Chapter 223 Rachel's Sweet Sixteen (8)

Words : 1711 Updated : Sep 25th, 2025

Rachel sauntered up to me, looking far too pleased with herself, her sapphire eyes practically twinkling with mischief. She hooked her arm through mine, her grip light but possessive, and let out a giggle that was entirely too pleased for my comfort. "Spoil me today, Arthur," she declared, as if this were some royal decree and I was her humble attendant. "After all, I only get one sweet sixteen in my life." "If you wish to be spoiled, I don't mind," I said, watching her closely. Your next read awaits at My Virtual Library Empire She was practically vibrating with joy, her usual composed demeanor entirely abandoned. Seeing her like this—so carefree, so incandescently happy—was infectious. A warmth spread in my chest, though I wasn't quite sure what to do with it. Rachel's gaze turned sly, a flicker of something conspiratorial dancing behind her eyes. "I wonder…" she mused, tilting her head just slightly. "I wanna kiss you again." Her words were bold, but the instant they left her lips, a furious blush overtook her face. She averted her gaze, suddenly fascinated by the ground, her fingers tightening slightly around my arm. "Rach," I started, but she cut me off with a pout, a tiny huff escaping her lips. "I know," she said, her voice quieter now. "I know there's something you're not telling me. Something big. Something that keeps getting in the way of this—of us." She took a deep breath and met my eyes again, determination replacing her usual warmth. "I'll wait for you to figure it out. To fix it. But you better fix it, Arthur." A small smile tugged at my lips. "Thanks, Rachel." We stood there for a moment, smiling at each other, a silent understanding passing between us. And then, just as I was beginning to think this might actually be a perfect moment, a cold prickle ran down my spine. Someone was approaching. I looked up. Alastor Creighton. Rachel's father. The kind of man who could probably make entire rooms go silent just by existing in them. He had the presence of someone who always knew exactly what was happening, exactly what he wanted to happen, and precisely how to make those two things the same. "Arthur," he said, voice like rough stone, cutting through the warmth of the moment like a laser blade. Rachel moved before I could, stepping in front of me like a shield. "Father, Arthur is my friend," she said, her voice steady, but her posture taut, defensive. "I know," Alastor said, nodding once. His gaze flicked to me, sharp and unreadable. "I need to speak with him. Privately. It's important." Rachel didn't budge. "No," she said flatly. Alastor raised a brow. "No?" "You heard me." She crossed her arms, standing her ground. "If it's important, you can say it here." A muscle twitched in Alastor's jaw. He wasn't used to being challenged—especially not by his own daughter. I sighed, placing a hand on Rachel's shoulder. "It's fine, Rach," I said. Her eyes snapped to mine, searching my face for any hint of hesitation. "Arthur, you don't have to—" "I'll be fine," I assured her. "It's just a conversation." Rachel didn't look convinced, but after a long moment, she let out a frustrated sigh and stepped aside, though she shot her father a glare that promised consequences if anything happened. Alastor, for his part, barely acknowledged the exchange. He turned and walked away, fully expecting me to follow. I did. The two of us exited the hall. Luna's voice slipped into my mind like a whisper through silk. 'He put a soundproof barrier.' I hadn't even noticed the mana shift, but sure enough, as Alastor and I walked, an invisible field settled over us. A casual flick of power from a man used to moving the world without anyone realizing he'd done it. "Arthur," Alastor said, his voice as steady and measured as ever. "Do you know about my wife?" There were a lot of ways I could answer that question, most of them inadvisable. I settled on the obvious. "Queen Isolde Creighton?" I asked, tilting my head. "Didn't Her Majesty… pass away?" Alastor watched me. Not just looking, but watching, like a scientist studying an unfamiliar creature that might or might not be venomous. I kept my expression carefully blank—just the right mix of polite curiosity and mild confusion. Not an ounce of recognition. He exhaled sharply. "She's alive." That was hardly a surprise. What was a surprise was that he was telling me. "I'll keep this brief," Alastor continued. "Eleven years ago, she lost her mind and hurt Rachel while Kathyln and I were away. When I returned, I sealed her. Since then, she's barely existed—she eats, she sleeps, but she doesn't speak, doesn't react, doesn't ask for anything." His voice didn't change, but something about the way he said it made me think it had been bothering him. The Creighton patriarch did not strike me as a man who liked loose ends. "Until now," he added. I frowned. "Until now?" Alastor's gaze sharpened. "The first thing she said after eleven years of silence was that she wanted to meet you." I stopped mid-step. That wasn't supposed to happen. I knew about Isolde. She never asked to meet anyone. 'She's a seer, right?' Luna's voice nudged at my thoughts. 'You're Fateless. Maybe that's why?' I considered that. 'Maybe.' Alastor was still watching me, like I was a puzzle he couldn't quite solve. "So," he said, voice cool, "I'll ask again. What are you?" I didn't answer. He could stare as much as he liked. Some things were better left unexplained. His eyes narrowed, but he let it drop, turning away and continuing down the hall. I followed, my mind running circles around itself. Why would a woman who had abandoned the world for over a decade suddenly want to see me? We moved through the Creighton estate, passing through halls that grew progressively darker and quieter, the usual futuristic displays of opulence giving way to something emptier. This was a place meant to be forgotten. We stopped in front of an unassuming door. Alastor placed his palm against it and closed his eyes. Even I could feel the weight of the seal unraveling, a sensation like a taut wire snapping, power uncoiling in invisible waves. Searᴄh the Nôvelƒire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Isn't this… dangerous?" I asked. Alastor didn't even look at me. "If she tries anything, I can stop her." His tone carried the easy certainty of a King. With a casual flick of his fingers, the seal was undone, and before I could think twice, he sent me inside. The room was quiet. Not just silent, but quiet—a deep, settled kind of stillness, the kind that suggested nothing much had happened here for a very long time. A woman sat by the window. The lights above hummed softly, casting a warm glow over golden hair that shimmered just like Rachel's. But there was something different—something older, something weightier. Rachel was a flame, bright and vibrant. Isolde Creighton was like a candle in a sealed room, a light that had flickered and burned itself down to the wick. She didn't turn, didn't acknowledge my entrance at all. Still, I bowed. "I greet Your Majesty." No reaction. The woman who had spent eleven years in silence had finally spoken. And now, she was silent again. "Interesting," Isolde murmured, and in the blink of an eye, the space between us ceased to exist. One moment, she was by the window, distant and untouchable. The next, her fingers were under my chin, lifting my face as if inspecting a particularly curious specimen. I swallowed hard. It wasn't just her presence—though that alone felt like standing in the eye of a storm—but the sheer weight of her existence pressing down on me. Isolde Creighton wasn't just a person. She was an eight-circle mage. A woman who had been powerful enough to be sealed rather than fought. And she was much, much stronger than I was right now. "How very interesting," she said again, her voice carrying the same tone one might use when discovering that a cockroach had somehow developed sentience and begun reciting poetry. "An anomaly like you exists in the world. A world that is doomed. A world that will fall." Her fingers left my chin, but the sensation lingered like static electricity. She tilted her head slightly, as though listening to something distant, something beyond my ability to hear. Her eyes glowed faintly, shifting in that unsettling way that made it very clear she wasn't just thinking—she was seeing. I didn't move. I simply watched. It wasn't often that someone could make me feel like the least significant thing in the room, but Isolde Creighton had a knack for it. Then, as suddenly as the moment had started, she smiled. "How nice," she mused. "Ever so slightly, the Fate of the world has changed." Luna's voice crackled into my thoughts, her usual sharp confidence replaced with uncharacteristic disbelief. 'She can read your Fate?' A pause. 'How… how can a human do that?' "Humans are the most adaptable and the greatest species to ever exist," Isolde said, as though answering a question she hadn't been asked aloud. Her tone carried a quiet amusement, as if she found Luna's shock vaguely adorable. "So even if a Qilin like you cannot, I can." I stiffened. "You saw her?" I asked, unable to mask my surprise. Isolde shrugged. As if this were nothing. As if she hadn't just effortlessly done what even the strongest Radiant-rankers had failed to achieve—not just sensing Luna, but hearing her thoughts. Luna, for once, had no snide remark. I stared at the woman in front of me, for the first time genuinely uncertain of what I was dealing with. What was Isolde Creighton?

Chapter 223 Rachel's Sweet Sixteen (8)

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