The Plan In Motion: To The Count's Manor
Night draped over the Count’s manor like a black velvet cloak. The torches at the gate flickered in the breeze, casting a golden glow across the polished iron. The grounds were pristine—too pristine. Not a leaf out of place, not a torch unlit. It was the calm of a place confident no one would dare trespass.
We didn’t wear armor. We wore silk dipped in flare and extravagance.
Ridiculous? Probably.
But intentional? Absolutely.
“Who goes there?!” one of the guards barked, spear snapping up. There were four—two blocking the path with spears, two gripping swords with caution.
“We,” I said, letting the words hang in the cold air, “are the last thing you’ll ever see.”
Silence pressed in.
A bead of sweat slid down a guard’s cheek.
Another squinted at my crimson hair.
“Crimson hair…? That can’t be—”
It seems he had noticed something. Like he had heard of such a being with crimson hair.
“Enough,” the captain said, trying to sound steady and failing. “Weapons ready!”
I met Asahi’s eyes.
He nodded—barely noticeable.
A signal only I understood.
He stepped forward, palms raised. The guards flinched at his movements.
“Stop right there!” one shouted, voice cracking.
Another gripped his spear with both hands, knuckles white. “If you move—!”
“Spirit Magic: Tranquil Times.”
The night answered him.
Light gathered overhead—thin threads at first, weaving into a soft dawn that didn’t belong in this world. The air smelled faintly sweet, like cut grass and distant blossoms.
Motes descended—slower than ash, brighter than frost.
One landed on a guard’s hand. Another on a spear.
The captain tried to shout—
—but the words dissolved before they left his mouth.
Their eyelids drooped. Their knees buckled.
One by one, they sank gently onto the moonlit ground.
No clatter. No cries. Only the gentle sound of being tucked into sleep.
Asahi’s eyes glowed faintly—calm and kind.
“Let’s go,” I said.
☆
We vaulted the gate and slipped into the courtyard shadows. The Count’s manor garden was immaculate—carefully trimmed hedges, spotless paths, everything arranged with noble arrogance. The perfection made my skin crawl.
A patrol of three knights rounded a distant path. We ducked behind a large stone planter, letting its shadow swallow us. My breath fogged the night; my pulse thudded loud enough I feared the guards might hear it.
Asahi raised two fingers, and the shadows around us softened—not darker, just gentler. Our footsteps quieted. Cloth stopped rustling. Even our breathing muted itself.
A servant’s door waited ahead. I eased the latch—
Creeak—
Reina’s hand flashed past me. Frost bloomed over the hinges in a delicate lattice of ice. She nudged the door open—silent as moonlight.
“Watch your corners,” she murmured.
We moved through a dim corridor. The silence and tension only made me remember Mary even more. How I missed her lectures. Like a silent pinch to remind me of reality. My chest tightened, but I forced my feet forward.
Distant laughter from one side.
A clink of chains, and a quiet sob smothered by fear on another.
We stopped—assessing the situation.
“Asahi,” I whispered.
He closed his eyes. Light gathered at his fingertips, like little eyeballs. Faint enough not to reveal us—just enough to sense.
He was the star of our covert operation. Without him, our entry would be inviting to the whole town.
“There's a basement on the back,” he mouthed. “Two carriages. Horses. And… people.”
Tension rose in my whole body after hearing that.
That must be them, I thought.
A cold hand anchored my shoulder.
It was Reina’s.
“It's time,” she whispered. “Let's split up here. You take the Basement and I'll take the top. Okay?”
I nodded, though my throat felt tight, but with a serious expression, I spoke. "Be careful, and let's win."
She nodded, and we nodded as well.
☆
While Krai and Asahi slipped into the manor’s belly, Reina ghosted into the upper halls—alone.
A guard spotted her silhouette. “Y—You—!”
“Hush.”
Ice swept under his boots; he slipped before he could yell again. Reina stepped forward and lowered him onto the floor like putting a child to bed—an ice child.
At the far end, two more charged. One raised a crossbow, shaking.
“Hail‑frost Veil.”
Snowflakes materialized—too many, too fast—forming a pale curtain. Bolts snapped into it like brittle twigs. Reina strode through the sparkling drift.
The second guard lunged with a blade. He stabbed mist—her afterimage. Reina appeared at his flank, tapping the back of his knee. He collapsed. She caught him and eased him down—another ice child.
There were no alarms. No bloodshed. Just silence. And the screeching sound of human Popsicles on the hard floor.
A sergeant lifted an alarm whistle. Frost kissed the metal. He blew—nothing. He tried again—silence.
“It's okay,” Reina said coldly, “this will be painless.”
He dropped the whistle.
And his sword. And met the same fate as the others.
Reina moved on.
☆
The basement had the wrong kind of quiet—the kind that hovered before disaster. Lanterns swayed on iron hooks, shadows trembling across dirt walls. Horses stamped nervously. The air felt thick with despair.
“Is everyone accounted for?” Bradsby asked, though he already knew.
“Yes, sir.” The guard with him answered.
Two carriages sat chained shut. Inside—elves, humans, beastfolk… most barely conscious, all hopeless. Their eyes were empty windows.
The Count had decided everything must be sold tonight. Not just Reina’s servants—everyone. Before the news spread. Before rival nobles caught the scent.
Bradsby rested a hand on the cold bars.
“It will be all right,” he lied. “I’ll find you better masters. I promise.”
The words felt thin.
They landed in iron silence.
Then the door shifted—toward him.
Two small hands pressed against his.
A boy and a girl.
Young. Dusty. Hollow‑eyed.
But smiling gently, and more sincerely than the smile plastered on Bradsby’s face.
His breath caught. His fake smile died upon seeing theirs.
They shouldn’t have to comfort me.
They’re children.
“Please forgive me,” he whispered. To them. To himself even.
A rumble rolled overhead. Dust drifted down. Horses panicked. Lantern flames whipped sideways.
“What was that?” the guard beside him asked, gripping his sword.
Bradsby couldn’t answer.
A heartbeat later—
BOOM.
The basement door erupted inward—wood and iron torn apart, fragments scattering like angry birds. Smoke billowed. Light poured down the stairwell.
Two silhouettes stood framed by moonlight:
One with crimson hair, catching silver shards of light.
The other wrapped in a soft glow—gentle, wrong for this place, like mercy walking into hell.
The guard drew his blade.
“W‑Who’s goes there?!”
No answer.
Because there are some questions you only ask once—
And the night itself answers for you.
