Emisarry Of Time And Space-Chapter 184: Eight years II

Eight years had passed since the Ivory burned.

Time had moved forward in the way it always did—indifferent, unkind, dragging the living along whether they were ready or not. Alice Ivory was fifteen now, and in those eight years, she had learned one unshakable truth:

The world did not forgive weakness.

The training yard rang with the dull, repetitive sound of wood striking straw.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Alice’s arms moved with mechanical precision, her grip tight around the wooden sword as she swung it down into the practice dummy before her. The impact made the straw body sway, fibers loosening where she had struck it dozens of times already. Sweat rolled down her temple, dampening the collar of her training clothes, but she did not slow.

She did not stop.

Her breathing was controlled, measured—not calm, but restrained. Her face was locked in a permanent scowl, brows drawn low, jaw clenched as if she were biting down on words she refused to let escape. Her eyes, once bright and curious, now held only resentment sharpened into focus.

She had been ten when she enrolled in the academy for the outer nobles of the Chronos Dukedom.

Ten.

And she had dominated it.

Not because she enjoyed humiliating others, but because she needed to win. From the first day, she had trained harder than anyone else—longer hours, fewer breaks, no excuses. Her instructors had praised her talent openly. Her classmates whispered her name with a mixture of awe and fear.

Her father had smiled every time he heard of her victories.

"You’ll take the Ivory higher than it’s ever been," he had told her once, resting a hand on her head. "Higher than me."

That memory surfaced now—uninvited, unwanted.

Alice’s grip tightened.

She swung again.

The wooden sword cracked against the dummy’s shoulder, splintering slightly, but she didn’t care. Her muscles burned, her palms ached, but she pushed through it.

Eight years.

Eight years since her father’s body lay cold in the ruins of what was supposed to be a wedding celebration.

Eight years since her brother’s blood stained marble meant for joy.

Eight years since the world showed her what it truly was.

Strength was the only answer.

Strength so overwhelming that no one would ever dare take from her again.

She drew back and swung—

And Orion’s face flashed through her mind.

Mid-strike.

Her expression twisted.

The blade came down harder than before.

The wooden sword shattered on impact.

Fragments scattered across the yard as the dummy collapsed under the force, its straw spilling onto the dirt. Alice stood there, chest heaving, shards of wood still clutched in her hands.

Her vision blurred.

She exhaled sharply and let the broken pieces fall.

Eight years had changed everything.

She was no longer the cheerful girl who had once followed Orion around with wide eyes and unfiltered curiosity. That girl had died in the garden with her family.

Her silver hair was cut short now—not for convenience, but as a boundary. A line drawn between who she had been and who she refused to be again. Scars marred her arms and shoulders, thin pale lines that would have been considered improper for a noble lady.

She didn’t care.

She had stopped caring about such things a long time ago.

The Ivory had suffered ever since her father’s death.

He had been the highest-ranked Ascendant the family possessed, a pillar of strength that had kept enemies at bay without a word. His mere existence had been deterrence enough.

When he died, the gap was immediate.

And merciless.

External pressure came first.

Rumors spread—quiet at first, then louder—that the Ivory had fallen out of favor with the Chronos. Trade routes that once flowed freely through Ivory territory dried up overnight. Merchants canceled agreements. Allies grew distant. Deals were "postponed indefinitely."

No one said it outright.

But everyone understood.

Internally, it was worse.

Ambition rotted people from the inside.

Over the years, factions within the Ivory rose against her brother, challenging his authority under the guise of "stability" and "leadership concerns." Cousins. Uncles. Distant relatives who had once bowed their heads now raised them with knives hidden behind smiles.

Traitors.

Alice had done what she could.

She assisted in logistics. Negotiations. Even security planning when allowed. But her influence was limited by one simple fact:

She was not strong enough.

Not yet.

Another wooden sword lay nearby. She picked it up without ceremony and tested its weight.

If only she were stronger.

The thought cut deeper than any blade.

She swung again.

The sun dipped lower in the sky before she noticed.

Golden light stretched across the training yard, shadows lengthening as the day quietly slipped away. Alice froze mid-motion, breathing hard, sweat clinging to her skin.

She looked up.

Evening.

She hadn’t realized how long she’d been there.

She cleaned up without assistance, gathering broken weapons, resetting the training space with practiced efficiency. When she finally turned toward the manor, the path felt longer than usual.

The Ivory estate was too quiet now.

Resources were thin. Servants had been dismissed over time—some voluntarily, others out of necessity. Halls that once echoed with conversation now held only silence.

She bathed quickly, scrubbing sweat and dirt away, then dressed for dinner.

She ate alone.

A simple meal. Functional. She barely tasted it.

Halfway through, she sensed movement.

Someone sat opposite her.

Alice looked up.

Grandpa Jude.

He lowered himself into the chair with visible effort, his hands gripping the armrests as his body protested the motion. His back was straighter than most men his age, but the strain was undeniable. 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

He smiled faintly at her.

Jude Ivory had been her mentor since childhood. A man who stood by her brother when others wavered. One of the few who had never turned his back on them, no matter how bleak things became.

He was family.

And he was aging.

Unlike those blessed with extraordinary talent, Jude’s magical growth had plateaued long ago. His strength had carried him far—far enough to survive a century and a half—but time was catching up.

Alice saw it in his hands.

In the way he breathed.

In the pauses between movements.

He was over one hundred and fifty years old now.

And nearing the end.

The realization sat heavy in her chest.

Soon, it would just be her and her brother.

Alone.

Fending for what remained of the Ivory.

Jude studied her quietly for a moment before speaking, his voice calm but tired.

"You’re pushing yourself too hard again."

Alice didn’t deny it.

She simply lowered her gaze to her plate.

"I have to," she replied.

Jude sighed softly, the sound carrying more weight than any lecture.

The candlelight flickered between them.

And for the first time that day, Alice allowed herself to feel how tired she truly was.