Chapter 47: Theresa's Lament

Name: Theresa Day

Age: 14

Birthday: 6 May

Personality: Cheerful and kind, deeply loyal to her squad, often seeks approval from her older peers.

Strengths: Quick thinker, skilled at healing magic, excellent at forming bonds with others.

Weaknesses: Overly reliant on her squadmates, struggles under pressure, not at all physically strong

Favorite Things: Flowers, sweet pastries, and sketching magical creatures

February 9, 7:55 PM

The sky was dark now, and Lars had been walking for a long, long time, that seemed longer than it actually was because of a certain royal. Lord Cedric had decided to regale these Magic Knights of tales of his "greatness" (all completely made up, by the way), and now Lars, Theresa, Fani and a very pissed off Madam Halcourt listened to his waffle.

"And that's how I fought off 15 mole bears," the royal finished, standing up and swinging his fists like a petulant child up past his bedtime, "all by myself. My greatness earned me thank you's from all the villagers there, and my name was acclaimed throughout this area. All the while, they didn't realise I was actually Cedric Kira!"

"Well, Your Majesty," Lars said, his barely contained disdain leaking through his voice, "I fear that if I listen to your tales of heroism and kindness anymore, I might faint from giddiness."

"Agreed," Zoe said, not even trying to hide her sarcasm. "Could you please grant us a brief reprieve from your legend to focus on getting you to the Royal Capital?" And preferably shut the fuck up too, she thought, ready to take out her frustration on anyone unsuspecting/

Theresa nodded, and even the usually timid Fani nodded intensely.

"Well, when you put it like that, I suppose all of my ordeals and triumphs regaled in one go would be too much for ordinary people like you peons to handle. I'll let you dwell on my greatness for now," the royal finished, plopping himself down on the palanquin.

"Is this guy real?!" Lars exclaimed, hastily covering his mouth after letting his frustration boil over.

"What did you say?" Cedric asked, his eyes gleaming with a not-intimidating-at-all fury. "With my influence, I could have you removed from your post at any time. In fact, I could have you executed right now!"

"I'd be happy to," Zoe said, her Ink Magic, swirling around her paintbrush.

"Your Majesty," Lars said, bowing in apology, clenching his teeth, "forgive my exclamation, but I just could not believe you had more stories to tell. I did not anticipate one human being could have this many endeavours and so much valour."

Cedric, his suspicions calmed by the grovelling, huffed and turned around.

"Zoe," Lars snarled, "don't ever expect me to take a mana blast for you."

"I'd just Paint it Black," the ink mage said, her smile sickly sweet as she looked back at Lars. She knew she'd struck a nerve, and was revelling in her victory.

"We'll stop here," Cedric declared, and the weary servants finally let down Lord Cedric's palanquin gently, collapsing to the ground in a heap. Theresa quickly rushed over to them, her hands already glowing with green energy.

"Plant Magic: Elysian Herbcraft," she whispered, as the grass began to release healing fumes made from magical herbs, growing all around Cedric's lackeys like a hospital bed or a stretcher, and soon the servants began to feel able to move again.

"You had a healing spell all this time," Lars mused. "Interesting."

"That's incorrect, actually," Theresa replied, her short brown hair bouncing as she knelt by one of the servants' sides, her eyes still focused intently on healing. "I actually developed this spell not a long time ago. I'd say… a few days before we left for Kiten. It actually didn't take a lot of effort to do…"

"Sometimes I forget that you are a child genius," Lars said, totally in awe of Theresa.

"Um, I-I have a question," Fani said, speaking up for the first time in what felt like ages. "H-how old are you?"

"15 this May," Theresa said, still keeping her eyes focused on the servants. "If you're wondering, I took the Magic Knights exam two years ago."

"It was all over the news at that time," Zoe said, her voice the softest it had been all day. "The youngest child ever to become a Magic Knight… then you faded into obscurity."

"I prefer to think of it as 'keeping out of the public eye'," Theresa smiled. "Back then, the captain gave me some really good advice…"

…

The sound of a door creaking open echoed in the quiet of the Coral Peacocks' headquarters. Theresa stepped inside the captain's office, her heart racing. She had barely been a Magic Knight for a few months, and the weight of the title felt heavy on her shoulders. The office was dimly lit, with shadows stretching across the stone walls, and Captain Dorothy Unsworth sat behind her desk, her signature serene expression masking the wild, almost chaotic energy she was known for.

"You wanted to see me, Captain?" Theresa asked, trying to mask the nervousness in her voice.

Dorothy glanced up from the scroll she was reading, her eyes locking onto Theresa's with a soft but penetrating gaze. "Ah, yes. You're progressing quite well, but I sense something's bothering you."

Theresa shifted uneasily, her hands nervously gripping the hem of her tunic. "I... I don't know if I'm really cut out for this. It's just... it feels like I'm too young. Sometimes, I feel like I'm just in the way."

Dorothy smiled warmly, leaning back in her chair. "You think too much of others' expectations, young one. You're here because of your potential, not your age. Magic Knights are meant to stand out. But you don't have to be the loudest, the most famous, or even the most praised. There's strength in being unseen, in working quietly and letting your abilities speak for themselves."

Theresa blinked, the weight of those words sinking in. "But... won't people forget me if I don't make a name for myself?"

"People forget what they want to forget," Dorothy replied, tapping the desk with a finger, "But if you're truly strong, your name will echo, no matter how quietly you walk. Strength is not always about being the loudest or the most celebrated. It's about the quiet resilience that lingers in the shadows. You can be both unseen and unstoppable, if you choose."

Theresa's shoulders relaxed as Dorothy's words settled in her mind. She wasn't sure if she fully understood yet, but the captain's unwavering confidence in her abilities gave her a sense of peace she hadn't expected.

"Now," Dorothy continued, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in her eyes, "I'm not saying you should ignore fame altogether. But I'd suggest you let it come to you. Don't chase it. And certainly, don't feel you have to prove yourself every moment."

Theresa nodded, a small smile creeping onto her face. "Thank you, Captain. I'll try to keep that in mind."

"Good," Dorothy said, leaning back again. "Now, go show the world just how strong you are. On your terms."

…

"The captain really is a wise individual," Lars said, standing up, the grass crunching beneath his feet. "Hold on. I sense hostile mind energy. I'll go check it out."

"Let me go," Zoe said, standing up to intercept, but she was cut off by Fransiska.

"L-Lars has already v-volunteered," she said, her pink eyes gleaming with resolution, "so he's g-going."

Zoe did not object, instead throwing her coat off and sitting back down in a huff.

"Don't worry, I'll bring you back a souvenir," Lars cheekily grinned, which made Zoe scowl even harder than before. "Fani, could you please put a defensive barrier up?"

"N-no worries," the hair mage nodded, activating Tangle Barrier once again just outside Lars, and he readjusted the Infinite Thought Shield that he had been using to protect the palanquin to himself, a skill that he didn't know when he learned, but a handy one nonetheless.

February 9, 8:13 PM

As Lars walked through the forest, the leaves crunching below his feet, he activated Tiefe Analyse one more time, scanning for any threats and the hostile mind energy that he had sensed before. Suddenly, he stopped when he felt it emanating, this time quite strongly. But he also sensed something else - a hint of desperation, and a wavering focus.

Lars smiled. His aggressor was overthinking. At this rate, he could just slip behind him.

Lars moved stealthily through the forest, his senses on high alert as he followed the trail of hostile mind energy. The signal pulsed erratically, like a flickering lightbulb—a clear sign of someone whose resolve was wavering.

He stepped lightly over a patch of tangled roots, his Mind Magic subtly brushing against the area to ensure no traps lay ahead. Suddenly, he heard a low rustling sound, followed by the unmistakable hum of magic being activated.

A figure emerged from the shadows—a young man with shaggy brown hair and strikingly similar features to Theresa. His clothes were rough and simple, a stark contrast to his sharp, calculating gaze. Surrounding him was an aura of green energy, tendrils of magic manifesting as thorny vines and weeds that swayed like serpents waiting to strike.

"So," the man said, his voice carrying a sharp edge, "you're the one protecting Cedric. I was hoping they'd send someone more impressive."

Lars raised an eyebrow, his grip tightening on his naginata. "And you are?"

"Artemis Day," the man said, his name dripping with disdain. "Theresa's older brother. But that's none of your concern. Hand over Cedric, or this gets ugly."

"Are you serious?" Lars said incredulously, pointing a thumb at him and looking around to seemingly no-one. "You expect me to hand over a royal? And weren't you working with the smugglers?"

"Then I'll take him from you!" Artemis yelled, his eyes burning with frustration as he raised his hand. The green aura surrounding him pulsed ominously, and with a sharp thrust, he shouted, "Weed Magic: Choking Thorns!"

The air thickened with magic as vines shot from the earth, their barbed tips aimed for Lars's throat. But Lars was ready. He felt the spike in Artemis's mind energy, the focus just before the spell was cast, and moved before the vines could even reach him.

"Weave," Lars murmured, sidestepping effortlessly as the thorns flew past, a mere whisper of danger.

In a blink, Lars was on the offensive. He gripped his naginata and, with a swift motion, called out, "Mind Magic: Kraftvoller Gedankenstoß." A telekinetic blast struck Artemis with devastating force, hurling him into a tree. The impact shattered the bark, and Artemis collapsed, dazed.

Lars stepped forward, relentless. Artemis struggled to rise, shaking off the disorientation, but Lars was already closing in.

Artemis summoned more weeds, their frantic movement signalling his desperation. Lars's mind, sharp and unyielding, sensed it. He raised his hand.

"Mind Magic: Resonant Concussion."

A barrier of force slammed into Artemis, sending him sliding backward, his weeds no longer able to steady him. His magic faltered, and he could barely keep his balance, the weight of Lars's power overwhelming him.

Artemis stumbled to his feet again, barely coherent, but Lars was already there, the pressure mounting.

"Mind Magic: Brain Surgeon." Lars muttered, his voice low and dangerous.

A rush of psychic energy exploded from his mind, crushing Artemis's thoughts. The pain was excruciating, a complete unravelling of his focus. Artemis crumpled, his head in his hands, a scream escaping his lips as his magic faltered completely.

Lars stood over him, weapon in hand, watching as his opponent's resolve shattered.

"You've lost," Lars said quietly. "There's nothing left for you here."

Artemis didn't answer, his mind broken, and Lars knew the fight was finished.

Lars stood his ground, his mind focused, as Artemis struggled to push himself upright. Blood dripped from his brow, his movements slow and unsteady. The green magic that had once been so aggressive now swirled weakly around him, like a fading flame struggling to hold onto its last embers.

"You should've stayed out of this," Artemis growled, his voice hoarse with pain. "I gave you a chance to walk away."

Lars's grip on his naginata tightened. "You're delusional," he said, his tone flat. "I'm in the position of power here."

But just as Lars took a step forward to finish the battle, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. A surge of raw emotion swept through the forest, a whirlwind of power and panic. He froze. It wasn't just the surge of magic that caught his attention—it was the unmistakable pulse of Theresa's presence, cutting through the air like a storm.

Theresa?

Lars immediately felt the weight of her magic—a familiar, wild surge of plant magic that he knew could be as destructive as it was beautiful. His heart sank as he realised she was coming closer, her feelings of betrayal and anguish coursing through her like a raging river.

No… Lars thought, panic creeping into his chest. I can't let her see this. She doesn't need to witness this fight. Not after everything.

But before he could take action, he felt the unmistakable intensity of her emotions, the agony, the fury, all directed at the one person Lars had hoped she wouldn't have to face again. Her brother.

"Artemis," Theresa's voice rang through the trees, broken and sharp, her magic crackling with a violent energy that cut through the forest. Her presence was undeniable now, and it was obvious she wasn't coming in peace.

Lars could only watch helplessly as she stormed into the clearing, her eyes wild with disbelief and anger. The moment she saw Artemis lying there, bruised and battered, something inside her snapped. Her emotions flared into something monstrous, and Lars immediately knew that things were about to get out of hand.

"You." Theresa's voice trembled as she took a step toward her brother, and the ground beneath her feet shifted with her power. Tendrils of thick, twisting vines began to sprout from the earth around her, curling around her legs like serpents eager to strike. Her green magic surged, fueled by the raw emotion boiling in her chest. "You think you can just destroy everything? After everything you've done to me?"

Artemis tried to push himself up, but his body betrayed him. He could barely lift his arms, still too weak from Lars's attacks. But the look in his eyes—the look of guilt and anger twisted into something almost unrecognisable—made it clear that he wasn't done yet.

"Theresa…" he rasped, his voice hoarse with regret. "You don't understand. I had no choice…"

But Theresa wasn't listening anymore.

She lunged at him, her magic erupting in an explosion of plant life that seemed to tear at the very fabric of the earth. Vines exploded from the ground, thick and twisted, lashing out at Artemis with brutal force. His attempts to defend himself were feeble at best—he barely managed to summon a few weak vines of his own, but they were quickly overwhelmed by Theresa's fury.

"You think you had no choice?" Theresa screamed, her voice filled with pain and rage. "You think I had a choice? You left me alone! You left us all! Mom, Dad, and me! And now you come here, begging for mercy? Plant Magic: Artemis Cage!" She gestured wildly, and the ground erupted beneath Artemis's feet, roots and vines coiling around his legs, trapping him in place.

With a vicious roar, she pulled, and the vines tightened, squeezing the life out of him, just short of suffocating him. Artemis gasped, struggling to break free, but Theresa's control was absolute. Her power over plants was a force of nature—unstoppable when she was driven by emotion, and right now, her emotions were as explosive as a wildfire.

Lars knew he had to act quickly before it went too far. "Theresa!" he called, his voice firm, but she didn't seem to hear him. He couldn't just let her destroy him. Even if Artemis deserved it, she couldn't let herself go down this path.

But it was too late. The moment Theresa felt her brother's life force weakening in her vines, she let out a scream—a mix of frustration, anger, and hurt. The ground beneath them began to tremble violently, roots shooting into the air like wild beasts. She willed the plants to constrict tighter, slamming Artemis into the ground. He cried out as he was slammed face-first into the dirt, struggling to breathe.

"No!" Lars shouted, rushing toward her. He had to stop her before she lost herself entirely. He used his Mind Magic to reach out, trying to connect with her thoughts, but the force of her emotions made it nearly impossible. Her magic surged, wild and uncontrolled.

Artemis gasped for air, his face pale. "T-Theresa… please…" he choked out, but she barely registered his plea. Her mind was clouded with grief, her magic overflowing.

Lars was only a few feet away now, but as he reached out to touch her shoulder, her eyes snapped toward him, wild with emotion. For a moment, there was nothing but pain in her gaze—a reflection of all the years she had spent holding everything inside.

But then, with a final, gut-wrenching sob, she released her grip on the vines, and Artemis fell limp to the ground, gasping for air. His body was covered in bruises, blood seeping from a wound on his forehead. He lay there, utterly defeated.

Theresa collapsed beside him, her breathing heavy, her body trembling from the effort. Her magic was still swirling around her, but it was no longer as violent. Her tears fell freely now, and she didn't even try to wipe them away.

"You…" Theresa's voice cracked, and her hand hovered over her brother's broken form. "You left me. You left us to rot." Her voice trembled with the pain of everything she had carried alone, the years of betrayal and loss suddenly crashing down on her. "You don't deserve forgiveness."

Artemis's eyes flickered, and for a moment, there was something close to remorse in them, but it was buried beneath the anger and hatred that had driven him to this point. He tried to lift a hand toward her, but his strength failed him. "Theresa… I…"

"No," she said firmly, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. "I don't want to hear it. I've lost a lot because of you. So just leave. Now. Don't come back."

Artemis's chest heaved as he slowly turned his head to the side, his expression one of silent surrender. There were no more words, no more fight left in him. He knew, deep down, that he had lost. He had no place here anymore.

With one last, pained look at his sister, Artemis dragged himself up and staggered off into the darkness, leaving Theresa alone in the clearing.

…

February 10, 2:55 AM

Fransiska Granvorka awoke with a start, her heart pounding in her chest. The room was dark, the only sound the rapid beat of her pulse in her ears. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps as her mind drifted, unbidden, to a place she could never escape—a place she'd hoped was buried deep in the past.

The dream came as it always did. She was back at the noble academy, walking down the long, polished hallways, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfumes and the murmur of hushed whispers. The students, adorned in fine clothing, moved with a sense of superiority that always made her feel small, like an outsider. She could hear them laughing, and though the words were muffled, she could always tell they were talking about her.

Then, it began.

A group of nobles—students she had once thought were her peers—came into view. The leader, a tall, platinum-haired boy named Elias, flashed a smug smile. Behind him, two girls stood with their noses in the air, as if the very act of breathing the same air as her was beneath them.

"Here she is," Elias sneered, eyes gleaming with malice. "The 'Hair Mage.' Tell me, Fransiska, does your magic only work on yourself, or do you make your friends into walking brushes, too?" He laughed, a cold, mocking sound that sent a shiver down her spine.

Fransiska's stomach churned. She stood frozen in place, heat creeping up her neck as the laughter grew louder, more insistent. The words cut deeper than she wanted to admit. Hair Magic was viewed as one of the least prestigious forms of magic in noble circles—a frivolous, unworthy art. No one took it seriously, especially not the upper crust of society. And they made sure she knew it.

"You've got nothing but a gimmick, Fransiska," one of the girls jeered, her voice dripping with disdain. "What's next? Twisting your hair into little animals? How pathetic."

The humiliation burned. It was always like this—mocked for something that came so naturally to her, something that had always been her source of comfort, her way of connecting with the world. But to them, it was a joke, and they made sure to remind her of it every day.

Fransiska could feel the pressure building inside her—anger, frustration, helplessness. Her hands clenched at her sides, but the words wouldn't come. What could she say? How could she defend herself when the magic she wielded was seen as nothing more than a curiosity? She was always too soft, too gentle, too—

Without warning, the dream shifted.

The taunting laughter became louder, more distorted, the voices rising like a tide in her ears. The heat in her chest swelled, and suddenly, she felt a deep, throbbing pulse in her head, her magic beginning to stir uncontrollably. She didn't want this. She didn't want to lose control again. Not again.

But the dream didn't care.

Her hair, once neatly tied back, began to move, twisting and undulating as if it had a mind of its own. The strands—thin and delicate—became serpentine, wild and thrashing in every direction. They lashed out like whips, cracking through the air with alarming force. Her vision blurred as the power surged, her body unable to stop it.

"No, please!" she cried, but it was too late.

In a frenzy, her hair wrapped around Elias, yanking him into the air, her face a mask of panic as her magic spiralled out of control. The students screamed, their cries drowning out the frantic pounding of her heart. Her hands reached out helplessly, but she couldn't stop it. The magic wasn't hers anymore—it had become a wild force of nature, tearing through the academy halls. She heard the cracking sound of wood as her hair snapped branches off nearby trees, felt the cold, slick texture of her own magic suffocating her.

"Make it stop! Make it stop!" she screamed, her voice barely audible over the roar of her magic. But the magic didn't care about her pleas.

She watched in horror as her hair wrapped tighter around Elias's neck, squeezing the life out of him. His face twisted in agony, and his eyes bulged as he gasped for air, unable to break free.

The room around her blurred—was it the academy, or was it something else? All she knew was that she was trapped in this nightmare, in this uncontrollable moment where her magic became a monster.

The dream shattered as Elias's final scream echoed in her ears, and Fransiska jolted awake, gasping for breath, her body covered in cold sweat. She clutched her head, her heart racing. The terror was still there—still lingering, a shadow in her chest.

"Not again," she whispered, as if saying the words would banish the nightmare from her mind. But the image of Elias's lifeless body, suspended by her own magic, refused to fade. Suddenly, she heard rustling, and Lars approached her, his usual carefree attitude replaced by a constant vigilance.

"Evening, gambling girl," Lars said, standing over her. He lowered himself, squatting next to her. "Everyone else is asleep, so it's just you and me."

"The p-palanquin," Fani whispered. "Is Lord Cedric safe?"

"Don't worry, I've been awake for the whole night, and no one's laid a finger on him," Lars whispered back. "But enough about that snobby noble. What's bothering you? Why are you the way you are? And don't lie to me, please."

"I-it's a long s-story," Fani stammered.

"You have until 6," Lars said, "so three hours. I'd say that's ample time."

There was silence for a while, Fransiska gathering herself, her thoughts, and what she wanted to say.

"Years ago," Fransiska said, picking up her glasses and adjusting them to perch perfectly on her nose, "I did something unspeakable to my classmate. I didn't kill him, per se, but thirteen year old me inflicted life-threatening injuries on him, crippled him. My mother, who I inherited my magic from, s-scolded and punished me, in a way some might c-classify as h-harsh, b-but I say my p-punishment f-fit the crime." She pulled her legs tighter into her chest, a habit which she didn't even realise she had.

"I-I was branded an e-emotionally unstable, u-useless ch-child," Fani said, "a-and a dangerous c-criminal, but my father, i-in all of his l-love for me, e-endeavoured to g-get me pardoned, and s-succeeded. M-my reputation was n-never truly fixed, h-however." Her voice stopped wavering.

Fransiska took a shaky breath, her voice quivering but growing steadier with each word. "E-even after I joined the Purple Orcas, I n-never felt like I belonged. Every mission, every accomplishment, it was like... l-like I was trying to repay a debt that I could never pay off. N-no matter what I did, t-they only saw me as the 'Hair Mage.' A joke. A f-failure. A-and even if they didn't say it outright, I could feel it in their eyes... their s-stares."

Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, twisting the fabric tightly. "I thought... if I worked harder, if I just proved myself, they'd see me for who I am. But t-that day at the academy, when my magic..." She swallowed hard, her voice cracking. "When my magic went out of control, I realised something. N-no matter how much I try, no matter how much I change, I'll always be seen as... less. Less than them. Less than worthy. Even by myself."

She pulled her legs even closer, as if trying to disappear into herself. Her next words were barely above a whisper, but they hung heavy in the cool night air. "Lars... I don't think I'll ever be anything more than my mistakes."

"Fani," he began, his voice low but firm, "you know what I think your problem is?"

Fransiska flinched slightly, bracing herself for some harsh truth.

"You care too much about what they think. And you're reading too much into things."

Her eyes widened as she looked up at him. "W-what?"

Lars leaned forward, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "You're carrying their opinions like some cursed artefact, letting it weigh you down. But here's the truth—they don't matter. Not Elias, not those nobles, not anyone who sees you as less. You're letting them control you, and for what? Validation? Recognition? Screw that."

Fani blinked, her lips trembling as she tried to respond, but Lars pressed on. "You made a mistake. A bad one, sure. But you've grown since then, haven't you? Got stronger, learned from it?"

She hesitated, then gave a small nod.

"Then act like it," Lars said bluntly. "Stop letting the past own you. Stop waiting for them to forgive you, and forgive yourself. You'll never be free if you don't."

Her breath hitched, tears welling in her eyes. "Lars... I-I don't know if I can."

"You can," he said, standing up and giving her a rare, genuine smile. "You're Fransiska Granvorka—a mage who's been through hell and kept going. That's who you are. Not your mistakes. Just you."

He stretched, turning to leave. "Oh, and Fani? The only person who gets to decide your worth is you. Remember that. Now sleep, we don't have a lot of time left before we leave."

With that, Lars sat by Fani's side as she drifted off to sleep, his blue eyes tired yet vigilant.

A/N: character development is always fun to write. and we finally got to see the normally vibrant and mature theresa crash out over her brother, so yeah.