The morning dawned shrouded in a thick fog. The muffled sound of Arven's bells barely penetrated the heavy air that covered the city. Damon had been awake for hours, watching the canal from his bedroom window. The surface of the water reflected the pale gray of the sky, still as glass.

A soft knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts.

"Come in," he said, without turning around.

Ester entered, a sealed letter in her hands. The wax seal was black, marked with the emblem of a rose between swords—Elizabeth's seal.

"It arrived a few minutes ago. A messenger came directly from Mirath."

Damon turned slowly, looking at the envelope carefully.

"She hurried more than I expected."

"That's never a good sign," commented Aria, who appeared in the hallway, leaning against the doorframe with a piece of bread in her hand. "Elizabeth doesn't write to say 'good job'. When she sends a letter, it's because someone is going to bleed."

Ester gave her a sharp look, but didn't reply.

Damon took the letter from her hands and carefully opened it. The subtle scent of incense escaped—the same aroma used in Elizabeth's private chambers. Inside, the paper was thin, elegant, the handwriting impeccable.

He began to read aloud:

"For my eyes—and those who share my cause. Damon, your time of preparation is over. The Academy will fulfill its role as a facade; now you must begin the true purpose of your stay in Arven."

He looked up for a moment. Aria and Ester remained silent.

"Your next objective is the young Morgana Arven, daughter of the Duke and heir to the House that dominates this territory. The Duke is loyal to the Crown—but his daughter is... different. Ambitious. Proud. Naive enough to believe she can break the destiny imposed upon her."

Damon ran his thumb over the letters, reading on more carefully. "Morgana wants to be a knight. She dreams of equaling the men who wield swords in the name of the Order. Her father, of course, disapproves. She trains secretly with private instructors and spends hours in smaller combat academies. She is, therefore, vulnerable. Driven by an ideal, and isolated within her own home."

Aria let out a small whistle. "Classic. Daughter of a noble, heart of a warrior, head of a dreamer."

Ester maintained a serious expression. "Elizabeth wants him to get close to her."

Damon continued.

"Your job is to gain her trust. Not just as a knight, but as someone capable of understanding her ideals. Show yourself capable. Show yourself sincere. Let the name 'Damon of Mirath' echo with strength and mystery. When she seeks you out—and she will—guide her decisions. Direct her doubts. Make her see the world through the lens I will give you at the right moment."

He slowly lowered the paper. The silence that followed seemed heavy enough to break the air.

"So that's it," Aria murmured. "She wants you to plant a seed."

"It's not the first time Elizabeth has done this," Ester said, crossing her arms. "But what the hell. I hate this."

"Well, work is work, right?" Damon asked.

"That's right."

He folded the letter, observing the broken wax seal. "Did she mention anything about when I should act?"

Ester picked up the second sheet, which was still inside the envelope. There were short notes, almost like a dossier.

"Morgana Arven—twenty years old. Trained in fencing and tactics. Stays away from court parties and prefers the training grounds."

"Maintains contact with Commander Harven, who briefly instructed her when she was a child."

"Will attend the Arven Academy in two weeks, as a guest of the noble corps." "The ideal moment for an approach will be during the combat wing demonstration event. Damon will be participating, representing the recruits of the third wing."

Damon let out a slight sigh. "Elizabeth thinks of everything."

"She thinks of every move on the chessboard," Ester corrected.

Aria leaned her elbow on the table, smiling. "And her favorite piece has just been given a target with a noble title and a dangerous surname. I hope you know how to dance in that kind of ballroom."

Damon ignored her. "Morgana Arven… I've heard the name. They say the Duke tries to keep her away from anything that smells of war."

"And fails miserably," Ester commented. "She's known for infiltrating cadet training sessions and challenging anyone who underestimates a woman with a sword. She even earned the nickname 'The Silver Falcon' among the instructors."

"Falcon, huh?" Damon leaned back in his chair. "And Elizabeth wants me to tame her."

"It's not taming," Ester said. "It's convincing."

"Convincing someone is just a matter of taming them with patience," Aria retorted, amused.

Silence returned for a few seconds. Outside, the tower bells chimed the ninth hour. Damon looked up at the two women.

"If she's going to be at the Academy, there's no avoiding it. I'll introduce myself, she'll test me, and the rest will follow its course."

Ester nodded. "But be careful. Morgana isn't as naive as she seems. She has the eyes of someone who's looking for something—perhaps approval, perhaps power. Elizabeth probably wants both under control."

"And what if the girl discovers my intentions?"

"Then it will be the last mistake she makes," Ester replied coldly.

Aria sighed, resting her chin on her hand. "You two talk about manipulating people as if it were an art."

"Because it is," Damon replied dryly. "And Elizabeth is the best artist I know."

He stood up, putting the letter away. "Two weeks... enough time to prepare."

Ester followed him with her gaze. "Prepare what?"

"My role. Elizabeth wants a symbol? Then she'll see a perfect symbol."

...

The training ground was buzzing with activity. Swords clashed, shouts of instruction echoed between the stone walls of the Arven Academy. Damon sat on the edge of the stone bleachers, elbows resting on his knees, silently observing the training of the younger knights.

Despite technically being a novice, his skill had placed him directly in the advanced classes—but at that moment, he wasn't there to learn. He was there to observe. To search.

Morgana Arven.

The name echoed in his mind like an order etched in iron. The Duke's daughter. Elizabeth's new target.

However, while everyone's attention was focused on the duels in the center of the field, something in the shadow of one of the nearby columns caught his eye.

A figure stood motionless, almost invisible from a distance—a woman.

Her hair was long, a silvery shade that caught the weak light of dusk and reflected it in almost ethereal glints. The strands fell in soft waves over her shoulders, highlighting her pale skin and the amber glow of her eyes which, even at that distance, seemed to cut through the air like blades.

She wore a dark, fitted leather outfit, adorned with small metallic details that reflected the sun in cold flashes. The high collar touched her chin, and a silver buckle near her neck shimmered whenever the wind moved her hair.

For a moment, Damon thought it was an illusion—someone with that appearance wouldn't go unnoticed among the knights. But the way she stood there, casually leaning against the wall, silently observing everything, suggested otherwise.

She seemed part of the shadow.

And her eyes...

When their gazes met, Damon felt a shiver down his spine.

Her gaze was calm, analytical—almost amused. As if she knew exactly what he was doing there, and was waiting for his next move. [An unknown visual ability affects him]

He looked away, trying to compose himself. He pretended to be interested in the training again, but he couldn't ignore her presence.

A strange aura surrounded that woman. It wasn't just beauty—it was something deeper, something that smelled of danger and mystery.

[You are being observed by her "Hawk Eyes" ability]

Damon let out a light sigh, adjusting his coat over his shoulders.

"Hawk Eyes, huh..." he murmured ironically. "So what they say is true."

The wind blew harder, stirring up dust from the field. When he looked up again, the shadow was empty. Morgana had disappeared—silent as a ghost.

It was then that a strong, hoarse voice broke the murmur of the training:

"DAMON!"

The call came from the center of the arena. Harven, the Academy's elite instructor, stood with his hands on his hips, looking directly at him. His expression was a mixture of impatience and challenge.

Damon calmly rose from the stands, descending the stone steps as the gaze of dozens of recruits turned to him. The clanging of swords ceased for an instant.

"Come here, boy!" Harven shouted as he approached. "Since you have so much time to watch other people's training, let's see if you can really be so lazy."

Damon raised an eyebrow. "Are you challenging me to a duel, instructor?"

Harven snorted a laugh.

"Me? No." He gestured with his chin towards someone behind him. "This one wants to fight you."

Damon followed the man's gaze and froze for an instant.

She was there.

The woman from the shadows, now in the full light of the field, holding a long sword strapped to her belt. Her silver hair gleamed in the sun, and her golden eyes stared at him with the same sharp serenity as before. Morgana Arven.

The murmuring of the cadets echoed around, names and speculations whispered amidst laughter and astonishment. She stepped forward, firm, and spoke in a clear voice—cold, but not arrogant.

"I hear you're the new prodigy of Mirath." Her eyes scanned Damon from head to toe. "I want to see if it's true."

Damon offered a slight smile, the kind of expression that hid both curiosity and provocation.

"'Prodigy' is a strong term. I prefer 'diligent apprentice'."

Morgana didn't react. She simply drew her sword from her belt with a soft metallic sound and positioned it in front of her body. "I hope you're also a quick learner."

Harven stepped back, signaling the start of the duel. "No restrictions. Just stop before one of you ends up dead."

Damon rotated his shoulder, testing his flexibility, and drew his own blade. The metal gleamed under the cold light, like a mirror. "Understood."

For an instant, absolute silence fell over the arena. Only the sound of the wind and the distant flapping of flags could be heard.

Damon and Morgana's eyes met—two predators measuring distance, strength, and intention.

'System. Apply Asmodeus' touch to the Sword.' Damon thought as he looked at Morgana's sword…

[…That's impossible-]

'Impossible my ass, the sword is a reflection of the swordsman, just apply it. You've been pretty useless lately, or do you think I'm an idiot and forgot that you're a tool? I haven't seen your usefulness. Prove yourself.' Damon said.

[C-creating ability… Sword of Lust…]

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