A soft glow emanated from the ornate lanterns lining my bedroom in my parents' grand estate.
As I blinked, a faint gurgle escaped my lips. I looked at myself. I was small.
Soon after, voices—hushed and distant—began to filter into my consciousness.
Hushed voices pierced the stillness. "Is she awake?" A woman's voice, presumably my mother's, tinged with worry, reached my ears.
No infant could decipher the meaning behind these sounds, and I was no exception.
Wrapped in the soft embrace of blankets, a gentle warmth cradled me, calming my infantile curiosity.
I murmured again, a soft gurgle.
Gentle hands lifted me, cradling my delicate frame. The scent of lavender and something uniquely comforting.
"Her eyes... they're so bright." A deeper voice remarked, filled with wonder.
My mother, who had black hair, responded softly, "Just like her father's. She's truly an Anastasia."
A gentle chuckle came after. "Are you saying she doesn't take after her mother? Her beauty certainly does."
In between their gentle exchanges, my infantile gaze attempted to focus on the blurry silhouettes surrounding me.
"Every day with her is going to be an adventure." The man whispered, drawing the woman close, the warmth of their embrace spilling over to me.
Amid their shared laughter and hushed conversations, a different language made its way to my ears.
「Sha au tretra.」 (She's your treasure.) An extra, blue-haired woman, our head maid and one of my mother's trusted confidants, spoke. Watching over me with a protective gaze.
My mother responded with a heartfelt, 「Inet.」 (Indeed.)
The man, presumably my father, let out a gentle chuckle. "I can't wait to show her our world," he whispered, looking down at me with adoration evident in his gaze.
Mother playfully swatted his arm. "Always so curious," she teased. "She's a baby. Let her be."
"But neither can I." She continued, her fingers delicately caressing my cheek. "But for now, she needs to rest and dream."
The blue-haired woman laughed, her voice melodic. "In time, she'll show us all she can be. The potential in her is vast."
「Sha otei ga?」 (Is she okay?) My father asked, ever the concerned parent.
My mother, with a hint of pride, responded, "She's an Anastasia. She'll be more than just 'okay'."
Softly, the father whispered, ensuring I drifted to a peaceful slumber, 「Arta.」 (Sleep.)
My days passed in a comfortable haze, a myriad of sensations and sounds painting a world I was eager to fully experience.
One evening, as I cried, the room's shadows seemed to dance, mimicking my emotions.
The blue-haired woman always said I had an unusual bond with the shadows.
The warmth of my mother's arms, the deep timbre of my father's voice singing lullabies, and the fragrance of fresh flowers were my daily companions.
My early life was a series of lessons, each day teaching me something new. But amidst this routine, a peculiar event stood out.
One afternoon, as the sun cast elongated shadows across the estate, a sealed envelope arrived, marked only with the initials 'D.K..'
"Another one?" My father's voice rose with a mix of curiosity and caution.
Mother picked up the letter, her elegant fingers tracing the seal. "It's for Lyssa, again."
I gurgled, the bright wax seal catching my attention. However, I wasn't the only one intrigued.
"The third one this month," remarked the blue-haired woman, her eyes sharp with suspicion. "Do we have any idea who D.K. is?"
Father let out a weary sigh. "Not yet, but I'll find out. Lyssa's safety is my top priority. I've sent word to the city's best investigators." He declared.
Evening arrived, and unease from those cryptic letters lingered, foreshadowing yet-to-be-unfolded events.
Blue-guarded lanterns—known to detect ill intent—were placed around the mansion. Extra guards were stationed, each vetted to protect me.
A few days later, as morning light filtered through the grand windows of the Anastasia estate, a familiar sight appeared on the dining table—yet another letter with the cryptic initials 'D.K.'
"This is becoming concerning," mused the blue-haired woman out loud, stirring her morning tea.
"'Concerning' is an understatement," replied Father, his brows furrowed. "These letters appear far too often for mere coincidence."
The dining room was momentarily filled with a tense silence, which was finally broken by Mother's calm voice. "It's essential to remain vigilant, but jumping to conclusions isn't wise."
"'Jumping to conclusions'? Livia, we need to take this seriously," Father retorted, his voice slightly raised.
"The dining room grew tense, the weight of the recurring mystery palpable. Mother finally broke the silence, her voice serene. "It's crucial to be alert, but we shouldn't jump to conclusions."
"Isn't this alarming?" Father's voice took on an edge. "These letters aren't mere chance, Livia."
"Still, panicking achieves nothing." She responded calmly, meeting his gaze.
The silence persisted for what felt like an eternity until the gentle ticking of the grandfather clock reminded everyone of the world outside.
Mother broke the silence, her voice carrying a hint of exhaustion, "Lyssa has already gone through so much, and she's just a baby."
Father sighed, "Indeed, but we need to address these letters. It's not something we can ignore."
「Inet.」 Mother acknowledged with a nod.
Suddenly, the door to the dining room opened, revealing the house's head butler. "Excuse the intrusion, sir, madam. Another letter has arrived."
Father's eyes narrowed. "Is it...?"
"Yes," the butler responded solemnly, "marked with the initials 'D.K.'"
A tense atmosphere enveloped the room. The blue-haired woman leaned forward, her expression serious. "These letters... there's something about them that doesn't sit well with me."
Mother would often clutch the letters with a worried expression, her gaze far away. "Who is this D.K., and what do they want with our Lyssa?" She'd murmur, more to herself than anyone else.
A maid, dressed in pristine white, entered. "Excuse my intrusion, but it's time for Miss Lyssa's feeding."
Mother gently picked me up, looking into my bright eyes. "Let's leave the worries for later. Right now, our focus is on her."
With every passing day, month, and year, the grand manor of Anastasia became more familiar. Every corner held a memory, and every room was a new adventure.
By the time my first birthday arrived, I had started echoing the words I heard around me. Echoes of laughter and joy enveloped the grand hall of the Anastasia estate.
「Watai Ushita!」(I'm one!) I managed to vocalise.
Livia, my mother, chuckled softly, bending down to my level, her black hair cascading like a waterfall. 「Inet, Lyssa.」
A few months flew by, each day filled with more lessons and discoveries. On one such day, as I played in the garden under the watchful eyes of the blue-haired woman, a vibrant butterfly caught my attention.
"Look!" I pointed, excitement evident in my voice.
The blue-haired woman, following my gaze, smiled gently. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"
On my third birthday, the estate seemed more vibrant than ever, adorned with golden ornaments and scarlet banners.
"I can't believe she's already three!" remarked one of the maids, watching me confidently stride through the halls. There was an infectious aura of pride around, not just because of my growth but also due to the joyous expansion of our family.
Beside me, toddling with a mix of determination and clumsiness, were Amara and Lorien—my younger siblings.
They had been welcomed into our world not too long after my second birthday. Their cherubic smiles and infectious laughter brought renewed vigour to the house.
While I, being the eldest, had always been the centre of attention, their birth shifted some of that focus, enveloping the estate in a vibrant tapestry of mirth and sibling camaraderie.
It was evident that the Anastasia lineage was flourishing.
By the time I turned five, the grandeur of the Anastasia estate was no longer daunting. I roamed its halls with the confidence of a princess in her castle.
A few minutes later, Mother shouted, "Begin!"
And my training began.
Each morning, under the watchful gaze of the blue-haired woman, I'd practise controlling the shadows.
"Focus, Lyssa." She'd instruct me as I tried to manipulate the shadows into distinct forms.
The serene garden echoed with my soft grunts of effort, with birds occasionally chirping in encouragement.
Afternoons were for language. Mother would sit me down, teaching me the intricacies of Shantai.
"Repeat after me." She'd gently instruct, ensuring my pronunciation was perfect.
By evening, physical training awaited.
Dodging, running, jumping—pushing my body to its limits. The grounds of the estate bore witness to my relentless drive.
My nights? They were spent with my father, teaching me about weak points and opportunities.
My continued training sessions became more intense with each passing day.
Internally, I often found myself questioning the rigorous routines. Why such intensive training? Why me? I'm only five.
Every time I posed the question, my father would pause, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes.
"It's... not something you need to worry about."
In contrast, my mother's responses were laced with allusions to a shadowy event from our family's past.
I pushed aside my burgeoning doubts, redirecting my attention to the present tasks.
An evening sun drenched the estate in golden hues as I faced a wooden dummy that felt like Lyratium, my small figure casting an elongated shadow.
With every punch and kick, I felt a connection—a strange sync with the shadows that trailed my movements.
A voice echoed from behind: "Lyssa! Again!" It was the blue-haired woman, her eyes sharp, observing every nuance of my movement.
Deep breath. I lunged, my focus coursing through my veins. Shadows converged, enfolding the wooden adversary as my punch landed with force.
The dummy splintered, breaking into pieces that scattered in all directions.
A gasp of astonishment swept through the courtyard, followed by a thunderous applause, creating a chaotic symphony of surprise and celebration.
The exhilaration of this unexpected victory washed over me, a moment forever etched in my memory.
Amidst the laughter, I noticed a familiar figure approaching—Mother, a playful reprimand in her gaze.
"I hope that wasn't one of the antique dummies." She teased me, scooping me into her arms.
I puffed up my chest, holding a fragment of the dummy like a trophy. "It looked at me funny."
Mother's laughter, light and melodic, echoed through the courtyard.
"Let's get you cleaned up. There's cake waiting, and I've heard it's your favourite."
The evening wore on, filled with merriment and whispered stories of days gone by. Yet, as the night deepened, a certain stillness settled—a prelude to what lay ahead.
