaze to Hania. "He’s a very sweet old man, Princess. He gives out the best candies—usually right before he asks you to demonstrate a Grade-A spell for his amusement."

Dravin’s hand finally snapped out, snatching the scroll from the air. The parchment began to frost over instantly.

"We are leaving," Dravin said.

"Dad," Hania whispered, clutching her bandaged hands. "If he's already sent an Eagle, the teleportation gates will be locked, won't they? And the border wards?"

Dravin looked down at her, his red eyes glowing with a cold, frustrated fire. For the first time, Hania saw him truly cornered by the annoying, sticky threads of politics.

Hania looked at the training grounds, then back at her father. "Well," she said, "I've already been swallowed by a Behemoth and survived blood acid. How much worse can a dinner party be?"

Dravin looked at her as if she had just suggested they jump into a volcano. "You have no idea."