Chapter 222: The Morning After

By sunrise, Saint Aurelia Preparatory Academy had become the site of one of the worst tragedies in the Imperial Capital’s recent history.

The Imperial Guard had secured the school, arrested the surviving members of the Cult of the Second Dawn, and searched every classroom and underground passage.

The recovered attendance records had been compared against the identities of the victims, and the authorities had completed their final accounting.

None of the children had survived.

Outside the security perimeter, hundreds of parents were still waiting for news. Some had already received confirmation of their children’s deaths, while others continued approaching Imperial officers, hoping that there had been some mistake.

Ilya accompanied Professor Antoine Chastellain out of the northern examination hall shortly after six.

The professor carried Lucile’s schoolbag in one hand. Inside were several notebooks, a pencil case, and a wooden box containing components for the communication device they had planned to build together.

Near the western entrance, Captain Reinhardt approached them.

“Professor Chastellain. I wanted to offer my condolences. My men were among those who entered the examination halls.”

Antoine thanked him.

The captain explained that the soldiers had attempted every available method of protecting the children. Several had remained with the students until the end, while others continued searching for a way to stop the examination even after the situation became hopeless.

“I know you did everything you could,” Antoine answered. “Thank you for staying with them.”

Reinhardt had difficulty accepting the gratitude. His soldiers had defeated the armed defenders, captured the cult members, and opened the passages leading into the underground halls. They had accomplished everything expected of a rescue unit, except the one thing that mattered.

After the captain departed, Ilya accompanied Antoine toward the waiting carriage.

He found himself thinking about the Imperial Guard’s assault.

The operation had succeeded in almost every conventional sense. The perpetrators had been defeated, their equipment disabled, and the school secured. Several cult members would now face prosecution for their crimes.

If this had been an ordinary military operation, the commander might even have received commendations.

Ilya found the thought bitterly absurd.

For the past week, he had believed that finding a solution to the school’s defenses would give the Imperial Guard an opportunity to rescue the children. He had contributed to that breakthrough himself, and the researchers had celebrated when their work succeeded.

He remembered Antoine congratulating him.

At the time, Ilya had been proud of his accomplishment. He still understood why the breakthrough had been necessary, but the satisfaction he had felt now seemed almost embarrassing.

During the journey to the Chastellain residence, Antoine remained silent.

Ilya considered mentioning the ongoing investigation, but decided against it. The professor already knew that the authorities were pursuing the surviving cult members, and there was little comfort in discussing arrests when his daughter had just died.

The carriage eventually reached the residence.

Lucile’s shoes were still beside the entrance.

Several books had been left on the sitting room table, along with a half-finished drawing of her communication device. One corner of the paper contained a small complaint written in her handwriting.

‘Papa says this feature is unnecessary. He’s wrong.’

Antoine read the note.

“She was very certain about that.”

Ilya examined the drawing.

“Well, Professor, making a communication device play music does sound unnecessarily complicated.”

“That’s what I told her.”

“Although I suppose she’d argue that being unnecessarily complicated is practically a requirement for something invented by a Chastellain.”

Antoine laughed quietly.

“She would.”

The professor gathered the drawing and placed it beside Lucile’s schoolbag.

Ilya had intended the remark to offer a moment of familiarity, but hearing Antoine laugh only reminded him that Lucile would never have another opportunity to argue with her father.

There had been nothing extraordinary about the girl’s ambitions. She wanted to build inventions, impress her teachers, and spend time with her father.

Those were ordinary wishes.

The Cult of the Second Dawn had taken them away because its members believed that human suffering might reveal some remarkable secret.

Ilya remembered reading their research. Years of failed experiments, increasingly elaborate theories, and excuses for why their subjects hadn’t produced the desired results.

He had initially regarded the cult as a collection of dangerous fools.

Now he understood that its members had possessed enough education to recognize the consequences of their actions. Their ignorance had been something they repeatedly chose to preserve whenever the evidence contradicted their beliefs.

“Ilya?”

Antoine’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Are you all right?”

Considering everything Antoine had endured, Ilya hadn’t expected the professor to concern himself with his student.

“I’m fine, Professor. Just thinking.”

“About the school?”

“Yes.”

Antoine waited, and Ilya decided there was little point pretending otherwise.

“I thought we’d save them. When we managed to shut down the equipment, I genuinely believed we’d solved the worst problem. I knew there were other dangers, but I thought the Guard would handle them.”

“So did I.”

“The soldiers did everything right that they could. That’s what makes it difficult.”

Antoine understood what he meant.

There was nobody among the rescuers whom Ilya could reasonably blame. The soldiers had acted professionally, the healers had exhausted their strength, and the researchers had worked with the information available to them.

The children had died anyway.

“You helped us reach them, Belozersky,” Antoine said. “Don’t convince yourself that your work was worthless because we couldn’t save them.”

Ilya accepted the professor’s words, although he couldn’t entirely dismiss his frustration.

He had been useful throughout the investigation, but usefulness hadn’t been enough to change the outcome.

After a while, Antoine asked whether Ilya had eaten. Neither had consumed a proper meal since the previous evening, so they prepared something simple in the kitchen.

The professor barely touched his portion.

Ilya didn’t pressure him.

Instead, they returned to the sitting room, where Antoine gradually began speaking about Lucile.

Apparently, she had once constructed an automatic watering device that flooded his research desk. Another invention had been intended to wake him each morning, but its mechanism accidentally pulled his mattress onto the floor.

“She insisted both were successful,” Antoine recalled.

“Technically, they accomplished their objectives.”

“You’re encouraging her.”

“An unfortunate habit among researchers, Professor.”

Antoine smiled.

He continued recalling the girl’s projects, including her attempts to improve several of his inventions. Lucile had inherited his stubbornness, although she possessed considerably less patience when someone questioned her designs.

Eventually, he mentioned that he had planned to surprise her with several improvements to their communication device.

He retrieved a notebook from his study.

Inside were drawings Lucile had never seen, including a design allowing the device to display a small illuminated image whenever someone contacted her.

“She would’ve loved this,” Ilya remarked.

“She would’ve complained that I changed her design without permission.”

“Then she’d have demanded credit for the finished invention.”

“Undoubtedly.”

Antoine examined the notebook before closing it.

“She was going to become a wonderful scholar.”

Ilya agreed. He had only known Lucile briefly, but her enthusiasm had been impossible to miss. She possessed the curiosity that made research worthwhile, along with enough confidence to challenge ideas she didn’t understand.

For Antoine, however, she had been far more than a promising student.

She was his daughter.

Eventually, the professor retrieved the wooden box from Lucile’s schoolbag.

“Belozersky, would you help me with something?”

“Of course, Professor.”

“I’d like to finish this.”

Ilya understood immediately.

The communication device had been Lucile’s project, and Antoine had promised to build it with her.

“I’d be glad to help.”

They arranged the components on the sitting room table and began following Lucile’s instructions. Most of the construction was straightforward, although several of her additions made the design unnecessarily complicated.

At one point, Antoine suggested removing the musical feature.

Ilya examined the drawing.

“Leave it, Professor. She went through the trouble of arguing with you about it. We might as well let her win.”

Antoine laughed softly.

“Yes. I suppose she deserves that much.”

They continued working.

The professor occasionally explained why Lucile had chosen a particular arrangement, while Ilya helped assemble the delicate pieces. When they encountered one of her mistakes, Antoine corrected it without changing the rest of the design.

Hours passed before the device was finally ready.

It was a small invention, barely larger than a man’s palm, with a polished wooden casing and a little crystal embedded near its center.

Lucile had wanted it to play a melody whenever someone contacted her.

Antoine had included that feature exactly as she requested.

All that remained was testing it.

The professor placed the device on the table and activated its connection to the receiver in his study.

A cheerful melody sounded through the sitting room.

The little crystal lit up.

The invention worked.

Antoine listened until the melody ended.

Then, out of habit, he began explaining what improvements they could make.

“The response is a little slow. We could adjust the receiver, and the casing would be easier to open if we moved the lower fastening. Lucile would probably want to change the melody as well. She mentioned finding a better one last week.”

Ilya listened.

“We should show her the finished version first,” Antoine continued. “She’ll complain if we start changing things without asking.”

He was already reaching for his notebook when his hand stopped.

For several seconds, the professor remained seated with the completed device before him.

Then he slowly lowered the notebook.

Ilya understood what had happened.

For those few hours, Antoine had been doing something familiar. He had been working on an invention with his student, preparing improvements and anticipating the inevitable argument with his daughter.

Completing the device had allowed him to forget, if only briefly, why Lucile wasn’t there to help.

Now the project was finished.

And there was nobody to show it to.

Antoine picked up the little device and activated it again.

The melody played.

He waited until the final note faded before speaking.

“She would’ve been so happy.”

His voice broke on the last word.

Ilya had seen the professor grieve at Saint Aurelia. He had watched him receive the news of Lucile’s death and remain beside her body until the Imperial officers gently asked him to leave.

Yet watching Antoine sitting in his own home, holding an invention that would never reach its intended owner, was somehow even more painful.

The professor attempted to speak again, but couldn’t.

Eventually, he covered his face with one hand.

Ilya remained beside him.

He had wanted to help Antoine finish the device because it was something Lucile had cared about. Somewhere along the way, he had allowed himself to imagine that completing it might ease a little of the professor’s suffering.

Now he understood that the finished invention could only remind Antoine of everything he had lost.

The melody played a third time when the professor accidentally pressed the crystal.

Antoine began crying harder.

Ilya reached over and gently silenced it.

For a while, the only sound in the room was the professor’s uneven breathing.

Then Antoine spoke.

“I promised her, Belozersky.”

“I know.”

“She kept reminding me, and I kept telling her we’d do it when I had more time.”

Ilya couldn’t find an answer.

“I had time. I could’ve finished it with her weeks ago.”

The professor held the device against his chest.

“I thought there would always be another weekend.”

Ilya remembered the hours they had spent at SkyRune, discussing research problems as though every difficulty could eventually be overcome through sufficient effort.

He had believed that himself.

Now, sitting beside the man who had taught him so much, he finally understood how terrible it was to discover that some opportunities would never return.

“I’m sorry, Professor.”

Antoine continued crying.

Ilya stayed with him until the professor could speak again.

The communication device remained on the table between them, complete with every unnecessary feature Lucile had insisted upon.

It was a perfectly ordinary little invention.

And Ilya knew he would remember the sound of its melody for the rest of his life.