The Moon That Connects My Fate To You

CH17: Brushstrokes of Memory

✦•┈๑⋅⋯✎𓂃 ⋆⑅˚₊𓂃🖌 ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Lunch break ended, and since it was Thursday, the students dispersed to their gender-specific classes. The ladies attended Refined Expressions, a subject devoted to fine arts, embroidery, and cultivating grace. Meanwhile, the young men made their way to the Knight’s Arena, where they trained in Martial and Chivalric Arts—horseback combat, swordsmanship, magical warfare, and the principles of honor, duty, and chivalry.

Aster and Katharina stepped into the art room, a bright, airy space filled with natural light streaming through tall windows. Rows of wooden easels stood ready, shelves brimmed with fine brushes, pigments, and embroidery hoops, and at the back wall hung a grand tapestry bearing Crescentis’ crest. The faint scent of fresh canvas, oil paint, and pressed flowers lingered in the air.

Lady Lydia, their instructor and a refined countess, announced the day’s task: paint something from memory—whether a cherished moment or a vision of your future dream.

Aster felt at ease. Painting was her quiet sanctuary, where her thoughts softened and time seemed to slow. Dipping her brush into soft hues, she let her mind drift to a hazy recollection: a gentle lake, a towering willow tree, golden-green leaves swaying in a spring breeze. Though the memory was blurred, she painted instinctively, as though guided by something beyond conscious thought.

Around her, others brought their own visions to life.

Flavia painted a regal scene: a striking man bearing Randall’s likeness beside a noble lady beneath a golden arch, the suggestion of engagement heavy in the composition.

Isadora, bold as always, portrayed a girl adorned in jewels, holding a fine parasol—an elegant mirror of herself.

Renie chose refinement, painting a noblewoman in a flowing gown embroidered with delicate patterns and pearls.

Katharina, ever the aspiring artificer, filled her canvas with an array of floating crystals glowing with ethereal light, encircled by intricate glyphs.

When Lady Lydia reached Aster’s easel, she paused.

“This is remarkable,” she murmured, studying the strokes that captured the freshness of spring, colors blending with a lifelike vibrancy. “It carries the softness of impressionism, yet the tones give it such clarity, as though the scene truly breathes.”

Aster blinked, startled by the praise, and whispered a quiet thank you.

‘I never thought something so faint in my memory could look this alive on canvas.’

From across the room, Flavia’s grip on her brush tightened. A sharp glint crossed her eyes as she cast a fleeting glare in Aster’s direction.

Lady Lydia, oblivious to the undercurrent, moved toward the front of the room. She glanced over the rows of easels, her tone warm but practical as she spoke.
“You may submit your paintings tomorrow, once they have dried. Just leave them in my study.”

It was not dismissal, merely a reminder. The class carried on, the steady rhythm of brushes against canvas filling the quiet, while the fading light slanted through the tall windows.

+=={:::::::::::::::::>

Meanwhile, at the Knight’s Arena…

The courtyard pulsed with energy. Swords clashed, hooves thundered, and enchanted dummies flared as they absorbed blow after blow.

Randall and Wren stood out immediately, their horseback combat so seamless it was as though they had trained side by side for years.

Ranley, though undeniably skilled, lacked their precision. Determined to surpass Randall, he challenged him to a duel but Randall dispatched him with ease, barely breaking a sweat.

Only Wren came close to rivaling him. Their spar drew the attention of every student, each strike and parry flowing like a choreographed rhythm, as if they could anticipate each other’s moves before they happened.

When they shifted to enchanted weaponry—Phantom Blades that tested reflexes, Binding Chains that restrained, and Ward Crystals that repelled spells—Randall and Wren once again dominated. Their movements were sharp and fluid, a deadly dance of speed and control. Yet even then, Randall remained unmatched. The instructor himself could not point to a single flaw in his technique.

Ranley clenched his fists, teeth gritted.

‘I will defeat him one day.’

༺ After Classes ༻ 『⩇4:⩇⩇ p.m.』

Aster and Katharina stopped by the restroom before returning to the art room. Unlike the grim stone privies of old tales, the academy’s facilities were refined and modern, powered by subtle enchantments—crystal basins that released water with a touch, lanterns glowing without flame, and toilets flushed clean by quiet runes. The air carried a faint lavender scent, a blend of elegance and sorcery befitting the academy.

As they returned, everyone had already left, and they noticed Aster’s painting was ruined. The colors were smeared, and the delicate brushstrokes she had carefully placed were now nothing but a mess.

Aster didn’t know how to react. Frustration, anger, and despair swirled within her. Her painting and the memory she had tried so hard to capture was now destroyed.

Katharina was furious. “I’m pretty sure Lady Gardner has something to do with it! They couldn’t have gone too far. She’s probably still in the council office right now.” she seethed, ready to storm off and confront her.

Aster grabbed her shoulder, stopping her. She shook her head and took a shaky breath. “But… we don’t have proof.”

Her voice was steady, but her hands trembled at her sides.

“That doesn’t mean we should just let this go!”

Aster exhaled. “I have no choice. I just need to fix it. Confronting her without evidence would be useless…and I might not have enough time to redo it before tomorrow’s submission.”

Katharina folded her arms. “Then I’ll stay and help.”

Aster shook her head. “Your carriage is probably waiting. Your father might be upset if you’re late.”

“But…” Katharina hesitated, lips pressed in protest, when her servant appeared at the door to fetch her. Katharina looked at Aster with regret, but Aster offered her a small, reassuring smile.

“Lady Katharina, your father has been waiting in the carriage,” the servant said with a bow. “He asked me to bring you at once.”

Katharina eventually sighed. “I’m sorry, Aster. Don’t stay too late, alright?” she said, hugging Aster in an attempt to give her comfort.

“I won’t… Go ahead. Your father is waiting for you,” Aster said softly.

With one last reluctant glance, Katharina turned and left with her maid.

°❀⋆.࿔*:･˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥°❀⋆.࿔*:･˚₊· ͟₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥°❀⋆.࿔*:･˚

『⩇5:45 p.m.』

Randall had just finished a meeting with the council members, dismissing them as the last rays of the sun cast long shadows through the halls.

“Goodbye, Lord Randall,” Flavia, Isadora, and Renie said in unison, their voices melodic, excitement gleaming in their eyes.

Randall merely nodded, watching as they walked out of the council office.

Meanwhile, Ranley and Jarrett stormed out. Jarrett, however, paused to give Randall a respectful bow, while Ranley left without so much as a glance.

As Randall made his way out of the council office, he noticed a door left slightly ajar—the art room, not far from the council chambers. The others had already gone ahead, their chatter fading into the distance.

He stepped forward to close it but paused.

The glow of the setting sun streamed through tall windows, washing the room in amber light. And there, by the window, was Aster—her head resting on her arm, fast asleep atop her desk, her breathing soft and steady in the stillness.

Randall’s gaze shifted to the painting on the easel: a gentle lake and a willow tree, its golden-green leaves whispering of spring. Something within him stirred, a memory half-formed yet achingly familiar.

Randall stepped closer until he reached her desk. For a moment, he stood there, watching her, unsure why he couldn’t look away. Then, slowly, he leaned down lowering himself onto one knee beside her chair. One hand rested lightly against the desk for balance as he leaned just enough to be level with her.

From this close, he could see the soft curve of her lips, the faint rise and fall of her shoulders, the way the last slant of sunlight kissed her hair. His gaze lingered, and something unbidden stirred in his chest.

“Why do you always stir something in me and confuse me like this?” The words slipped out in a hushed whisper.

His hand lifted, hovering in hesitation above her head—an instinctive urge to pat her gently as one might comfort a sleeping creature. But he stopped himself, his fingers curling in restraint.

‘No. I won’t let myself be swayed.’ He reminded himself.

He drew back, his posture straightening. When he finally spoke again, his voice was firm, stripped of all softness but rather low and cold.

“It’s getting late.”

Aster startled awake, blinking drowsily before realization hit. “Oh no! The last carriage—!”

She shot to her feet, panic setting in. “Thank you!” she blurted hastily before dashing past him, her footsteps echoing down the hall.

Randall remained still, his gaze turning back to the painting once more.

The lake. The tree.

Why did it feel so familiar?

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Meanwhile…

Aster barely made it to the last carriage, breathless as she sank into her seat.

As she stared out the window, the events of the evening finally caught up to her.

Randall had once again caught her in an embarrassing situation. Not only had he woken her up—he had seen her sleeping.

A horrified thought struck her.

‘Did I snore? Or worse… was I drooling?!’

She let out an audible groan and buried her face in her hands, earning puzzled looks from the other passengers.

But then another thought surfaced, stopping her cold.

“Why do you always stir something in me and confuse me like this?”

For a moment, she could have sworn she heard him say that.

Or was it just a dream?

As the carriage rumbled on, the words lingered in her mind.

⋆°.☾⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆⋆°.☾⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆⋆°.☾⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆

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The Moon That Connects My Fate To You

CH17: Brushstrokes of Memory

The Moon That Connects My Fate To You

CH17: Brushstrokes of Memory

Yumetsuki

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