After cultivating, Sara finally lay down on her bed and pulled the blanket over herself. Her body felt exhausted, but her mind refused to rest. The mana she had circulated still pulsed faintly within her core, yet it did nothing to quiet the thoughts pressing against her skull. She turned to her side and stared at the opposite wall, but her gaze slowly shifted toward the tall mirror standing near her wardrobe.
She pushed the blanket aside and sat up.
The moonlight reflected clearly against the mirror’s surface, illuminating her figure. She stood and walked toward it slowly, her bare feet silent against the floor. When she stopped in front of it, she studied the face staring back at her.
She saw a girl.
She saw someone who had been dressed in silk and jewels for a political banquet, paraded before nobles as a symbol of alliance. She saw the same face that her father had calmly offered in marriage to secure influence within the royal house. She saw the face her stepbrother had dismissed countless times, treating her as something ornamental rather than capable. She saw weakness.
Her fingers tightened at her sides.
This was the face of someone who had been moved like a piece on a board. Engaged without consent. Restricted without explanation. Shielded without being asked whether she wished to fight. And yet she was still here. Her father was dead. An Archmage killed. The old political structure that had defined her life had collapsed in a single night.
She was alive.
The realization struck her with quiet force. Only the living could make choices. The dead could not regret. They could not decide. They could not grow stronger. They could not walk away.
If she wanted to leave the role carved for her, she needed strength. Not borrowed strength. Not protection given by her brother. Her own.
She stepped closer to the mirror, studying her long brown hair that flowed past her shoulders. It had always been praised. Nobles had complimented its shine. Maids had spent hours brushing and styling it before ceremonies. It was elegant. Feminine. Suitable for a future princess.
It looked fragile to her now.
Without allowing herself time to hesitate, she turned and walked toward her dressing table. Inside one of the drawers lay a small pair of silver scissors used for trimming embroidery threads. She picked them up and returned to the mirror.
Her heartbeat quickened.
For a brief moment, doubt flickered in her chest. Cutting her hair would not make her stronger. It would not instantly elevate her cultivation. It was symbolic at best.
But symbols still has meaning.
She gathered a thick portion of her long hair in one hand and lifted the scissors with the other. The metal felt cold against her fingers. She stared at her reflection one last time, memorizing the image she had carried for years.
Then she cut.
Slash!
The sharp sound of metal slicing through hair echoed softly in the quiet room. Strands fell to the floor like discarded silk threads. She did not stop after the first cut. She continued, methodically trimming and evening it until the long flow that once reached her chest was reduced to a shorter, firm bob that framed her face cleanly.
When she finished, she lowered the scissors and stared at the mirror again.
The girl staring back at her looked different. Less ornamental. More defined. Her jawline appeared sharper. Her eyes seemed more visible, less hidden behind soft waves. The change was not dramatic, but it was intentional.
If she wanted to move with strength, she had to look like someone who had made a decision.
She knelt and gathered the fallen strands from the floor, placing them neatly into a cloth before setting them aside. The act felt strangely ceremonial, like shedding an old skin.
After a long moment, she turned back toward her wardrobe and walked to the small cabinet built into the wall beside it. She opened the drawer carefully.
Inside, resting upon folded velvet cloth, was a small crystal vial no larger than her palm. The liquid within shimmered faintly with a soft blue glow that seemed to pulse gently like a heartbeat.
The Dream Elixir.
It had been gifted to her during the gift exchange ceremony at her engagement banquet months ago. A noble from the eastern territories had presented it with great pride, explaining its rarity and subtlety. Unlike crude prophetic artifacts that forced rigid visions of fate, the Dream Elixir did not foretell an unchangeable future. It predicted possibilities. It revealed fragments of what might come.
But there was a condition.
The tone of the vision would reflect the emotional state of the one who drank it. If the drinker’s heart was clouded by despair or anger, the elixir would guide their mind toward a future shaped by those emotions. If the drinker’s heart was calm or hopeful, it would reveal a brighter possibility.
It did not lie. It simply magnified what already existed within.
Sara held the vial carefully, watching the liquid swirl as she tilted it slightly. If she truly wish to walk the path of strength, she had brace herself to see one of, if not the worst possibilities that may be fall her or Edward.
She removed the small crystal stopper and raised the vial to her lips. The liquid carried a faint scent of night flowers and something sharper beneath it, almost metallic.
She drank it in a single motion.
The taste was cool at first, then warm as it traveled down her throat. A faint tingling sensation spread from her chest outward through her limbs. Her vision did not change immediately. There was no sudden flash of light. Instead, a quiet heaviness settled over her eyelids.
She placed the empty vial back into the drawer and closed it carefully. Then she walked to her bed once more and lay down beneath the blanket. The moonlight still spilled across the room, but it seemed softer now, blurred at the edges.
If truly the elixir revealed one of her possible futures, then whatever she saw would be shaped by what she felt now. Determination. Resolve. A refusal to remain weak.
Her fingers curled slightly into the blanket as sleep began to claim her consciousness. The mana within her core pulsed faintly in rhythm with her slowing breath.
Then, her breathing relaxed and the night outside remained silent. But Within her mind, the dream began to form.