Lily Bell's Death
24 Juno, 364 Imperial Year
Bell Duchy
Lilianne Bell's Wake
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On this solemn Wednesday, a stark departure from the usual in the Ostulia Empire, the heavens hung low in shades of grey, mirroring the somber expressions worn by the procession. Heads bowed, a procession of mourners wended their way toward a solitary casket, nestled amidst a sea of lilies. Their ebony gowns swept the dampened earth, gathering mud as they clutched their handkerchiefs with gloved hands.
The air remained devoid of melody, the birds' song silenced, and the streets emptied of carriages – a week bereft of any semblance of joy. Even the opulent galas and resplendent gatherings in the capital had ground to an unceremonious halt. The Emperor himself had decreed a week of mourning.
Why?
The answer is as poignant as it is plain.
Lilianne Bell, known tenderly as Lily Bell, has drawn her last breath.
She, the cherished Flower of Society, was a paragon of immaculateness throughout her existence. Revered by multitudes, her benevolence knew no bounds. The infirm found solace in her generosity, and the marginalised found refuge in houses she raised. Her patronage extended to a myriad of gifted children, regardless of their station – a woman utterly devoid of prejudice. To some, she was even christened 'Saint Bell.'
Yet, as profound as the adoration for Lilianne Bell stood, it was accompanied by a cadre of adversaries strewn across the echelons of nobility. These opponents, however numerous, proved inadequate in extinguishing the radiance of goodwill that emanated from her heart. Possessing not only a resplendent countenance but an equally resplendent soul, she was loved.
But now, she rests in the embrace of death.
She was only 23.
"How tragic..." They chorused.
"Lily Bell embodied pure magnificence. It's a lament that such youth has been wrested from us," their voices murmured.
"Her heart was a marvel. The temple adorned her with the Goddess' blessings, yet here we stand, bereft..." they sighed.
"Her family held her dear. One can scarcely fathom the depth of their current sorrow," their voices trembled.
"Her bond with her elder sister was unparalleled. Adored by commoners, she was a luminary extinguished prematurely. The Empire grieves a fallen star!" Tears flowed freely.
They wept—tears mingling with accolades—for the feats of Lily Bell. And once more, they wept, this time for her demise.
Clad in somber ebony attire, friends and family assembled, heads bowed, fingers brushing away cascading tears. Lilianne Bell's passing, and the ensuing funereal rites, prompted the cessation of national pursuits and festivities. Such was the extent of her cherished presence within the Ostulia Empire.
Ostulia's Gem.
The Flower of Society.
Saint Bell.
Lilianne Bell exists no more.
*
*
367 Imperial Year
Three Years after Lily Bell's death
Frederick Mansion
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"...up"
A disembodied voice timidly reached out to her, as though whispered directly into her ear. Close, yet elusive—its timbre tugged at her senses.
"...wake up"
Once more, it beckoned, an urgent plea resonating with fragility. A tremulous, feminine voice that diverged distinctly from her mother's, her brother's, and unequivocally from her father's.
"Karina, wake up!!"
Her eyelids fluttered apart, allowing tendrils of light to infiltrate her vision. The room that greeted her was a symphony of gilded opulence. Within it, a young maid stood wide-eyed, her gaze a mix of disbelief and awe. Sniffles danced in the air, pearls of sadness that soon fled, the girl hurriedly departing. Karina, caught in a fog of bewilderment, surveyed her surroundings.
Slowly, the fragments of bygone days assembled, rekindling the fires of recollection. Karina Frederick, firstborn of Marquis Frederick, her name etched in memory's annals. The room enveloped her, a sanctuary laden with the hues of her past.
Summoning her resolve from her recumbent position, Karina ventured to sit up, only to be thwarted by a searing pain that radiated from her head. There, immobilized by pain, she lay helpless, her thoughts weaving a web of uncertainty.
In vain, she wrestled with her limitations, eventually diverting her focus to the unfamiliar surroundings. The room, once so familiar, had transformed. Books on her desk had been displaced, the incense she'd habitually favored replaced, and her cherished plush companions reassigned to the sofa. It was a realm wholly alien compared to her recollections.
Perhaps her mother had orchestrated this rearrangement in her absence.
Exhaling a sigh colored with resignation, she sought a mirror, her expectation that her appearance had altered little shattered by the cascade of unfamiliar tresses framing her face. Eyes widening, she confronted her reflection. When had her hair grown to such lengths? For years, she had staunchly maintained her hair in a pert bob, steadfastly resisting its growth. Yet here it flowed, cascading contrary to her expectations.
Footsteps.
Despite the spatial distance, the echoes reached her ears, whispers of hurried steps converging upon her chamber. A heartbeat later, her door yawned open, revealing a father fraught with relief and a mother awash in distress. Trailing behind them, a tall figure bore an uncanny resemblance to her younger brother, Hugo.
"Karina! You're awake at last!" Their words trembled, teetering on the precipice of hope.
Tenderly, Marchioness Roxanne enveloped Karina's hands within her own, her touch as delicate as fragile glass, tears tracing glistening trails down her cheeks. Her gaze lingered upon her daughter, suffused with a mixture of emotions, echoing the very relief that played upon the visage of her father, etched with the ravages of worry.
What cataclysmic event had prompted such a reaction? Karina found herself compelled to ask, her curiosity a tempest within her chest.
"We feared you might never wake up," the Marchioness uttered, her voice quavering with emotion.
What did they mean by that?
"Thank the goddess, you're alive!" The young man, a mirror image of her younger brother, breathed out beside her, his sigh of relief a palpable presence.
Attempting to marshal the remnants of her strength, Karina struggled to vocalize, yet even a whimper proved beyond her grasp. Trapped within the fragile confines of her corporeal state, she became an observer, her eyes a conduit for her unspoken queries. Eager anticipation welled within her, a hope that they would unveil the enigma surrounding her plight and the peculiar reactions she had encountered.
And as if the universe had heard her silent plea, revelations unfolded.
"Summon the physician! We must ensure her well-being!" Her mother's desperation palpable, her gaze entreated her husband for urgency.
"I'll go, mother."
The term 'mother' escaping the lips of the young man ignited a spark of disbelief within Karina. Could he truly be Hugo—the once diminutive boy etched in her memories? The passage of time, compressed into a mere span of years, had sculpted him into the form of a man before her very eyes. The change defied belief.
Tears of maternal concern rimmed her mother's eyes as she maintained her hold on Karina's hand. "Oh, my dear," she cooed, an ache of sympathy shaping her features.
"The agony you must have endured," her lament threaded with a frown.
"As long as Karina regains her strength and her condition stabilizes, our worries will wane, Roxanne." Her father's voice, a timbre of quietude, resonated. A glance exchanged between parents painted a tableau of mutual relief, a reassurance neither need articulate.
"Yet, we must ascertain her well-being. Three years spent confined to a bed—" Her mother's words trailed into a contemplative abyss.
Three years?!
The revelation, an implausible testament to the passage of time, cast a shroud of disbelief upon Karina's consciousness.
"Ah! The very thought distresses me."
Once more, her mother's visage bore the marks of tears, a poignant testament to her emotional turmoil, even as she observed the interplay between her parents with a muddle of bewilderment.
Three years of her existence—a hiatus from life, shrouded in a cloak of uncertainty. Did those years transpire within the cavernous depths of a coma?
Karina grappled with the enormity of this revelation, her thoughts a tempest of confusion. She recollected the sensation of lying down, surrendering herself to slumber. Three years, a chasm of time that likely held untold secrets.
Her heart, aflutter, drummed a frantic rhythm within her chest as she confronted the enigma of her unconscious interlude. What had unfolded during those lost years? What precipitated her descent into a vegetative state? The questions formed a maelstrom of uncertainty, spiraling into the abyss of her consciousness.
It defied reason. Her existence had been vibrant and robust, a far cry from the delicate and sedentary lives led by her peers. Swordsmanship, walks in the garden, equestrian pursuits—her days embraced an active vitality. And yet, the notion of her succumbing to an ailment appeared preposterous.
Poison was dismissed, her tea-drinking habits inconsistent with such a method. Animal attacks were equally implausible, given her prowess in both magic and combat.
The shuffling of footsteps intervened, the auditory cue an intriguing distraction, momentarily diverting her thoughts from the labyrinthine enigma that engulfed her.
Two.
The symphony of hastening footsteps grew distinct as they approached Karina's room. The varying cadences painted a portrait of familiarity and urgency—foremost among them was her brother Hugo, his footfalls a blend of determination and worry.
The door swung open, revealing Hugo's figure in tandem with that of the physician. Evident exertion played across the aged doctor's visage, sweat glistening as evidence of his ascent through the sprawling mansion. Karina grasped the gravity of the situation; her room resided on the mansion's second floor, necessitating a substantial journey through its labyrinthine corridors. A sense of melancholy tugged at her—the physician's efforts seemed emblematic of the collective concern for her well-being.
"Please tell us of her condition," her mother implored, her voice tremulous with a concoction of emotion and expectation. As her grip released, a perceptible tremor afflicted her hands, belying the depth of her maternal worry.
The physician, methodical and experienced, commenced his assessment, probing Karina's pulse and administering intricate spells to glean insights into her body's inner workings. For a fleeting moment, warmth permeated Karina's form, replaced swiftly by a leaden weight that gripped her chest, compelling her to gasp for air. An expression of concern crossed the physician's countenance, underscored by a sigh of resignation.
"In the present moment, her condition is stable. Yet the root cause of her abrupt collapse three years past remains elusive," he confessed, mopping his brow with a handkerchief, sodden from the exertion.
"I fear a comprehensive diagnosis may necessitate consultation with the Elder Priest. Regrettably, my magical acumen may prove insufficient for an accurate determination."
Hugo's reaction was immediate, marked by an angry click of his tongue and the clenching of his fists. "Ridiculous!" he spat, frustration etched upon his features.
"The Elder Priest has already examined my sister, to no avail. As long as Karina's safety is ensured, that suffices. We will unravel the mystery behind her collapse when the Grand Head of the Magic Tower returns."
The physician lowered his gaze, a semblance of shame shading his expression.
"Hugo, please temper your words," her mother interjected, her voice a soothing balm as she exhaled in relief.
"Mother—!"
"Enough, Hugo." The matriarch's tone was a gentle reprimand, causing Hugo's protest to fall silent.
"We are truly grateful for your assistance. Could you share the current findings with us?"
"Of course," the physician acknowledged. "The Lady's constitution is considerably fragile. As I understand, she had been engaged in swordsmanship and magic practice?"
Both Marquis and Marchioness nodded in affirmation.
"It appears that the collapse that occurred three years ago inflicted damage upon the lady's mana core. This is likely the root cause of her struggles with mobility and speech," he explained, unpicking the enigma with an air of expertise.
Indeed, Karina's recent attempts to rise and speak had been hampered by a sense of heaviness and impedance.
This revelation attributed these sensations to her mana core, a vital essence in every individual's being. While some individuals might lack the aptitude to manipulate mana, the presence of a mana core remained universal, acting as a wellspring of life itself. Its potency correlated with one's magical prowess. The purer the core, the stronger on becomes. The precarious state of Karina's mana core underscored her diminished capabilities, a stark departure from her prior vitality.
A flicker of marvel coursed through her consciousness, prompted by the realization that her mana core yet persisted, albeit in disarray. If obliterated, her life force would extinguish. It was a narrow line between survival and a meeting with death.
And still, the overarching question clung to Karina's thoughts, a relentless specter: Why had she collapsed those three years ago? The answer remained elusive, a mystery she was determined to unravel.
The inscrutable mystery surrounding her condition was a shared mystery. Even her family, evidently, was bereft of answers. What clandestine event had transpired to cast her into this three-year abyss?
"So what do you suppose we should do to help her recover?" Her father's inquiry hung in the air, brimming with paternal concern.
The physician offered his counsel: "The key lies in rechanneling the stray mana that courses through her veins, steering it back to her core. The imperative is to reunify the scattered threads within her, guiding them to merge once more. A substantial mana source would be beneficial for this task, given the lady's potent mana core."
Hugo's resolve cut through the discussion like a blade.
"I'll help her."
The statement resonated, an unexpected proclamation that swathed the room in a momentary hush. Her father's astonishment was palpable, shaping his inquiry.
"You, Hugo?"
Hugo's affirmation was unwavering, his gaze upon Karina a testament to his conviction. "My mana core is more potent than sister's. I should be the one to help my sister."
"Then, Hugo, we place our trust in you." Her mother's voice was marked by tenderness as she offered a comforting squeeze upon his shoulder, accompanied by a genuine smile.
◊
Karina lay still upon her bed, gazing upwards at the expanse of her ceiling. A deluge of thoughts cascaded through her mind as she grappled with the revelations of her current condition.
The inexplicable collapse three years past had triggered a cascade of effects, ultimately marring her mana core and leaving her in a state of vulnerability.
The litany of unanswered questions loomed, pressing against her consciousness, yet she recognized that understanding her past would have to wait until her present conundrum was resolved.
Closing her eyes and exhaling a heavy sigh, Karina sought refuge in the darkness, her thoughts drifting like leaves on the wind. But her tranquility was short-lived, disrupted by a voice—a voice so near it could have been a whisper.
"You bear something remarkably mysterious within you..."
Her eyes flew open in astonishment, landing upon a seated figure elegantly poised upon her sofa. Panic clenched at her chest. There had been no footsteps, no telltale creak of her door, and yet a stranger sat before her, an enigma she couldn't fathom. How had this person entered her room without her awareness? Who was she?
"No need to be alarmed, Karina."
The woman chortled, rising from her seat. The sight that met Karina's gaze was a revelation in itself—feet suspended above the ground, a surreal sight that roused a gasp from her lips.
Her feet...they weren't touching the ground.
Her breath hitched as she stared at the phenomenon.
"Apologies for my impromptu intrusion, but distance seems a futile concept for me."
The woman continued with amiable candor.
"You must be wondering about my identity."
A lilting giggle punctuated her words.
"I'm Lily Bell!"