Chapter Nineteen: Themisia

The elevator lights remained as bright as ever, while stepping out into the underground residential level brought her back to the same dimness. The chaotic graffiti and rust made it hard to associate the place with anything beautiful, yet Hersia was still happy.

Because life was no longer monotonous.

Walking among puddles and garbage, she skipped lightly over them, like playing hopscotch learned in childhood.

Her body floated lightly, spinning gently in the air, the hem of her skirt swaying with the breeze before settling back down.

People often use dirty, chaotic environments and dilapidated ruins to highlight the world's sorrow and cruelty, but that is not right.

Those who truly live in such surroundings do not see it that way. They know that smoky restaurant where the owner cooks excellent dishes; although the ground is littered with trash and puddles, it remains stable, without mudholes or collapses. The unsettling pedestrians to outsiders are familiar acquaintances to them, people they can talk to anytime.

Those who have long endured these conditions have grown accustomed to them; they don’t see it as suffering, merely a part of life.

Perhaps this is a form of numbness or a misconception, but at least this “error” spares them from drowning in sorrow while living in such an environment.

Overly sensitive rabbits die young.

Hersia suddenly recalled this phrase. Though its original meaning might differ, this interpretation wasn’t far off.

She had long been accustomed to being inconspicuous in life—being bullied and ridiculed were everyday occurrences. The harsher the environment, the more bitter people became. Her classmates were not exactly kind, but she understood that if everyone came from more privileged families, perhaps they would behave more gracefully and politely.

She had seen such a world in her childhood.

Her sister attended what people called a noble school—an elite academy where daughters of the wealthy and aristocracy gathered. Hersia had once accompanied her sister to some events and witnessed that environment firsthand.

It was precisely because of these memories and insights that she could draw certain conclusions by comparison.

Family anxiety is contagious. Parents, burdened by hardship and scarce resources, are more prone to quarrel over trivial matters, and this impatience passes down to their children.

A slight slip in grades or poor performance would invite scolding—a lazy form of discipline that requires no patience to analyze or understand the child's fragile, complicated inner world; simple and harsh.

After a day of exhausting work, parents have little emotional or physical energy left for child-rearing. Even if they do, it is often tinged with irritation and despair.

Because she was introverted and timid, Hersia always tried to learn and think, or quietly lick her wounds in a corner, constantly seeking ways to understand this chaotic world. Only by grasping its reasons could her inner unrest slowly dissolve.

The unknown is always fearful, but once understood, even if change is impossible, one can at least find calm and direction.

Recalling the events of the day, Hersia found herself unwittingly back at her doorstep.

Oops, she had been so lost in thought while walking that she forgot.

She looked at the narrow door before her and suddenly remembered she was supposed to visit Grandmother He.

But since she was here, she might as well go in and see. After all, it had been almost a month since she last lived here.

Pushing open the dusty door, Hersia softly called out, “I’m home.”

Naturally, there was no response inside. She removed her shoes, found her old slippers, and stepped into the dark room before turning on the light.

The small living room was cluttered with odds and ends, just as it had been when she left, dust settled on the floor and table.

She walked to the innermost room, once her parents’ bedroom, now her own. With her family gone, she was the sole occupant of this home.

Opening the door revealed the same arrangement as before. On the wall hung photos of the family: her mother smiling gently, her father looking somewhat hesitant, her sister gazing to the side with a hint of aloofness, and herself, bewildered, nestled in her mother’s arms.

She turned over on the bed, feeling around until she found a small box under the mattress.

Sitting at the bedside, Hersia opened the box to find a delicate lamp base.

She infused it with magic, activating it. The lamp glowed and projected a lifelike image of her family laughing and talking on a grassy field, then looking toward the lens.

Though the entire scene lasted only thirty seconds, the joyful sounds seemed like a distant memory, almost alien.

After watching quietly for a while, Hersia switched off the lamp. She no longer cried like she did in childhood.

At the bottom of the box lay a diary—her mother’s, sporadically recording memories of her and her sister growing up. The sister’s story took up three-quarters of the entries; hers only a quarter.

Compared to her radiant sister, she was still a child then, with little to recount.

“Temisia went to St. Ingo Academy today—the top-ranked high school on the Emerald Skirt planet. I worry if she can adapt, as most students come from extremely privileged backgrounds or are rare prodigies.”

“The half-semester school activities have begun. I finally got to visit the academy. Surprisingly, Temisia is quite popular, commanding her classmates like a big sister. That pride is something I lack.”

“The teacher called me, saying Temisia has outstanding talent and might become someone great. They asked me to be more strict because some parents complained Temisia was too dominant at school and hurt their children.”

“I asked Temisia, and she said the others provoked her first, and she only retaliated. She seemed unhappy when she learned the teacher had called me.”

“The matter was resolved. The other parents apologized on the phone, saying they hadn’t raised their child well.”

“I don’t know what really happened. Temisia said maybe the other side came to terms with it. Though the explanation seems weak, I realized this child was beyond my control.”

“Temisia’s growth surpassed what her father and I expected. At the winter festival in her second year, I saw her take first place in both the competition and on stage. The whole academy cheered, and the teachers and principal congratulated us, saying she would become a legend—a rising star.”

“Approaching graduation, Temisia went with a group to the Featherstar region in the Federal Central, to take entrance exams for the top federal universities.”

“The exams ended, but Temisia wasn’t happy when she returned. For the first time, she asked about Hersia and then gazed at Hersia’s bedside for a long time.”

“Temisia locked herself in her room for several days. When she came out, she spoke strangely, as if she was about to depart for some distant world—perhaps knowing the bustling Central Star Region was far away and she wouldn’t be with us anymore.”

“Temisia is gone…”

Hersia closed the diary and placed it back in the box.

Since her sister’s passing, her mother fell ill, spending most of the family’s savings. To leave the place that brought her mother sorrow, they moved to the lower residential district of Bayin City.

Her sister’s image had undergone many phases in her mind. As a child, she was the reliable elder sister and comforting family member who took her out to play and bought her small gifts. But as her sister entered middle and high school, she grew distant, seeming both resentful and impatient with her own nature.

Yet, in her sister’s final days, she underwent a sudden change, becoming extremely gentle. She told Hersia many school stories, taught her how to handle bullies, and how to leverage the power of adults—lessons Hersia never quite mastered.

In the end, her sister ended her own life at home, leaving no note.

After her departure, everything in the house began to change, until it became what it is now.

“I haven’t suffered great misfortune or harshness, only that my birth was an accident… Hersia probably doesn’t understand this, but you are different. You will have a more brilliant life.” These were her sister Temisia’s last words to her.

Lying in bed, lost in memories, Hersia gradually fell asleep, not waking until half an hour later.

She rose and went to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face to wake up, then planned to visit Grandmother He—waiting too late would cause worry.

The cool water dampened her face and dripped down. In the dim room, Hersia turned off the faucet and lifted her head.

The reflection in the mirror smiled at her, eyes shimmering with a faint purple light.

This was—

Hersia’s heart trembled violently. She blinked hard, but the image in the mirror returned to normal. Even when she activated her magic to reveal her talents, only blue eyes and black hair appeared.

The earlier vision seemed like a hallucination born in her mind. After more than ten minutes of fruitless attempts in front of the mirror, Hersia gave up.

Perhaps she simply missed those from her memories too much.