Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dear Emilia,

I guess this is where I’m supposed to say goodbye.

Or maybe I already did.

Honestly, I don’t know how to start this. Every time I try, the words feel wrong. Too big, too small, too… final.

I don’t even know if I want you to read this. But I need to say it. So here goes.

I love you.

I know. Obvious, right? But I never said it properly. Not when it mattered. Not when it could’ve changed anything. And now—now it just feels pathetic. One-sided. Like everything else I did.

I loved you so much it hurt. Still does. You were everything to me. My hope, my light, my reason. You saved me, Emilia. I don’t think you even realized it. You saved me when you told me your name in that loot house. And when you smiled at me in the manor, when you believed in me even when I didn’t deserve it—I thought, this is it. This is my heroine. This is the girl I’ll give everything for.

So I did. Everything. I fought for you. Lied to you. Broke myself again and again for you. And maybe I thought that if I bled hard enough, screamed loud enough, you'd have to love me back. But love doesn’t work like that, does it?

You never asked for any of it.

I forced it on you. I made you the center of my world and then got angry when you didn’t make me yours. That wasn’t love. That was desperation. Obsession. And I hate that I only figured that out after it ruined everything.

So I’m stepping away. Finally. I’m leaving the alliance with Crusch and Anastasia behind. It’s yours now. My last “heroic” act, I guess. Whatever worth that has for you now. The only thing I have left to give that actually matters.

Who am I kidding? Like everything else I've tried to give, it probably doesn't.

Along with this: a charm. Black and orange. It’s a design from my homeland, meant to protect someone you care about. I know, stupid. But I wanted you to have something. Just one piece of me that wasn’t broken or heavy or painful.

Even though I know I don't deserve even that.

The rest of me… let it go.

Forget me, Emilia.

Live your life. Be the queen you always could be. Be you. Without having to carry the weight of a boy who loved you wrong. Who would've never loved you right.

I’m sorry.

For how I acted in the assembly hall. For the duel. For lashing out. For making you feel like you owed me something.

I’m sorry for not being the kind of person you could love back.

And I’m sorry that even now, even after everything, I still don’t know how to stop loving you.

Goodbye.

—Subaru

Subaru,

I read your letter.

I read it once.

Then again.

Then again.

And again, and again, and again until the words stopped making sense and all I could see was the space between the lines, where everything you didn’t say lived.

I don’t know how to write this. I don’t know what you expect from me, maybe nothing. Maybe you hoped I’d never write back. Maybe you thought I’d be relieved.

I’m not.

I’m angry. I’m sad. I’m scared. But most of all, I’m sorry.

You said I never asked for your love. You’re right. I didn’t. I didn’t know what to do with it. I didn’t know what it meant. I didn’t know how to be loved like that.

You loved me like I was the air you breathed. And I—

I loved you too. I just didn’t understand it back then. I was still too afraid. I didn’t believe I deserved anything good, and you were good. You were too good. You kept giving and giving and giving and I... I didn’t know how to give anything back.

You think you were selfish. But Subaru, I was the selfish one. I turned away when you needed me the most. I abandoned you and convinced myself it was mercy. But I never once stopped to ask what you needed. I ignored the pain in your eyes because acknowledging it was scary.

And now you're gone.

No goodbye. Just silence and letters and a charm I haven’t taken off since the day I received it.

It still smells like you.

A year ago, Ram wouldn’t look at me. Petra, she’s part of the maid staff now, cried when she thought I wasn’t listening. Rem, Rem hated me, Beatrice too. Otto, bless his kind soul, was the only ally I had, and even then, it was at your behest. And I don’t blame them. Any of them. Because I destroyed the one person who gave us all something to believe in.

Now, Ram keeps me focused, always making me question my actions and decisions. Petra smiles and laughs like a child her age should. Frederica—you’ve never met her, she was part of the maid staff before you left, and returned to the manor at Roswaal’s request. Rem is now my handmaiden and one of my closest friends alongside Otto, and Beatrice—sweet, kind Betty - she forged a pact with me, became my family. Garf—Garfiel Tinzel, he’s Frederica’s younger brother, is training diligently to earn the Royal Knight title, though he keeps stumbling when it comes to etiquette training.

You would’ve gotten along with everyone. Otto and Garf, especially. I’d imagine you would've declared yourselves sworn brothers in another life. One where I didn't break you.

You told me to forget you.

I tried. Od, Subaru, I promise, I tried. I did everything I could to move on. I became stronger. I did what I thought you would’ve done in my place. I led my camp. I governed the Mathers Domain. I smiled when it hurt. I held everyone together. Even on days when all I wanted to do was break into pieces. Like how I broke you.

But you’re in everything. Every lesson. Every laugh. Every crowd. Every sunrise. Every sunset. I see your silhouette among the masses. I see you in the way I speak. I see you in the way I fight. In the way I hope.

You are the starlight I still follow.

So no, I won’t forget you. I can’t.

Maybe I’m being selfish again. Maybe I’m too late. Maybe you don’t want to see me anymore. And maybe, maybe you’ve moved on and are living a better life without me. But I’m not letting this be the end.

Not when I never got the chance to say it back.

I love you, Subaru.

Even if you can’t bear to hear it now.

Even if you never answer this letter.

Even if the only version of you I have left is a memory wrapped around my wrist.

I love you.

Come home.

Please.

—Emilia

Chapter Text

It was the beginning of Spring. Snow no longer fell on the estate grounds, but the cold lingered. The kind of cold that seeped under cloaks and skin, that dug into your bones and reminded you that some winters never left, they just became part of you.

Emilia awoke from her sleep without fanfare. Like clockwork, exactly at the start of wind time. Her sleep was light, as it’s always been every night since… since that day. The day the world flipped upside down and left the colors in her life muted.

The day Subaru returned, rescued everyone, brought hope to an otherwise hopeless situation.

Then left immediately after, taking everything he gave them with him.

His name brings an old sort of pain, the ache of a dull wound that never healed properly. That never healed at all.

Knock! Knock!

Soft, measured knocks. She knew who those gentle raps belonged to. “Come in, Rem!” Emilia called to the person behind the door.

The door opens, and in walks Rem, still clad in her usual maid uniform. No longer a mere servant, but Emilia’s handmaiden. Her hair now long enough to reach her shoulder blades, after a year of letting it grow.

“Good morning, Lady Emilia.” The oni greeted her with a friendly smile.

Emilia greeted her with a smile of her own, “Good morning to you as well, my handmaiden.”

“Please, Lady Emilia, no need for titles. Rem doesn’t like it very much between friends.” Rem pouted at the title.

“Then stop calling me 'Lady,’ Rem. I’m still off the clock, so just call me Emilia.”

Rem giggled, “Fufu, of course, Emilia. Let’s get your hair properly combed, now.”

“Mmm… It is suuuuch a pain though. Why are women required to keep their hair long?” Emilia whined petulantly.

Rem, ever the skilled predator, sees an opportunity to make her lady sweat. “If it displeases you so much, why not cut it short?” She asked innocently, hoping to garner a panicked denial from the half-elf.

That was a mistake. Rem only realized her foot was in her mouth once she stopped speaking.

The half-elf’s body language shifted, “You know why I won't. He liked my long hair. It is—was one of the things he found attractive about me.” She silently whispered, her voice numb and her face, an expressionless void.

Yes. Rem knew. Of course Rem knew that. It was the reason she kept her own hair long, too.

Guilt rose from her chest, “… Rem apologizes for opening up old wounds; she just wanted to tease.” The oni apologized.

Emilia smiles at the apology. It was a weak thing, crooked—barely a curve of her lips. “Of course, Rem. Thank you for trying to make my morning better.”

She had never stopped longing. Not even for a second.

Even though she left him behind first.

Shameless. Selfish. Hypocrite.

A voice muffled under the blankets next to Emilia mumbled in frustration. “Nnn… It’s too early to be awake, I suppose.”

The blankets parted, and from within rose the half-asleep figure of the adorable, grumpy great spirit of yin.

Emilia’s contract spirit.

And the camp’s advisor.

“Good morning, Betty.”

“Good morning, Lady Beatrice.”

Beatrice drowsily looked to her left. Then to her right. Then to her left again. Her twin tails bounced lively like little springs as her head turned.

She turned to Emilia, “… Can Betty go back to sleep?” The little girl asked.

Rem playfully scolded her, “You’ll miss breakfast, Lady Beatrice. Miss Frederica worked hard to prepare it. Petra even went through the trouble of preparing a new dessert for you to try today.”

The butterfly-eyed spirit’s face turned as white as the sheets, and she dove back into her makeshift cocoon.

“Wake Betty up tomorrow afternoon, in fact.”

Emilia pouted, “Noooo, I need Betty to help me with my political lessons today~” she complained.

She shook the cocoon of bedsheets gently as she continued to whine petulantly, “Roswaal’s private lessons are always soooo hard. I need you there with me~”

“Bettyyyyy.”

Beatrice wasn’t having it.

“Tomorrow. After. Noon. I. Suppose.”

Drastic measures would need to be taken, I suppose.

“No~pe. That won't do at all. I'm exercising my rights as contractor. Come here.” Emilia picked her up, cocoon and all.

The spirit girl's little safe space became a binding she couldn't escape from.

“Wah!” Beatrice’s startled head peeked out from the cocoon, like a cat trapped in a towel. “Unhand me, in fact!”

“Noooo~pe” Emilia sang. “Not until you agree to come down for breakfast and join me for my lessons today.”

The butterfly-eyed spirit began wriggling to try and escape the cocoon. Acting very much like the cat she wasn't.

It wasn't very effective.

Time for another strategy.

“This is spirit abuse! Improper handling of a great spirit, I suppose!” The great spirit called foul.

“Still not hearing the magic words~”

“You villain, in fact!”

The contractor and spirit played around in bed a little longer as Rem watched and laughed along with them.

Mornings used to be a time Emilia disliked the most, just a year ago, yet a whole lifetime ago. Now they were one of her few reprieves in her daily life.

Because morning was the only time she allowed herself to put the armor and poise down and be Emilia, the half-elf. Not Lady Emilia, the candidate for the throne. And Od forbid, not Just Emilia, the stupid little girl that tossed away the one good thing in her life out of petty fear and pointless insecurity.

That was a version of her that will never see the light of day again.

Emilia stood tall at the entrance of the manor, back straight, hands neatly folded in front of her. Her posture was perfect. Her hair was neatly styled into an elegant braid, her makeup light, soft, and neutral. She wore her usual purple and white formal dress. Her entire posture radiated regal elegance and distance—just as she was taught by her friends.

Do not show weakness.
Do not give your enemies an opening.
Remain distant.

She couldn’t allow weakness to seep, not after everything she went through to learn how to hide it.

She heard the distant creak of the manor’s gates opening. A dragon carriage, emblazoned with the Hoshin Trading Company’s insignia, rolled forward on hardwood wheels. Otto had gone ahead to greet the visitor. Ram stood half-hidden in the shadows by the pillars. Beatrice and Rem lingered by the door. And to her right, Garfiel paced with growing impatience, his teeth bared just short of snarling.

Emilia exhaled slowly.

What does she want?
Why come to us?

The doors opened. Joshua Juukulius stepped out.

She kept herself cool and poised on the outside, but the sight of him made her blood boil. His appearance was far, far too similar to the man who had beaten Subaru to near death over petty insults. She had agreed that, at the time, Subaru went too far with his insults. But once she learned the extent of what was done to him? Indignant rage on the boy’s behalf was all she could feel.

Too little. Too late.

Far too little. Far, far too late.

She should’ve been more aware of the extent of what was going on.

But all she saw was the beginning and the aftermath. She didn’t know what went on in-between. Hadn’t seen the extent of the damage. And then she left without even bothering to truly listen.

Abhorrently.
Arrogantly.
Selfishly.

Subaru didn’t deserve what that man did to him: the public beating, the equally public humiliation, the insults, the jeering soon after. That man called himself “the Finest Knight.” Yet he went after a weak, powerless boy like a thug and dared to claim to her that it was for the sake of virtues afterward.

Not that Emilia had any right to criticize him. 

Because what did she do for the boy after that?

Nothing. She left him. Abandoned him.

By the time she realized the weight of what she’d thrown away—by the time she realized her choice benefited nobody but herself, it was far, far too late to take her selfishness back.

I'm getting distracted... Her melancholy was no reason to forget who she was.

Emilia learned that the hard way, back at the sanctuary.

Joshua bowed with precision. “Lady Emilia. Thank you for receiving me on such short notice.”

“Of course.” Her smile was poised, just the right degree of formal warmth. “It’s always a pleasure to speak with someone who values decorum.” She lied through her teeth. Emilia hated lies, but she had to acknowledge their necessity—Betty taught her as much. She couldn’t blind herself to reality forever. The position she held, the ghosts of the people she failed, the shadow of the boy she abandoned, they wouldn’t allow it.

She wouldn’t allow it.

Joshua looked slightly taken aback, then smiled. “And I see you’ve grown… considerably, since the start of the selection.”

You have no idea. She quipped sardonically in her mind.

Otto stepped up beside her. “Let’s not waste time. You said this was urgent.”

“Yes.” Joshua straightened. “I come bearing an invitation. My mistress, Anastasia Hoshin, seeks to hold a summit in Priestella, a neutral ground for all royal candidates to discuss coordinated reconstruction, trade, and potential military alliances.”

He was rehearsed, polished. The perfect messenger. But there was something in the way he watched her. Wariness. Respect, maybe. Or fear.

Emilia tilted her head. “How interesting.” Not really. “And why now?” Why indeed.

“A confluence of factors. Lady Crusch has stabilized her influence, which had come into question since the assault by Greed and Gluttony following the White Whale’s subjugation and Sloth’s defeat. Lady Felt has been consolidating power at a noticeable pace, taking in the skilled and oppressed to her side. Lady Priscilla continues to garner influential followers steadily. And... my mistress believes this is an opportune moment to re-establish bonds weakened during last year’s conflict.”

She kept her smile, though it had not once reached her eyes. “That’s an eloquent way of saying ‘we need to get along or else.’”

Yes. We need to get along or the cult would just pick us off one-by-one.

Emilia understood the logic.

Their previous attempt failed thanks to the blood, sweat, and tears of a powerless boy.

And she didn’t even get to pay him back for it.

Joshua blinked. Then gave the faintest nod. “If I may be blunt—”

“You may.”

“The Hoshin Company wants peace. Mutual prosperity. And the royal selection is stagnant without cooperation.”

Emilia nodded slowly. “And what’s in it for me?”

A question she would’ve balked at a year ago.
Now? The cruel, uncaring words left her mouth as easily as breathing.

A year ago, she would’ve made excuses to help.
The cult is after me, so I should martyr myself.
I don’t want people to get hurt because of me, so I’ll let myself be the only victim.

She learned far too late that that kind of mindset was not selfless.
Nor was it beautiful.
It was poison.
A poison that hurts not you, but your loved ones.

Emilia’s sensitive elven ears twitched as they caught the boy’s quickening heartbeat.

A flicker of tension passed through the boy’s features. He was grappling with an internal decision. A negotiation card that turned the game into a high-stakes sudden death match.

“There is another reason to attend.”

Here it comes. His real bargaining chip.

Joshua swallowed. Otto narrowed his eyes.

“My lady... That man… Natsuki Subaru is in Priestella.”

The words hit her like a punch that didn’t bruise, but still broke something inside. They punctured a hole through every mental wall she’s built up over the past year.

Her lungs forgot how to breathe.

Everything went silent, like snowfall.

Subaru. Natsuki Subaru.

He was alive. He was real. Not a dream or a letter stained with tears. Not the ghost that haunted her sleepless nights. He’s there. In Priestella. And she hadn't seen him, hadn't heard his voice, in an entire year.

She couldn’t speak. She wasn’t even sure if her heart had stopped beating or was beating too fast.

Behind her, Garfiel growled. “The hell you mean he’s in Priestella?”

Joshua nodded, solemn. “He leads the Pleiades Group. A merchant coalition operating in Priestella with the Muse Company’s approval. He’s a respected figure. Charismatic. Elusive. And, all the same. Powerful.”

Otto’s breath hitched. “He’s... working with Anastasia?” That meant he’s an enemy. Emilia desperately didn’t want to think about what that would imply for them. For her.

“Not directly,” Joshua admitted as Emilia internally sighed with relief. “But they’ve crossed paths. He keeps to himself. Does not attend public functions. Only a handful of people interact with him regularly. But I was told... to mention him, should negotiations stall.” And just like that, she tensed up again.

He looked directly at Emilia.

Her fingers clenched into her sleeves, tracing the charm he left behind that she never took off.

Natsuki Subaru. The name made her feel like everything she’d built the past year had no worth, that she was still the same stupid little Emilia who insensitively stepped on the love of the one person who had given it to her for free. Even when all she had to offer was her pathetic, selfish self.

Even if she couldn’t say it out loud, the name echoed in her chest, shaking something loose.

A dozen memories surged: his ditzy little pose when he introduced himself the first time—after he threw himself in front of Elsa for her. His smile when he asked for her name, so reminiscent of Mother Fortuna’s. The smile that, in hindsight, had made her fall in love at first sight. The tremble in his voice when he tried to justify his actions after the duel during the selection’s official start. His haunted eyes. His tears. His screams. His fear of abandonment disguised as indignant rage. His love. His love. His love.

And,

Her abandonment. Her selfishness.

Her failure.

“I see,” she said at last, forcing calm into her voice like shoving ice into a furnace. “And does he know you used his name to bait me?” The question was not asked in a raised voice. It contained no magic. It held no curse.

All the same, Joshua flinched, feeling as if he were a block of ice with a mouth attached. “He... requested I not mention him unless necessary.” He stuttered out.

“He” requested. Emilia noticed the wording.

He really was working with Anastasia. Under the table, that is.

He let her use his name to lure Emilia out.

And the worst part?

“I see.”

She can't even blame him for it.

It was the perfect bait. They both knew it.

Her attempts at locating him this past year have not been subtle. She had Otto engage with his merchant contacts. She had Roswaal spread the word to his social circle. When she went out on tour around the Mathers’ territory as part of her duties as dragon priestess, she would ask every influential person about “the boy with black hair and scary eyes.”

Still. Not a hint of his shadow to be found. As if he had disappeared into thin air.

Emilia looked down at the stone tiles of the courtyard, just for a moment. She let herself imagine the warmth of his hand, the softness of his normally sharp eyes when he looks at her, the way he always called her Emilia-tan, so casual and affectionate, like she was something precious, like her name itself was a prayer. She let the guilt rise like bile, then buried it beneath cold iron.

She looked up. Resolved. Determined. And so, so afraid.

“We leave in two days.” She declared.

Otto turned to her, startled. “Are you sure?”

She nodded. “If he is in Priestella, then going there might be the only chance I have at seeing him again.”

And finally, finally, tell him what letters never could.

Garfiel scoffed. “After what he did to you?”

“No,” she said quietly. “After what I did to him.”

The wind picked up again. No one spoke for a moment. A somber silence as they allowed her to lament her failures.

Then Emilia turned to Joshua and said with soft finality:

“Tell Anastasia I’ll see her in Priestella. But tell her this too—”

She looked toward the horizon. The sun was rising behind the snow-covered trees. She didn’t feel its warmth. She hadn’t felt it in almost a year.

“—I’m not the girl I was a year ago. And I won’t be manipulated so easily.” She promised.

“Not by her. And not by him, either.”

Joshua bowed deeper this time.

And Emilia stood still, her breath fogging in the air, eyes distant. Recalling a time when she knew what happiness felt like.

She had a promise to keep. To herself, and to him.

She would face Subaru. She would tell him everything. Bare all her shame. Show all her weaknesses. Hide none of it behind selfishness disguised as kindness. Even if it shattered what little was left of her heart. Even if it leaves her an empty husk, like she was in the days that immediately followed his departure.

The rhythmic clatter of wooden wheels over dirt roads became the carriage’s heartbeat. It was almost calming, if she let it be, if she imagined for just a moment that this was any other journey, and not the one that might change everything. That might change nothing.

Emilia sat near the front, back straight, her reflection ghosted in the small window. Her posture was perfect. Her voice, when she spoke, had the cool clarity of someone used to being watched. But her thoughts refused to obey the same discipline.

His name rang in her head like a chime she couldn’t unhear.

The air inside the carriage was stifling. Not from heat, but from things unsaid. Tensions tightly coiled into silence.

Rem, dressed in her usual black and white maid uniform, sat beside Emilia, dutiful as ever—but her eyes rarely left the charm on Emilia’s wrist. When Emilia noticed, she gave a soft smile and gently turned it inward, hiding it beneath her sleeve. Rem didn’t react, only lowered her gaze with a faint nod. She hated it, hated that only Emilia received a reminder. She told her as much a year ago.

“Sorry,” Emilia said, barely above a whisper.

“You don’t have to be,” Rem replied with a soft, apologetic smile. “Not to Rem. Not anymore.”

But the edge was still there. Not quite resentment, but not warmth either. Distance. Rem hadn’t forgiven her, not truly, but she was trying. That was all Emilia could ask. They were friends now, yes. Emilia knew that. Good friends. Best friends.

But even best friends could hate and resent each other.

Across from her, Otto leaned into the swaying of the carriage, legs crossed, quill scratching lightly over parchment as he took inventory of supplies and people. Practical as always, focused, diligent. But when he thought no one was watching, he would glance at her with something like worry. No, not worry. Devotion, carefully reined in by boundaries he’d drawn for her sake, not his.

“You haven’t eaten today,” Otto muttered, not looking up.

“I’m not hungry.” Emilia bluntly replied.

He paused. “You said that yesterday too.”

She tilted her head and gave him a small, teasing smirk. “Are you managing the internal affairs of my body now?”

He smirked back. “Wouldn’t be the worst department I’ve run.”

Their banter was familiar, easy. Built over nights of late meetings and shared burdens. But it was never flirtatious, never serious. Otto wouldn’t let it be. Not when he knew her heart had never stopped aching for someone else. She respected him more for it.

Ram, beside him, gave a quiet “Hmph” and returned to staring out the window.

“Lady Emilia,” she said without looking away from the window, her voice oozing sarcastic malice. “You’re going to meet the man you made suffer so beautifully. Have you decided what to wear for the occasion?”

Emilia tensed. Beatrice stiffened.

Otto shot Ram a warning glance. “That’s uncalled for.” He warned as Rem yelped, “Nee-sama!” in shock.

“Is it?” Ram side-eyed the group, deadpan. “She broke him. And now she wants to un-break him. Should she wear white for innocence or black for mourning?”

“Ram—” Emilia started with a light bristle.

“—Ignore her,” Beatrice snapped. “That’s just how she flirts, in fact.”

“Ram was not—!”

But Rem chuckled quietly. Otto shook his head with a sigh. Even Emilia, surprised by Beatrice’s jab, felt a real smile threaten the edge of her lips.

Ram huffed and let the matter drop. Looking outside the window once more.

Beatrice leaned into her side, arms crossed. “They’re all just scared, I suppose. Don’t blame them. The decision to go on this trip was too rash. Too sudden, in fact.”

“I’m sorry for being selfish. But I had to.” Emilia murmured. “Some decisions needed to be spur-of-the-moment.”

She took a deep breath, then addressed her subordinates and companions.

“If I’d let myself think about it, let my doubts fester, I would have declined.” She spoke, her tone regal, but pleading.

“If I don’t let myself be reckless when I feel I need to be, we’d all still be trapped in there right this moment.”

There. The sanctuary. A place none of them wanted to remember.

Silence again.

Emilia’s thoughts drifted, inevitably, back to the boy she adored. As it always did.

The weight returned.

Garfiel’s bare feet landed on the carriage roof with a dull thud before he swung open the upper hatch and dropped in, crouching like a coiled spring.

“We’re ‘bout a few days away from Priestella, give or take. The trees in the forest are different lookin’, means we’re close to Kararagi,” he said, eyes sharp. Tension seeping out from his every pore.

Emilia looked at him, sensing the storm in his posture.

“What is it?” she asked.

He hesitated. “Nothin’.”

Emilia did not push. She didn’t need to.

She just waited.

He cracked like an egg. “...Damn it, Princess. I don’t like this. This whole ‘let’s go find the guy who abandoned you and make nice’ thing. He left you. He left you to rot. Why the hell are we going after him?”

Emilia didn’t flinch. “Because I abandoned him first. And he still came back to save me, save everyone, despite that.”

That shut him up.

He came back. He saved everyone. He was the hero.

And he left before the princess could give him his dues.

She could feel the fury on Garf’s tongue, directed at Subaru, not her, but he swallowed it, jaw tight. His fists curled on his knees. He saw her as someone to protect. Flawless and perfect. Incapable of making bad judgments. Incapable of abandoning others. A sorrowful saint-princess who saves others and laments the impossible.

If only he saw what was behind the mask. Not that she’d let him. Not she’d let anyone, except maybe him. Subaru.

She turned to face Garf fully. “You’ve fought beside me. You’ve bled for me. You’ve protected me. But I won’t ask you to follow me into this.”

“A little late for that,” Ram quipped. Everyone ignored her.

Garfiel’s eyes snapped up, offended despite himself. His irritation not quite hiding the blush on his face. “Don’t be stupid. ‘Course I’m goin’. But I don’t have to like it.”

“Good,” Emilia said as her face hardened. “I’m not doing this for anyone’s comfort.”

Ram huffed. “We’ll see.” She criticized. She always did, but it was just her way of making sure Emilia thought things through.

Rem smiled encouragingly, Beatrice nodded in approval, and Otto gave her a sidelong glance full of quiet admiration and, try as she might to not notice it, longing.

Yet she noticed. She’d always noticed. Every time.

Because it was the same expression Subaru had when he looked at her.

Of course she'd notice, now that she knew what that look meant.

She refused to give it any attention. She didn’t want to hurt Otto. He was her best friend. Her first one. A position he now shared with Rem. She could only pray that her silence would eventually stifle his passion.

The mood in the carriage shifted. Lighter, yet far more important topics were discussed. Governance of the Mathers’ territory, which she now took full charge of after the sanctuary. Her lessons on politics and trade with Beatrice and Otto. Garfiel’s fourth failed attempt this past month at passing his etiquette exam to earn his knighthood.

Banter flowed freely and lightly. A camaraderie among her friends and followers that she had to earn through her own sweat, blood, and tears.

The conversation died down soon after.

Everyone sat in companionable silence, no longer in the mood to talk.

Emilia pressed her fingers together, letting her gaze drift outside.

Snow still dusted the treetops in the distance, though it didn’t fall here anymore. Spring had come. Time marched on uncaringly, as it always did. The world had moved on.

But she hadn’t.
She wouldn’t.
She wasn’t ready.
But she was willing.
Even if it hurt.
Especially if it hurt.

She would face him not as the half-frozen girl who couldn’t say how she felt, but as the woman who learned, through grief and silence, how much a single word could mean.

She would find him.

And she would try.

Even if all she could give him was the truth of herself.

Even if her words ended up being nothing but excuses for her own inadequacies.

Even if all she saw was a version of him who was happier than he ever was when he was beside her.

Emilia would try to win him back.

Chapter Text

They won.

The battle against Sloth was over.

The carriage rocked gently, wheels grinding over compacted dirt as the vast walls of the Karsten estate emerged through the morning mist. The subjugation army returned in slow procession, bloodied but victorious.

The White Whale was dead.

The Sin Archbishop of Sloth was vanquished.

The villagers were safe.

The world should have felt lighter.

But it didn’t.

Not to her.

Not yet.

Emilia sat by the window in silence, eyes fixed on the path ahead. She didn’t speak. Not to Petra, who had fallen asleep against her side. Not to Rem, who sat across from her with a blank, cold expression. Not to the merchant, Otto Suwen, who was rescued by the army, or rather, by Subaru himself—when the army, led by Duchess Crusch Karsten, showed up at the Mathers estate and began evacuating everyone.

All she did was watch the scenery pass.

He’ll be there.
He has to be.

The sun had risen only recently. It washed the world in pale gold, casting long shadows over the columns of knights escorting them home. Crusch rode near the front, steel-eyed and silent. Julius and Ferris trailed behind, their uniforms battered but gleaming.

The venerable Wilhelm Van Astrea stood tall, his blade stained, his presence like a monument to wrath and honor.

Everything was intact.

Everything but him.

No one said it, but she felt it, the gap where Subaru should be. She knew he was among them. She heard the knights talk and gossip before they set out. About Sir Subaru. The miracle maker who sank the White Whale. The commoner who humiliated himself at the royal castle. The boy who stood up against the world for the half-devil. For her.

He’s just behind.
He’s helping someone else.
He’s always suuuuch a dunderhead. Always soooo hardworking and excited about every little thing. He probably stayed back to clean up and ended up lagging behind.
There’s still time. I’ll tell him I’m sorry. I’ll ask him… why he tried so hard, why he treated me like I was special. I’ll listen this time.
I’ll thank him.
I’ll give him a lap pillow, he said he wanted those as rewards for hard work.
Maybe we could go on another ‘deito’ when things calm down. He’d appreciate the break.

The moment the carriage turned the final bend and the full view of the Karsten estate opened before them, her breath caught.

White stone.

Slate roofs.

An open garden.

A sea of medics and bodies. Knights and soldiers. Living and dead.

Rows upon rows of injured and corpses. Soldiers, knights, mercenaries. No distinction was made. They all lay on the grassy floor of the estate gardens equally without dignity.

Emilia felt her pulse quicken. Her first instinct was to shield the children.

Rem gasped and shielded them with her. Their first, and only, moment of solidarity since Rem returned to the Mathers estate with Crusch and the army.

“Subaru…” The name came unbidden, like a prayer. Like a savior.

The caravan came to a halt on Crusch’s orders, and the able-bodied among the men in the army and refugees joined the relief efforts.

“The reporting party…” Julius whispered as Felix ran off to assist with the medical relief.

“You there! Report! What happened!?” Crusch demanded from a nearby, lightly wounded soldier.

The man stood up and bowed, lightly cradling his left leg. “Yes, Lady Crusch.” He spoke.

His body language radiated hesitance, as if expecting them to not believe him.

The man began, “We were ambushed on our way back.”

Crusch pressed. “By whom?”

“That’s…” He trailed off.

Crusch pressed harder. “Answer the question, soldier.”

The man bit his lip.

“The… archbishops of Greed… and Gluttony.” He finished.

A pause. Poignant, as everyone needed to parse the words. Parse the sheer absurdity of the events the soldier described.

“What in the world…” Someone breathed.

Greed—

And Gluttony?

Two archbishops. At the same time. It was completely unheard of. An event that lacked precedent.

Worry bloomed in her chest like a flash fire. The first person that came to mind was…

“Subaru… Where is Subaru?” Emilia cried out. Nobody answered her.

She ran off and broke from the group, hoping to find him among the injured—and only the injured.

He wasn’t there. Not there. Not there either.

She searched frantically through the crowd, eyes darting across every face. Searching through every single body, both living and dead. His signature colors and his tracksuit did not make themselves known. Not a hint of him.

“Lady Emilia!” Crusch called as she caught up to her.

Emilia stopped and turned to face the duchess.

She squashed down the irritation that crept up her back. It wouldn't do to be rude to Crusch, especially after Subaru worked soooo hard to secure the alliance.

But still… “Y-Yes…?” She asked, impatience leaking out of her voice. The half-elf didn’t have time for this. She needed to find that reckless, stupid boy. Quickly.

He always had a bad habit of jumping straight into danger. He could be hurt. Or worse.

She needed to find him. Give him a good scolding so he’d finally stop and—

“—excuse myself here. The relief efforts will move much more smoothly with a leader in charge.” Crusch finished.

“Err… yes. Please do so, I will… continue on my own, Miss Crusch.”

Drat. She hadn’t heard half of what the Duchess said.

Crusch just stared at her for a few beats, silently evaluating.

With a sigh, she spoke. “You’re free to go search for him. But do try to stay out of the way while you are at it.” Crusch warned.

Emilia looked down and pursed her lips, like a child preemptively scolded before she could cause mischief. “Yes, Miss Crusch.” She replied solemnly.

Crusch nodded and left to aid in the relief efforts. Wilhelm trailed closely like a loyal bloodhound.

Not once had he even glanced her way.

Emilia resumed her search.

Still no sign of him.
Not here.
Not there.
Nowhere.

Her heartbeat quickened. She was starting to panic.

Where is he?
Why won’t he come see me?

Did something happen? Was he off somewhere else being reckless again? She should never have left that dunderhead alone!

Maybe he's just late? Yes, that's it. He's late. Emilia just needed to be patient and wait. He'll show himself eventually. Subaru's always had a preference for dramatics.

She just needed to distract herself while waiting. Worrying about that nincompoop will make her jittery. She’ll give him a real scolding this time! She’ll pinch his cheeks extra hard and tell him, in no uncertain terms, how angry she is with him!

All she had to do was wait for him to show up with that goofy grin of his. He’ll probably say something along the lines of “Emilia-tan was worried about me!? I should put myself in danger even more!” then proceed to run around like a cat that overdosed on coff.

Emilia could feel her stress levels spiking even further at the thought. He wasn’t even here, and he’s still causing her no end of problems. Dunderhead. Nincompoop. Reckless oaf.

This will not do. She needed to “switch gears,” as he would say.

“Um, excuse me…?” She tried to call out to one of the nearby medics.

The medic turned to look at her. “Uh—Uhm… Yes, how may I help you, Lady Emilia?” The man asked. His tone and body language were tinged with both impatience and nervousness.

Oh, she knew what this was.

He was afraid of her.

“J-Just…” Emilia stuttered. Afraid of worsening his opinion of her.

This won't do. She can't be afraid of this forever. She was going to be king. Get a grip.

Steadying her voice, “Can I help?” She tried to offer. “Please?”

Something. Anything. As long as it can distract me. As long as it stops my mind from drifting.

The man stared at her in shock for a few seconds. Unable to process what he’d just heard.

A silver-haired half-devil offering to help heal the injured, not something you’d hear every day.

“Err… Yes, I believe you are a spiritualist, Milady? Please help us with healing the lightly wounded.” He replied when he found his voice again. “You can start with whomever is still unattended.”

“I can do that. Thank you very much, sir!” She replied with polite excitement. Then she got up and went straight to the first lightly injured soldier she could find unattended.

Emilia crouched down next to the soldier and introduced herself.

“Hello, sir. I’m Emilia. Just Emilia. Please—let me help you.” She spoke politely and offered the man her hand.

“Uh, yes. Please do. Miss—err… Lady Emilia.” The soldier replied, showing her his wounds.

She called upon her lesser spirits and began treating the wound with water mana.

The soldier's wounds were treated easily enough, and soon after—he was fully healed.

Happy at a job well done, “There. All done! Please rest and don’t overwork yourself.” Emilia spoke with a bright smile.

“Of course… Err… T-thank you, Lady Emilia.”

“Mm!” The half-elf hummed happily.

Then she went looking for the next person she could heal. And then moved on to the next person. Then the next.

This process repeated all the way until sundown.

By the time all the injured were accounted for, Emilia had exhausted herself completely. She happily hummed to herself and made her way toward the waiting room of the manor, half-expecting Subaru to be inside already.

It’s been a whole day. He couldn’t have been busy for that long, right?
Did he get lost on the way? Silly boy. Always soooo amusingly clumsy.
Maybe I won’t scold him as hard as I wanted to, if he showed enough sincerity and apologized for keeping me waiting so long, that is.

Emilia entered the waiting room to see Rem sitting by the window. She’d thought they started getting along quite swimmingly since Subaru came to the Roswaal Manor. They talked freely. Smiled at each other more often. Rem even accompanied her for tea time on occasion.

But since she returned to evacuate the refugees, Rem had refused to meet her eyes. Refused to speak to her. And just kept ignoring every single attempt Emilia made at starting a conversation.

Like right now.

“Good evening, Rem!”

“…”

“I’ve just finished helping Miss Crusch and the medic corps with healing the injured. I don’t think I did a very good job, but I’d like to think I helped at least somewhat. Heheh…”

“…”

“Oh! I wonder where Subaru is. That silly boy. He's always causing trouble. I hope he gets here soon. I'm starting to miss his chaos…”

“...”

Rem refused to even acknowledge her. She refused to meet her eyes. Refused to engage her in conversation. Silently fuming about something since even before the evacuation started. She moved from her seat and stood silently by the wall adjacent to the door, far from where Emilia sat. Her face carved a carefully guarded expression that leaked a cold, quiet fury.

Emilia fell silent.

It was getting harder and harder to pretend.

Surely, surely he’d appear at some point. All she had to do was wait. Busy herself. He’ll come to her; he always did. Even when she didn’t want him to. Especially when she didn’t want him to.

The door opened, and the trio from the Crusch camp walked in.

The moment her eyes met Crusch’s, she knew. She knew.

It was in the way the valkyrie held her gaze. Despondently. Like a disappointed elder.

In the way Wilhelm’s posture stiffened, his eyes hardened in what she now recognized was the same quiet fury as Rem’s.

In the way Ferris looked at her with something between pity and guilt, laced with his own brand of disdain.

Emilia’s throat tightened.

She looked past them. Again. One more time.

Nothing.

No black-and-orange tracksuit. No shaggy hair and sharp eyes. No too-loud voice calling her name with shameless affection.

“Subaru…?” The name slipped out. Too soft to echo.

Everyone heard her.

Nobody answered.

She swallowed hard and tried again, louder, this time. “Where is Subaru?” She asked, her voice naked with aching desperation.

Crusch closed her eyes and exhaled slowly.

Wilhelm walked away. His posture radiating anger as he stomped his way out of her sight. He couldn’t stand the sight of her anymore.

Ferris stepped forward with formal grace and an expression of mourning. Like a knight about to present a widow with news of her husband’s death.

His tail dragged behind him. His ever-present teasing smirk was gone. He said nothing, only held something out in both hands, fingers trembling as he held back his tears.

An envelope.

Her name was on it.

Scrawled in that familiar, frantic handwriting. Letters sharp and uneven. Like a child’s first attempt at writing in Ro-Script, yet at the same time, flowery in a way only an adult could write. She’d recognize that handwriting anywhere.

Her eyes locked onto it as the weight behind the air around her crashed down.

No.
No, he didn’t.
He wouldn’t.

She didn’t move.

Her knees trembled. Her lips parted. Her fingers hovered before they touched the letter. Like it was sacred. Like she did not want to acknowledge it. Like if she turned away, pretended it wasn’t real, then it would not be real.

Emilia turned toward Rem, who was now openly showing the emotions she bottled up since before they even got onto the carriage. All her rage, all her contempt, now unleashed and unrestrained as enraged tears bled from her eyes.

Ah, so this was why she refused to talk to me.
She knew. They all knew.
They knew before we even stepped into that carriage.

Any words Emilia had died in her throat the moment she looked into those eyes.

Otto had returned to her side, silent and watchful, diligently doing the duty he was tasked with. To honor the will of the reckless boy who saved his life.

He didn’t speak. Because he knew what was in that envelope even if she didn’t.

Of course he knew.

He had been the one to deliver Rem hers and entrusted her with the delivery of the rest. One letter to everyone part of the Roswaal Manor—immediately after he watched the broken hero leave with a sad, dead smile plastered rigidly on his face.

The last letter was purposely handed to Ferris with instructions to give it to her once they reached the manor, to ensure Emilia’s letter was the last to be delivered.

The estate around her bustled with knights, soldiers, refugees, and staff. Children were being carried inside. Medics rushed to move the remaining wounded and bury the dead. Orders barked in the distance.

But to Emilia, the world narrowed to a silent, still point.

A paper-thin thing.

A letter.

He had written it.

He wrote this.

He wrote this instead of saying goodbye.

Something cracked beneath her breastbone.

Not loud. Not obvious.

Just the soft, breaking sound of hope collapsing under its own weight.

Emilia could no longer pretend. Could no longer look away from the truth. She'd known from the start that this would happen.

No. Not like this. This was supposed to be a reunion. This was supposed to be the beginning again. We were going to reconcile. Rebuild.
This isn’t what I came back to. I was supposed to apologize, give you another lap pillow. I was going to ask you why.
This… can’t be the end.

But she took the letter.

Because even as her body froze, her heart screamed for it.

She held it to her chest like it could shield her from what it meant.

The setting sun was warm.

The wind was soft.

And Emilia, once brimming with hope, stood alone in the center of it all, staring down at the last words Natsuki Subaru would ever give her.

She beelined toward her designated guest room the moment the letter fell into her trembling hands.

She didn’t speak.

Didn’t respond when Otto called after her. Didn’t stop when she bumped into Petra, who asked her if everything was okay. Didn’t dare look at Rem’s direction as she fled the room.

The envelope felt heavier than her limbs. Her legs moved like driftwood, distant, unthinking. The halls of the Karsten manor blurred past her, stone and light crystals and murmuring servants fading into static.

All she could feel was the paper in her grip.

Warm. Fragile. Waiting.

Her door clicked shut behind her. She didn’t lock it. She didn’t need to. No one would follow.

She stood in the center of the room and did not sit.

Did not breathe.

Her fingers clutched the envelope tighter than she realized, wrinkling the corners, trembling with every heartbeat. Her hands had never felt so unsteady.

She stared at her name, scratched into the surface in a rush, her name, written by his hand.

Natsuki Subaru.

The letters were clumsy. Uneven. Like he had been shaking when he wrote it.

He’s alive.
He wrote this.
So he’s alive.

She clung to that thought, weaponized it, worshipped it, even as another voice in her mind hissed:

Then why isn’t he here?

She sat on the edge of the bed.

The envelope lay in her lap.

Still sealed.

She stared at it for minutes. Maybe longer. The seer crystal flickered as it continued to shift colors, like a heartbeat she didn’t trust.

She touched the seal once, gently.

Then recoiled as if it had just burned her.

Not yet.
Not yet.
What if it’s not goodbye?
What if it says he’s just away? Recovering. Planning something. What if he’s trying to protect me again?

She bit her lip, eyes burning.

What if I open it and that lie breaks?

She clutched it to her chest.

Her hands curled around it like a child holding onto a keepsake.

He gave me this. He gave me this instead of saying anything himself.
I hurt him. I hurt him. So much that he’d choose a letter over saying anything directly.

Her mind still tried to protect her from the truth. Despite all the evidence saying otherwise. Despite the reactions of the members of the Crusch camp. Despite the way Rem looked at her as if she had destroyed something precious. Something sacred.

This isn’t goodbye.
It’s not. It’s not. It’s not.
Please, it’s not!

It’s not—it’s… It’s a prank!
That’s right! A prank! He liked those.
He did them to Ram and Beatrice all the time.

He’ll jump out of the closet and surprise me!
Or maybe he’ll show himself from under the bed!
Or—Or outside the window! Yes! Crazy and reckless!
Just like always.

But it wasn’t.
She knew it wasn’t.
She knew.

This was goodbye.

It was always goodbye.

“Why,” she whispered. Her voice cracked in the stillness.

Why couldn’t she just open it?

It was just paper.

Just words.

She faced the world’s hatred. Faced condemnation from people who never saw past her hair, eyes, and ears. Faced the judgment of the people she would’ve one day governed as queen.

But she couldn’t face this.

Her body refused.

She dropped her head into her hands and stayed there.

Because the second I open it, it’s real.
The second I open it, I’ve lost him.
I’ve lost him for good.
I thought we had a chance to reconcile after he came back.
I never got to ask him why he tried so hard.

Tears threatened, but didn’t fall.

She didn’t cry.

She just sat, crushed under the silence, crushed under the weight of something half-gone, something that had once felt unshakable and now trembled in her lap.

Her eyes drifted back to the letter.

And this time, slowly, with a hand that shook like autumn leaves, she reached for the seal.

Her thumb hovered over the edge.

Paused.

Then pressed.

The wax cracked.

The seal broke.

The paper split.

Her heart did, too.

She unfolded it slowly.

Line by line, the words emerged, his words, penned in ink just barely smudged, as though he had hesitated too, maybe even cried over them.

And she began to read.

And the world stopped moving.

The noise of the manor—distant footsteps, clinking plates, low conversation—evaporated into nothing. The air thickened like syrup, suffocating, heavy. Her vision tunneled to a page filled with messy, desperate handwriting.

“Dear Emilia,”

Her name.

There was no “Emilia-tan,” no pet name said with a lopsided smile or cheeky grin. Just Emilia—neat, distant, hollow.

Written in the scrawl of a boy who smiled through bruises. Who bled for her. Nearly died for her. Screamed in front of the whole damn kingdom for her for reasons she never managed to ask.

Her name.

He gave it gravity. Meaning. Hope.

He said her name with Weight. Like she was worth more than her heritage.
He gave it Meaning. Like it was something precious.
He always called it with Hope. Like she was someone who gave him so much of it.

She never understood why.
She never got the chance to even ask.

And now he was using it to say goodbye.

Her lips moved. No sound came. Her fingers clenched the edge of the letter so tight that the paper crumpled.

She read on.

“I guess this is where I’m supposed to say goodbye.”

Her fingers curled tighter around the edges of the paper, tearing the corners. Her hands shook.

“I love you.”

The words splintered through her chest. She gasped, a silent, sharp sound, like the air had turned to glass.

He’d never said that. Not like this. Not ever. Not with so much weight. Not with finality.

And now that he had, it was carved into a farewell.

She couldn’t keep reading.
She couldn’t stop reading.

Her eyes kept dragging her forward, line by line, heartbeat by heartbeat. Each sentence was a blunt knife. Slow and dull. Violently tearing instead of cleanly slicing.

“I loved you so much it hurt.”
“You were everything to me.”
“You saved me.”

Her throat spasmed. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her body curled inward, instinctively, like she was trying to protect something. But there was nothing left to protect. The letter flayed her open.

He said she saved him. That she gave him hope.

That her smile, her name, her existence gave him light.

I didn’t know.
Please—I didn’t know I meant anything.
I didn’t know someone could… could feel like that about me.

The tears were hot and fast now, sliding down her cheeks with no ceremony, no drama—just pain, clean and constant.

“I fought for you. Lied to you. Broke myself again and again for you.”

No. No. No, no, no, please, stop—
Please don’t write it like this.
Please don’t let this be the truth.

She could barely breathe now. The sobs came in short, sharp bursts. Wet and guttural, the kind of crying that made her shoulders jerk and her throat burn and her nose run.

And still the letter didn’t stop.

Still he confessed. Still he bled across the page in words.

“You never asked for any of it.”
“I forced it on you.”
“That wasn’t love. That was desperation.”

She whimpered. A pitiful, broken sound. Her mouth opened again, and this time a word came out:

“No…”

Her voice cracked apart.

You’re wrong.
You’re wrong, Subaru. Please—

“I made you the center of my world and got angry when you didn’t make me yours.”

It was true.

That was the part that tore her wide open.

It was true, and she hadn’t seen it until he said it.

All of a sudden, it all made sense.
The way he’d say her name.
The way he tried to involve her in everything.
The way he tried so hard to make her days brighter.
The way he fought and insulted and argued for her.
The way he bled and shattered for her.

And what did she do to respond to those feelings?

Nothing.
She didn’t even notice them.
Not until he was already gone.
She watched him carry that weight alone and fall apart beneath it.
She never even got to see him leave her behind.

I did that.
I stood there while he sat on that bed.
Saying anything that came to mind to justify himself.
I watched him break.
And I said nothing.

The letter trembled in her hands.

Her knees gave out, and she collapsed to the floor.

Not gracefully. Not with dignity. Her body hit the ground, knees slamming to the carpet, arms loose and limp, the letter now limp between shaking fingers.

“Forget me, Emilia.”

A scream tore out of her before she realized she’d opened her mouth.

It was animal. Hoarse. Something not human. Something too primal to be called grief, too loud to be called mourning.

It was the sound of a soul breaking.

She screamed again, louder, until her throat was raw.

You loved me. And I didn’t see.
You needed me. And I left.
You asked me to forget you.
And I never even knew I had you to begin with.

“I’m sorry that even now, even after everything, I still don’t know how to stop loving you.”

Oh, that line destroyed her.

She reached up and clawed at her own chest—dragged her fingers against the skin above her heart like she could dig out the shame, the guilt, the sick weight pulsing beneath her ribs.

She couldn’t breathe. Her mouth opened again and again, gasping, choking.

Stop loving me.
Stop loving me, I don’t deserve it.
I didn’t see you. I didn’t help you. I didn’t—

She retched. The sobs grew violent, shaking her shoulders, making her fingers cramp, her whole body convulsing from the storm inside.

She collapsed fully to the floor, curled in on herself, cheek pressed to the carpet, tears soaking into the fibers. Her fingers clawed weakly at the hem of her dress. Her other hand still gripped the charm.

You gave me this. You gave me all of this.
You gave me a piece of yourself, and I never even said thank you.

“Goodbye.”

Not “until we meet again.”

Not “see you.”

Not even “farewell.”

Just goodbye.

Final.

Empty.

Terminal.

Time stopped.

Eventually, her body stopped trembling. Not because she had calmed, but because she had emptied.

There were no more tears.

No more sobs.

No more screaming.

Just silence.

Her eyes stared forward, unfocused. Red and dry.

The letter was still in front of her, blurred from where tears had soaked it.

She didn't blink.

Didn't think.

Didn't feel.

Just lay there. Breathing. Existing. A corpse that still moved.

She didn’t know how long she stayed that way.

An hour?
A night?
A year?

All she knew was that something in her had died with that letter.

And whatever remained was not the girl Subaru loved.

She was something else now.

Something after.

A soft knock came at her door. Petra’s voice, barely audible.

“Lady Emilia…?”

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t move.

Otto passed by, murmuring something about rest. Rem told him to leave her be. They argued. They both left.

No one came in.

No one saw her curled on the cold hardwood floor, the letter limp in her hand, the charm clutched so tight it left bloodied crescents in her palm.

Subaru was gone.
And Emilia was alone.

She had stepped all over his heart.
Broke it into pieces.

Not with cruelty. Not with intent.
But with ignorance.
With cowardice.
With silence.

And now, with nothing left but a letter and a charm—

Emilia lay there.
A living corpse.

Chapter Text

The world hadn’t moved.

Or maybe it had, and Emilia had just fallen out of step with it. That was probably more accurate.

Because the world was still turning—she could feel the faint touch of sunlight trickling through the window’s frosted glass, the distant chatter of the Karsten estate servants outside, the mechanical rustling of carriages in the far courtyard. The familiar, meaningless buzz of a life still moving.

But for her, time had stopped.

It had stopped the moment she read Subaru’s letter.

The parchment still lay where she had dropped it hours earlier—on the floor at the center of the room, wrinkled, warped by dried tears, edges curled and slightly torn as if even the paper had recoiled from the truth it carried. Its words had carved themselves into her brain, one painful syllable at a time. Even now, long after she had finished reading it, she could still hear the words in her mind, as if he had spoken directly to her. She could picture how his face looked as he wrote it, as if she were right there as it was being penned. She could see the anguish pouring out of every pore in his body as he continued to condemn himself for her mistakes.

“Forget me, Emilia.”
“Live your life.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Goodbye.”

The phrases repeated like a curse. A quiet, elegant execution. Every time they echoed in her mind, something inside her cracked a little deeper.

She sat curled on the floor, knees pulled to her chest, arms clutched tightly around them as if they were the only thing keeping her from coming apart. Her forehead rested against her knees, strands of silver hair tangled and damp, clinging to the sides of her face. Her eyes were swollen, lashes matted with salt.

She had cried until her voice had broken.

Now there were no more tears left, just a hollow ache where her heart used to be.

The silence wasn’t peaceful. It was oppressive. A thick, smothering blanket that clung to her lungs, her thoughts, her skin. Every breath felt like a task. Every second stretched into forever.

She didn’t know how long she’d sat like this. The night had passed. The sun had risen. Time had moved. But she hadn’t.

She couldn’t.

Her voice was a rasp when it finally emerged.

“…Puck.”

Barely audible. Less of a call than a reflex. A lifeline reaching for the last thread she had left.

She waited.

Nothing.

Her fingers brushed against the crystal at her collarbone. Cold. Unresponsive.

She held it tighter.

“Puck,” she whispered again, throat tightening. “Please…”

Still nothing.

The silence twisted the knife.

“…Please, I—I don’t know what to do…”

Her breath caught in her throat. Her chest ached.

“I don’t… I don’t know how to breathe.”

Her voice cracked on the last word. Her grip on the crystal tightened until her knuckles turned white.

“I can’t do this alone. I can’t—Puck, please, say something.”

Still silence.
Still absence.
Still nothing.

Her voice rose, frantic now. “You said you’d always be with me! You promised! Every day, every night—since the forest—since the beginning—you were there! You were always there!”

She pressed the crystal against her chest, as if trying to will the warmth back into it, back into her, back into the place in her soul where he always used to be.

“Why now? Why won’t you come out now?” Her voice was rising, unraveling. “Why won’t you answer me? Why now? Why—why are you doing this to me?”

And yet still—nothing.

No spark. No whisper. Not even the faint flicker of mana.

There was only the sound of her own trembling breath.

“I’m sorry…” she whispered. “I’m sorry for everything. Please… please don’t leave me too…”

But he had.

Just like Subaru.

And suddenly, the silence didn’t feel empty.

It felt deserved.

Her fingers loosened. The crystal slipped from her palm and swung back against her chest with a dull tap.

And that was when it hit her.

It didn’t slam into her like lightning. It didn’t explode like the heat of grief had the night before.

It settled in slowly, like winter frost—quiet, creeping, deadly.

She had lost everything.
First Subaru.
Then Puck.

And the worst part?

She had no one else she could blame for it.
She had done it to herself.
She had pushed Subaru away. With her silence. Her hesitation. Her fear.

She had watched him suffer—again and again—and told herself it was better if he stayed behind. Told herself it was kindness. Told herself that by leaving him behind, she was sparing him more pain.

But what she had actually done—what she couldn’t deny anymore—
Was abandon him.

She had walked away when he needed her.
She had looked at the boy who bled for her, broke for her, loved her—and turned her back.

Because she was afraid.
Because she didn’t understand.
Because she thought she was protecting him… when in truth, she was only protecting herself.

“I left him,” she whispered.

The words tasted like ash.

“I didn’t even say goodbye. I—I just left. Like he didn’t matter. Like he’d be fine without me. Like he had meant nothing to me...”

Her voice dissolved into silence.

Her mind raced. Memories colliding, overlapping.

The capital. The loot house. The manor. The capital again. The moment she told him to stay behind.

She remembered how small he looked when she said it. How the words hit him. How he smiled anyway.

And now the letter. Every line filled with quiet agony. Every word soaked in guilt and resignation.

“I forced it on you. I made you the center of my world and then got angry when you didn’t make me yours.”
“That wasn’t love. That was desperation. Obsession.”
“And I hate that I only figured that out after it ruined everything.”

But no. He was wrong.

He did love her.

She could see that now. Not through grand gestures or broken bones—but in the way he always came back. The way he looked at her. The way he listened. The way he believed.

And she hadn’t understood it.
She hadn’t been ready for it.

“I’m sorry…” she breathed. “Subaru, I’m so sorry…”
The words couldn’t reach him.
Just like his words never reached her.
Not until it was too late.

She let her forehead fall against her knees. Her fingers trembled. Her heart felt like it was caving in.
And still, Puck didn’t come.
That was when she realized.
She had been left behind, just like Subaru.

For the first time in her life, Emilia understood what Subaru had felt in the garrison’s medical bay. The desperation. The raw, aching need to be seen. To be heard. To be loved back.

And she had denied him that.

She stayed like that for what felt like hours.

She didn’t move. She didn’t speak. She didn’t cry.

There was nothing left.

She wasn’t even sure she existed anymore.

Just a ghost in a girl’s body, haunted by a boy’s last goodbye and the silence of the one person who used to be her world.

Outside the room, life continued.

Petra came by to check on her. Otto visited with a tray of food she wouldn’t eat. Rem was nowhere near her room. Ferris and Wilhelm lingered but did not approach. The Karsten maids lowered their voices as they approached her door.

The world moved forward.

And Emilia?
She was still sitting in yesterday.
Drowning in a guilt that didn’t fade.

Not with the sun.
Not with time.
Not with silence.

Alone.

Otto stood outside the door.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

No sobs. No talking. No footsteps. Just the faint crackle of the late morning sun through the stained-glass windows of the Karsten estate, and the dull pressure of waiting.

He had knocked twice already. Softly. The first time with hesitation, the second time with growing concern. Both times, he had heard nothing in return.

The tray of food in his hands was growing cold.
Not that he expected her to eat.

He sighed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, thumb brushing anxiously over the edge of the tray.

He didn’t like this.
Not the silence.
Not the helplessness.
Not being the one who had to be here in Sir Natsuki’s place.

Sir Natsuki had pulled him aside just before leaving. It wasn’t dramatic—if anything, it was almost flippant, like he didn’t want Otto to think it was a big deal. Who was he trying to fool? He had bags so deep under his scary eyes they might as well be canyons and tear stains that seemed permanently carved on his cheeks.

He fooled absolutely no one with the act. But Otto pretended anyway; he owed the broken hero at least that much.

“Look, she’s strong. Stronger than she knows, really. I don’t think you need to worry about her.”
“She’s always stood tall on her own. I’m not important enough to break her.”
“At most, she’ll be shocked. Maybe cry a little. But she’ll bounce back. She doesn’t need me.”
“She never needed me.”

Otto remembered those words perfectly. Every pause. Every word left unsaid.

Because even though Sir Natsuki had said them with a smile, something in his eyes had betrayed him. Like he was trying to convince himself more than Otto.

And now?

Now Otto stood in front of a sealed door, on the other side of which was a girl who hadn’t spoken in hours, who hadn’t moved, who hadn’t eaten, and who may very well be falling apart under the weight of a goodbye she never saw coming.

“…Liar,” Otto murmured, more to Sir Natsuki than to himself. “You fool.”

He exhaled, trying to settle the nervous knot building in his gut. The kind of knot you got when something terrible was happening just out of sight—but no one wanted to say it aloud.

He lifted a hand and knocked again. Firm this time.

“Lady Emilia?” he called gently. “It’s Otto. I brought some food. Nothing too heavy. Just a little soup and fruit. Thought it might help you… settle.”

No response.
Not a whisper. Not a shuffle of movement.
Otto frowned.

“…Petra and the others are downstairs. She’s been worried. We all are.”
No mention of what Rem was feeling. He didn’t need to.

Still nothing.

He glanced down at the tray. The steam had faded. The smell of chamomile and warm broth lingered, but even that felt out of place here—like something too alive for this hallway.

He leaned a little closer to the door.
“I’m not going to force you. That’s not my place,” he said quietly. “But…”

He hesitated.

But what?
That she needed to move on?
That she had to be strong?
That Sir Natsuki had left, and life goes on?

He couldn’t say any of that.
He didn’t believe it either.
So instead, he swallowed his own discomfort and tried something else.
“…Do you want to talk?”

Still silence.

But this time, Otto could hear it differently.
Not empty. Heavy.
Like grief too dense to move through.
He closed his eyes for a moment. The tray trembled in his hands.

Otto wasn’t a hero. He knew that. He didn’t have Sir Natsuki’s reckless charm or charismatic leadership. He could not wield a sword or use incredible magic like the knights, soldiers, and mercenaries that rescued him from the cult. He wasn’t born for battles or destinies.

But he could read people. That was his one saving grace. And right now, he didn’t need divine insight to know that behind this door was someone drowning.

He sat down slowly, setting the tray to his side.

And then, after a long breath, he spoke.

“Sir Natsuki… didn’t think he mattered.”

It hurt to say.

“He told me you were strong. That you wouldn’t break. That, at worst, you’d be shocked. Maybe cry. Then pick yourself up, because you didn’t need him, never needed him.”

He looked down at his hands.

“But I think… he told me that because it’s what he needed to believe. So he could walk away without second-guessing himself.”

The silence beyond the door felt like it was holding its breath.

Otto pressed on.

“But he was wrong, wasn’t he?”

He looked up again, not at the door, but through it—like maybe, just maybe, his words could reach her.

“He mattered. Of course he did.”

A beat.

“I don’t know what exactly he said to you in that letter. I don’t need to. But if you’re still in there, if you’re hurting this much…”

His voice dropped lower, quieter.

“…then he was wrong about something important.”

The stillness dragged on.
No footsteps. No voice.

But Otto didn’t leave.

He stayed seated, back against the wall, waiting beside a door that refused to open.
Because that’s what you did for people who were grieving. You waited. You stayed.
Even if you couldn’t fix it.
Especially if you couldn’t fix it.

And inside the room, Emilia sat curled in silence, her throat tight, her hands limp at her sides.

She hadn’t moved.
But something had shifted.
Only slightly.
A tremor in her breath.
A whisper of warmth behind her ribs.

He mattered.
And maybe—
Just maybe—

That meant she did too.

“He mattered. Of course he did.”

The words filtered through the door like sunlight through frostbitten glass—gentle, warm, but almost too late.

Emilia didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Her body was still curled in on itself, folded on the floor like a doll left in the rain. Her arms trembled faintly from holding her knees too tight for too long, but she didn’t release them.

She just sat there, breathing, barely.

Letting Otto’s words echo.

“He didn’t think he mattered.”

Her fingers clenched, just slightly.

It wasn’t just Otto’s voice. It was what he meant. The shape of the silence he left between words.

She could hear it now. Not what Subaru had written—but what he hadn’t. The way he’d tried to vanish like a ghost, like an unimportant piece of someone else's story. How he’d spoken about himself like his only value was what he gave away. How every line of that letter screamed:

“I know you don’t love me.”
“I know I don’t matter.”
“So I’ll disappear, and then you can finally be free of me.”

He had meant it. All of it.
He really thought she wouldn’t break.
That she’d just flinch. Cry a little. Move on.

Because that’s what she’d done before, right?

She'd left him in the capital. Left without saying goodbye. Without even realizing it was goodbye forever. Told herself he’d be okay. That he needed to be okay.

And maybe he’d be safer away from her. Happier without her.

Maybe someday he’d even tell her something like “You did the right thing.”

But the smile he would sometimes wear since the incident with the Wolgarms in Arlam. The stiff and exhausted one.

That smile had always looked wrong on him.
Like it was stitched on.
Like it hurt to wear.

She thought of his eyes—how empty they had looked at times. How tired. How deep that pain must’ve gone, hidden behind those stubborn little grins and sarcastic jokes.

He was always hurting.
And she never saw it.
No, worse… she did see it.
She simply pretended that she didn’t.

“I didn’t see you, really see you,” she whispered. “I looked away from you every time I started to. It was easier that way.”

Her voice was dry. Like sandpaper.

“I kept looking at you, but not once did I really… see you.”

She bit her lip, hard. Just to feel something sharp.

“I thought… I thought I was protecting you. That I was doing the right thing by keeping you away from everything. Away from me. But that was just easier than admitting I didn’t know how to help you.”

The truth was hard.
Too big for her chest. Too wide for her ribs.
Because it wasn’t just about Subaru.

It was about her.

Her fear. Her indecision. Her refusal to open herself up to feelings she didn’t understand.

She had pushed him away every time he got close—every single time—because she didn’t know how to accept love that asked for nothing. Love that wasn’t transactional. Love that just was.

And now that love was gone.
Taken back.
No. Worse. Tossed away.

Subaru had laid his heart at her feet, again and again. She stepped on it, again and again. And when it finally broke, he didn’t even blame her.

He apologized.

He apologized for loving her.

As if his love was something repulsive.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I’m soooo sorry.”

Not to Otto. Not even to herself.

To him.

“I'm sorry I made you think you didn’t matter.”

Her vision swam, not with tears—she had none left—but with something heavier. Something deeper. A grief that was no longer just about losing someone.

It was about realizing what you had destroyed.

Outside, the floor creaked softly. Otto hadn’t left.
He was sitting just on the other side of the door. Waiting.
Waiting for her to say something.

She didn’t. Couldn’t.

But his presence stayed. Quiet. Constant.
And that presence—just like Subaru’s used to be—meant more than she had words for.

Maybe she wasn’t ready to stand yet.
Maybe she couldn’t even move.

But she wasn’t alone in the hallway of her grief.

And for the first time since the letter and her father’s absence tore her world in half… that mattered.

Otto stayed seated.

He had stopped talking a while ago. There wasn’t much more to say. Not without crossing a line he hadn’t earned the right to cross.

Emilia still hadn’t made a sound.

But Otto wasn’t leaving.
Not yet.

He rested his back against the wooden frame of the door, legs outstretched on the carpeted floor of the hallway. The tray of food sat untouched beside him. Cold now. Useless.

He sighed, fingers absently brushing at the edge of his sleeve.
He hadn’t planned on being here.

When Sir Natsuki asked him to look out for Emilia, just for a short while until she picked herself up, it had felt simple enough. A courtesy. A return favor. Something quiet to settle the debt Otto would never be able to repay.

Sir Natsuki had saved his life—not metaphorically, but literally. When Otto was captured and kept in chains by the Witch Cult, Sir Natsuki had organized a team specifically for his rescue, according to the large, shirtless Wolf Human who led the rescue team.

And Otto had watched. Powerless. Useless.

So when Sir Natsuki asked him for one thing, “Just keep an eye on Emilia for me. I doubt she’ll need it. She's stronger than I ever gave her credit for.” Otto had nodded and promised.

He hadn't expected this.

He didn’t know Emilia. Not really.
She was a name, a title, a royal candidate.
An ideal, painted in grace and frost.

He’d seen a little of her during the evacuation. Polite. Noble. A little stiff. She always seemed like someone from a higher floor—untouchable.

But this?

What he had heard last night—the animalistic wail that broke through the walls, the way Petra had pressed her ear to the door and whispered “I don’t think she’s even breathing anymore”—it was too human.

Too real.
Too raw.

And it scared Otto more than any Witch Cultist ever had.

Because he recognized that kind of grief.
Not the specific loss, no.
But the isolation of it. The weight of being alone in it.

He had lived in that silence before. When he was younger. When his voice terrified people. When his gift made him a freak even among his family. When every room he entered felt like a place he didn’t belong.

He knew what it was like to be surrounded by people and still feel like you were dying alone.

That was what Emilia’s silence sounded like to him now.
Not cold.
Abandoned.

And Otto couldn’t leave her in that. Not even as a stranger.

Not anymore.

“I didn’t sign up for this,” he muttered aloud, resting his head back against the door with a soft thud. “I’m a merchant, not a healer. Not even close.”

He closed his eyes. Tried to laugh. Failed.
“Sir Natsuki… you absolute fool.”
His voice cracked. He wasn’t sure why.

He didn’t particularly care for Emilia.
Not yet.
He barely knew her.

But in this moment, Otto felt something unfamiliar stirring in his chest. Something uncomfortably sincere. Something more than obligation, more than debt.

It was watching someone fall and realizing no one else was going to catch them.

And deciding—not because he had the strength, but because he couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t at least try—to be the one who stayed.

Otto had always thought strength came from standing up.
But maybe sometimes it came from sitting still.
From waiting.
From being there for someone who couldn’t even ask.

Behind him, the door remained closed.
Inside, the silence lingered.

But somehow, it didn’t feel quite as heavy.
Because for the first time in hours…

Emilia wasn’t completely alone.

And neither was he.

Petra didn’t understand grown-ups.

Not really.

She understood chores. Manners. When to speak and when not to. She understood what it meant to help the younger children stay quiet during a crisis, and she understood when someone was hurting even if they smiled.

She understood more than most people thought she did.

But this? This was different.

She sat at the top of the staircase, one hand wrapped around the bannister, legs swinging slightly above the floor. Her short hair was frizzy from sleep. Her blouse wrinkled. She’d forgotten to button one of her cuffs.

But none of that mattered right now.
Not when he was still sitting there.
Otto Suwen.

The merchant. The stranger. The one Subaru had saved in the forest. She remembered his face, sort of. He had looked terrified then—more like one of the kids than a grown-up.

But now? He looked tired. Not panicked. Just… tired.

He sat on the floor outside Emilia’s room, knees drawn up, back against the wall, head leaned slightly to the side like he’d nodded off. A tray of food sat beside him, still untouched. Cold.

He hadn’t moved in hours.
Petra knew.
She’d been watching since morning.
She didn’t get it.

He wasn’t Lady Emilia’s subordinate. He didn’t love her like Subaru did. He wasn’t part of the mansion’s staff. He wasn’t even that close to Subaru—not really. They knew each other for only a few hours. And yet, he hadn’t left that door since the sun came up.

The adults in the Karsten estate mostly ignored it. They passed by with polite nods or awkward glances, pretending nothing was strange. But Petra could tell it was.

Because she had tried knocking too.
And Emilia hadn’t answered her either.
Petra bit her lip and looked down at her hands.

It was all wrong.

Subaru had left. Emilia had broken down. And now everyone was just waiting around, pretending things would fix themselves.

She didn’t like it.

She didn’t like that no one would tell her where Subaru went. Or why he left. Or why Emilia looked like she’d fallen into herself and couldn’t get back out. She didn’t understand what was written in that letter Emilia had locked herself in with—but whatever it was, it had hurt.

Petra had heard her crying. Really crying.

The kind of crying people didn’t do when they scraped a knee or lost a toy.
The kind of crying that felt like it came from your bones.

She looked back toward Otto.

He shifted slightly. Reached for the tray. Didn’t pick it up. Just stared at it for a second before resting his head back against the door.

Still quiet. Still waiting.

“…Why are you even there?” she whispered under her breath, too low for him to hear.

He was a stranger. Just a man Subaru had saved once.
So why did he stay?

Petra narrowed her eyes.

He didn’t owe Emilia anything.

And yet... There was something different in how he sat. It wasn’t obligation. It wasn’t duty. It was something... gentler.

Sadder.
Not pity. Definitely not pity. She could tell the difference.
No—he was sitting there because he wanted to be there.
Because someone had to be.

And maybe, Petra realized with a strange pang in her chest, that was what Subaru would have done too.

Her hands curled into small fists on her knees.

She didn’t like this feeling. She didn’t like feeling sad. She didn’t like feeling helpless.

She wanted to knock again. To go to Emilia’s door and say something—anything. But what could she say?

“I miss him too”?
“I think he loved you”?
“You shouldn’t have let him leave”?

She didn’t know what the right words were. And the wrong ones could break someone even more.

So instead, Petra stayed where she was. Watching. Waiting.

Not for drama. Not for answers.
But for something to change.

Because even at her age, Petra understood that grief wasn’t always loud. Sometimes it just... sat still.

Like Otto. Eventually, someone else would come.
Miss Rem. Sir Felix. Maybe even Lady Crusch.
Someone with more power. More answers.

But right now? Right now, it was just a girl on a staircase…
And a man in front of a door…

Waiting for someone to remember how to breathe.

The carpet was starting to itch.

Otto had shifted positions five times in the last half hour. Once to stretch his legs, once to fix a cramp in his back, once because the tray nearly slid off its spot when he leaned forward too quickly, and twice just out of general human discomfort.

But he hadn’t stood.
Not once.
He was waiting.

The way you wait when someone says “just stay with them,” and you don’t know what that means until you’re alone in a hallway, sitting outside a room where no one answers.

But still—he stayed.
Because Sir Natsuki had asked.
Because Lady Emilia hadn’t spoken.
Because it was the only thing left to do.

He exhaled slowly, eyes half-lidded. Another servant passed down the hall and paused when they saw him. Then kept walking.

Good.

The last thing he needed was more people asking why he was here.
He didn’t have a real answer. Not one that made sense.
He didn’t know Emilia. Not her past. Not her heart. Not whatever nightmare Sir Natsuki had run from when he left. And he definitely wasn’t anyone important.

Just a merchant with a debt.
Nothing more.
His thoughts were interrupted by a sound.

Small.

So small that if he hadn’t been pressed right up against the door, he might’ve missed it entirely.

A creak.

Wood on wood. The shifting of weight on hardwood flooring.

Otto’s body went still.
He held his breath.
Then another sound.
Faint. Fragile.

Like someone drawing a slow, shaky breath through clenched teeth.

And then—even fainter—

“…why did you stay?” A silver bell resounded. So very gently.

Otto blinked.
For a moment, he thought he had imagined it.
Then he sat up straighter, heart skipping.
He didn’t answer right away.
He wasn’t sure how.

Behind the door, silence returned. As if the question itself had taken everything she had.

It hadn’t been accusatory.
It wasn’t angry.
Just confused.

Like she hadn’t expected anyone to still be there.

He swallowed.
“…I owed him, he asked me to,” Otto said quietly.
There was no point pretending otherwise. “Sir Natsuki, I mean. He saved my life. I didn’t deserve it. Still don’t.”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“I don’t know what he said to you. And I don’t know what he meant to you. I’m not even sure I want to know, to be honest. But I saw what happened last night.”

His voice softened, without meaning to.

“I heard the way you cried.”

A pause.

“I’ve heard animals die quieter.”

There was no reply.

But he could feel something behind the door. Not presence. Not yet. But awareness. Like she was listening.

He sighed. Spoke again, slower this time.

“I’m not your friend. I’m not your servant. Honestly, Lady Emilia, I barely know what you stand for. But I’ve seen people break before. And I’ve seen what happens when no one stays.”

He leaned his head back against the door.
“…So I stayed.”
Still no answer.
Still no movement.
But something was changing.

Not in the air.

In him.
Otto had told himself this was just a debt. That he was here because Sir Natsuki had saved him, and this was the simplest way to balance the scales.

But sitting here now?
Listening to the silence on the other side of that door?

Hearing a girl’s voice—trembling, broken, so unlike the half-devil royal candidate everyone whispered about—

Otto felt something tighten in his chest.
Not affection. Not admiration. Not yet.

Just a simple, quiet recognition:
She wasn’t a symbol.
She wasn’t a title.
She was just a girl who’d been left behind.

And he was the only one who hadn’t left.

That mattered.

“…I’ll be out here,” he said softly. “Just so you know.”

Then he closed his eyes.

And waited.

“I’ll be out here. Just so you know.”

His voice faded back into silence.
And inside the room, Emilia sat frozen.
Not from fear. Not despair.

Something smaller.
Something quieter.
A thread of feeling she couldn’t name yet.

She hadn’t meant to speak. Not really.

The question had slipped out without permission—just a brittle sound that cracked through her lips before she could decide whether it was safe to ask.

“Why did you stay?”

And now that she’d said it… she regretted it.

Not because Otto answered poorly. But because his answer landed.

He hadn’t stayed for her.
He didn’t care about her.
He barely even knew her.
He stayed because Subaru had asked him to.

“He asked me to.” He had said. Subaru had asked him to look after her.

Her arms curled tighter around her knees, but her breathing had shifted. Slower now. Deeper.

Not calm.
Not steady.
But… present.

Subaru had asked someone to look after her.

Even after everything.

After that letter. After walking away. After leaving nothing behind but words and a charm too small to hold the weight of everything unsaid—

He had still thought of her.
He still worried.
He still cared.

That thought did something to her.
Not a spark. Not warmth. Not joy.

But something closer to—

Lightness.

A sliver of space in her chest that didn’t hurt quite as much.
Her throat clenched, eyes stinging all over again—but not from grief.

“I’m soooo stupid,” she whispered. “I thought you wanted to forget me.”

But no. He didn’t want to forget her. He wanted her to forget him. That distinction was crucial.

She clutched the charm against her collarbone. The black and orange thread felt rough between her fingers—foreign, but familiar. The last thing he gave her.

She had almost thrown it away last night. Almost buried it in the sheets with her tears.

But now…
Now she clung to it like an anchor.

Because for all the things Subaru had said in that letter—for all the ways he tried to make himself disappear—he had still made sure she wouldn’t be alone.

Otto didn’t matter.
Not like Subaru did.
But Subaru had chosen him.

Subaru had thought Emilia might fall—and chosen someone to catch her.
Even if it was just a stranger with awkward hands and a tired voice and a debt he didn’t owe.
Even if Subaru truly believed she’d be fine.
He still asked.

Her grip on the charm tightened.
Her eyes squeezed shut.

And for the second time since the letter shattered her world, her lips moved. A whisper.
Not meant for Otto. Not meant for anyone.
Just for him.

“…You liar.”

But her voice trembled less now.
And her next breath didn’t hurt as much.
And somewhere outside, past the door, she could still hear footsteps.

Still feel presence.
Someone was still there.
Subaru was gone.
Puck was gone.

But she wasn’t completely alone.

And that—
That was enough.

Time passed.

Or maybe it didn’t.

It was hard to tell in the Karsten guestroom. The windows were shuttered, the curtains drawn. All Emilia had was silence and the pale warmth of a charm pressed to her chest.

But something had changed. Something small.

She could still hear Otto’s movements sometimes—shifting his weight, stretching out his legs, pacing once or twice before sitting down again. He hadn’t spoken since that last line.

“I’ll be out here. Just so you know.”
No more explanations. No more sympathy.
Just presence.

It shouldn’t have meant anything.

But it did.
Because he was here.
Because Subaru had told him to be.
Because even if he left—even if he left her—he hadn’t done it without thought.

Emilia let out a slow, shaky breath.

Her eyes were dry now. Not because she’d stopped crying, but because she physically couldn’t anymore. Her throat still burned. Her head throbbed from dehydration and broken sleep. Her hands trembled, clutched around the charm so tightly her knuckles had turned white.

But the worst of the storm had passed.
And beneath the wreckage, something still flickered.
Not strength.
Resolve. Though it barely qualified as such.

She shifted.
Just slightly.

The blanket fell away from her shoulders as she sat up straighter, spine aching from hours hunched over. Her legs screamed in protest as she uncrossed them. Her arms felt like glass.

Still—she moved.
Each small motion felt like a betrayal.
Of what she lost.
Of what she did to him.

Of the version of herself that had let him break without ever seeing the cracks. No, she broke him by purposely looking away from the cracks.

But the longer she sat still, the more it felt like she was turning into the same kind of ghost he thought he was.

She couldn’t let that happen.
Not if there was still a chance to make something from the pieces.
Her feet touched the floor.
Bare. Cold.

The sensation grounded her.

She took a deep breath and stood.
It wasn’t graceful.

She wobbled slightly, caught herself on the edge of the vanity, and winced as her knees locked up from disuse. Her hair was matted. Her dress was wrinkled. Her face—she never really knew what her face looked like. It was probably ugly.

But she was standing.
That mattered.
Emilia entered the room’s private toilet and crossed to the sink.
For the first time in her life, Emilia looked at herself in the mirror.

Not from courage or resolve, but because she was too tired to even care.

Her reflection greeted her in the mirror—swollen eyes, pale cheeks, dried salt on her skin. Not the image of a royal candidate. Not even a noblewoman. Not a shred of dignity.

So this is what Emilia looked like.
Just a girl.
With silver hair, pointy ears, and purple eyes.
Like the Witch.

She almost flinched away from her reflection.

But she remembered what—who she was.
Just a girl. The girl Subaru loved.
The girl he always insisted was strong, even when she couldn’t believe it herself.
The girl he fought for, again and again.
The girl he still cared enough about to leave someone behind for.

Her fingers dipped into the cool water and brushed against her cheek.
She didn’t scrub. She didn’t cleanse.
She just… touched.
Let herself feel that she was still here.

Still alive.
Still capable of doing something.

As she straightened, a few words drifted back through her memory.

“He told me you were strong. because you didn’t need him, never needed him.”

He had believed that.
Even as he walked away.
Even as he wrote that letter like a goodbye and wrapped a lifetime of pain in the phrase “I’m sorry.”

He still thought she’d be okay.
Not because she was cold.
Not because she didn’t care.
But because, in his heart, he thought she was stronger than he ever was. Strong enough to stand tall without him.

“Dunderhead,” she whispered, voice barely audible. “How can you believe in me more than I believe in myself?”

The mirror didn’t answer.
The room didn’t shift.
But her hand moved—slowly, softly—to rest over her heart.
Fingers brushing the charm again.

She didn’t know if she was ready to face Otto.
Or Petra. Or the Arlam refugees.
Or the members of the Crusch camp.
Or Rem.

But she was ready to keep standing.
That was enough.

The color on the nearby seer crystal had changed. That was Otto’s first clue that more time had passed than he meant to let slip.

Warm afternoon sun slanted through the hallway windows now, catching dust in the air. The kind of light that made everything look softer, even when nothing had gotten easier.

His back ached.
His legs were pins and needles.
The food tray still sat untouched at his side, but by now even the bread had gone stiff.

He’d nodded off at some point. Head tipped forward, mouth dry. A dull crick in his neck reminded him he wasn’t as young as he used to be.

He blinked awake slowly, rubbed his eyes, and sat up straighter—his body sluggish from hours of immobility. He glanced toward the door behind him.

Still closed.
Still silent.
Same as it had been all day.
He almost stood.
Almost convinced himself it was time to stop.

He had done his part, hadn’t he? Sat vigil like some fool with nothing better to do. Fulfilled his “promise,” if you could even call it that. Sir Natsuki hadn’t made him swear it. Hadn’t begged or insisted. He just said—

“She’s strong. She’ll be fine. I’m not important enough to break her.”

As if he truly believed that.
As if he couldn’t even imagine that his absence might leave a mark.

Otto exhaled, hands resting on his knees.
“You absolute fool,” he muttered under his breath.

Then the door creaked.
Just slightly.

Enough to make Otto freeze.

He didn’t turn.
Didn’t speak.
He just listened.

Wood scraped gently as hinges shifted. No dramatic swing. No heavy footsteps. Just the whisper of movement—a door opening a crack after a full day of silence.

Then:

A breath. Light. Cautious. Shallow.
And then—
“Did he… really ask you to stay?”

Otto turned slowly.

She stood in the doorway.

Disheveled. Hollow-eyed. Her silver hair was tangled and loose around her shoulders, and her dress hung wrinkled around her frame like it had grown too big for her. Her skin was pale, and the curve of her mouth trembled as if words still felt foreign.

But she was standing. And she was looking at him.

He didn’t smile. He didn’t nod. He just answered, quiet but steady.
“…Yeah. He did.”

Something flickered in her expression. Not relief. Not hope. But… softness.
A gentling around the eyes.
Her shoulders loosened, just slightly.
And then—
“…Thank you,” she said.
Barely more than a whisper.

Otto didn’t know what to say to that.
He didn’t deserve her thanks.
He didn’t even know if Sir Natsuki had meant it as a real request.
But he didn’t say any of that.
He just stood—slowly, carefully—stretching out his legs with a wince and brushing himself off.

“No need to thank me,” he said. “I owed him.”
He paused.

Then added, almost as an afterthought: “And I’m glad you opened the door.”

She nodded. She didn’t say anything else. She didn’t need to.
She stepped back inside.

The door didn’t close this time.

The door didn’t close. She couldn’t bring herself to do it.

It sat half-open behind her, letting the hallway light pool in. A crack of gold on wooden floors. A reminder that someone had waited.

That someone had stayed. But they were gone now.

Otto had left without fanfare shortly after. He didn’t linger. Didn’t try to speak again. Just gave her space. Trusting she’d be alright now.

And Emilia… didn’t stop him. The silence that returned wasn’t the same as before.

It wasn’t crushing. It wasn’t screaming.
But it wasn’t comfortable, either.

It was a silence filled with echoes. The kind that turned every creak of the floorboards into footsteps that weren’t his. Every breeze through the open windows into a whisper that wasn’t his voice.

She sat down on the edge of the bed and ran her fingers along the hem of her dress. Her hands still trembled. Her chest still felt tight.

But she was breathing. Slowly. Carefully. And for now, that was all she could do.

She turned her head toward the corner of the room—the same direction she used to glance at whenever she needed comfort.

“...Puck?”
Nothing.

Not even the usual flicker of warmth. Not even that strange silence that used to feel full, somehow. Protective.

Just nothing.

She swallowed hard.
Her eyes burned again.
But the tears didn’t come.

Not this time.

Maybe she was empty.
Maybe that was worse.

They had both left.
Puck and Subaru.
Her first family. Her first constant.
And the boy who…

She frowned, curling forward until her elbows pressed into her knees.

What was he to her? She didn’t know anymore.

A friend? Yes. No. Maybe?

He. He was—    

Someone who made her laugh when no one else could. Who smiled even when things were terrible. Who called her “Emilia-tan” and looked at her like she held the key to his happiness.

But also someone who confused her.

Who made her feel seen—and then, in a blink, made her feel small.

She remembered how angry she’d been with him.
In the assembly hall.
In the garrison.
In the hallways between.

How she had screamed and turned away and refused to understand him.

Because he was wrong.
Because he was being selfish.
Because she didn’t know how to deal with someone who wanted her so fiercely it scared her.

And now he was gone.
Not missing.
Not dead.
Just Gone.

By choice.

Emilia pressed her palms into her eyes. The image of the letter wouldn’t leave her mind.

“I loved you so much it hurt.”
“I forced it on you.”
“Forget me.”

She shook her head, hard.
“I don’t want to,” she whispered. “I don’t want to forget you.”
The words came without thinking.

And when they did, they shook something loose inside her.

Was that what he thought she wanted?
That she didn’t care?
That he didn’t matter?

That all his effort, all his words, all his pain—it hadn’t reached her?

No.
No, that wasn’t fair.
Because it had reached her.

She just hadn’t known how to accept it.

Because how do you accept love from someone when you don’t even understand what love is supposed to feel like?
How do you hold someone close when you’re terrified you’ll hurt them?
When you already have?

Emilia curled inward, resting her forehead on her knees.
Her voice was barely audible.
“…You were always there.”

A breath.
“And I didn’t see you.”
Another.
“Not really.”

Subaru was supposed to be like Puck.
Familiar. Steady. Foolish sometimes, but safe.
Someone who followed her like moonlight followed snow.

Until suddenly, he didn’t.
Until he chose to disappear.

And somehow, that hurt worse than being left without explanation.

Because he gave her one.
Because he let her see how deeply she’d broken him.

And now…

Now she had to sit with that. No rescue. No spirit to hold her and reassure her choice.
No boy to shout her name and reach for her hand when she fell.

Just her. Just Emilia.
And the silence.
And the echo of what she never got to say.

The sun had begun to drift across the sky when Emilia sat down at the writing desk.
The room hadn’t changed much.
She hadn’t either.

Her hair was still loose around her shoulders. Her dress still rumpled. Subaru’s charm wrapped snugly on her wrist. The scent of dried ink and old parchment clung to the desk drawers like memory.

But her hands had stopped shaking.
The paper was thick and clean.
The quill was sharp and smooth.

The words… weren’t ready.

She stared down at the blank page, brow furrowed, her fingers tight around the quill. Her thoughts felt too big for her head, too loud in her chest, and far too small on the page.

But she had to try.

The first attempt was neat. Too neat. The kind of letter a noblewoman might write to a distant ally. Her tone was flat, clinical. She thanked Subaru for his “contributions” to the alliance. She wished him well.

She read it back.
Then crumpled it into a ball and tossed it across the room.
The second was worse.
Too emotional.

A flood of apologies and fragments of memories. She jumped between thoughts with no anchor—how she hated the way she shouted at him, how she hated the way he shouted at her, how she missed the sound of his voice, how she hadn’t known what it meant to be loved, not really. By the end, her handwriting was illegible, ink blurred by fresh tears.

She couldn’t even finish it.

She started again.

And again.

And again.

Five pages. Seven. Nine.
Each one ended in a different way.

Some with a name.
Some without.
Some with a desperate plea: “Please come back.”

Others with just a single word: “Sorry.”

None of them were right.
None of them sounded like her.

Or the version of herself Subaru had seen.
The version of her she so desperately wished she could’ve been—now that he’s gone.

She pulled her knees up into the chair and leaned her chin against her arm, staring at the clutter of ruined drafts. Her knuckles were stained with ink. Her eyes ached from squinting.

But she couldn’t stop.

Because every time she wrote, it got a little closer.
A little truer.
A little more like something he might understand.

The sun was sinking low now.

Golden light spilled across the desk in angled lines, catching the edges of her scattered failures.

But Emilia didn’t notice.
She dipped her pen again.
And finally, she began to write:

Subaru,

You probably won’t read this. I don’t even know if I’ll ever send it. But I needed to try.

When I read your letter… I didn’t understand why it hurt so much. I still don’t. But I think it’s because you were the only one who ever tried to see me. The real me. And I was too scared to let you.

I didn’t know how to be loved. Not like that. Not the way you did it—so loud, and bright, and stubborn. I didn’t think I deserved it. I still don’t.

You said I saved you. But I think I broke you too. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

I don’t want to forget you.

Even if you asked me to.

Even if it hurts.

I want to become someone who understands what you gave me. Someone who knows how to love back. Maybe not now. Maybe not soon. But someday.

That’s the only thing I can promise you.

That I’ll try.

With the hope that the next time we meet…

I’ll be able to love you the way you deserved.

She read it back slowly.

Not perfect.
Not beautiful.
But it was hers.
And that was enough. For now.

She folded it carefully.

No seal.
No name on the front.

She didn’t know where to send it.
She didn’t know if she ever would.

But she placed it gently in the drawer beside her bed, on top of Subaru’s own letter.

Two broken halves.

Waiting for the day they could meet again.

Even buried under grief, even hollowed out by loss—when the world falls quiet enough, even a broken heart remembers how to glow.
— A silver star, faint against the sky, begins to shine again.

Chapter Text

Petra carried the tray with both hands.

It was heavier than she expected—there were two slices of bread instead of one this time, and a bit of jam spread unevenly in a dish that kept sliding every time she took a step. Mr. Ferris (Miss Ferris?) had said she didn’t have to bring it. That he could handle it. But Petra had insisted.

She wanted to see for herself.

The Karsten estate was so big. So clean. So sharp around the edges.

Nothing like the warm, crooked houses of Arlam. Nothing like the little corner of the village gates where she used to sneak glances at Subaru during radio calisthenics while pretending not to care that he smiled at someone else.

Everything here smelled like medicine and silence.
She crept down the hallway like a thief.
Not because she was afraid.
But because Emilia hadn’t opened her door in a whole day. Not even once.

The grown-ups said she was resting. Recovering. That it was normal to be sad when someone you cared about left.

But Petra had never seen sadness like that before.
She had tried talking to her. The first day.
Had knocked once, twice, and waited.

No answer.
She tried again the next morning.
Still nothing.

Mr.Ferris told her to give Emilia space.

Otto had stayed at the door. Said nothing. Just sat there like a statue.

It was weird.
Too weird.
Petra hated it.

So today, she brought jam and toast.
Food. Sustenance. To give her energy.
To make her feel better.

Because it was what Subaru would’ve done.
He always said food helped when people felt bad.
Maybe he was wrong.
But maybe not.

She stopped just short of the room and leaned in.

The door… wasn’t shut.
It wasn’t open either.
Just slightly ajar.

Enough to peek through.
Enough to see—

Petra froze.
Eyes wide.

Emilia sat at the desk.

Hair down. Shoulders slumped. Her hand moved slowly, dragging a quill across a page. She was still pale. Still quiet.

But she was moving.

Petra’s breath caught.
She almost gasped—but covered her mouth with her sleeve just in time.
It was like watching someone wake up from a spell.

Not all the way.
Not suddenly.

But the way flowers peeked out of the frost after the last snow.

She wanted to rush in. To hug her.
To say, “You’re back! I missed you! You scared me!”

To ask if she wanted to talk about Subaru. Or if she was writing to him. Or if she even remembered the time he patted Petra’s head and made her feel like the only girl in the world for half a second.

But she didn’t.

Because even at eleven, Petra knew something real was happening in that room.

Something that didn’t need noise.
Something that needed time.

She placed the tray down gently beside the door.

Didn’t knock.
Didn’t speak.
Just smiled—small, hopeful—and turned to go.

And as she padded back down the hallway, she felt something warm rise in her chest.
Like she’d seen spring come early.

Like maybe—just maybe—everything was going to be okay again.

He was just walking past.
Ledger under his arm.
Ink-smudged sleeve half-rolled.
No intention of stopping.
He’d done his part, after all.

Stayed the night outside her door. Sat vigil like some sentimental fool. Ignored Mr. Felix’s (Miss Felix’s?) passive-aggressive jabs about getting in the way. Took his meals cold and answered everyone’s questions with the same tired shrug:

“She’ll come around. Eventually.”

Except he hadn’t believed it.
Not really.

He’d seen what Sir Natsuki’s absence did to her.
He wasn’t blind.

She’d been a ghost, no, a corpse for almost two days.
Eyes open, mouth silent, arms curled around that stupid charm like it could anchor her to the world.

He thought she was broken.
He thought Sir Natsuki had broken her.
And for the briefest, ugliest moment…

He resented him for it.

So when he walked past the room that afternoon—ledger clutched in both hands, his mind preoccupied with logistics and provisions and pretending to belong in a faction he barely understood—he didn’t expect anything.

Just silence.
The same as always.
But the door was open.
Just slightly.

And Emilia was there.

Sitting upright.
Hair loose around her shoulders.
Pen in hand.
Writing.

Otto stopped walking.

He didn’t even realize he had until he was two steps past the door and frozen mid-stride.
A few seconds passed before he backed up slowly.
Eyes wide.
Heartbeat loud.
Not dramatic.
Not frantic.

But…

Steady.
She didn’t see him.
Didn’t hear him.
Didn’t glance up or flinch.

She was just focused.
Like the act of writing was the only thing anchoring her to the moment.
Like it hurt to do it—and still, she did it anyway.

Otto swallowed hard.
This wasn’t what he expected.
He thought she’d break differently.

Either recover cleanly, or never move again.

He didn’t expect this messy middle.
Didn’t expect to feel anything about it.

But there was something in her silence that made his throat tighten.

Not attraction.
Not admiration.

Not yet.

But something.
Something warm.
Something that surprised him.

Maybe it was the way she looked so much smaller now.

Not weak.
But human.

Not the half-devil royal candidate everyone spoke about in hushed, guarded tones.
Not the fairy tale princess Sir Natsuki had declared war for.

Just a girl.
Writing a letter.
Trying to find words when she didn’t even know what she was trying to say.

And Otto realized, with a start, that he didn’t pity her.

He… liked her.

Not romantically. At least, not yet.

But deeply.
Instinctively.
He wanted her to win.
To heal.
To find whatever it was she was reaching for.

Even if it wasn’t him.
Even if it would never be him.

He took a step back.
Didn’t make a sound.

And whispered, barely audible:

“…Good job. And good luck.”
Then turned and walked away.

The ledger in his arms suddenly felt lighter.
And he didn’t stop smiling until halfway down the hall.

Crusch Karsten did not believe in watching people from a distance.

It was unbecoming.
Of a noble.
Of a leader.
Of a woman who had earned her name not through bloodline alone, but by living with clarity.

So when she heard that Emilia was awake—not just conscious, but moving—she didn’t send a servant. She didn’t ask Ferris for confirmation. She simply walked.

The corridor was quiet.

Golden light slipped through the windows in slow ribbons. The estate breathed gently beneath her boots.

She stopped at the door without hesitation.

It was open.
Just a sliver.

She didn’t peek.
She didn’t need to.

One glance inside revealed everything.

Emilia sat at the desk, the sleeves of her usually pristine white dress wrinkled and blackened with ink, quill in hand. She hadn’t noticed Crusch’s presence yet—so absorbed was she in her task.

Her posture was slumped. Not regal. Not prepared for a royal audience.

She looked like a girl.

Small.
Tired.
Human.

And Crusch’s gaze softened.

When Natsuki Subaru left, he did not look back.

He had passed his final words through a letter—no goodbyes, no explanation, just… a hole in the shape of him, left behind like a forgotten promise.

But he had made one request before he vanished.

“Please look after her. Just until she gets back on her feet. It won’t take long. I doubt it’ll take any time at all. She's stronger than I ever gave her credit for.”

Crusch had heard resignation in that voice.

Regret.
But also assurance.

That maybe, with distance, Emilia would finally be able to stand tall like he always believed she could. Without him in the picture.

And yet…

When Emilia broke down the next morning, silent and shivering, Crusch had doubted his judgment.

You gave your all for her, Natsuki Subaru. And in the end, she could not carry the weight without you.

That was what she'd thought.
Cold. Detached. Calculating.
The way a commander must be.

But now… seeing Emilia upright. Not confident. Not composed.
But choosing to move anyway—

Crusch understood.

It had never been about immediate strength.
It had been about recovery.
Resilience.
The will to rebuild with chattering teeth and trembling fingers.

She didn’t enter the room.
Didn’t announce herself.
Didn’t interrupt.

She simply rested her hand against the edge of the doorframe and watched in silence for a few long seconds.
And then, quietly—
“You haven’t broken. That’s enough.”

She turned and left without waiting for an answer.
Down the hall, Ferris looked up as she approached.
“So~?”
Crusch’s tone was calm. Measured. But her eyes were faintly warm.
“Let her write.”
“She’s finally saying what she couldn’t before.”

The tray was untouched.
Again.
Ferris didn’t sigh. Not outwardly.

He just leaned against the doorframe of the hall and folded his arms across his chest, ears twitching with quiet irritation as Petra’s jam-and-toast tray sat abandoned by Emilia’s door.

“Not even the toast…?”

His tail flicked once, annoyed.
He knew grief when he saw it.

But this wasn’t grief.

It was something hollower.
The kind of absence that made healers feel useless.

He could mend wounds.
Set bones.
Reconnect severed limbs.
Even slow bleeding that should’ve been fatal.

But this?
This kind of pain couldn’t be sutured or salved. There was no spell for hearts that beat but no longer wanted to.

And Ferris hated that.
He hadn’t liked the boy—not really.
Not entirely.

Subaru was chaos. Emotion bundled into raw decisions. He screamed too loud, tried too hard, loved too recklessly.

Or at least, he was.

When he came back with Rem and dropped the request to negotiate for an alliance to hunt the whale, he was nothing like the chaotically loud and reckless boy he had been just a day before.

No, not at all.

Quiet, focused, and so, so tired. He looked resigned. Like victory here was to win a battle in a war he already lost. Old Wil said it was the same eyes he would see on broken men who knew they were going to die, but kept fighting anyway. Defeated, yet still desperate to grasp onto whatever meaningless victory they could cling to.

It unnerved Ferris more than it scared him.

Subaru looked so innocent and soft and playful. That was Ferris’s first impression of him. Just an ignorant, happy boy charmed by a world that had been kind to him. That was not the boy he saw the day Subaru returned with the alliance proposal between the three factions.

He respected what the boy did for Crusch. He even forgave the theatrics, most of the time. They were begrudgingly entertaining, if somewhat pathetic.

But this?
Leaving like that?
Without warning?
Without even a goodbye?
Without a face-to-face chance to say, “Sorry. I messed up. Let me fix it.”

Ferris had wanted to scratch his eyes out.

Still…

He understood why Subaru left.
The look in the boy’s eyes that last day—it wasn’t angry.
It was emptied.

Like someone who’d screamed his heart raw, only to realize no one had heard him. No. To realize that someone did hear him, but chose to look away anyway.

Ferris had treated people like that before.
Usually, they didn’t survive long.

But Emilia?
She had barely survived it.
The girl hadn’t spoken for nearly two days.
Hadn’t cried, hadn’t eaten.
Just curled into herself like a wounded animal waiting for the world to end.

Ferris had checked in twice. Quietly. Gently.
Both times, she hadn’t even registered his presence.
And both times, he had walked away with a knot in his throat.

Because for all his playfulness, Felix Argyle didn’t know how to fix people who didn’t want to be alive.

Which is why, when he passed her room that afternoon and saw her—

Sitting.
Writing.
Hair unkempt, posture crooked, eyes dull but present—

His breath caught.
He froze mid-step.
Then leaned back to double-check, tail stiffening.
Yes.
She was there.
Really there.

His smile came slow.
Soft.
Different.

Not the dignified yet showy grin of “The Blue.” Not the exaggerated, playful mewl of “The Knight, Ferri~”

But something smaller.
Something real.
He didn’t enter.
Didn’t say a word.

But he lifted one hand to his lips and blew her a gentle kiss through the open sliver of door.

Then turned on his heel, humming softly as he walked away.

“Welcome back, princess. Had Ferri really scared for a second, there,” he whispered under his breath.

“Let’s get that heart beating again, nyan~?”

He had not planned to approach.
There were things that age did not make easier.

Watching someone fall apart was one of them.
Watching someone try to piece themselves back together—when it might already be too late—was another.

He stood at the end of the corridor. Far enough not to be seen. Close enough to hear.

The scratching of quill on parchment.
The shallow drag of breath through dry lips.
The slow, uneven rhythm of someone learning how to exist again.

He didn’t need to look to know what he would see.
He had seen her in that room before.
Collapsed.
Clutching a letter she didn’t understand.

A letter he had helped write.

Subaru had come to him that night, near dawn, eyes red and fingers trembling.
His voice was scratchy, subdued, muffled, like his throat forgot how to produce it.
“I need to write her something,” the boy had said.
“I want her to know I’m sorry. That I… loved her. Even if it was wrong. Even if it was a mistake.”

Wilhelm remembered the way the candle flickered in that quiet study.

How his first instinct was to rebuke the young man, for how could love be a mistake?
Until he saw the boy’s eyes—and quietly grieved what was lost.
How the ink stained Subaru’s fingertips before a single word hit the page.
How the boy had stared at the parchment like it was a battlefield he didn’t know how to cross.

“I’m no good at this,” Subaru had muttered. “I’m not good. At anything. At everything.”
“At words. At writing. She deserves something better. But I don’t have anything left.”

And Wilhelm, old fool that he was, had sat beside him.
He hadn’t offered platitudes.
Hadn’t told him it would be okay.

He had just steadied the page.
Guided his hand when it faltered.
Helped him spell goodbye.

He remembered each line.
Each pause.
Each breath Subaru took to stop himself from breaking before he reached the next sentence.
Each quiet, broken gasp—like he was holding in screams of protest. Of “Please don’t make me do this” and “I don’t want to leave her”

And when it was done, the boy had sealed it carefully—tucked a charm inside—and handed it to Ferris like a confession he could never say aloud.

Now, days later, Wilhelm listened to the girl Subaru left it for begin her own letter.

The irony didn’t escape him.

Part of him was bitter.
Old resentment ran deep—how could someone like her command so much of that wonderful boy’s heart, only to understand none of it until it was gone?

How could she receive everything Subaru had left behind… and still collapse as if love had taken her by surprise?

He had watched men die for love.
Women burn for it.
Watched himself live for it.
Watched himself live without it.

And watching Emilia fail to grasp it—when it had been handed to her so raw, so honestly, so wholeheartedly—

It hurt more than he admitted.
But now…
She wrote.
Not fluently. Not swiftly.
But sincerely.

And Wilhelm’s anger found itself with no foothold anymore.

Only silence.
Only the soft echo of his own words in a younger man’s mouth:

“If you truly love someone… you’ll bear the burden of that love. Even if they don’t return it the way you want them to.”

He stepped away before she could notice him.
Left no sign he had been there.
Only a faint, quiet thought followed him down the hall:

Let it not be too late by the time you reach him, girl.
Or he’ll be too far gone to believe he deserves your voice.

She didn’t sleep in the room they gave her.
Too many windows.
Too much silence.
Too many memories of Subaru’s back walking away.

The servants at House Karsten were polite enough not to ask why she stayed in the hallway instead. Not quite seated. Not quite standing. Just… there. Against the wall. Arms curled around her knees like a child. Half-watching Emilia’s door from the very end of the hallway.

The others passed occasionally.
Little Petra, with her little fidgety smiles and jam-and-toast-crumbs-stained tray.
Otto, quiet and observant, lingering too long before he left again.
Lady Crusch. Sir Felix. Sir Wilhelm.
All of them came and went.

Rem stayed. At the edge. Unseen.

And when the door creaked open sometime in the late afternoon and the silver-haired girl finally stirred—finally sat up and picked up a pen—Rem didn’t react.

She watched through half-lidded eyes as Emilia dragged herself to the desk like it hurt to stand. Like it hurt to exist.

And for the first time since the battle, since the blood, since the letter—

Rem felt something she didn’t have a name for.

It wasn’t pity.
She had no pity left.
She had read her letter.
In private.

Shaking fingers. Shaky breath. Heart stupidly hopeful even as her chest had screamed that it was a mistake to open the seal.

I’m sorry, Rem.

I know what you feel for me. I think I’ve always known. I don’t deserve it. I never did.

I think… what happened between us… it was just a broken boy and a broken girl clinging to something warm. You saved me. You really did. But I didn’t fall in love with you.

I don’t think I ever will.

That’s not your fault. That’s mine. I’m just a clueless moron that smacked your horn. I’m not your hero. I’m nobody’s hero. I’m sorry I made you think I was. I’m sorry I ever made you hope.

Please don’t blame Emilia. She didn’t ask for this. She didn’t take me from you. This was my choice. Only mine.

Your life will be happier without me.

Not even a goodbye.

She had torn the letter in half.
Then torn it again.

Her emotions didn’t know what shape they were supposed to take.

Grief?
No. That was too soft.

Hatred?
Maybe. But it felt wrong.

So she chose blame.
It was easy. Easier than the alternative.

And Emilia made it easy. She made it so easy.

Perfect, porcelain, Princess Emilia with her silence and her sorrow and her fragile hands that only reached for Subaru when it was too late.

Emilia, who had gotten a charm.

Who had gotten the real letter.
Who had gotten the words that mattered.
Who had been the reason he broke in the first place.

Rem had stood outside that door for hours, imagining what was inside.

Another love confession?
Another apology?
Another farewell?

And it made her sick.

Because she had said I love you first.
She had wanted to bleed for him.
She had wanted to fight alongside him. To die beside him.

And Subaru had told that if she did, he would hate her forever.
And now he left her with the truth, in ink and wax and severance, that it all meant nothing.

That it had never been love.
Just an accident of timing and proximity.
A fluke of horn and kindness.

Now, Emilia was writing.

Rem watched through the open door—just a crack, just enough—and saw her.

Hair messy. Ink-stained fingers. Shoulders trembling.

Writing.
Crossing it out.
Starting again.
Again.
And again.

She hated her.
Still.
Even now.

Because even now, Subaru’s voice lived in her head.

Telling her not to hate.
Telling her to move on.
Telling her it wasn’t Emilia’s fault.

That he was the one who left. That he was the one who broke things.
That it was his choice.

But how could she believe him?
How could she forgive that?

He had looked her in the eye—after everything, everything—and walked away anyway.

She told him she loved him. That he was her hero. Begged on her hands and knees for him to stay. Screamed and cried and howled for it.

And he chose to walk away anyway.

Because he had loved someone else. Rem was on her hands and knees for him and he still looked at someone else.

But what broke her—what truly, finally broke her—was this:

Emilia was trying.

Through the tears. Through the pain. Through the letter that tore her apart, she was still sitting upright. Still picking up her pen. Still fighting to exist.

And for Rem—
That wasn’t fair.

Because she wasn’t okay.
Because she was still broken.
Because she had nothing to write, no charm to hold, no goodbye to make sense of.
Because she loved him more than anything, and it still wasn’t enough.

Her breath hitched.
She didn’t mean to make a sound.
But she did.

A low, guttural exhale.
The kind that only came from somewhere buried.

Emilia didn’t turn around.
Didn’t look up.
But she paused.
For less than a second.
The quill stilled.
Her shoulders rose—tensed—fell again.

Then the scratching resumed.

Rem backed away from the door like it burned.

She didn’t cry.
Not this time.
She had cried enough.

But she hated the sound of ink on paper now.

It sounded like someone moving on.

She turned, walked away.
Her knuckles were white.
Her heart was red and raw and wrong.

“Stupid girl,” she whispered.
“What are you even trying to fix?”

He’s not coming back.
Not for you. Not for me. Not for anyone.

But still—somewhere beneath the hate and the hollow and the history—

A small voice in her chest whispered:
She’s doing what you can’t.
And you don’t know if you admire her or want to kill her for it.

The sun rose early in the Karsten Manor.
And the sky, bright and cloudless, felt like a lie.
Too soft. Too gentle. Too new.
Like the world had moved on without her.

Emilia tightened the straps on her cloak and stared at the wagons lining the estate’s courtyard. Children were already clambering aboard. A few of the older villagers were murmuring thanks to the Karsten retainers. Petra was handing out appas she probably didn’t have permission to take.

And Emilia?
She stood still.
Waiting.

Because it wasn’t just the villagers who had to leave something behind today.

“Lady Emilia.”
The voice came from behind — smooth, clear, clipped with calm pride.
She turned.

Crusch Karsten stood beside her. Poised in her usual midnight blue military uniform, arms crossed beneath her chest, watching the caravan load with eyes that missed nothing.

Ferris lounged a step behind, waving at Petra with his usual exaggerated flair. Wilhelm stood further off, silent and statuesque, his face impassive as ever — but no longer cold.

Emilia inclined her head. “Lady Karsten.”
Crusch tilted hers back. “We’re not nobles here, simply survivors. You can call me Crusch.”
“I… right. Sorry. I mean—thank you. Crusch.”

There was a pause.
Not awkward. Just full.
The kind of silence where meaning settled into place.

Then Crusch said, “Before you go… I’d like to confirm that our alliance still holds.”

Emilia blinked. “You do?”

“I do.”
“…Why?”

It wasn’t that she didn’t want it.
She needed it. The support, the strength, the stability.
But after everything—after how she broke, after how Subaru left, after the way she’d crumbled into a shell of herself—

She didn’t understand why anyone would still want to stand beside her.

Crusch answered her confusion with a look that was both sharp and kind.
“Because you stood up.”
Emilia flinched. “I… I didn’t really—”
“You did,” Crusch said simply.
“You were shattered. We all saw it. But no one helped you back to your feet. You chose to stand on your own. That alone earns my respect.”

Emilia’s breath caught.

Because it felt like the world had been dividing her into two people:
The girl Subaru left.
And the girl who kept going anyway.

She hadn’t known which one she was yet.
Maybe both.
Maybe neither.

Crusch extended a hand.
Firm. Honest. Warrior’s grip.

Emilia stared at it.
And panicked a little.
What was the right way to take it? Palm up? Down? One hand or both?
Did you bow? Nod? Say something first?

She hesitated.
Crusch’s eyebrow lifted.

Emilia flushed, then reached out—clumsy, unsure—and wrapped both hands around Crusch’s offered one like she was catching it mid-fall.

Crusch blinked.
Then she smiled.
Not mockingly.
Just… gently.

Behind them, Ferris whispered to no one in particular, “Nyaaa~ she’s learning.”

Crusch didn’t let go immediately. “You’ll need that awkward courage more than you know.”
“I’m not very good at this,” Emilia admitted.
“That’s why you’ll grow stronger,” Crusch replied.

The handshake ended. Not with a fanfare. Just a simple release.

But Emilia stood straighter afterward.
The wagons were ready.

Otto was doing a headcount. Petra was trying to sneak one more appa into a toddler’s cloak.

Wilhelm stepped forward and gave Emilia a quiet, polite nod.
He didn’t say anything.
But there was no disdain in his eyes anymore.
Just tired, guarded approval.

Ferris stepped in next. Twirled dramatically, hands behind his head.
“Well, princess,” he said, mock-formal. “If you ever need a healer, a dancer, or a devastatingly pretty shoulder to cry on—”

“I’ll know who to send Petra to,” Emilia replied, deadpan.

Ferris gasped. “So cruel~! Lady Crusch, she’s corrupted, nyan!”

Crusch sighed.
Emilia smiled.
Only a little.

But it stayed longer than her usual ones.

The villagers began to board.
The driver called for final checks.
Otto waved her toward the cart.
Petra bounced on her heels, waiting.

Emilia turned back once more.

Crusch stood with her arms folded.
Ferris was already teasing Wilhelm again.

The Karsten estate behind them.
The road ahead.

Subaru was gone.
Puck was silent.
And the weight in her chest hadn’t disappeared.

But it no longer held her in place.

She stepped up into the wagon.
And didn’t look back again.

They didn’t know if she would rise. They only watched: strangers, skeptics, ghosts of loyalty—until she moved.
And when she did, it was not in triumph, but in defiance of the silence. A first light. Faint, imperfect, real.
— Those who witnessed the first light of silver never forgot the moment she chose to stand.

Chapter Text

In a quiet room tucked away in the halls of the Mathers Estate, Emilia sat alone on the edge of a velvet sofa. Her back was ramrod straight, her posture so stiff it hurt. Her hands rested in her lap like glass ornaments, still and useless. The afternoon sun streamed in through silken curtains, painting slats of gold across the carpet. It was warm light, gentle light, but it only made the hollowness in her chest feel colder.

Her eyes didn’t move. They stayed locked on the black and orange charm snugly fastened to her wrist, as though her gaze alone could rewind time.

It was the last thing he ever gave her.

Subaru.
The name rang hollow in her mind, like an echo shouted into a ruined cathedral.

Subaru, he made it look so easy, didn’t he?
Effortless.

She remembered how he walked into every room like the world had been waiting for him to arrive. He’d smile, speak, laugh, and suddenly the heavy air would lift, as if pulled upward by the sheer force of his presence.

He thawed the hearts of everyone around him and made their lives more vibrant and colorful. He wasn’t just tolerated; he was adored. Deeply. Fully.

Unlike Emilia.

Beatrice, who hadn’t let anyone into her library in what might have been centuries, had left a chair for him to sit on when he visited.

Ram, aloof, distant Ram, bickered with him constantly, but with a casualness that implied closeness.

Rem… the same Rem that never smiled before he came, had looked at him like he was her sun and moon, her compass and anchor, her everything.

Petra clung to his every word like a kid sister idolizing her hero.

Otto, who didn’t even know him until the Sloth incident, spoke of Subaru with the respect you'd reserve for heroes.

He shined in the eyes of everyone he met.

Even those knights who once ridiculed him back at the garrison now lowered their heads and called him “Sir Natsuki” when they spoke of him.

How?
How did he do it?
Why couldn’t she?

She lowered her eyes to the charm, twisting it slowly with trembling fingers. It was starting to fray along the edge. It had only been two days. How could something so precious already be falling apart?

Rem refused to be in the same room with her. If they crossed paths, Rem turned her head sharply, shoulders tight, lips pressed into a razor-thin line. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. Her hatred was an open wound, festering in silence.

Petra tried. The little girl still offered her a smile here and there. Though they were bright, they were also paper. Fragile. And Emilia had caught her crying when she thought no one was looking.

And Otto? The only one who still looked her in the eye?
He did it because Subaru asked him to.

Even that, wasn’t hers. Even that wasn’t earned.

The one sliver of warmth in her days came from the efforts of a man she’d driven away. A man she hadn’t understood until it was too late.

A man who had loved her. The half-witch.
She bowed her head.

Earlier that afternoon, they had returned to the mansion after safely escorting the refugees to the now-empty Arlam Village. Petra had asked to return with them, and Emilia, selfish, selfish Emilia, didn’t have the heart to refuse. The moment they arrived at the estate, they were greeted by a familiar face at the manor’s front steps.

The former head maid, Frederica Baumann.

Tall, imposing, dignified. Frederica bowed at the waist with a hand covering her mouth. “Good afternoon and welcome back to the Mathers manor, Lady Emilia, Rem, and guests.”

Her voice was smooth and practiced. Not cold, not warm. Polite, distant.

“Frederica! Why are you back? It’s been so long, I hope you’ve been well,” Emilia replied, forcing a brightness into her tone that tasted like chalk.

Frederica’s bow did not deepen. “Yes, I have returned recently per the lord's request. And thank you for your concern, Lady Emilia. Dear guests, allow me to escort you to our waiting room,” she said, her sharp eyes flicking to Otto and Petra.

“Ah, yes. Thank you, Miss Frederica,” Otto replied, awkwardly fiddling with his cloak. Petra clung to his sleeve, her wide eyes peeking up at the older maid.

“Umm…”
“Yes, milady?” Frederica asked, voice clipped.

“Th-that’s—”
“—Little Petra is no guest,” Rem interrupted. “She will be joining the maid staff starting today. Training will begin immediately.”

Frederica’s gaze snapped to her fellow maid. “Very well,” she said after a pause. “I will have her uniform prepared. And Rem,” she added, her voice dropping a degree, “I need not remind you that Lady Emilia is of a higher station than yourself. Do not interrupt her in such a way again.”

Then she turned back to Emilia, and everything about her expression returned to that mask of professional courtesy. “The bath has been drawn for your return. Kindly make your way there. Lunch will be served within the hour.”

And that was that.
No smile. No warmth.
No Subaru to break the ice and coax a laugh out of Frederica within minutes.

She’d seen it happen before. He thawed the twins like it was nothing.
He was just… incredible.
Even now, his absence filled the room more than most people’s presence.

Emilia ran her fingers over the charm again. Her shoulders sagged beneath a weight she couldn’t name.

What was she doing?
What was she even hoping for?

Nobody smiled in her presence. Only Puck did.
And Subaru.

Now both are gone.

Maybe she really was just a mistake. A mistake that kept dragging others down with her.

A witch born in the frozen forest who never should’ve left.
She should return. Freeze herself over. Disappear. Let the others forget she ever existed.

But…
Even so.
Even so…

She couldn’t leave things like this. Not after everything he’d done. Not after the way he looked at her, even when she couldn’t, wouldn't, return his feelings. Even when she didn’t understand.

Even when she looked away.

He had still stood tall.
Still smiled.
Still fought.
Still bled.
For her.

“Stop whining,” she whispered through clenched teeth. “You stupid, useless witch.”

She buried her face in her hands. Her fingers dug into her scalp.
This self-pity was what had led to everything. What made her leave him behind.

She had to change.
She had to try.
But how?

How do you change when you don’t even know what it means to love? To be loved?

Puck once told her: When you don’t know how to do something, mimic someone who does.

So she would mimic Subaru.
She would trace his footsteps, even if she stumbled at every turn.
She closed her eyes and tried to recall his voice.

Emilia-tan, he used to say, reverently, as if she held the stars and moon in place.

Her chest twisted.
Emilia-tan.
His voice was gone now. Just a ghost.
But it echoed anyway.

Emilia-tan.

I love you.
I loved you so much, it hurt.
I’m sorry.
Forget me.
Goodbye.

The scream rose in her throat like bile.

She clapped both hands around her neck and squeezed. Not hard, just enough to make the muscles lock up, to force the pain downward, away from her voice box.

She couldn’t break down.
Puck wasn’t here to pick up the pieces.
Subaru wasn’t here to offer her his hand.
If she shattered, there would be no one to sweep her off the floor.

Her breaths came shallow and fast.

Is this what it felt like for you, Subaru?
Is this how it felt when I left you?
To be surrounded by people, and still feel completely alone?

And if so…

How did you endure?
How…
How are you so strong?

And why am I so weak?

He once claimed that he was named after a star. At the time, everyone made fun of him for it.

Now, Emilia knew…

He really was a star.
He shone with sincerity, even if his light wasn’t as bright as the moon’s.
He never stopped shining.

And Emilia?
She was a witch.
All she did was freeze everything she touched.

But still.
Still, she would try.

For his sake.
For her own.

Because she wanted to be worthy.
She wanted to understand him.
She wanted to love.

And she wanted that love to belong to him.

She wanted to shine alongside him.
She looked down at the charm one more time.

“How do stars shine?” she whispered.

And then she rose, trembling, toward the light bleeding in through the curtains.

Because trying, no matter how small, was the only thing she had left.

Lunch was a somber, silent, and thoroughly miserable affair.

The dragging kind of silence. A void. Heavy, suffocating. You could practically feel the way sound recoiled from the room, as if even noise had the decency to stay away.

Five people sat around the long dining table, and every clatter of cutlery echoed far too loudly against the marble floors and high ceilings. Forks scraped against plates. Knives tapped porcelain. Nobody spoke. Nobody looked up.

The food was warm, fragrant, meticulously prepared by Frederica and Rem.

It tasted like ash in Emilia’s mouth.

She chewed slowly, forcing herself to swallow. It felt like forcing chalk down her throat. Her jaw ached. Her hands trembled every time she raised her fork.

Her eyes kept drifting to the seat next to hers.

Empty.

It had been empty for a week now, but the absence hadn’t dulled. If anything, it felt sharper.

Subaru’s chair.

Still pulled slightly out. Still angled just the way he’d always left it, slouched and a little crooked. As if he’d gotten up mid-thought, intending to return.

He hadn’t.

Emilia sat as if bound in place. Her back straight, shoulders tense, posture perfect. Her every movement mechanical, as if one mistake might cause her to unravel entirely.

It was pathetic.

She couldn’t even breathe properly in her own home anymore.

The atmosphere was too heavy. Far, far too heavy.

If Subaru were here…

He would’ve made a joke by now. Or tripped over his own feet and laughed about it. Or dragged everyone into some inane story about a totally unrelated event. Somehow, somehow, he would’ve made everyone feel human again.

He would’ve made them laugh. Or smile. Or roll their eyes. Anything but this silence.
He would’ve made the mansion feel warm again.

Emilia swallowed down the thought.
Selfish.

She looked at the others.

Frederica was poised, dignified. Cutting her meat with precision. Her expression unreadable. She met no one’s gaze.

Petra, seated beside Otto, picked at her food in tiny bites. Her face looked tight. Pale. She kept sneaking glances at Emilia when she thought she wasn’t looking.

Rem sat diagonally across the table, rigid and upright. Her plate remained untouched.

Emilia looked away quickly.

Rem’s presence was a wound.

Even without words, she radiated disapproval like heat from an oven. No overt hostility. Nothing you could point at and call “rude.” Just the kind of cold that made you instinctively flinch.

Otto, bless him, tried.

But even he couldn’t look her in the eyes right now. He stirred his food absently, as if waiting for a cue that would never come.

Emilia’s throat tightened.
She needed to say something.
Anything.
She couldn’t let it go on like this.
Subaru wouldn’t want—

Her chair scraped quietly against the floor as she straightened.

“So…” she began, voice soft, shaky.

Every head turned.
Four pairs of eyes met hers.
Like a spotlight had landed on her. Like she had broken a sacred rule.

Emilia’s smile wobbled.

“I, uh… I thought of something funny today.”
No one said a word.

A faint twitch in Otto’s brows. Petra’s eyes widened, hopeful. Frederica paused mid-cut. Rem didn’t move.

“Um… It’s not a great joke,” she added quickly, “but… well, Subaru—” Rem’s grip on her cutlery tightened at his name. “—always said that even bad jokes can make people smile, so…”

She took a shaky breath.

“So, why did the mana spirit refuse to sign a contract?”
Silence.

She continued, trying to keep her smile in place.
“Because… it said it had too many commitments already—get it? Like—like it was overbooked!”

She let out a nervous laugh.

It died in the air.
No one laughed.
Not even Petra.

Rem’s eyes narrowed slightly, almost imperceptibly. She looked back down at her plate, as if Emilia wasn’t worth the energy.

A beat passed.

Frederica blinked once. Calm, composed. 

“A most… interesting… joke, Lady Emilia,” she said with barely hidden pity. Then she resumed cutting her food.

“Uhh… I suppose it was a good attempt, Lady Emilia,” Otto offered finally, with a strained, crooked smile. His tone was gentle—pitying.

Petra hesitated, then forced a smile too bright to be genuine.

“A-for-effort, I guess?”

Emilia felt the burn rise in her cheeks.

“Oh,” she said, too quickly. “I… I thought it might help. But—sorry. That was stupid.”

“No, no!” Otto replied too fast. “Not stupid. Just, um… tough crowd, maybe?”

Petra nodded, far too eagerly. “Yeah! Tough crowd. It was funny! Just… maybe not Rem’s kind of humor…”

Frederica just gave a distant, polite smile.

The girl trailed off under the weight of Rem’s glare.

Emilia smiled again.
Brittle. Strained. Like glass under pressure.

“T—thank you, Otto, Petra, and even you, Frederica. Really.”
She meant it.

Their attempt to cushion her fall was clumsy, but sincere. That mattered.
And it hurt.

It hurt so badly.

She wanted to cry. Wanted to break down. Scream. Tear at the silence. Shake someone, anyone, and beg them to tell her how to fix it.

But all she could do was sit there.
Smile.
Pretend.
Like a doll with a painted face.

Her fingers dug into her lap beneath the table.
She was useless on her own.
And it showed.

The silence returned, colder than before.

Even Otto looked like he regretted speaking.

This is what you bring to the table, something inside her whispered. Awkwardness. Pity. Guilt. You're not a leader. You're a placeholder.

You’re nothing.

The words clanged in her skull like a bell.

Still, Petra smiled at her. Otto and even Frederica did, too.

Her chest loosened—just a little.
Her shoulders sagged.

The food on her plate didn’t taste quite so bland anymore.
Not good. Not pleasant. But tolerable.

A little less like swallowing grief.

She still had allies.
People who were trying.
People who hadn’t given up on her just yet.

And that meant something.

Even if Rem couldn’t stand her. Even if Frederica would only ever serve her because it was her duty. She still had people in her corner.

She was not completely alone.
That sliver of hope held her upright.
It was all she had.

Maybe I’ll never be able to shine like Subaru did, she thought, looking at the seat next to her one last time.

But if I can still try, if I can just make it through another day…
Maybe I can become someone worth following.
Maybe one day I can be worthy of what he gave.

But maybe she didn’t have to be him.
Maybe if she just tried hard enough, clumsily, painfully, earnestly—
someone might smile because of her one day.

And even if they didn’t—
Even if it never worked—
She would try anyway.

Emilia took a stroll that evening, hoping the walk would help her sort her thoughts.

It did. Somewhat.
But it also brought a new realization.
The manor was too quiet.
Not the peaceful kind of quiet.
This silence was unnatural.

It pressed in from all sides. Saturated the halls. Made every footstep sound like a crime.
Without him, the air itself felt heavier.

Emilia wandered the manor aimlessly, arms folded across her chest, fingers clutching at her sleeves. Her pace was slow, tentative, like she was afraid to disturb something sacred.

The walls looked taller. The corridors, longer. The rooms… emptier.

He had only been gone for a week.
But already, everything felt off.
There was no laughter echoing down the hallways.

No groaning complaints about chores.
No crashes from yet another trip over his own feet.
No Subaru.

And now that he was gone, all the little things, the things she barely noticed before, hurt.

It was as if someone had carved him out of the world with a knife, and left the edges raw and bleeding.

She passed the sitting room. No muddy dress shoes by the door. No crumpled blazer tossed carelessly over the chair. No scent of dried sweat, earth, and the faintest hint of spring.

She stopped by the garden.
It was empty.

No tireless figure energetically doing those strange “radio calisthenics” dance routines on slow evenings. No loud greeting and a boy asking her out on his “dates” the moment he spots her. No sad grin when she declined because she would rather study for the selection than spend time frolicking with him.

She always thought his antics were excessive.
Embarrassing, even, at times.
Childish.

But now…

She would’ve given anything to hear his overdramatic shouting again. Or to see him sprint toward her with that wild, too-wide grin on his face, bragging about something completely mundane like it was a heroic feat.

“I carried three buckets without spilling any!” he’d boast.

Back then, she would roll her eyes. Maybe even scold him.
But inside, her heart always warmed.
Back then, she didn't realize.

She didn’t know.
Now? Now she just aches.

Emilia stepped into the library. It was dim. Dust motes floated in the air, dancing in the shafts of sunlight.

He used to sneak in here sometimes. Sit cross-legged on the floor, poring over books far beyond his reading level. Ram would usually chase him out within ten minutes. Then Rem would come over and sneak out the book he was reading for him.

Emilia had asked him why he bothered. He didn’t seem like the type to enjoy studying.

He said it was “so he could be useful.”
She brushed her hand along the spines of the books.
He wanted to be useful.

And what did she do?
Dismissed him.
Minimized him.

Pretended like he was just a child trying to fit into shoes that were too big for him.
Like he wasn’t the person who stitched the broken pieces of her life together when she didn’t even realize it was all falling apart.

And yet… he never left.
Until he did.

She found herself in the dining hall next.
The table was originally set for six. Six sets of tableware on the dining table. Now? Only five sets remain.

She reached for the chair at the far end, the one he would sometimes purposely take, grinning, like he didn’t realize it was supposed to be the “head” seat, only for Ram to immediately come in and start berating him for it like he was her annoying little brother in all but blood.

She sat down in it.
The chair was still warm.
Her breath hitched.
A tiny laugh escaped her lips, too broken to be joyful.
“He really sat everywhere,” she murmured to herself. “Like a cat.”

Silence answered her.

Emilia leaned forward, elbows on the table, and buried her face in her hands.

She didn’t even cry.
She just breathed. Deep, shaky, ragged breaths.
She couldn’t stop thinking.

If Subaru had been here, this room wouldn’t be so heavy.

He would’ve cracked some awkward joke. Or insensitively comment on Frederica’s teeth and still make her laugh about it anyway. Or gotten Rem to sneak him extra dessert and tried to bribe Beatrice into letting him hide from his chores with it.

Somehow, through sheer idiotic persistence, he would’ve made the impossible seem manageable.

He made her burdens feel manageable.
And she never noticed the weight he carried until he was no longer here to shoulder it.

Now, she felt every burden he used to carry, each one snapping across her shoulders like whipcracks.

She was supposed to be the dragon priestess.
Leader.
Princess.
Future king.

And yet it was Subaru who gave people hope. Subaru who made people laugh. Subaru who took pain and turned it into action.

Subaru who made her feel like she could shine.
Why hadn’t she seen it sooner?
Why hadn’t she held on tighter?
Why didn’t she stay with him in the capital?

He left without knowing.
He thought she didn’t care.

And truthfully? Maybe she hadn’t cared enough.
Not until he was gone.

She walked the halls again. No destination. Just movement.

The silence returned.
It followed her like a shadow.

As if the very estate itself missed him.

Every corner whispered memories. Every scuff mark on the floor held a story. Every hallway still echoed with ghost-laughter that wasn’t there.

The manor was falling into stillness.
And so was she.

She paused by a window. Outside, the wind stirred the trees gently. The evening light painted dim gold across the stone floors.

Subaru once told her that you never know what you have until it’s gone.

She hadn’t understood what he meant at the time.
She did now.

“I miss you,” she whispered, to no one.
No answer came.

Only silence.

That silence that stretched on and on, until it wrapped around her heart like frost.

But in its center, a tiny ember remained.
A realization.
Subaru was not a burden.

He wasn’t a reckless child for her to fuss over.
He wasn’t just some loud, annoying boy tagging along for the ride.

He was the glue.
The spark.
The light.

And without him… she had no idea how to move forward.

But maybe… she didn’t need to.
Maybe she just needed to stumble.
To keep stumbling.
To fall. And fail. And learn.

Maybe she just needed to keep trying.
Little by little.
Until she learned.

How to shine like he did.
How to shine in a way only she could.
So they could one day shine together.

Sleep didn’t come easily anymore.

It used to wrap around her like a warm shawl. Soft, indulgent, secure. Now, it arrived only in stolen fragments. Jagged moments of silence before the memories surged back and tore her under again.

The letter was always waiting.

His face was always, always, waiting.

Every time she closed her eyes, it hovered, unfolding, line by line, voice by voice.

She could hear Subaru whispering through the ink. His voice was tired, tight. It cracked mid-sentence, choked by emotions that had long outgrown the confines of his chest. His words bled guilt and sorrow, like he thought pain could be translated into forgiveness if he just wrote enough of it down.

She saw his face as he wrote it. Pale. Red-rimmed eyes. Hands trembling not with fear, but with restraint. Trying not to sob again. Trying to be brave.

And the words—

Stop it.

I love you.
Please—I’ll do better, I promise. Please!

You never asked for any of it…
I just didn’t know what it was! I would’ve cherished it more if I did! I reaaaally would!!

Forget me.
NO! Don’t go! Please! Don’t leave!

I don’t want to be alone!!

Puck!

PUCK! Don’t let him leave! Stop him! Please!
NO! Come back!
Come back, please, come back!! I’ll be a good girl this time. I promise! So please, come back!

Goodbye.
No… Don’t leave! I’ll cherish you! I’ll stay with you! I won’t leave you alone anymore, so please! PLEASE!!

DON’T LEAVE!!

SUBARUUUUU!!!

She awoke with a gasp.

When had she fallen asleep?

Her chest heaved. Her hands clutched at the soaked fabric of her nightgown. Sweat pooled along her collarbones, stuck strands of silver hair to her face. Her throat burned, dry and cracked. She tasted iron.

A nightmare?
When did she even fall asleep?

She sat upright, clutching her knees to her chest. The moon filtered in through the curtains, silver light on silver hair. Her Seer crystal pulsed dimly on the nightstand: three-quarters into earth time.

Far too early to be awake.
Her body felt foreign. Sticky. Suffocating.
A bath, she thought numbly. I need a bath.

She rose without grace. Her legs trembled under her own weight. Like she hadn't walked in weeks.

Her private bathroom greeted her in sterile silence.
She reached for a towel—and paused.
Right. There was no mirror in her room.

It was one of Puck’s conditions. A safeguard. A kindness.

No mirrors. No reflections. No reminders.
Nothing to tell her she looked like the witch.
But Puck was gone now.

And, in her exhaustion and aching emptiness, Emilia broke a clause in her contract.

She truly was a bad girl. No wonder he—no, they left.

She raised a hand. Three tiny blue spirits stirred from their slumber and floated toward her, their presence soft and concerned.

“Huma,” she whispered.

A pane of ice bloomed across the wall. Frosted, imperfect. Cracks and air bubbles beneath the surface made the reflection ripple like water.

Still, it was enough.
She stood before it, naked in every way that mattered.
And saw a stranger.

The girl in the mirror stared back. Sunken cheeks. Puffy eyes. Lips chewed raw. Her hair, once shining silver, hung limp and lifeless like tarnished thread. There were shadows under her eyes that hadn’t been there before. The light had long since drained from them.

She smiled at the reflection, just to see what it looked like.

It was horrifying.
Crooked. Weak. Almost pleading.

“You poor thing,” she whispered.
Her throat tightened.

Was this… what he loved?

Subaru had called her beautiful. Said her hair caught moonlight like a veil of stars. That her eyes glittered like amethysts dusted with snow. He used to grin so earnestly when he said it. Like it wasn’t a compliment, but a truth the rest of the world was just too blind to see.

And she had laughed. Or rolled her eyes. Or brushed him off.
She thought he was teasing her. That it was all a joke. Insults disguised as compliments.
That someone like him couldn’t possibly see something worth loving in… her.

He wasn’t joking, she realized.
He meant every word.
He meant it when he called her beautiful.

And she had thought him a liar.

She dismissed him. Ignored him. Scoffed at his affections like they were annoying habits she had to endure.

But he had meant it.
He meant everything.

And she—
She was the one who didn’t.

The smile on her face cracked.

Tears pooled in her eyes. She leaned closer to the ice, close enough to feel the chill bleed into her skin.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to the girl in the mirror. “I didn’t know.”
Her hands clenched into fists.

“I didn’t know,” she said again, louder.

The spirits buzzed nervously. They circled her, trying to comfort, trying to soothe.

She didn’t feel them.
Only the cold.
Only the reflection.
And the rage.

You should’ve known.
You should’ve seen how much he was hurting.
You should’ve—

CRACK.

Her fist slammed into the ice. A fracture spread across the surface, lightning-fast.

“Why didn’t you SAY something!?”
CRACK.

“Why didn't you STAY with him!?”
CRACK.

“You let him get beaten up and left him alone to be MISERABLE!!”
CRACK.

“You made him LEAVE!”

Ice shattered. Jagged shards fell to the floor with a sound like bones breaking.

Blood dripped from her knuckles. The spirits shrieked in alarm.
But Emilia didn’t flinch.

She stared at the remnants of the mirror. Her breathing shallow. Her lips trembling.

It hurts.
Good.

She wanted it to hurt.
She wanted it to burn and sting and carve every ounce of self-hatred into her skin until she couldn’t forget it anymore.

Until she couldn’t pretend anymore.

More, her mind whispered. Make it hurt more. Hurt enough to pay him back. Hurt enough that he comes back and forgives you. That he sees how sorry you are. That he smiles again. That he calls you Emilia-tan again. That he…

That he loves you again.

She raised her fist.

The spirits intervened.
They wrapped around her wrist, glowing bright, humming like a heartbeat, begging her to stop.

“Let go,” she hissed.
They didn’t.
So she let her arm drop.
Her knuckles throbbed with pain.

Puck would scold her, she thought dully. He’d pinch her cheeks and call her a bad girl. Subaru would panic, fluttering around like a mother hen, trying to bandage her with shaky hands.

She couldn’t let either of them see her like this.

So she healed it.

A simple water spell sealed the wounds. The blood vanished. The skin knitted itself smooth and unblemished.

Spotless. Untouched.
Perfect.
She had to stay perfect.

Subaru liked her features.
She couldn’t taint them.
She couldn’t let the outside match the wreckage inside.

She undressed silently and stepped into the bath.
The water was warm.
She didn't feel it.

The steam curled around her like a cocoon. Her hair floated around her, spreading like silver roots. She closed her eyes and sank lower, until only her nose remained above water.

Her thoughts, however, never submerged.

Puck.
Subaru.
The royal selection.
The mansion.
The refugees Ram had taken.
The people who still depended on her.
All of it sat on her chest like a glacier.

So much weight. So much expectation. So many things she had already failed.

She wanted to disappear.
To run into the forest and just vanish completely.
To go back to a simpler misery—quiet, familiar, and alone.

But—

But she couldn't.
Because Emilia was a coward.
She was scared of abandoning her responsibilities.

A choked breath slipped from her throat.
Then a sob.
Then another.

She curled into herself, arms wrapped around her knees, body trembling.
She sobbed.

Ugly, rasping sounds tore from her lips. Her chest convulsed. Her shoulders shook.

But no tears came.
Her eyes were dry.

Why couldn’t she cry?
Was it because she didn’t deserve to?
Because crying was for those who had the right to grieve, and she was the one who caused the grief?

She didn't know.
She didn't know anything anymore.

She didn’t know how to face Rem, whose hate burned colder than any frost spell.
Didn’t know how to thank Petra, whose kindness was a blade cutting her from the inside.
Didn’t know how to look Otto in the eyes and not be reminded that he was only here because someone else told him to be.

Didn’t know how to begin fixing what she broke.

Didn’t even know how he did it.
He was reckless. Stubborn. Objectively underqualified.
But somehow, somehow, he made people believe.

And she—
She had all the power, all the tools.

And still, no one followed her the way they followed him.

Why?
Why can't I shine like him?

She didn't want to surpass him.
She just wanted to be worthy of standing beside him.
And she couldn’t even do that.

So she sat there.

In the water.
In silence.
Until it turned cold.

The lesser spirits hovered outside the door, whispering soft songs of comfort. They didn’t enter.

They didn’t dare.
Outside, the moon kept shining.
But inside, Emilia stayed in the dark.

The knock at the door was soft, measured, hesitant.

Otto stepped in with a map pressed against his chest. “Lady Emilia,” he said carefully, “I just spoke with Miss Frederica. The villagers that Ram took with her… they’re likely at a place called the Sanctuary.”

“The… Sanctuary?” she repeated.

The word felt heavy on her tongue, as though it already knew what kind of place it was. A prison that called itself a haven.

“Yes. There’s a magical barrier surrounding it. Only certain people may pass through. I can guide you to the forest’s edge, but beyond that…” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t be able to go with you.”

Her lips parted, then closed. A cold knot tightened in her chest.

She was already alone. And now she was being asked to go deeper into that aloneness.

“Lady Emilia?”
Her mind had wandered. Again.

“Ah! Yes—sorry.” She straightened, smoothing the invisible wrinkles on her lap.
“Err, Your… your orders,” he prompted gently.

Ah, that was right. Emilia was the leader. She had to give the orders.
A breath. Then another.

“I’ll go to the Sanctuary,” she said, voice stiff and quiet. “I’ll… I will bring the others back. Home.”

“Very well,” Otto nodded. “I’ll prepare the carriage immediately.”

“Thank you… Otto. You as well, Frederica.”
“Happy to serve,” Otto said, bowing politely.

Frederica did not reply. She looked downward, silently pondering something.

“... Frederica?”

The maid spoke. Slowly, softly, “My apologies, milady. But—I believe I have a solution for the barrier.”

“You do?” Emilia asked, hope shined nakedly in her eyes.

“Yes,” the maid pulled out a mana stone from underneath her maid uniform, it hung on a string around her neck as a makeshift necklace. “This mana stone is a family heirloom of mine. I believe it will help you get past the barrier.”

“Your heirloom!? I'm not sure if I should…” Emilia replied, uncertain.

“With all due respect, Lady Emilia. I cannot, in good conscience, allow you to travel by your lonesome.” Frederica asserted sternly.

“B-but…”

“—Milady, I think you should accept her kindness,” Otto interjected. “Od knows we need all the help we can get, now that…” the rest went unsaid.

He didn’t need to say it.
Now that Sir Natsuki is gone. Emilia understood the message.
She’s useless on her own, after all.

The half-elf looked toward the maid, her eyes hurt yet resolute, “I understand. I’ll indulge in your kindness, Frederica.” She acquiesced.

“Much obliged, milady,” Frederica added with her usual crispness, before turning on her heel.

Emilia turned to the merchant, “Otto. Please, prepare the carriage and ask… no, tell Rem to come with us.” She ordered.

“Milady?”

Emilia smiled, confident, brittle, and fragile. “She’ll want to see her sister again. Frederica can take over Petra’s training until we return.”

Otto bowed, “By your leave.”

Then it was just Emilia. Again.

A silence so vast she could hear her heartbeat. Could feel the faint tremble in her hands. Could see, in the corner of her eye, the black and orange charm wrapped around her wrist.

Subaru’s last gift.
His kind yet cruel reminder.

She held it with shaking fingers, thumb brushing over the rough threads of the charm he made with such care. Why did going to this “sanctuary” feel like letting go of him just a little more?

No. It didn’t. She wouldn’t let it.

She clutched the charm tighter, willing it to fill the hollowness spreading inside her chest.

“Subaru,” she whispered. “If I go… will I finally understand you?”

A breeze slipped through the hallway window. It didn’t answer.
She rose.

Each step to the door felt heavier than the last. Her legs moved on habit, but her mind was a storm. Would the villagers look at her with hatred? Would Ram spit venom? Would Roswaal? Would she be blamed for chasing away the one person who gave them hope? The person who saved them while all Emilia could do was sit in a carriage?

She deserved it all.

She passed the grand windows of the hallway. Outside, the sun was low, casting long shadows across the floor. Like fingers trying to hold her back.

Her reflection in the glass didn’t smile. Just stared.
Subaru would’ve smiled. Even with a broken heart. Even when nobody believed in him.
She touched her face, as if to test if she was still there. Still real.

“I’ll go,” she murmured again.

She didn’t know how to shine like he did. But right now… she no longer had the time to ponder.
She stepped through the front doors of the manor just as the coach rolled into view.

The wind tugged at her cloak, and the setting sun lit her silver hair with a dim, pale fire. Like moonlight trying to imitate the sun.

She was no hero, no light like him, but even then, Emilia would walk into this... Sanctuary. Not to be forgiven, but to face what she broke, and maybe, just maybe, begin to put it back together.

Chapter Text

The air was thick with the scent of damp earth. The wind threaded through the trees, coaxing their leaves into a restless chorus. It wasn’t a pleasant sound—it whispered like a choir of the dead, hushed voices warning travelers to turn back. The forest itself seemed alive, its silence pressing down like a curse.

But the steady rhythm of the dragon carriage pushed against the dread. Wooden wheels groaned over the uneven road, joined by the pounding gait of earth dragons in harness. Their relentless rhythm dulled the unease, as if forcing the forest to accept their passage. Almost.

This was the Lost Forest of Kremaldy. A place civilization had never claimed. A place where anyone without demi-human blood would wander until they wasted away, swallowed by its illusions. There was only one exception: those carrying a rare set of mana stones—like the one resting now in the hands of a passenger within the carriage.

The driver pulled on the reins, and the dragons slowed to a halt. The door creaked open, and four figures stepped down into the shadowed clearing.

First came a silver-haired maiden in flowing white garbs. Her pointed ears and violet eyes marked her as half-elf—the one called Emilia.

Behind her followed the driver, a scrawny young man in ragged green clothes, effeminate in bearing yet sharp-eyed all the same. Otto Suwen.

Then a girl in a maid’s uniform, her short blue hair brushing pale cheeks, her expression carved from ice. Rem.

And last, a boy no taller than Emilia’s shoulder. Blond hair framed sharp green eyes, his fangs flashing when his lips curled. Garfiel Tinzel.

“Welcome to the sanctuary, Lady Emilia—and her tag-along.”
Garfiel’s grin was sharp enough to cut stone, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Don’t expect a warm welcome. We don’t take kindly to outsiders.”

Emilia blinked, uncertain. “This is the Sanctuary…?”

The so-called village looked unworthy of the name. The houses stood close together, haphazard and plain, as though thrown down by chance rather than built with care. Nothing about it resembled a place of refuge.

“Y’call it somethin’ fancy,” Garfiel snorted, his tone light but edged with bitterness. “Truth is, it’s just a disposal ground for rejects.”

The words hung in the air, self-derision twisting his grin. Otto thought the same, though he kept the thought to himself. An isolated village in the middle of nowhere. Disposal ground sounds about right.

Then Garfiel’s grin widened, cruel amusement flickering in his eyes.
“Heh. Though if y’ask me, ‘Tomb of the Witch of Greed’ fits better.”

Otto froze, whip-cracked out of his grim thoughts. “Excuse me!? The what of the what?”

“You deaf, servant boy?”

“Servant—?!” Otto’s voice cracked indignantly.

“I said—”

“—If you two are done squabbling over pointless things,” another voice cut through, sharp and scathing. “We should be making our way to Lord Roswaal posthaste.”
Rem’s rebuke landed like a slap.

Otto shrank, rubbing the back of his head. “Err… yes. My apologies, Miss Rem.”

Beside them, Emilia winced faintly, as if the tension had pressed too close against her skin.

Garfiel chuckled at the name, low and derisive.
“Heh. Roswaal, huh.” His grin curled nastily. “Should’ve seen him when he got that letter.”

At the word letter, Emilia froze. Her spine went rigid, her body turning to stone. Color drained from her face, and pain carved itself across her expression like a knife.

“L–Letter…?” she asked, voice trembling.

Garfiel tilted his head toward her, hands locked casually behind his head as though nothing were amiss.
“Yeah. The one Ram brought to him.”

Otto blinked. Ram? A relative of Rem, perhaps? Their names were too close to be a coincidence. But that wasn’t the important part.

A letter. Otto didn’t need two guesses to know who it had come from.

Emilia looked ready to collapse. Her hands shook, her eyes wide and unfocused, staring through everything and nothing at once. Pale as snow, she looked as though another attack might overtake her right there in front of them.

Still, somehow, she forced words past her lips.
“I—I see…”

Otto kept his eyes fixed on her, worried. Hold on, Lady Emilia… don’t let him see you break.

Garfiel either didn’t notice or simply didn’t care. His grin widened, cruel amusement shining in his eyes as he leaned into the memory.
“He went mad after readin’ it—startin’ ramblin’ about some book or some shit. Pretty sure he was frothin’ at the mouth by the end. Damn near hilarious.”

That made Otto falter. Frothing? Over a letter?

Why? Sir Roswaal was eccentric, yes, but would he truly unravel over a single servant leaving? Otto’s merchant instincts told him something deeper lurked beneath.

He opened his mouth to ask. “What? But why would—”

“Cease the shameless slandering, Garf. It is unbecoming.”

The interruption cut through the air, cool and sharp. The voice was feminine, steady in tone and volume, carrying authority without needing to raise itself.

Otto turned. From the shadows emerged a figure strikingly familiar: a girl who could have been Rem’s twin, but with pink hair framing her face and sharp red eyes that left no room for doubt.

So this must be Ram, Otto thought grimly.

“Ram!” Garfiel snapped upright, his grin shrinking. “I was just makin’ small talk, no need to get all prissy on me.”
The swagger in his tone clashed oddly with the bashful scratch at his cheek. Oh? Otto noted. Does our snarling guard dog have a soft spot for the maid? That’s… unexpectedly adorable.

“Hah.” Ram scoffed, dismissing him with a single breath.

She stepped forward with graceful precision, every movement measured. Stopping before Lady Emilia, she bent at the waist in a perfectly elegant bow.
“Greetings, Lady Emilia. Ram welcomes you to the Sanctuary,” she said smoothly.

The words were polite, even courteous. But Otto wasn’t fooled. Beneath the porcelain mask lay sharp disdain, as plain as a merchant’s ledger to those who knew how to read between the lines. And Emilia—poor, trembling Emilia—read it just as clearly, if the tears welling at the corners of her eyes were any sign.

“Um… Ram… I—” Emilia’s voice cracked, reaching for something fragile and unsaid.

“The refugees are safe and accounted for,” Ram cut in, her timing merciless. “The locals of the sanctuary are lodging them in the cathedral at the village’s edge.”

Otto caught the faintest shift in Emilia’s posture. Her shoulders, tense as drawn bowstrings, loosened by a fraction. A small mercy—despite Garfiel’s snarling earlier, the villagers had not abandoned or mistreated the refugees. Relief, faint but real, spread across her features.

Ram took half a step back, red eyes narrowing. Her next words dripped with disdain, each syllable as sharp as a blade.
“Ram has read the letter that fool Barusu left behind, and she must say: she is not impressed.”

The air cracked. Emilia bristled violently, silver hair seeming to spark with her indignation. Otto blinked—this was perhaps the first time he’d ever seen the half-elf puff up in anger.
“Ram! Subaru did his best! Don’t—”

Ram raised a single hand, palm out, cutting her off without raising her voice.
“Ram was referring to yourself, Lady Emilia,” she said, face carved from stone.

The words landed heavier than a slap.

Otto frowned. Rude, this maid. Rem at least has an excuse…
Still, he kept his tongue behind his teeth. He was an outsider to this camp, no matter what Sir Natsuki had asked of him.

Their inner wounds weren’t his to meddle in.

“Um…” Emilia managed weakly, blindsided. Her lips trembled, but nothing more came out.

Ram didn’t spare her another glance. She simply turned, skirts swaying, and began to walk away with perfect poise.
“Please follow Ram. We shall go meet with Lord Roswaal,” she said evenly, not bothering to check if anyone obeyed.

Before turning the corner, Ram glanced back at the others. Her crimson eyes softened, her voice dripping with mock sweetness.
“Rem, Rem. Please escort the new manservant to the lodgings.”

The tone was an act, far too saccharine to be sincere. Otto nearly rolled his eyes out of his skull. How sly.

Rem, however, did not play along with her sister. Her reply was flat, heavy, and lifeless.
“…Yes, nee-sama. At once.”

The sound of it was enough to make Otto wince. To say Rem had been depressed since Sir Natsuki’s departure would be a gross understatement. Her despair seemed bottomless—perhaps even deeper than Lady Emilia’s. If she doesn’t find a way to vent that grief soon, Otto mused, she might just snap and commit a capital crime…

…Wait. Manservant?

His brow twitched. The only person that could possibly mean was—
“Please don’t just decide my position one-sidedly like that! I’m not a manservant!”

Silence. A beat passed. The wind whispered faintly through the trees.

“At least say something back!” Otto cried, hands thrown into the air.

Rem simply turned her face away, wordless, and began to walk. Garfiel trailed after her, equally silent.

Lady Emilia lingered a moment longer. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, eyes soft with reassurance.
“It’s fine, Otto. They’re just teasing,” she said kindly.

His chest tightened, emotions swelling. Such compassion, even in her own state of misery…
“Lady Emilia…” he breathed, near tears.

Then her lips curved, and a faint glint of mischief sparked in her eyes.
“Personally,” she said lightly, “I think you’d make a dashing manservant.”

And she walked off, skirts fluttering, leaving him frozen in place.

…Did she just—?
She did! Lady Emilia had teased him. Her! His last bastion of kindness. Betrayal most foul!

“I—That doesn’t make me feel better! You’re all awful!” Otto shouted after them, voice cracking.

The wind carried his next protest down the empty path.
“Please! At least say something, anything, back!”

But there was nothing. No reply, no glance over the shoulder. Just silence.

Someone had to be the designated comic relief now that Sir Natsuki was gone.

But why me? Otto whimpered.

Within the forests near the Sanctuary village stood a lone, solemn structure—a great ceremonial building, tall and imposing, as though it had been carved to house some forgotten god. Three flights of stone steps led up to its entrance, each tread feeling less like stone and more like an ascent into history itself.

A tomb, cold and vast.
A monument carved from sorrow.

The Witch’s Tomb.

Here, the Witch of Greed was laid to rest.
Here, the trials awaited those foolish—or desperate—enough to step inside.

By day, the place exhaled black miasma to keep the curious at bay. But at night, the miasma cleared, and the trials stirred to life. Yet only a chosen few could enter: the unclean, the half-blooded, the ones marked by impurity.

And within the deepest reaches of the tomb, the only sound that spilled out was the scream of a silver-haired half-elf.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!”

Her body was sprawled across the cold stone, limbs thrashing as her voice tore itself ragged.

The first trial had ended in failure.

She screamed. She wailed. She sobbed until her throat scraped raw. The cries echoed inside the chamber like a wounded animal, long past the point of human dignity.

She did not stop.
Not for seconds.
Not for a full, punishing minute.

And then, silence.

The quiet was worse.

The words came next, raw and cracked. Otto almost wished she had just kept screaming nonsense—it would have been kinder.

“No! NO! It’s not my fault! Please, it’s not my fault! Help me! Please! Somebody! Anybody! Puck! PUCK!! Where are you!? Puuuuck!!”

Each plea knifed through the air, sharp enough to draw blood. Otto stood just beyond the boundary, rooted in place. His fingers clenched, useless, at his sides. His chest burned with every sob that scraped its way out of her lungs.

He could only watch.

He did not have the qualifications. The tomb itself had decided he was unworthy—so he could not set foot inside. He could not touch her, could not reach her, could not even lie to her that it would be all right.

Otto Suwen could not help Emilia.

But that didn’t stop him from trying.

“Lady Emilia!” Otto’s voice rang against the stone walls of the tomb’s entrance, raw with desperation. “It’s all right! Please listen to me! Lady Emilia!”

But the girl inside could not hear him. She was too deep, too lost in whatever nightmare the trial had woven around her.

“Please… save me…” she whimpered, small and broken.

“Lady Emilia!” Otto’s voice cracked as he shouted again. “Please, get a hold of yourself!”

Why was he so useless!? Why did his throat only know how to shout, when what she needed was rescue? Why didn’t he have the courage to just step into that thrice damned tomb!?

“Save me…” came her voice again, faint as a dying flame. “Puck…”

Otto bit down hard on his tongue until he tasted iron, smothering the scream clawing up his throat. He couldn’t answer the plea she wasn’t even making to him.

“Save me…” she whispered once more.

And then—

“Subaru.”

“Hrrk—!” His breath caught. His stomach plummeted.

That name. Of all the names she could cry out… why that one?

“Subaru… Puck… I’m scared. I don’t want to be alone.”

Her voice splintered, rising into frantic sobs. “Subaru, Puck, please. I’m scared. I’m scared. I’m scared—!”

Each repetition stabbed at Otto’s ears until he thought he’d go mad. His hand ached from how tightly he clenched his fist, nails biting into his palm. His mind betrayed him with images: Emilia curled on the filthy stone, silver hair splayed, shoulders shaking, eyes wide with terror—reduced to something pitiful, whimpering for help that would never come.

And he, Otto Suwen, stood uselessly at the threshold.

Selfish, cowardly Otto. Too afraid of the tomb’s rejection to risk a single step inside. Too frightened that it would break him the way it had broken the margrave.

He was no hero. Not like Sir Natsuki was. He lacked that courage.

“Where are you two…” Emilia’s voice cracked, teeth chattering between sobs. “I don’t want to be alone.”

He couldn’t take it anymore. The despair pressing against his chest felt like it would smother him.

Otto sucked in a breath until his lungs burned—then bellowed her name with everything he had.

“Emiliaaaaaa!!!”

The tomb went silent. The sobbing cut off as if someone had pulled a string.

“Huh…? Otto…? Wh—Where am I…?” came her voice, fragile and confused.

Otto nearly collapsed with relief. I cannot believe that worked…

“Ahem,” he rasped, his throat raw from the sudden shout. “The tomb, milady. You were in the middle of the trial…” He forced his words to carry, hoping they reached her.

“The tomb…” she echoed faintly. Then, more quietly: “I must’ve fallen unconscious…”

Her embarrassment bled through in the next words. “P-please give me a moment. I’ll be out in a jiffy!”

A jiffy? Otto blinked. Is there anyone under seventy who still says jiffy? A helpless chuckle slipped out of him, absurd relief pushing against the dread still lodged in his gut.

Inside, he could hear the soft rustle of clothes, the muffled, flustered muttering—“oh dear” and “this is so shameful.”

Tidying herself up, he thought, lips quirking despite himself. The half-elf was… kind of adorable.

Moments later, she stepped out of the tomb’s shadow.

And Otto’s smile died.

She looked terrible.
Her once-pristine garb was dulled and streaked with dust. Her silver hair clung to her face in damp, matted strands. Her eyes were swollen, her lips chapped and red, her cheeks streaked by ugly, drying tear marks.

But despite all of that—her back was straight. Her steps, steady. Her voice, silent but controlled.

No screaming. No begging. No breaking.

Otto swallowed the ache in his throat.

That was good enough for now.

“What happened?” Emilia croaked, her voice rasping, throat raw from all the screaming.

“I’m not sure myself,” Otto admitted, his words catching in his throat. “You started screaming. And screaming…”

“I-I see…” Her gaze fell to the stone floor, eyes downcast, unfocused. “I don’t—I don’t even remember what I saw…” Her voice shrank with every word until it became almost a whisper. “I must’ve failed. I’m sorry…”

“Lady Emilia…” Otto faltered. The apology pierced deeper than he expected. Why was she apologizing when she’d just clawed her way back from whatever nightmare had broken her?

He swallowed, then tried, clumsily, to reassure her.
“It’s fine, we can stop—”

“NO!”

Her voice cracked through the tomb like a thunderclap. Her head snapped toward him so violently he worried she’d hurt herself.

Otto froze, words dying on his tongue.

Then, after a long breath, she steadied herself. “No… please, don’t worry, Otto. I’ll try again,” she said, forcing calm into her tone.

But her eyes betrayed her. That desperate, half-mad gleam made his stomach turn. It wasn’t just resolve he saw there—something darker lurked beneath the surface.

“I’ll keep trying. Again and again. Until I succeed.”

Her voice trembled, but her conviction didn’t.

Then she reached for him. Fingers pale and shaking, they gripped the sleeve of his forearm as though it were a lifeline.

“So please…” Her words stumbled, hopeful and ashamed all at once. “Please… stay?”

Her gaze lifted. Wide, glassy violet eyes locked onto his. Desperation and hope mingled in them, fragile and radiant.

Otto’s heart lurched.
Oh, that is just not fair, Lady Emilia.

His face burned, but he forced a smile through it. “O-of course. Always,” he stammered.

The smile she gave in return could’ve melted stone. Warm, soft, almost innocent—if one didn’t notice how pale her skin was, how her shoulders trembled, how her teeth chattered with fear.

She was terrified. She was breaking.
And yet—she kept trying.

Something shifted inside Otto. Until now, he had pitied her, rooted for her like one roots for a cornered child struggling to stand. But pity turned into something sharper, heavier.

Admiration.

It wasn’t enough to want her to win. He wanted to help her win.

He watched as she turned back toward the tomb. Quivering, unkempt, disheveled—but not making excuses. Not hiding.

Emilia stepped into the darkness again.

From deep inside, a sudden flash of light.

And then—screaming.

Otto’s chest caved with the sound.
Emilia had failed the first trial.

Emilia cried. Walked out. Tried to compose herself.

And went back inside.

A flash of light.
Screams. Wails. Whimpers.

She staggered back out, eyes swollen, voice raw.

Emilia failed the first trial.

Fourth attempt.
The tomb flared with pale light, then swallowed her again.
Minutes later, another collapse, another cry.

Emilia failed the first trial.

Fifth attempt.
Her steps into the tomb were slower now, dragging. Her back hunched, her shoulders trembling.
But still, she entered.
But still, she screamed.

Emilia failed the first trial.

The sky began to pale. The moonlight drained away.

At the edge of the forest, birds began to sing.
A breeze carried the scent of morning dew, soft and clean.

Daybreak.

The tomb fell quiet. Its trials sealed themselves away, closed to her until nightfall.

She had no more chances. Not until the sun set again.
And she still had not passed the first trial.

At the heart of the tomb, far from Otto’s reach, Emilia curled into herself—knees hugged tightly to her chest, silver hair a tangled curtain around her tear-streaked face.

No more screams now. No more cries loud enough for the world to hear.

Only the soft, stifled sobs of a girl who could do nothing but silently weep in defeat.

Daybreak had come.
The trials were closed, sealed away until sundown.

And nothing had changed.

The sight of Emilia’s face made Otto’s chest ache. She looked hollow, wrung out, her body trembling on the edge of collapse—yet still she tried to smile.

“I’m sorry…” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “Just… give me time to breathe.”

She lifted her gaze and met his eyes. Otto’s breath caught.

Her body was broken down, but her eyes—those violet eyes still burned.

The silver star still shone, faint but unwavering.

Defeated, yes. But not destroyed.

Not yet, at least, his inner cynic muttered.

“I’ll try again tonight,” she said, steady this time. There was no hesitation in her tone, no doubt in her face. If what he’d seen of her so far was true, then she meant it. She would throw herself against that wall ten, twenty, a hundred times if she had to. Until she either broke through or broke apart.

But she wouldn’t succeed. Not like this. Not with how she was approaching it.

Otto clenched his fists. The thought of letting her keep battering herself senseless made his stomach twist.

This wasn’t working.

He drew in a shaky breath. His throat felt tight, like the words themselves were rebelling against him. But he forced them out anyway.

“Lady Emilia,” he said carefully, “you’re doing nobody any good like this.”

Her eyes widened, confusion flickering with hurt.

He panicked and rushed to explain. “I’m not saying you should give up! Not that! But—please, listen. You need to stop running headfirst without thinking. You need to take a step back and figure out why you’re failing.”

Another breath. Another push.

“Otherwise… you’ll never succeed.”

“But—” she began, voice trembling.

“The servant boy’s right, lady.”

The sharp interruption cut through their fragile moment like a blade.

Both of them turned.

From the shadows of the treeline stepped a boy, grinning like a wolf who’d caught a scent. His gait was casual, but his words carried barbs.

“You’re just trippin’ all over yourself like this.”

Otto’s stomach dropped.

“…Garfiel?” Emilia breathed.

Otto bristled. His heart thudded painfully in his chest. Why is he here?

“In the flesh,” the demi-human drawled with a fanged grin, eyes glinting.

Otto moved instinctively, stepping in front of Emilia, his arm half-extended as though his scrawny frame could shield her from the walking storm. “What are you doing here? What do you want?”

“Huh!?” Garfiel barked, puffing out his chest, his voice booming loud enough to shake the leaves. He loomed, shoulders rolling like a predator sizing up prey. “This is my turf. I go wherever the hell I want!”

Then his grin sharpened. “And for why I’m here…” His eyes slid past Otto to Emilia, and the shift in his tone made Otto’s skin crawl. “I’m here for the girl.”

He jabbed a finger at her. “You and me—we got business to settle.”

He started forward. Each step felt heavy, deliberate, like the ground itself braced beneath him. Otto’s breath caught, the hairs on his neck standing on end.

“You would attack a royal candidate? Are you mad?!” Otto snapped, panic sharpening his voice.

The weretiger’s golden eyes snapped to him, his face twisting. He didn’t like that. Not one bit.

“Shut up! Who the hell said you could talk!?” Garfiel roared. His teeth flashed. “This is between me and the half-devil!”

Half—Otto’s mouth worked soundlessly. Fury and fear tangled in his chest. “You—”

“Enough. Both of you.”

Emilia’s voice cut through the clash like a clear bell. Stern. Commanding.

She stepped forward, her expression composed despite her trembling hands. “There will be no violence, Garfiel. That’s not what I came here for.”

Garfiel ground his teeth so hard Otto swore he heard bone creak. The sound sent a chill down his spine.

Then Garfiel exploded. “Then the hell’re ya doin’, huh?! Blindly chargin’ into a problem ya can’t solve! Are ya stupid!? Even witchbeasts are smarter than that!”

Otto blinked. The words were harsh—brutal—but the tone wasn’t just anger. There was something buried under it.

“…Garfiel,” Emilia said softly, her brows furrowing. “Are you—worried about me? Is that why you’re here? To check on me?”

Otto’s jaw nearly dropped.

The boy went beet red in an instant. His ears, his neck, even his nose flushed crimson so fast Otto had to bite his lip not to laugh.

“A-hah!? Don’t be stupid!” Garfiel spluttered, voice cracking as he flailed. “I’m just—I’m just here t’see if yer keeping yer word!”

Keeping her word? Otto frowned. Since when did those two have an agreement? When did this happen without me noticing?

“Um—excuse me, but what exactly are you two—”

“Nothin’ ya should stick yer nose into, servant boy!” Garfiel snapped before Emilia could answer. He jabbed a clawed finger at Otto’s chest. “That’s yer only warnin’!”

Otto flinched. Servant boy? Again?

“Geez, Garfiel,” Emilia sighed, chuckling lightly as though to soothe them both. “You say that as if we’re doing a veeeery bad thing. All we did was—”

“Shut it!” Garfiel barked, his face still scarlet.

Otto scratched his head, utterly lost. “Um, I’m not following the situation—”

“Ram would advise you not to waste your time playing with monkeys, Lady Emilia.”

The voice slipped in like a knife of ice. Otto stiffened before he even turned.

There she was—the pink-haired maid, standing just beyond the trees, her crimson eyes sharp as razors.

“You might catch a disease.”

She appeared from the road that connected the tomb to the village, her steps light, her expression carved from marble.

Otto’s stomach sank. This is becoming a trend I don’t like, he grumbled inwardly. First Garfiel, now her—do none of these people have the courtesy to announce themselves properly? The lack of respect grated on him.

“Ram?” Emilia asked, voice tentative. “Why are you here?”

At least tell her off for calling us monkeys! Otto silently grumbled. His comedic annoyance was short-lived.

“To see how the stupid fare in helping the helpless lady, of course,” Ram replied smoothly. Her voice carried no sharp edges, no raised pitch—yet the disdain dripped heavy in every syllable.

Otto’s face twitched. Stupid? Helpless? Really?

He leaned toward Garfiel and muttered, “Not gonna tell her to shut up?”

The demi-human gave a half-smile, scratching his cheek. “Forget it, that’s just how Ram is.”

Otto blinked. Then scowled. Unbelievable. Boys in love really are blind.

Ram closed the distance at her own unhurried pace, until her shadow fell across them. Only then did she speak again. “Ram knew Lady Emilia lacked any real capability.”

The words dropped like stones into a well. The mood plunged with them. Otto felt it physically—like his chest had been hollowed out. Did she really just say that? After everything Emilia just endured…?

Emilia flinched, but she didn’t speak.

“But to debase herself further—leaning on these animals, and still producing nothing of worth…” Ram’s lips curved, not into a smile but into something sharper, crueler.

That was when Otto noticed Garfiel stiffen. His lips pulled back just slightly, fangs glinting. His golden eyes narrowed in quiet fury. He didn’t like being called an animal.

Not even Ram could get away with that.

But she wasn’t done.

“Barusu tore himself apart for nothing, it seems.”

The name landed like a blow to the gut. Otto saw Emilia’s shoulders jolt, saw her hands curl into trembling fists at her sides.

Ram’s gaze softened—not with kindness, but with sadistic relish, like a predator savoring the moment before the kill.

“He made the right choice, leaving when he did,” she finished coldly. “You would only have forced him into more misery, acting as you are now.”

Emilia’s body shook violently. Her knees wobbled. Otto thought for a second she might collapse right there, right in front of them all. Her silver hair clung to her damp cheeks, her purple eyes swimming with unshed tears.

And something inside him snapped.

“This—this should not stand!” he blurted, his own voice cracking with outrage. He stepped forward, fists clenched. “How dare you! How dare this mere maid insult Lady Emilia’s efforts like that!? You are completely out of line!”

“Am I?” she asked, voice calm, almost rhetorical. “Ram heard the story from her dear sissy. The fool did the impossible.”

Though her tone never rose, the air itself seemed to tighten. Each word struck heavier than the last, reverberating like blows on a drum.

“He led the subjugation of the White Whale.”
A pause.
“And the extermination of Sloth.”
Another pause.
“Back-to-back.”

Otto swallowed. Those weren’t just victories—they were legends to be penned in history. And she was laying them out like accusations.

“He produced a miracle,” Ram went on, her gaze fixed coldly on Emilia, “for the woman who abandoned him in the capital… left him to rot in shame.”

Emilia staggered as if slapped.

“And then,” Ram pressed, each word now sharpened to a blade’s edge, “he broke my dearest little sister’s heart—for the sake of a woman who is only half of a witch.”

The phrase landed like poison. Otto felt it in his gut. He glanced at Emilia—her lips trembled, her hands clutched her skirt so tightly the knuckles whitened.

Ram’s face never shifted, but the sheer venom in her words carried more emotion than any scream could.

“And now, here she is.” Ram’s eyes narrowed slightly, disdain thickening. “Wallowing in the pity of others. Shamelessly pretending to try.”

Her words coiled in the air, suffocating.

“It’s almost laughable,” she went on, quieter now, which somehow made it worse. “As if she believed herself capable. When even now, another man protects her from horrors she couldn’t even comprehend.”

Otto’s chest clenched. He wanted to shout, to deny it. But his throat locked. She’s right. I’m standing here, guarding her like some shield she never asked for…

Ram didn’t stop.

“Here she is—leaning on men again, after abandoning the very first who truly gave her his loyalty.” Her lips curled, finally, into the faintest sneer. “How loose. How cheap.”

Garfiel bristled beside him. His claws twitched, lips peeling back slightly. But he held his ground, golden eyes fixed on Ram with cool, calm anger.

“She uses and abuses,” Ram went on, her composure finally cracking into open disdain, “but gives nothing back in the end. Shameless.”

Then, she turned. For the first time, her gaze left Emilia. She looked at Otto. At Garfiel.

And her expression shifted. Pity. Naked, scornful pity.

“Ram pities you both,” she said softly. “Charmed by her little act of innocence. Fooled so easily.”

Otto’s face burned. His fists shook. He wanted to scream back, to call her wrong—but the words jammed in his throat.

Ram turned back to Emilia, and the disgust came back, sharper than ever.

“You’ll destroy them too,” she spat, eyes flashing. “Just as you destroyed the boy Ram had once wanted to call her little brother.”

She and Sir Natsuki… were that close?
Otto could almost understand the resentment if that were true. Almost. But still—this was too cruel.

As if flipping a coin, her personality shifted back to that of an obedient maid.

“Do excuse the rude words, Lady Emilia,” Ram said, her tone smooth as ice as she slipped her mask back into place. The disdain lingered in her eyes, however faintly. “It was a temporary lapse in Ram’s self-control. Rest assured, it will not happen again.”

She stepped back, folding into a flawless curtsy.
“I bid you a good evening, milady and… ‘gents.’”

The parting shot landed sharp as ever. And then she turned, walking away, her back straight, her poise unshaken.

No one moved to stop her. The clearing was hushed, smothered beneath the weight of her tirade.

Until—

“...Please wait,” Emilia’s soft voice cut through the silence.

Ram stopped. Slowly, she turned. “Yes, milady?”

Otto braced himself for an apology. Or maybe anger. Or a broken plea. Anything would have made sense.

Instead—

“Thank you, Ram,” Emilia said.

Her lips trembled into a small, fragile smile. A smile that looked like it had no right to exist after being flayed alive by words. And yet, there it was—gentle, genuine, and grateful.

Otto’s neck snapped toward her so fast he nearly wrenched it. Thank her?

And then—unbelievably—Emilia went on.

“I think… I think I know why I keep failing the trial, now.”

The merchant’s mind blanked.
She got that—from this? From being torn down like that?
Nothing about this made sense.

Emilia’s smile softened, luminous in its quiet defiance. “So thank you,” she repeated.

“...” For the briefest instant, Ram’s composure flickered. A pause, a hitch. And then she bowed—deeply, lower than before. Not a word passed her lips.

She turned, and this time she left without another glance back.

When she was gone, Emilia’s expression shifted. Thoughtful. Heavy, as though wrestling with something too large to speak.

“Lady Emilia?” Otto asked carefully. “What do you mean, you know why you failed?”

“Yeah, spill it,” Garfiel added, scratching at his neck, golden eyes narrowed.

Both of them waited, equally baffled. How could a storm of venom and hate have given her anything useful?

Emilia looked at them, her eyes calm now. Resolved.

“I can’t really explain it,” she admitted softly. “But I need to be alone for a while.”

Her voice wavered—but her will did not.

“I’m sorry, you two. And… thank you. Truly.”

Then she turned on her heel and vanished into the treeline, her silver hair catching the last light before the shadows swallowed her whole.

Silence.

“What…?” Otto muttered, blinking. He hadn’t processed half of what just happened, and already Emilia had dismissed him without so much as an explanation.

“Wait, milady? Where are you—”

“...Let her leave, servant boy,” Garfiel cut him off, one heavy hand clapping down on his shoulder. “She’s got a hunch. Let her follow it.”

Otto bit down hard on his lip. Why is everyone so insistent on letting her walk into things alone!?

Out loud, all he could muster was a grumble. “Can you all stop calling me ‘servant’ already!?”

But deep down, he knew. He wasn’t the one she looked to. That role belonged to someone else—someone who had already left.

The only thing Otto Suwen could offer Emilia was his presence and his counsel. And right now, she didn’t want either.

His teeth clenched until his jaw ached. If only he were stronger… more courageous…

If only he was a hero...

“I have a name, damn it,” he burst out, his voice breaking in frustration. “I’m Otto Suwen!”

But the words fell flat, hollow even to his own ears.

Garfiel’s grin widened into something cruelly amused. He snorted, gave a mocking laugh, and turned back toward the village.
“I’ll call ya by yer name when I give enough shits to remember it, servant boy.”

The demi-human’s back receded into the distance, leaving Otto alone in the hush of the forest.

He stood there, shoulders trembling with swallowed words, then muttered under his breath—more true, more aching, than he intended.

“…I hate you all.”

It was the night of that same day. Otto and Garfiel stood vigil at the entrance of the tomb, the cold air sinking into their bones as they waited. Anxiety and impatience gnawed at them both.

This time, the forest was too quiet.
No screams.
No wails.
No desperate cries for help.

The silence itself became unbearable. Otto almost longed to hear her voice—proof that she was still fighting, still there.

Hours passed like decades. Then, at last, a faint glow pulsed from deep within the tomb. The trial had ended.

Lady Emilia stepped into the night air.

She emerged with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly, her white garb unsoiled, her silver hair smooth and glistening as if untouched by dust or sweat. Her steps were measured, light. Her face carried no tearstains, no exhaustion. If Otto had not seen her broken the night before, he might have believed she had walked through the trial with ease.

Picture perfect. Pristine.

Except for the green mana stone at her throat.
A thick, gushing crack ran through it like an open wound.

A contract revoked.

“Lady Emilia, are you alright?” he asked, his voice hesitant.

She smiled at him then, and it was dazzling—bright enough to replace the moon, bright enough to make him forget his doubt for a heartbeat.

“Yes, Otto,” she said warmly. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

She turned, her gaze shifting between both men, her chin lifting slightly, her posture gathering strength.

“The first trial has been cleared,” she declared.

Her voice rang with triumph, clear and proud. It was music to his ears after the horror of the night before. Otto almost sagged in relief, ready to congratulate her—

“—However,” she continued, steady and unflinching, “there are still two more to complete before the barrier is broken.”

The words fell like a stone into Otto’s stomach.

“I-I see…” he stammered. His mind flashed back to the screams, the sobs, the way she had nearly torn herself apart. The first trial alone had almost destroyed her. And there were two more waiting for her in that tomb.

He forced himself to smile, but the worry lodged itself deep in his chest.

The half-elf gave him a pointed look. Her expression was soft and inquiring. Concerned.

“Is there a problem?” Emilia asked.

Her tone—her bearing—was worlds apart from the trembling girl who had stumbled into the tomb only hours ago. Otto felt as though he were staring at a stranger who wore her face.

Now that he noticed it, the differences piled up one after another.
Her stance was straighter.
Her gaze was sharper.
Her voice carried a steadiness he hadn’t heard before.
Even her words themselves—slight, subtle—felt more deliberate.

“No! None at all!” he said quickly, scratching his head to cover the heat rising in his cheeks. “It’s just…”

Emilia’s eyes stayed locked on him, unwavering, sincere—exactly the way she always looked at people when she listened.

“Yes?” she prompted gently.

The same Emilia. The same kindness. The thought steadied him. What was he even nervous about? She hadn’t truly changed—only grown.

“You seem… different, milady,” he admitted at last.

It was true. And it was a good thing. Something to celebrate. His Lady was gaining confidence.

A small laugh escaped him, half self-conscious, half genuine. “More than that—you seem more beautiful than you were before the trial.”

The words slipped out shamelessly, and the moment they did, silence fell between them.

Emilia blinked, caught off guard.
Then, a faint flush crept across her cheeks.

“Oh… uhm,” she murmured, her eyes darting aside as though she wasn’t sure what to do with the words.

Otto’s chest gave a tiny, traitorous tug at the sight.

When she looked back, her face was still touched with red, but she smiled warmly. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you for the compliment.”

Otto returned the smile, bowing lightly to hide the way his ears burned.

“You’re welcome, milady.”

“…And Otto?”

“Yes, Lady Emilia?”

Before he could blink, she took both his hands into her own and lifted them to her chest, her violet eyes never wavering from his.

“Thank you for believing in me,” she said softly. “I would have never made it this far without your help.”

Otto gaped, his mouth dry.

All he had done was… stay. Stay and talk, when no one else would. That hardly deserved thanks—not when the only reason he was even here was…

“And when this is all over—when your debt to him… to Subaru… is settled—” her voice faltered only slightly on the name, “I hope I can still call you an ally.”

His chest tightened. An ally. Yes, he would like that. He would like that very much. But—

“…and hopefully,” she added, her voice warm with shy hope, “even a friend.”

Otto froze.

It was like she had reached into his thoughts and given voice to the one thing he didn’t dare admit.

Her friend.

He stared, too long, too silent.

“Otto…?” she asked nervously, searching his face.

He had been on the fence for so long. He told himself it was just a debt. That he’d leave as soon as she stopped needing him. That he was an outsider, a coward, a man who didn’t belong in anyone’s story but his own. Excuse after excuse, always ready at hand.

But none of them held up now—not with her hands clutching his, not with her smile shining at him through exhaustion and fear.

For the first time, Otto Suwen wondered if maybe… he wanted to belong.

With that, he gently pulled his hands off hers, and took a knee, right hand resting over his heart.

His chest felt tight, but his voice steady despite the racing of his heart—and declared:

“I, Otto Suwen, pledge my loyalty to you, Lady Emilia. I vow to stand as your ally, even when the world turns its back. And…”

The words came unbidden, carried by the tide of his own resolve.

What began as a seed—a small desire to help her—had taken root. It had sprouted into admiration, into awe of her stubborn will. And now, at last, it bloomed into something fuller: not love, not yet, but a bond he could name.

“…and I vow to remain by your side, not just as an ally, but as your sworn friend. To keep you steady, to remind you of your strength when you forget it yourself.”

It was simple. Admiration. Loyalty. Friendship.
A flower, still growing.

“Please accept my fealty, my liege.”

Emilia froze, her violet eyes widening, her lips parting as if the air had been stolen from her. For a moment, she stood like a statue, too stunned to respond.

Honestly, Otto hadn’t expected himself to say all that either. Now that silence hung over them, his confidence faltered. Sweat pricked at his temple.

Had he gone too far?
Did she find it presumptuous?

Then—at last—she breathed in, and the shock gave way to something gentler.

“I, Emilia of Elior Forest, humbly accept.” She placed a hand over her chest and smiled—soft, luminous, brimming with sincerity. “Sir Otto Suwen… I thank you for your fealty. And I vow, in turn, to give my all to answer your expectations.”

Grace. Humility. Strength. Even now—fresh from triumph, radiant with newfound confidence—Emilia remained herself.

And for Otto, kneeling there, that was enough. More than enough.

He stood, right hand still pressed over his heart as he bowed.
Reverence filled his voice. “I have every confidence you will, my liege.”

“...” Emilia bit her lip, pink blooming across her cheeks. Then, with a small, nervous laugh, she deflected, “Heheh… this tone of voice doesn’t really fit me, does it? I don’t have the presence for it.”

Otto strongly, desperately disagreed.
“No—it suits you perfectly, my liege.”

“Otto!” Her blush deepened until it reached her ears and shoulders. “If you keep calling me that so boldly, I’ll… I’ll get too embarrassed to even speak…”

The sight was unbearably adorable. The words slipped before he could stop them.
“... Cute…” he whispered.

Emilia blinked. “Hmm?”

“Nothing! Nothing at all!” Otto flailed, his ears burning.

A silence followed, carried by the gentle sweep of the wind. For a moment, the world felt suspended in that stillness.

“U-um—” Emilia began.

“—So how much longer do I gotta sit here and watch ya flirt, eh?”

The voice shattered the moment. Garfiel, arms crossed, leaning at the tomb’s edge.

If only you’d just kept quiet, Otto scoffed inwardly. I almost forgot you existed.
“We weren’t flirting,” he shot back, a little too sharply.

Emilia startled. “Oh, Garf! I—I forgot you were there…” Her words trailed, then caught on his jab. A frown tugged at her lips. “And I don’t know what counts as flirting, but that was not my intention. Please don’t imply that about me again.”

Her tone was firm. Too firm.

The silence that followed made Otto glance up—just in time to see her add, almost under her breath:
“... I already have a man I’ve promised myself to.”

The words lodged in Otto’s chest like a splinter. His breath hitched.
He didn’t even know what to call the feeling, only that it stung. Deeply.

“Haah? That ‘Subaru’ guy that ditched ya?” Garfiel snorted. “Guess he’s pretty strong, sure—but if he bailed on ya, princess, maybe he ain’t worth—”

The look Emilia gave him could have frozen rivers solid.
Garfiel coughed, his bravado cracking. “Er—anyway.” He scratched the back of his head. “Congrats on beatin’ the first trial. Ya pulled yer weight. Kept yer end of the bargain.”

Otto blinked. Bargain?

The boy’s grin sharpened. He slammed a fist into his open palm, eyes fixed on the tomb’s shadowy entrance.
“Which means…” His muscles tensed, coiling like a spring. “Now it’s my turn to keep mine.”

And without another word, Garfiel strode past them into the darkness of the tomb.

A short while after Garfiel vanished into the tomb, a crowd emerged from the forest path. Farmers, woodcutters, and hunters—all brandishing shovels, pitchforks, and rusted blades. At their head walked a deceptively youthful-looking girl with long, flowing pink hair: Elder Ryuzu Bilma.

Despite her adolescent frame, Otto knew the truth—this was one of the oldest residents of the Sanctuary, and one of Garfiel’s many grandmothers.

The mob halted before Emilia and Otto. Suspicion and anger burned in their eyes.

“What did you do to Garf?!” one of them shouted, jabbing a pitchfork toward Emilia.

“Eh—?” Emilia blinked in confusion. “I don’t—”

“The trial!” the man roared, flecks of spit spraying. “You made him take it, didn’t you, you Oddamn half-devil?!”

Otto’s blood boiled. Excuse me—what did this bastard just call his liege?

“How dare you!?” Otto barked, stepping forward, fists trembling. “You stand before a royal candidate—show some respect, you damned animal—”

“Otto.”

Her voice cut through him like a silver bell chiming in frost. Calm and clear. Deadly.

Otto froze mid-rant.

“Please return to the village,” Emilia said softly, eyes never leaving Elder Ryuzu’s. “Inform the people that the first trial has been breached.”

It wasn’t a request. It was an order.

“...You’re sending me away?” Otto stammered. Now? With a mob of armed villagers snarling at you?

“I will speak to them personally.” Her tone didn’t waver.

“Milady—!” Otto’s panic burst free. “That’s reckless! Who knows what these savages—”

“Otto.”

The second time she said his name, there was ice in her tone. His throat locked up, the protest dying in his mouth.

“These good people,” Emilia continued, “have fed us and given us roofs over our heads. Do not insult them again.”

The villagers stirred, their anger dampened, some even lowering their makeshift weapons. Otto swallowed hard. Her words, simple as they were, carried authority he’d never heard from her before.

Elder Ryuzu stepped forward, folding her hands in her sleeves. “I believe Lady Emilia has shown herself virtuous. Let us speak as civilized folk, and not the beasts we claim we are not.”

The mob shifted uneasily, but under Ryuzu’s steady gaze—and Emilia’s unflinching poise—they relented.

Finally, Emilia turned her eyes to Otto, her look commanding obedience without a single word.

Otto’s shoulders sagged. “…Yes, Lady Emilia.”

Her expression softened just slightly. “Thank you. Now, please—be on your way.”

Biting down his frustration, Otto bowed. “By your leave.”

He spun on his heel, striding back toward the village as fast as he could. The faster he finished, the sooner he could return to her side.

Because no matter how calm she looked, Otto Suwen did not trust the sanctuary’s people as far as he could throw them.

By the time Otto returned to the tomb, Emilia was gone. She’d cleared the second trial in his absence.

And, insult of insults, he had to hear it secondhand from Garfiel—Garfiel, who only yesterday was snarling and growling at them. That same boy now boasted he’d sworn himself to Emilia’s cause after clearing his own trial.

It seemed that once Emilia broke through her first wall, she hadn’t stopped. One miracle bled into the next.

Otto set off at once to find her. With Ram’s guidance and muttered directions from the locals, he tracked her to the training grounds.

That’s when he heard it. The echo of chains. The thrum of ice cracking. The roar of earth splitting.

And when he stepped through the treeline, the sight that met him stole the breath from his lungs.

The field was a battlefield. Craters pocked the dirt. Spikes of frost jutted from the ground. Chunks of shattered ice glittered like broken glass.

At the center stood Emilia and Rem—bruised, bloodied, their clothes torn and sweat soaking their hair.

He arrived just in time to see the finale.

Rem’s flail spun through the air with a thunderous whistle, then slammed into Emilia’s ice-covered stomach. The ice shattered, and the silver-haired half-elf folded like paper, blasted off her feet, skidding across the torn-up dirt until she crashed to a halt in a heap.

Otto’s heart dropped into his stomach.

She didn’t get up.

“Milady—!”

Then, against all reason, a sound escaped her lips. Not a groan. Not a whimper.

A giggle.

It was pained, broken, wheezing—but unmistakably a giggle.

Otto stared. She’s insane. Absolutely insane. What in Od’s name have I pledged myself to?

Rem stood frozen, eyes wide, the chain still slack in her hands.

Otto rushed forward, words spilling out in a frantic tirade. “Of all the reckless—insane—self-destructive things you could possibly—”

Emilia raised her hand to stop him. The fingers were bent grotesquely, some dislocated, others broken.

Otto nearly gagged at the sight. His stomach churned.

Still, she smiled up at him, sweat and dirt streaking her face. “I’m fine, Otto,” she whispered between giggles, nose lifting as though she’d just won something.

Rem, catching herself, looked away with a frown, lips pressed tight.

But Otto couldn’t hold back anymore. His voice cracked, tears stinging the corners of his eyes.

“Fine? You took that spiked ball straight to the gut, milady! Your hand is mangled, your stomach—look at yourself!”

He jabbed a trembling finger toward the livid bruise blooming across her bare midriff, the size of his fist, purple and angry.

“You are not fine. Not in any way, shape, or form!”

His voice didn’t quite break into sobs, but the wetness in his eyes betrayed him.

For the first time since he’d met her, Otto Suwen felt less like a merchant, less like a jester, and more like a man terrified of watching someone destroy herself right in front of him.

Emilia just smiled pleasantly, as though the broken bones, ugly bruises, and bloody cuts across her body were nothing more than grass stains on a child’s clothes.
“I said, I am fine,” she repeated with firm finality.

Then she flashed Rem a smug, cheeky grin—the kind Otto never thought he’d see on her face—and added:
“And besides, I got a few good hits in myself.”

Otto nearly swallowed his own tongue.
“L-Lady Emilia!” he squeaked, voice trembling between outrage and disbelief.
“Since when do you say outrageous things like that!?”

She didn’t answer him. She didn’t even glance his way. She just kept that maddening grin fixed on her opponent.

“Please,” Rem replied, her tone dripping with sass, abandoning all pretense of maidlike decorum. “If Rem had intended it, Lady Emilia would have been dead on the very first strike.”

The words were merciless. And yet, her eyes betrayed her: there was no contempt in them. No bitter jealousy. No raw hatred.
No, they were still there, lingering. Of course they were.
But they were quieter now.

“Mm!” Emilia nodded happily, as if Rem had just given her a compliment. “That’s why I threw up the ice shield at the last second. Otherwise, I’m sure your strike would’ve torn me in half.”

Otto felt his blood pressure spike so hard he saw stars.
She just admitted she could’ve died—and she’s smiling about it!?

Rem blinked, taken aback by the half-elf’s cheer. “… That shield to soften the blow… it was spectacular,” she admitted carefully, like she was testing an unsteady bridge.

Emilia’s smile warmed. “Thank you, Rem. It was a ‘spur of the moment’ thing, as he used to say. Um, did I use that right?”

“Yes,” Rem answered quietly. “… You did.”

And then they just stood there—two bloodied girls smiling at each other like comrades in arms. Or at least, Emilia was. Rem still looked unsure.

They became friends, or at least close to it, after trying to kill each other.

Otto buried his face in his hands.
What is even going on anymore?

He felt his throat tighten with the need for something—anything—that could dull the absurdity of this moment. Ale. Wine. Even rotten fruit juice. Anything.
Because he wasn’t sure he could handle this sober.

Silence stretched. Only the whisper of trees and the drip of melting ice filled the space as Rem chewed on her lower lip.

“Lady Emilia?”

“Yes, Rem?”

“Rem thinks… Rem thinks she would like to trust you,” she said, hesitantly.

“Rem isn’t ready to call Lady Emilia her friend. Not yet,” the maid added, her voice gaining confidence. “But… Rem is ready to, at the very least, try to let go of her resentment.”

What…? She’s going to let it go? Emilia had actually convinced her?

He must be dreaming. One miracle after another—she had won over detractors, changed hearts, all in a single night. It was absurd.

“Of course, Rem.”

Emilia’s ears twitched in relief. She forced herself upright, abandoning elegance for sheer comfort, her injuries dictating her posture.

“I won’t ask you to do anything you cannot,” she said, cradling her wounded stomach.

She drew a deep, painful breath, then spoke again.

“I promise to do better. To be better.”

Slowly, deliberately, she stood and began limping toward the blue-haired maid, her left leg still sore from the duel.

“And most importantly,” she continued, “I promise to bring back the star that left our skies.”

Rem’s breath caught. Her face betrayed surprise, though her expression remained mostly impassive.

Emilia reached her and knelt on her right knee. “This, I vow in the name of Emilia of Elior Forest, daughter of Fortuna and Geuse. Former contractor to Puck. And the woman Subaru chose to love.”

Her right hand stretched outward, fingers grotesquely bent, yet offered with sincerity. “Will you help me?”

Otto watched the wheels turning in Rem’s mind before she finally gave in. Emilia was impossible.

Rem stood up, stepped back slightly, then elegantly curtsied. “I humbly accept. I, Rem, hereby pledge my allegiance to you, Lady Emilia.”

She completed the gesture and took Emilia’s hand. “For as long as your path aligns with Rem’s, her horn is yours to command.”

Otto stared, silent admiration bordering on awe. She had done it. She had won over Rem—of all people. Emilia was incredible.

His thoughts drifted. She doesn’t need Sir Natsuki as a crutch anymore, does she?

She’s stronger now. She can move on. Rebuild a path without chasing his shadow. I want to believe it.

But… did he want to believe because he felt she was truly better without him?
Or did he want to believe because, if she did get over Sir Natsuki, then—

He refused to finish the thought. It felt blasphemous, sacrilegious even—a betrayal of trust.

Selfish, cowardly as he might be, Otto Suwen would never stoop that low. She was his liege, his ally, his sworn friend. That small part of him… the part that began to wish for more…

It would never see the light of day.

A flash of light, and Emilia emerged from the tomb with casual grace.

It was done. The third trial was complete. The barrier could finally be broken.

Lady Emilia and the margrave departed with the village elders to prepare for dismantling the barrier, while Otto returned to the cathedral with the camp to share the news with the refugees: they were going home.

The next morning, preparations moved quickly to migrate both the refugees and the sanctuary locals back to Arlam. Why were the sanctuary villagers joining them? Garfiel had convinced them to, honoring the deal he made with Emilia after clearing the first trial.

Back in Arlam, Otto witnessed tearful reunions. Frederica embraced Garfiel with relief—two lost siblings reunited after a decade apart, while little Petra ran into her parents’ arms, sobbing. She informed them she intended to remain in the mansion as part of the maid staff, a decision they accepted wholeheartedly.

The villagers of Arlam and the sanctuary alike now accepted Emilia thanks to her victories. Even her previous detractors—Garfiel, Ram, Rem, and Lord Roswaal—pledged loyalty to her cause and the lady herself.

About a week later, the mansion’s halls rang with celebration, marking the sanctuary’s liberation. That was when a carriage bearing the Juukulius family crest arrived. Sir Julius Juukulius, heir to the family, had come to “confess his sins” to Lady Emilia.

Otto did not know the details of their private conversation. All he knew was the aftermath: it was the first—and only—time he had seen Emilia consumed by unbridled rage.

She didn’t physically attack Lord Julius—but it had been a close thing. Only Lord Roswaal and Otto himself had managed to restrain her from declaring a blood feud on the spot. The only person who knew the full story was Rem, now promoted to Emilia’s handmaiden. She never spoke of it, only regretting that Emilia had restrained herself.

Needless to say, nobody felt like celebrating after hearing the shouting. Nor did anyone feel inclined to be cordial with Lord Julius, capable as he was of inciting such wrath from someone usually so measured.

Fortunately, he departed shortly after, leaving tensions unresolved but contained.

The following months passed quietly. Per a prior agreement with Emilia, Roswaal began giving her personal lessons in politics and governance. Eventually, he started to entrust her with managing the Mathers' territory, fully letting go and playing a role only in the background.

Days blurred together as everyone focused on their duties.

The only notable event came almost a year after the sanctuary incident, when Emilia announced her contract with the great spirit of yin, Beatrice, enlisting her as an advisor. Otto had not even known there was a "Beatrice" in the mansion before Emilia’s introduction. Everyone got a good laugh out of that at his expense.

A few months after that, Sir Joshua Juukulius came as a representative of the Hoshin Company with an invitation to Priestella.

The rest, as they say, was history.

Shaking, sobbing, and steeped in grief—her steps faltered, her shoulders trembled—still she moved forward, one breath, one heartbeat at a time. He was the first to believe in her radiance, and in his eyes she blazed brighter than the sun.
— The first follower of the silver star, spellbound by its glow, did not fear the flame; he only longed to walk in its light.

Chapter Text

The day Garfiel Tinzel met his “princess” began like any other.

It was the middle of Wind Time when the Ryuzu clones reported intruders breaking through the barrier. Without hesitation, he set out to intercept—fangs bared, claws drawn, every muscle coiled to defend his home.

By the time he reached the coach’s location, he was ready to tear through steel and bone alike. His whole body screamed hostility—until the first passenger stepped out.

Rem.

Her usual perfect posture. Her usual blank mask. Her usual suffocating calm.

That alone was enough to make him hesitate.

But when the second figure emerged, his stomach dropped. A girl. Silver hair glinting like moonlight, skin pale as snow, and violet eyes that glowed faintly unnatural in the forest gloom.

The Witch of Envy’s spitting image.

Garfiel ground his teeth, pity in his thoughts. Helluva life it must be, walkin’ around cursed with a face like dat…

“Garfiel,” Rem greeted, her voice flat but cutting through his thoughts. “Rem trusts you’ve kept nee-sama and Lord Roswaal safe in her absence?”

“‘Course I did!” he barked, puffing out his chest, flexing shoulders built for battle. “No promises ‘bout that clown, but Ram? I’d defend ‘er with my life.”

Then he craned his head toward the silver-haired stranger. His eyes narrowed. His voice dropped low and sharp.

“And who’s the half-devil ya got hidin’ behind ya?”

The girl flinched as if struck. Garfiel immediately cursed himself—he hadn’t meant it that harshly, but his mouth was faster than his head.

“Hello,” she said softly. “I am Emilia. Just Emilia.” She offered a polite smile that didn’t quite reach her trembling hands.

“Garfiel Tinzel,” he shot back. “Shield o’ the Sanctuary.” His scowl didn’t waver.

“Lady Emilia,” Rem interjected smoothly, “is a Dragon Priestess—one of five candidates in line to inherit Lugunica’s throne.”

“A princess, then?”

“That is a fair assumption,” Rem confirmed.

“Tch.” His frown deepened. “One o’ those types.”

And looking at her… yeah, she fit the role. Hair straight, clothes spotless, posture drilled into elegance. Pretty, sure—even with those witchlike features—but pampered all the same. Dainty. Frail. Nobility down to the bone.

He didn’t like her. Not one bit.

“So what’s she here for?” he growled, flashing his fangs.

Emilia raised a hand, stepping forward before Rem could shield her. “I can answer for myself.” Her voice was soft, but steady. She met his glare without flinching. “I came for the refugees who arrived days ago. The danger has passed. It’s time they return home.”

“Yeah?” He scoffed. “Good luck with dat, ‘princess.’”

At last, the coach driver stirred. Otto Suwen, who’d been silently clenching the reins until now, leaned forward with a sharp frown. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

Garfiel whipped around with a start. “Whoa, the hell!? Where’d ya come from!?”

“I’ve been here the whole time!” Otto squawked indignantly. “I’m the—”

“Yeah, don’t care,” Garfiel cut him off, waving a dismissive claw.

The merchant seethed, his face twitching with barely restrained outrage.

“Garfiel,” Emilia pressed, her tone firmer now, “please elaborate. What did you mean by that?”

He grinned then—sharp, malicious, a predator’s grin. “Ya’ll find out. I’ll take ya the rest o’ the way.”

Without waiting, he shouldered past them, claws scraping against the coach frame as he vaulted up to the driver’s seat beside Otto.

“Well?” he barked. “What’re ya waitin’ for, an invitation? Get movin’ already!”

The half-elf and the oni exchanged a brief look, then climbed back into the coach. With a sharp tug of the reins, the earth dragons rumbled forward, carrying them deeper into the Sanctuary’s heart.

The next time Garfiel saw the half-elf was outside the little house where Roswaal was recovering.

She stepped out into the pale light, Ram trailing behind her like a shadow. The silver-haired girl’s face was drawn tight, haunted, as though she’d just swallowed poison.

“What’s with ya lookin’ like someone up and killed yer Pa?” Garfiel called, arms crossed.

She jolted, letting out a small, startled yelp. “H-huh? Oh—Garfiel. Hello…”

Then she seemed to realize what he’d actually asked. Her lips pressed thin before she answered, voice quiet, heavy.

“I… I learned something shocking. About someone I thought I knew.”

“Ah? What’s dat supposed—”

He didn’t get to finish. Ram’s eyes snapped toward him, sharp as blades. Do not poke your nose where it doesn’t belong. That glare said more than words ever could.

He clicked his tongue and shut his mouth.

The half-elf tilted her head, confused. “Garfiel? Is something the matter? You suddenly stopped talking.”

Ram cut in smoothly before he could reply. “Lady Emilia would do better to worry about herself,” she said coldly. “Woefully underprepared as she is to face the Trials.”

Garfiel’s ears perked. He blinked at them both.

“She’s the one ya got takin’ the Trials?” His voice dripped disbelief.

Ya serious? This fragile little princess? This dainty flower’s the one yer throwin’ to the Witch’s Tomb? The thought burned in his skull, irritating as hell.

Ram didn’t flinch. “Do you see any other half-blood here who isn’t a Sanctuary native?”

He had no answer to that.

Then the girl herself spoke up. “I can do it,” she said firmly, even as her voice wavered. “I have to do it.”

Her hands clenched. Her eyes trembled. She sounded like she was trying harder to convince herself than anyone else.

“If I can’t even make it past this…” she whispered, “…I’d never be able to look him in the eyes again.”

Him?

So she had a lover then. Someone she lost. Someone she wanted to win back.

That was rich. Who in their right mind would fall for a witch’s doppelganger?

Still—her tone, the way her shoulders shook—it didn’t sound like some noble crusade. It sounded personal. Painful.

Not that it was his problem.

She wasn’t gonna make it. Anyone with eyes could see that. But if she wanted to rip herself apart chasing after some long-gone bastard, that was on her.

“Tch. Good luck with dat, yeah?” he scoffed, his voice laden with sarcasm as he turned his back on her.

Behind him, he heard her voice soften. “Thank you for your concern, Garfiel.”

There was a smile in her words. A smile that made his teeth grind.

Garfiel really didn’t like the half-elf princess.

…But damn if she wasn’t harder to ignore than he wanted her to be.

That evening, a few hours before sundown, Garfiel found her by the river.

She sat on the bank, staring at her reflection in the clear current. The water looked serene, but her body told a different story. Her shoulders were stiff. Her fingers knotted in her lap. Her scent told him even more: anxiety, indecision, fear. It rolled off her in waves.

“Why’re ya tryin’ so hard?” he asked. His voice broke the hush of the forest. “Just ta win back dat lover o’ yers dat left ya?”

Her head lifted slowly, as if surfacing from underwater. “What do you mean?”

“Ain’t dat why ye’re here?” He tried to sound casual, but the question came out sharper than he’d meant. “Ya whispered somethin’ ‘bout a ‘him’ earlier.”

Her lips curved into a small, melancholic smile. “No… he wasn’t my lover.” She paused. “…He was…”

Her words trailed off into silence.

“I don’t know what he was to me.”

Garfiel blinked. The hell kinda answer’s that supposed to be?

“He left before I could find out,” she went on, ignoring his confusion. “Left after saving everyone… from the Whale, from the Cult. All he left behind was a letter. And a charm.”

Her voice lost focus. She wasn’t talking to him anymore—she was talking to herself.

“So I don’t know what he is to me. I don’t even know what I want him to be. I don’t know anything…”

Her words picked up speed, spilling out in a rush. She hugged her shoulders, a vain effort to keep herself from breaking down.

“He left. Why did you have to leave without coming to me first? If you’d just… if you’d chosen to talk to me instead, I would have—”

She cut herself off. Her eyes dropped back to the river. To her reflection.

“…No. I wouldn’t have. I would’ve let you leave, told myself it was for the best.” Her voice cracked into a whisper.

Her gaze hardened at her reflection, like she wanted to burn it away by will alone.

“Because I’m a bad girl—no. I’m a witch.”

The word hung in the air, heavy.

She gave a broken little laugh. “That’s why Puck left, isn’t it? He saw what I did to someone who said he loved me. And he left before I could do the same to him.”

The laugh grew, twisting into giggles. Manic. Off-key. Creepy. Garfiel’s hackles rose; he even took a step back, though he’d never admit it.

“I deserve it. I deserve all of it.”

She’s cracked, Garfiel thought grimly. Not all the way, not yet—but the fractures in her heart were plain as day.

Then, as suddenly as it came, the storm passed. She blinked, stood, and bowed apologetically. “Oh—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that to you.”

“Uh—don’t sweat it, yeah?” he muttered, awkward.

Why’m I even tryin’ to cheer her up?

“You’re a good boy, aren’t you, Garfiel?” she said softly, with a smile too gentle for his liking. “You would’ve gotten along with him, I think.”

He had no answer to that. His throat felt tight.

Then she dropped it on him:

“But you’re afraid.”

“AH!?” He bristled, chest puffed, shoulders broadened, fangs flashed. “YA WANNA REPEAT DAT!?”

She didn’t flinch. She just looked him in the eye and repeated: “You’re afraid.”

“YOU—” His growl broke halfway.

“I can see it in how you act. In how you talk. Everything screams: ‘I’m afraid, so stay away from me.’”

His throat caught. He tried to snarl, but the sound came out thin. “An’ what makes ya such a damn expert on me, huh!?”

“Because I behaved the same way,” she answered, calm as glass. Her words cut through his bluster like a knife.

“Before my fear made me treat someone I cared about as if they didn’t matter.”

She smiled then—sad, small, ashamed. “And I only realized how destructive that was when it was already too late.”

Her words fell into the night air like stones into water—quiet, but rippling deep.

For a moment, Garfiel just stood there, stiff as stone, his claws half-bared, his chest rising and falling like he’d just run a sprint.

He wanted to roar.
He wanted to laugh.
He wanted to bare his fangs and tell her she didn’t know a damn thing about him.

I ain’t afraid. I ain’t. I’ll never be.

But the words caught in his throat.
His jaw worked, grinding until it ached, but nothing came out.

Because he knew.

No. He refused to know.
He refused to admit it.
But some part of him, the part he tried to bury under snarls and bravado, heard her and flinched.

Every word she’d spoken—the way he puffed up, the way he pushed others away, the way he guarded himself with claws and rage—she’d peeled it all open like tearing off a bandage.

Stay away. Don’t come near me.
Damn it all, she was right.

His blood ran hot with humiliation. Not because she was wrong, but because she was right, and because she, of all people, saw it.

This half-devil. This fragile, trembling girl looked like she’d shatter if the wind blew too hard.
And yet here she was, standing straighter than he did. Looking him in the eye without flinching, without fear, and speaking his truth like she owned it.

He hated it.
He hated her for seeing it.
And he hated himself even more for not being able to deny it.

A guttural growl clawed its way up his throat, but when he opened his mouth, it withered into nothing. Just a rasp. A broken, useless sound.

So he turned his face away, refusing to give her the satisfaction. His fangs ground together until sparks almost lit in his skull. His fists trembled, not with rage, but with something he refused to name.

But silence was its own confession.

And in that silence, Emilia’s small, sad smile lingered. Gentle, unshaken, cutting deeper than any blade.

It stayed with him even when he shut his eyes, even when he clenched his teeth hard enough to draw blood.
It stayed lodged in his chest, buried like a thorn he couldn’t dig out.

Neither spoke for a while.

Finally, Garfiel broke the silence.
“Ya really gonna throw yerself in there again tonight, princess?” His tone carried more bite than he intended, but the worry lingered under it.

Emilia lifted her chin, her silver hair catching the moonlight. “Of course I am. I can’t give up here. If I do, then everything Subaru… everything everyone sacrificed would be for nothing.”

“Tch.” Garfiel kicked a rock hard enough that it cracked against a tree. “Ya act like yer not even scared. Like it’s easy.”

“I am scared,” Emilia said softly, her voice steady despite the admission. She looked him straight in the eye. “But I’ll keep walking forward, even if I’m trembling.”

Something in those words struck him. He wanted to scoff, to call her a liar—but her eyes were clear, resolute. They burned in a way that left him uneasy.

“So,” Emilia continued, “how about this, Garfiel? Let’s make a bet.”

He blinked. “A bet?”

“Yes.” Her lips curved into a faint, almost mischievous smile. “If I pass the first trial, then you have to face your own fears, too. No more running from them.”

“Hah!?” He barked out a laugh, though it came out rough and defensive. “The hell kinda crap is dat? Ya think ya can just waltz in, beat one trial, and suddenly tell me what t’ do?”

He did not tell her off for accusing him of fear.

Emilia tilted her head, the smile never faltering. “I think you’re stronger than you let yourself believe. But if you’re too afraid, you can always say no.”

Her words dug under his skin like claws. Too afraid? His pride flared hot in his chest.

He stepped forward, closing the gap between them, and jabbed a finger at her. “Fine then! Ya beat the damn trial, I’ll face my past head-on. No excuses. But if ya lose—” He smirked, sharp and feral. “—ya admit yer nothin’ but a pampered half-devil playin’ princess.”

For a moment, the air froze between them.

Emilia, instead of shrinking, stood tall. Her smile softened into something calm and resolute. “Deal.” She extended her hand toward him.

Garfiel eyed it, wary, before finally gripping it with a clawed hand. Her fingers were soft, trembling slightly, but unyielding.

As they shook, Garfiel muttered, “Yer crazy, princess.”

Emilia’s smile grew just a little brighter. “Maybe. But I believe in you, Garfiel.”

He clicked his tongue and looked away, ears burning. “Tch. Don’t go sayin’ dumb things like that. Ya ain’t passed nothin’ yet.”

But in the pit of his chest, buried deep under the pride and bravado, something shifted.

“Watch me,” Emilia replied, serene and confident.

And so he did, he watched her. Closely.

He watched her break from the strain of the Trials.

She trembled, screamed, begged for people who were no longer there. He watched as she broke and broke and broke and broke throughout the entirety of the first night.

He watched her get insulted by Ram.

He watched as the girl he had a crush on called the princess all sorts of nastiness with a cruel glint in her eyes. He watched as Ram accused her of using him and the manservant—seriously, what the hell was his name? Garf knows he’s heard it before!—to make herself feel protected. He felt the prickle under his skin when she called him, to his face, an animal.

He didn’t feel much of a crush for the nasty pink maid after that.

He watched her get coddled by that… what was that weirdo in green again? O’Brien? Otter?

That dumbass is punching far above his weight class.

…

Anyway, he watched her—he kept watching over her.

And then she did it, she beat the first trial.

Elation stirred in his heart, though he refused to acknowledge it.

I shouldn’t be happy she passed the trial.

Yet, he was.

Because, despite it all, a part of him liked her.

Not romantically.

But, as a person.

She kept going and going and going.

She broke a hundred times and stood up again a hundred and one. It was inspiring.

When people tried to stop her.

When they tried to coddle her.

She kept going.

From the bottom of his heart, despite his own conscious dislike of her due to his first impressions…

Garfiel Tinzel thought Emilia was cool.

More than just some dainty princess, but a hero in her own right. Someone who never gave up.

And, despite it all…

He wanted to measure up.

If a half-devil the world hated, that everyone around her pitied and brought down, was able to rise against the odds, why couldn’t he?

Why couldn’t the Sanctuary’s strongest?

This will not do.

“Congrats on beatin’ the first trial. Ya pulled yer weight. Kept yer end of the bargain.”

If the Princess could do it, then why couldn’t the Shield?

“Which means… Now it’s my turn to keep mine.”

He stepped into the tomb with teeth clenched and heart trembling—ready to fight, not to remember.
The mists of the trial swallowed him whole, and there she was: the mother who’d left, smiling, waving, walking away.
He had hated that smile all his life. It was easier than hating himself for not following.

Then the vision shifted. The landslide. The scream. The truth.
She hadn’t left to abandon him—she had left to save him.
And in the cruel mercy of the world, it was love that killed her.

When he stumbled out of the tomb, he was still Garfiel—fierce, proud, reckless.
But the walls around his heart had cracked.
He no longer bore the scar as a mark of failure, but as proof that he had survived loving and losing.

With that, Garfiel’s trial ended as a resounding success.

He found his peace.

Garfiel Tinzel conquered his past and claimed the truth as his reward.

He stepped out of the tomb with the gait of a man, confident and unwavering—no longer bound by scars of the past hidden by blusters, too-loud speaking voices, and puffed chests.

The first thing he saw was Emilia—she was surrounded by the locals of the Sanctuary, his family.

They carried pitchforks and farming tools, brandishing them as weapons for a witch hunt.

Except they had already found and cornered their supposed witch.

What the hell’s goin’ on?

The villagers were shouting something he couldn’t make out, while Emilia just stood politely in front of them with her palms on top of each other.

“What did you do to Garf!?”

Emilia replied with something he couldn’t hear.

“The trial! You made him take it, didn’t you, you oddamn half-devil?!”

Then the green manservant started yelling something back.

This is bad. Things were going ugly fast.

He caught the end of the manservant’s rant. “—show some respect, you damned animal—”

What the fuck did he just call them? Garf thought to himself as his teeth bared in anger.

He was about to go up and start tearing the smarmy bastard a new one when Emilia beat him to it.

“Otto.”

Her voice cut through him like a silver bell chiming in frost. Calm and clear. Deadly.

The manservant froze.

The half-elf ordered, “Please return to the village, inform the people that the first trial has been breached.”

The manservant tried to argue again. Smallfry just doesn’t learn his lesson, does he?

“Otto,” the princess stopped him mid-rant.

“These good people have fed us and given us roofs over our heads. Do not insult them again,” she warned him sternly, with a cold fury Garfiel did not expect to hear coming from the timid, polite little princess he met just yesterday.

Who knew she had it in her? He grinned internally.

This was a princess he wouldn’t mind following.

Granny Bilma came up and said something he couldn’t hear, and the mob calmed down considerably with her words.

The princess—no, Emilia, her name was Emilia. Just Emilia, no surname—ordered her little manservant to leave a third time, and he finally relented and listened.

Seriously, for someone who claimed loyalty t’ da girl, he sure as hell doesn’t listen to her all dat much.

It was only when the manservant had completely disappeared that Garfiel decided to show himself. “So what’s all dis clownin’ about!?” He asked loudly from the sanctuary entrance.

Everyone turned to look in his direction in shock.

“… Garf?” One of the villagers asked, awe and disbelief naked in his tone and body language.

He grinned, full of light-hearted confidence, and replied, “Yeah? What? Forgot what I looked like?”

The fact that he stood there, proud and loud, instead of groveling and sniveling, could only mean one thing.

Once the realization hit, Garfiel got bodied by a large pile of flesh, which consisted of everyone in the group, except Emilia and Granny Bilma.

“Garf!’
“You did it!”
“That’s amazing! You cleared the first trial!”

Words of celebration echoed as his friends and family exalted his success and expressed joy on his behalf. Garfiel could not stop himself from smiling, a wide, happy smile that he had not shown in over a decade—not since the first time he took the trial and failed.

“Heheh…”

The joyful smile of a child.

“Garf…” One of the adults in the group stuttered out at his smile, and the waterworks started to explode from the crowd.

“Garf!”
“I’m so glad you’re okay!”
“Uaaaa!”

Words of congratulation, words of thankfulness, words of encouragement, and simple tears—all directed toward him, in gratitude for his health.

Garfiel Tinzel was loved by his friends and family. Anyone who saw this scene would be able to tell that much. It was no wonder that he was so protective of them.

The title of Shield was more than just a façade.

Hidden in the background with Elder Ryuzu, Emilia looked at the scene with a serene smile on her face.

She and Garfiel made eye contact, and a silent conversation passed between them in that instant.

I’m happy for you, and I’m glad you’re safe, congratulations on defeating your past, the half-elf said with her eyes.

Garfiel found himself blushing at the words she spoke without sound. Receiving encouragement from girls within his age range was not something he was used to.

He gave her a stealthy nod and an abashed smile while still talking and celebrating with the rest of the sanctuary villagers.

“Ahem,” Bilma coughed from beside Emilia, drawing everyone's attention to her. “While I do not want to dampen the atmosphere after Young Garf’s success, I believe we have much to discuss with another person in this gathering.”

She turned to Emilia expectantly.

“Will you explain the situation, Lady Emilia? How did Young Gar end up taking the trials?”

“Well…” Emilia blinked owlishly, unsure of where to start.

“Granny,” Garfiel spoke up in her stead. “D’ya mind if I ‘splain the situation?”

The deceptively young-looking half-elf stared at her grandchild, silently evaluating him, before replying, “By all means, Young Gar.”

And so he did.

He told them everything, how she initially caught his eye as soon as they met with her witchlike features. He emphasized how he initially thought of her as a spoiled princess after she was introduced as a candidate.

Then he went on to her melancholy and their bet, carefully tiptoeing over the boy who left her to her.

He admitted that she charmed him, despite his initial dislike of her. Her insistence on moving forward despite her sadness compelled him to watch over her, even if he didn’t know what it meant at the time.

He talked about their bet, how she encouraged him to face his past if she were able to overcome hers. Several eyes widened at this. The silver-haired maiden had the brass balls to challenge Garfiel about his past so brazenly? The girl had a lot of Chutzpah—credit had to be given where it was due.

Then he talked about how she failed and kept failing the first trial, ending her first night wailing and screaming and begging for someone to save her, palpably in despair over her own powerlessness… only to flip the board in just one day, successfully conquering the trials that broke her so thoroughly the previous night entirely by her lonesome.

“It was amazin’,” he admitted breathlessly. “I saw her break in the same way I did…”

Garfiel blinked. “No, th’ way she broke was a whole lot worse than mine…”

He turned to look at her, staring straight into Emilia’s amethyst eyes. They were unsettling to look at just two days ago, but now?

“Then I saw her stand up an’ walk forward anyway.”

Now those eyes belong to the coolest person in the world to him.

The eyes of someone who marched forward, despite the world resting the brunt of its weight on her thin, frail shoulders.

“That’s why I decided to take the trials again,” Garfiel said. “Why I managed to beat 'em, too.”

He grinned cheekily, and the half-elf smiled charmingly back.

“If she could do it, then I could too.”
“If I could do it, then you could too.”

They spoke simultaneously.

“And that’s how we got here.”

Granny Bilma stared at him for several seconds longer, silently digesting his story and reevaluating Emilia in her mind.

The rest of the sanctuary villagers that formed the mob now looked completely unsure of themselves, split between feeling shame for accusing her and awe at her for her strength of character.

“It seems we have horribly misjudged the situation,” the elder finally spoke, addressing the injustice her people were about to heap onto Emilia. “We owe you an apology, and so much more.”

They surrounded her, bearing arms and gritting their teeth. They exposed their naked malice toward her, and for what?

For encouraging their beloved shield to face his past—to be his best self?

It was inexcusable.

Ryuzu Bilma thought the lady had every right to condemn them.

She was effectively royalty—a candidate in line to the throne of the kingdom.

They tried to attack said candidate for empowering one of their youngest.

She should condemn them for that, right?

Instead, “It was all just a misunderstanding, there is nothing to forgive,” she chose to forgive them, and an innocent smile adorned her face as she did so.

Everyone stared.

A kind and noble maiden, worthy of the title of King.

Ryuzu thought so, and so did Garfiel and the rest of the villagers.

He walked up to her and kneeled.

“Garfiel Tinzel, Shield of The Sanctuary,” he introduced himself formally, or as formally as he could with his rough and uncouth upbringing. “Yer my liege, princess.”

He looked up and met her eyes, smiling boyishly as he did so.

“From today on, I’m yer shield too, if ya’d have me.”

The girl smiled back, heartfelt and motherly, proud of his growth as if it were her own. It made him blush, just a little.

“Of course, Garf. I am Emilia of Elior Forest, candidate to the royal throne of Lugunica, and I accept your loyalty with open arms.”

And that was how Garfiel Tinzel became Emilia’s shield.

“I hate dis stupid tie.”

Not much needed to be said after he swore his loyalty. His princess kicked ass. Roswaal’s figuratively and Rem’s literally. He wished he were there to see that fight.

Technically, it was a tie, but Garfiel wasn’t the kind of guy to sweat the details.

And the speech she gave to the refugees and locals in the cathedral to convince everyone to join her banner?

Epic.

Princess Emilia couldn’t get any cooler if she tried.

This party that they were forced to host to celebrate the sanctuary’s liberation, though?

Not cool.

Not cool at all.

“Garf, stop your fidgeting. It is unseemly,” Frederica scolded.

One more good thing out of the laundry list of good things that came from joining Emilia’s banner. The long-overdue reunion with his sister.

The same sister who punched him in the face the moment she saw him again, before hugging him and crying like a little girl.

Why are all the women in his life so damn violent?

“Sis, why d’ya get ta’ wear yer maid uniform while I’m stuck in dis junk?” Garfiel complained, like any boy his age would when forced to put on formalwear.

“Because I am a maid,” she said, as if it explained everything.

He stared at her, waiting for her to continue.

She did not elaborate.

“—Still, I would have loved to see you in a dress,” A silver bell chimed from behind them. “You’re already soooo pretty. I’m sure you would look even prettier.”

“Lady Emilia!” Frederica bowed her head immediately, embarrassed that she was caught bantering with her brother in public. “Please, forgive the unsightliness. I—”

“You are speaking to your brother, whom you haven’t seen for almost a decade, during a party to celebrate the freedom of your people,” Emilia interrupted serenely. “Leave the decorum behind, just for tonight.”

She gave Frederica a kind, almost maternal smile. “Be Frederica Baumann, the girl from The Sanctuary, and not Frederica Baumann the maid. Indulge yourself, Frederica. You’ve earned it with your service.”

With that, Emilia swiftly turned and walked toward Rem, who was waiting for her a few paces away with drinks in hand.

Frederica silently stared at her back in awe.

“Sis?” Garfiel asked.

“That was Lady Emilia…?” She whispered in awe.

What was that supposed to mean?

“O’course it was. Who else would someone that cool be?” He gloated with his arms crossed and his nose pointed upward.

Frederica did not reply. She continued to stare at Emilia as she spoke to Rem, as if they were best friends.

As if that very same Rem hadn’t wished for her death just days prior.

“Yes…” She said slowly, a bitter smile on her face as she saw something her brother did not. “Who else but Lady Emilia?”

“Sis?”

“Just empty musings, Garf. I would like to go speak to the grannies, now, if you don’t mind.”

And she left without even waiting for his reply. The nerve.

Oh well.

As he was contemplating bothering the manservant, whom he spotted conversing with some other Arlam villagers in a remote corner of the hall, the main entrance door suddenly opened with dramatic flair.

What strode in like he owned the place was a man in the Lugunican Royal Guard uniform with purple hair and a sharp gaze. Two demihumans in white robes trailed after him. A little kitten demihuman boy with a monocle and orange hair, and a cat demihuman with dark brown fur.

“Da hell?” Garf growled.

Who the hell was this bastard acting like everyone here was beneath him?

The man ignored everyone as he made his way toward Emilia. Garfiel and several others moved to intercept, but their liege raised her hand, signaling for them to stop.

The man kneeled in servitude in front of her and raised his hand, to which Emilia responded by giving him hers.

“Julius,” Emilia greeted politely as the knight kissed the back of her hand in greeting. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Lady Emilia,” the knight greeted in return as he raised himself to his full height. “It is… wonderful to see you in good health after…”

‘After he disappeared,’ was left unsaid, though the half-elf understood the message.

She bit her lip softly, pushing the emotions that threatened to escape back down in the pit of her stomach.

Garf’s heart lurched at the sight. Someone so amazing didn’t deserve that kind of heartbreak.

“Yes, I am doing…” She inhaled softly to hold back her tears before continuing, “Better.”

“He would be overjoyed,” the knight replied smoothly. “As am I.”

“Julius—”

“Dispense with the pleasantries, Sir Knight,” Rem coldly interjected as she glared at him just short of murderous. “Speak your intentions for appearing in front of my lady right this instant.”

That’s alotta hate for Rem. She wouldn’t be dat angry if t’wasn’t personal, Garf thought to himself.

Julius stared back at her for a few moments, as if silently evaluating the maid.

“Yes?” Rem asked haughtily. “Was that too insolent for a mere maid? Will you punish her? Brutalize Rem the same way you brutalized her hero?”

What.

“What?” Emilia asked. “Rem, what are you talking about? Julius is a knight. He wouldn’t—”

Rem turned to Emilia, completely livid at her defense of the man.

“HE—”

A sing-song voice interrupted before Rem could start her tirade.

“—Thiiiiis topic should be reserved for… private conversatiooooooons, my dear Rem,” Roswaal cut her off as he entered the scene with Ram in tow.

The blue oni seethed at the clown, but otherwise kept silent.

“Raaaaaam, please prepare a room for our guest aaaaaaaand lady,” he instructed the pink-haired maid.

“At once, Lord Roswaal,” Ram said with a bow.

Rem looked between her lord and her sister, disgust plain and visible on her face as she silently glared at the two.

What the hell? Garf is now a confused tiger. He understood the clown, but why was Rem hostile to Ram of all people?

“Rem will join me in this conversation,” Emilia spoke. “This is not a suggestion.”

Rem turned to give her a grateful look.

Roswaal sighed dramatically and replied, “By your wiiiiill, Lady Emiiiiilia.”

With that, the commotion ended as Emilia, Rem, and the knight shuffled out of the hall and into a private room.

Thus, the party resumed without fanfare.

Peace lasted for an hour before the section of the Roswaal Manor that Emilia and Rem conversed with the knight in became encased in wrathful ice.

Aw hell, to say the lady of the house was pissed would be a major understatement.

With any luck, the arrogant-looking knight would suffer some consequence for pissing his princess off like that.

Nobody saw her for the rest of the night, but the frozen section of the manor told them they wouldn’t want to, anyway.

It was hard to be in a partying mood after such a spectacle, so the party was cut short soon after.

The haughty knight and his entourage left about ten minutes after the mini ice-age erupted, escorted by the princess’s green manservant, whose name Garf still did not manage to recall.

Rem was the only person allowed into Emilia’s room that night, once the celebrations were over.

A rather abrupt end to the night that signaled the end of his people’s oppression.

Garfiel awoke from his sleep faster than even Rem normally did, feeling oddly nostalgic over a dream of the events from a year ago.

Emilia was absolutely livid for the next two or three days, if Gariel’s memory of the events an entire year ago was correct.

He chuckled silently as he got comfortable in his seat within the carriage, pushing the sleeping Otto—yes, he remembers the man’s name, now. It’s been a year, come on—closer to the princess as he did so.

She glared at him, but it lacked any real heat, only exasperation; otherwise, she made no move to push Otto away.

“He’s worked hard, stop bothering him and let him rest,” she scolded non-verbally with eye contact.

Garf resisted the urge to roll his eyes. How oblivious is this girl? Is she just pretending not to notice Otto’s very obvious crush on her?

Ah, right.

That bastard who abandoned her.

Natsuki Subaru, the vanquisher of Sloth.

The supposed miracle worker who sank the White Whale and defeated the Sloth sect of the Witch Cult back-to-back in a single stroke.

A commoner with no education or background who did the impossible for the sake of his lady. The same lady who would banish him for… well, the reasons vary, depending on which version of the rumor you were listening to.

Garfiel scoffed at the thought. Not much of a hero if he left the people in Arlam and moved on without a second thought, now, was he?

He hated how the bastard’s success became a tool for Emilia’s detractors to slander her with. Emilia didn’t banish him. He chose to leave. Nobody got the story right. The only people who knew the full details were Emilia and Rem, and maybe the missing “hero” himself.

Nobody on that list wanted the truth publicized, for what it’s worth, so he was stuck in the dark.

Either way, Garf refuses to call this Natsuki Subaru a hero.

Heroes don’t abandon their princesses.

They don’t use their princess's love for them as bait to lure her out to an obvious trap, either.

He didn’t like the situation one bit.

To hell with Emilia’s blind trust of this guy. “Right her wrongs?” Bah, let him rot in regret and misery if the alternative was becoming a manipulative asshole.

When they get to Priestella, he’ll find her before the princess does, then he’ll get his answers through… persuasive action.

Maybe also beat the guy within an inch of his life as a bonus and drag him to Emilia himself. Force him to apologize for leaving.

Garfiel Tinzel is Emilia’s knight after all, even if it wasn’t official yet because he failed his stupid, pointless etiquette exam. A knight’s job is to protect his princess and beat the snot out of bad guys. Who the hell needs to learn etiquette to do that? Stupid, worthless—

Tch.

Emilia giggled softly at him, careful not to wake up the camp advisor who was using her shoulder as a pillow.

“Etiquette is important for a knight, Garfie,” she playfully whispered as if she had read his mind, adjusting the back of Otto’s so he would be more comfortable as she did so.

Garfiel blushed and stammered soundlessly. Garfie was a nickname that never failed to embarrass him. Petra just had to open her big, fat, bratty mouth within the princess’s hearing range!

He’d get her back for it one day! Stupid, cool, and cute princesses and their stupid, playfully doting habits.

Hmph!

He mocked her once—for crying, for trembling, for trying when she should’ve quit. Yet she rose, again and again, until even his scorn fell silent. In her fragility, he found something stronger than steel.
— The Shield of the Silver Star did not kneel before her light; he stood beside it, guarding the glow he once refused to see.

Chapter Text

It was a beautiful afternoon in the Royal Capital of Lugunica. The streets of the merchant district were buzzing with life and commerce. Dragonbound carriages travelled the roads as civilians walked on the paved walkways. The occasional guard could be seen patrolling the district, projecting the image of security to bystanders who witnessed them.

In front of a certain Appa stand, a boy and a girl stood, conversing pleasantly as they spent their time together in peace.

Until the boy jerked suddenly, surprising the girl and the stand owner he was conversing with.

“Subaru…?” The girl called his name, her voice soft and gentle. “Are you tired?”

Subaru blinked rapidly, as if adjusting to the sudden brightness of his surroundings, eye bags clearly visible on his face.

“Tired?” He repeated with a coarse whisper. “Tired…”

He rubbed his eyes with both hands and sighed a deep, soul-crushing sigh.

The boy turned his head slightly to the side, meeting the girl from the corner of his eye. His lips quirked slightly upwards. “Yeah, Rem, I'm tired.”

Rem saw the horrible state of his face from where she stood: Cheeks sunken. Bags underneath his eyes. An exhausted frown on his lips.

He looked like a walking corpse.

“So tired…” he repeated once more before grumbling to himself. “In the end, I can't even accomplish that much, can I?”

What did he mean by that?

“Suba—” Rem started to say, only to be cut off as the boy turned and started walking in the opposite direction.

“Subaru, wait!” She called as she began to chase after him. “Please, Subaru!”

She vaguely heard the Appa stand owner shout something to them, turning to bow apologetically before continuing to chase after the boy she fancied, who did not even slow down his pace.

He continued to walk with purpose, either expecting her to follow him or not caring if she did.

The two kept walking until they reached a certain empty park in the merchant district, a few stairs above the main plaza.

Subaru stopped and turned to face her. An echo of despair mixed with silent rage sang in his expression.

“Rem,” a low, husky growl escaped his throat. The intensity in his voice would have made her blush in any other situation.

“Yes…?” She replied. Unsure and very confused.

Subaru’s entire personality had completely shifted for no discernible reason.

His next words were the equivalent of dropping a live Firestone onto her open palm, “I want to join your negotiations with Crusch tonight.”

How did he—?

Rem was now thoroughly confused, "How did you—Subaru, please, what is going on?”

His eyes were wide, his pupils were tiny dots, barely visible amidst the white of his sclera, “Rem, I'm asking. Please, we don't have time!” He said quickly, almost tripping over the words altogether.

The girl's voice was hesitant as she asked, “Subaru…?”

Subaru seemed to notice the tremble in the girl's words and took a deep breath in. He exhaled the air in his lungs slowly.

Visibly calmer, he explained, “The Witch Cult’s gonna attack Arlam in a few days. We need her help to take them down.”

A soft gasp released from her lips as her eyebrows furrowed. Her shoulders, already tense from fear and confusion for the young man in front of her, became as wounded as a loaded spring at his prophetic words.

Truth be told, she had already known to a certain extent that they were coming. The lord she served had already informed her to expect as much.

Lord Roswaal anticipated this. He even left specific instructions to allow Subaru a seat at the negotiation table if he asked—Rem did not understand why at the time, but it was for this purpose.

Incredible insight from Subaru, to be able to uncover the Cult's machinations, and from Lord Roswaal, who accurately predicted how Subaru would act and position Rem in the optimal position to aid him.

Rem was blessed with talented and amazing leaders in her life.

Thanks to them, her desire for revenge would be answered.

“The Witch Cult…” She tested the name on her tongue, finding nothing but ash and corpses in the taste.

The monsters—no, the scum that took everything from her. The villains who murdered her parents, the ones who committed genocide against her people.

The wretched churls responsible for breaking her sister's horn.

Have they not caused her enough grief? Have they not done enough damage to her life?

Now they seek to take away her home again.

They seek to take from her and her sister once more.

They seek to harm her dearest Subaru.

“Never,” she growled. Guttural. Beastly. Vengeful.

Subaru, for his part, simply stared expectantly at her. Beneath his tired eyes, she could see it: The same beastly vengeance that burned in the pit of her stomach.

Rem decided there and then, “Of course, anything for you,” she allowed.

He sought the same thing she did: their destruction. His desire empowered her—she now had a chance to get revenge and please her dearest Subaru in one stroke.

She will tie a neat little bow on the corpses of every single Witch Cultist she killed and present them as offerings to her sister and to her beloved.

The boy smiled, but it did not reach his empty eyes. “Thank you, Rem.”

She will strike down every last one of them.

She will be the blade he wields in his quest to save their home.

Then everything will go back to normal. Subaru will be fine again. He will smile again.

She just needed to rid their home of the wretched cultists.

“I'll keep it simple, Crusch,” Subaru said plainly. “On top of the mining rights to Elior Forest and its map—"

A pause. Deep breath. Resume.

“—I’ll help you with your hunt for the White Whale. In return, you will help me take down the Witch Cultists who’re planning to attack the Roswaal Manor.”

The boy's eyes hardened as he leaned forward. “This time, I'll make things right,” he whispered softly, unheard by everyone except the girl next to him.

Rem noted the curious choice of words—but ultimately thought nothing of it.

Subaru said weird things that made no sense at times; it was one of the many, many strange traits she had learned to accept and love when it came to him.

Lady Crusch remained silent as she stared a hole into Subaru’s eyes. Sir Felix maintained a cool poker face.

One person, however, caved.

Sir Wilhelm muttered, “The White Whale,” quietly. Anger and murderous intentions leaked from his form. Rem was caught off guard by the sudden and indiscriminate hostility, visibly flinching away from the old butler.

Subaru, notably, did not so much as blink.

To his credit, Sir Wilhelm collected himself quickly after his outburst.

“It would seem that I am still immature,” he muttered. “Forgive my outburst, Milady.”

Lady Crusch simply raised a hand, indicating that she had thought his lapse of control inconsequential.

Her eyes had not once left Subaru’s, who matched her intense stare with a deceptively casual and bored-looking one.

“I must ask,” The duchess said with an elegantly arched eyebrow. “How did you come across this information?”

“Several reasons,” he began, raising a finger to indicate his initial point. “The first: The carriage traffic around the mansion. A little unreasonable for day-to-day business, don’tcha think?”

The boy spoke eloquently, as if he had rehearsed his lines a thousand times before coming to the meeting.

Lady Crusch nodded curtly at that.

Subaru quirked his lips upwards into a playful smirk at her acknowledgement. He raised a second finger. “Second: the cargo they’re carrying. Heard a little about House Karsten emptying entire armories' worth of weapons from the local merchants. You wouldn’t be stocking up that many weapons unless you were hunting something Big with a capital B.”

The Duchess nodded a second time.

“The third reason…” He stuttered out, his confidence waning at the edges. “T-the th-third reason…”

The air shifted.

Just like that, the boy’s mask of playfulness cracked like cheap pottery. His shoulders hunched as his eyes stared at nothing. His teeth chattered loudly as he tried to speak his next words. His mouth insisted on working against him, however.

“T-t-t-th-th-th-th-the th-th-th-third r-re-re-reas-reaso-n…” Subaru stuttered. His previous confident façade melted away, leaving behind an eyes-too-widely-opened stare, chattering teeth, and hunched, shivering shoulders.

He was no longer present. Not mentally, at least. He was stuck in whatever nightmare his sick mind conjured for him.

Rem immediately shifted into damage control as the world melted away for her as well. Her dear Subaru was afraid, and she’d be damned if she’d let whatever sick illusion he was conjuring continue to frighten him.

“Subaru…” she said gently as she wrapped the boy in a comforting embrace—carefully positioning herself to place his head on her bosom. “Rem is here.”

“Rem…?” He whispered dryly.

“Yes. Your Rem is here for you.”

She intended to calm him with her presence—to be the same pillar of strength for him that he was for her.

It had the opposite effect.

Subaru spasmed in her arms, yelling “NO!”  as he tried to break free.

“Subaru, please! Calm down!” She yelled, but the boy would not—could not listen.

Sir Felix moved to intervene before Lady Crusch could even open her mouth.

“Make space, Rem, nya,” he ordered as his hands glowed blue with Water Mana. “Ferri will calm his mind.”

The girl obediently followed the knight’s orders. Water Mana entered Subaru’s head as Felix’s gloved palms hovered over his temples from behind, while Rem continued to hug him from the front.

The boy stopped struggling once the Water Mana did its work on his frenzied mind.

“Subaru?” She tested. “Are you um, ohkay?”

He craned his neck upward, meeting her worried eyes with his own.

He was decidedly not okay. His eyes looked dead.

His face went downward once more as he began to ramble: “No! No no no. nonononononono. It’ll kill you again. I don’t want to see that anymore. Enough is enough. Please, no. Not you. You were the first person to believe in me. You called me your hero. Not you, anybody but you. Please. Pleasepleaseplease—"

He was still in hysterics; none of his words made sense because Rem was right here with him. Was he seeing a memory? Someone else he loved, whom he had lost to the whale?

Her stomach churned at the thought. Her heart burned with an emotion she refused to name.

Was Lady Emilia not her only rival? Was there someone else she had to compete with, a shadow that he still clung to?

She cast those doubts aside as quickly as they came. Her feelings can wait. Subaru needed her present. He needed her now.

“Subaru,” she cupped his face and gently pulled it upward, forcing him to maintain eye contact as she lovingly rubbed his cheek with her right thumb. “Rem is right here. Nothing is going to take her away from you.”

Light returned to Subaru’s eyes, “Rem…?”

She smiled with all the affection she could muster. “Yes, Subaru, your Rem is with you,” she said through tear-filled eyes.

He silently raised his left hand and placed it on top of her right, rubbing his face into it as he drew in the warmth and reassurance that her touch gave him.

“Thank you,” he smiled warmly at her as he spoke. “I’m alright now, Rem.”

It was the first genuine joy he expressed since the Appa stand, and the blue-haired girl almost yelped in excitement.

Rem caught Sir Felix giving her a teasing smirk from his position behind Subaru. His arms still hover over Subaru’s temple, channeling healing magic directly into the boy’s mind.

She gracefully ignored him.

“You too, Ferris, thanks a bunch,” Subaru said to the healer. “I’d probably be a vegetable right now, without you. Wouldn’t want another repeat of that, yeah?”

Felix quirked an eyebrow as he playfully twirled into Subaru’s vision, “My, my, Subaru—that almost sounds like you have experience being mentally impaired, nya. Should Ferri be worried?’

The boy chuckled at that. “Don’t worry about it. I’m fit as a fiddle.”

“Ahem.”

The trio turned to look in the direction of the noise to see the duchess staring at them. She seemed to be irritated at the interruption, though the glint in her eyes betrayed her real feelings on the matter.

“If you have recovered,” said Lady Crusch, a hint of humor leaking out of her voice. “May we continue our previous conversation?”

“Right, right,” the boy replied while scratching the back of his head, a flushed grin visible on his face. “So uhh, where was I again? Sorry.”

“Pay it no mind,” she dismissed. “You were about to point out your third reason.”

“My third reason…” Subaru trailed off. An audible gulp can be heard as he swallowed his nerves. “ The third reason is…”

He met the duchess’s eyes and dropped the verbal equivalent of high explosives into the drawing room: “I know when and where the White Whale will appear, and your preparations align with the timing of its next appearance.”

Absolute silence.

The world itself seemed to stop moving. One could almost hear the sound of the blood flow of everyone present.

“Elaborate,” the duchess ordered.

He pulled out and explained the capabilities of his Meteor, the “Foan,” as he called it.

“That is quite the Meteor,” Lady Crusch allowed. “I still have some doubts and uncertainties, but you have clearly come to me with a plan.”

Rem’s shoulders sagged as relief flooded her system. They have secured an ally.

Subaru, notably, did not relax at her seeming approval. “You haven’t said you’d agree to the alliance,” he pointed out.

“No,” she agreed. “I did not.”

Rem’s shoulders tensed once more. She gave the duchess a withering glare for getting her hopes up—just to stomp them out a breath later.

“Your efforts were magnificent, ” she relented. “You have uncovered my plans to hunt the White Whale. You also claim to know when and where it will appear next—and you do not appear to be lying about it either.”

The duchess admitted, her stern eyes softening at the edges, “By all accounts, I would not mind agreeing to your proposal for that alone.”

“Then—"

“However,” Lady Crusch’s eyes hardened once more. “You have not explained how you uncovered the Witch Cult’s machinations in Margrave Mather’s territory.”

“The Witch Cult is a greater mystery to us than even the White Whale,” she elaborated. “Your explanation of the Meteor is sufficient to convince me of the White Whale’s appearance, but do not mistake that as agreement to do battle against the Cult. That is a separate matter entirely.”

Subaru did not reply to that.

Instead, he turned to the only door in the room. “I think this is the part where you come in and help me out,” he called to the person hiding behind it.

“Aww, out of cards already?” A distinctly Kararagian accent replied, her voice muffled from behind the door. “An’ here I was hopin' to listen t’ya weave words for a little while longer.”

The door opened. Two figures walked into the drawing room. They were—

“Anastasia Hoshin and Russell Fellow,” Lady Crusch finished Rem’s thoughts. “Natsuki Subaru invited you to this meeting?”

“Specifically, it was the gal next to him,” Lady Anastasia answered. “We’ll be crashin’ this party if you don’t mind.”

“Very well,” The duchess agreed with a nod. “I take it you were offered something of value as well?”

“Oh, nah,” The merchant replied smoothly as she walked up to Subaru’s seat and leaned casually on it, indicating, quite literally, where she stood to everyone present. “While the mining rights interest me, a seat at this table was enough for this gal. The White Whale is a problem for merchants everywhere, y’see. I’d love t’see it gone.”

The Lady nodded once more, “Hmm. And yourself, Russell Fellow?”

“As president of the Merchant’s Guild,” The poshly dressed man stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I am more interested in the mining rights to Elior Forest’s Lagmite reserves.”

He positioned himself between Subaru and Lady Crusch—at the side of the coffee table—a truly neutral third party.

“Although,” The well-dressed snake’s eyes sharpened, almost pointed enough to pierce the skin. “I am also very interested in how Sir Natsuki was able to uncover the Witch Cult’s machinations.”

The boy Rem loved did the perfect impression of a frozen sculpture at the man’s subtle accusation.

“Quite,” Lady Crusch agreed. “Explain yourself, Natsuki Subaru.”

Subaru did not so much as twitch as all eyes in the room turned to stare a hole into him, demanding to know how he did what entire kingdoms could not.

Then he sighed; it was a soul-crushingly deep sigh.

He looked Lady Crusch in the eye once more, “I carry the Witch’s lingering scent. Rem can verify this. She can smell it.”

The air in the room became suffocatingly heavy with that small, innocuous-sounding admittance.

Rem’s head snapped in his direction so fast she heard it crack. Her blood froze as sheer cold crept up her spine.

He exposed himself, just like that. People were executed for the simple suspicion of being related to the cult, and he just admitted that he was, somehow indirectly, a part of them.

Rem turned again to gauge the rest of the room. Her posture shifted subtly into combat, in case anyone tried to attack her Subaru.

Sir Wilhelm had a hand on his sword while Sir Felix took half a step backwards. Simultaneously, Sir Fellow had a hand under his blazer coat; no doubt a hidden weapon of some sort lurked where it was.

Lady Anastasia continued to smile sweetly, as if the boy she was throwing her lot with did not just admit to being a possible cultist.

“Calm yourselves,” the Valkyrie barked. “Or will you shame me by attacking a guest of my manor unprovoked?”

A beat passed as her men digested her words.

Sir Wilhelm let go of his sword. Sir Felix’s shoulders visibly relaxed. Sir Fellow dropped his hand back to his side.

The hostility lessened. The tension, however, most certainly did not.

“You have one chance, and one chance only, Natsuki Subaru,” The Lady of the manor warned. “Explain yourself.”

Subaru took another breath. Cold sweat trickled down his face in rivers. His hair was soaked from it as well. His entire body language conveyed nervousness and fear. His eyes, on the other hand…

They conveyed cold, unrelenting hate.

“Several cultists came to me and brought me over to an isolated cave in the forest behind Arlam village,” he began. “They thought I was an ally due to my scent. Brought me to their archbishop. He—he tried to recruit me, told me their purpose.”

“And that is?” Sir Fellow prompted warily.

“He rambled on and on about a trial or whatever,” Subaru’s eyes stared into thin air, reliving the memory of madness. “But the gist of it is that they wanted to kill Emilia and use her corpse to resurrect the Witch.”

Killing intent. Sharp and wicked. It emanated from the seemingly powerless boy in waves. A deceptively calm expression adorned his face, yet his eyes betrayed his true feelings.

“That is… a goal, alright, nya,” Sir Felix mumbled in a daze.

“It won’t happen!” Subaru growled. “I won’t let it!”

“Your aggression is noted,” Lady Crusch said. “Anastasia Hoshin, your lack of reaction is telling. Did you know of this?”

The merchant’s bright smile somehow brightened even further, “Not exactly—but the timing between his approach and our own info on the cult’s movements fit,” she winked playfully.

“The details are for someone else t'worry about,” she waved her hand in dismissal. “This gal's concern is more… present.”

“You are not worried he may be a spy, nya?” Sir Felix asked.

“Would a spy expose themselves like this?” She retorted plainly. “Would he make an embarrassment of himself the way he did in the castle? Would he be as angry as Natsuki is at the thought of Sloth’s plans?”

Sir Felix frowned in thought.

The answer to all of those questions was “No. He would not.”

Rem thought it was ridiculous to insinuate that Subaru is a cultist spy. He was far too kind and noble to associate himself with those villains. She knew this better than everybody present.

“Forgive me for speaking out of turn—” Sir Wilhelm interjected. “But I agree with Lady Hoshin’s assessment.”

“Old Wil?”
“Oh? And why is that?”

Sir Wilhelm’s eyes softened. “Because Sir Natsuki’s love for Lady Emilia is genuine and pure,” he said, as if it were a fact.

Rem’s stomach churned once more, though she still could not find it in her to disagree with the man.

His reasoning was sound. No man could fake love and devotion as sincere as Subaru’s.

Sir Felix gave the old blade an exasperated look.

“Your insights hold value, Old Wil,” Lady Crusch acquiesced with a nod. “I will take them as truth.”

“Natsuki Subaru, “She addressed the boy once more. “You have not lied once since the negotiations began.”

Subaru nodded. “I have no reason to lie, and every reason to help.”

“That too is truth,” she agreed. “I will dismiss my concerns regarding your involvement with the cult.”

Subaru did not relax. Rem herself knew better than to do so as well now.

“However,” and there it was. “Should I even think that you are about to betray us, you will be cut down swiftly and mercilessly. Do you understand?”

“That’s it?” Subaru’s shoulders sagged. “Sure. I get it. Do what’cha gotta do, Crusch.”

“I shall. Now… ” The duchess paused, allowing the silence to sink.

“Let us continue our negotiations.”

It was a serene night in the gardens of the Karsten Manor.

Or at least, it would’ve been serene, if not for an army’s worth of carriages, soldiers, and weapons hurriedly moving about all over the gardens.

The negotiations ended in Subaru’s success. The three-way alliance between the Anatasia, Crusch, and Emilia camps was formed. The purpose: to destroy the White Whale in Lifaus Highway and defeat the Sloth sect of the Witch Cult hiding in the surrounding Arlam village.

It was time for the first step. The first page of Subaru's legend as a hero. Rem will be his vanguard. She will be the weapon that carved out his place in history.

There was no greater joy for her.

“You won't be joining us with the Whale.”

Except he would give her the chance, it seemed.

“Subaru?” She asked for an explanation. She trusted him with every fiber of her being. He would not sideline her without a sound reason.

Right?

He told her, “I want you at your best when we fight Sloth,” and it clicked.

Of course! He wanted her in top condition to participate in the more important battle.

But still, Rem had concerns. “Subaru, what about—"

“Rem, listen to me,” he cut her off. “There might be cultist spies hiding in the village.”

She turned to look into his eyes; he looked like he hadn’t slept in years.

“Subaru wants Rem to smell their Witch scent,” she concluded. “Her presence there is essential, so she shouldn’t tire herself in the battle against the whale.”

He was not sidelining Rem; he was giving her a more vital task.

“Now you’re getting it.” A plastic smile adorned his face as he patted her head affectionately. “Can I count on you?”

“Of course! Rem will do anything for Subaru’s sake!” If Rem had a tail, it would have wagged with enough force to grant her flight.

“… I know,” he whispered. A pained expression adorned his face for a split second before smoothing back into a rigid smile.

“Subaru?” Rem called.

“Yeah?” He sounded so… exhausted.

Rem knew just the thing to help with his fatigue. The girl wrapped her arms around him and squeezed into a tight hug.

“Rem?” Subaru asked. He did not hug her back.

“Yes,” she answered. Her arms tightened even further. “Rem is worried, Subaru.”

She was afraid.

Afraid that if she let go, he would disappear and never return.

“I’ll be fine, Rem,” he reassured her as his hand palmed her head once more. “I’ve got the entire alliance backing me up. Hell, Crusch and Russell were even going to talk to the Knight Captain to get that bastard Julius out of house arrest early for the hunt.”

“Julius?” Did Subaru mean Julius Juukulius, the Finest Knight?

“Yeah, you didn’t know?” He chuckled sardonically. “He’s the knight that broke my arms and legs and eviscerated my pride in public.”

She gasped at that. The epitome of knighthood had beaten down a powerless boy in public, and nobody made a fuss?

“No, Rem was not informed,” she replied. Rem was not at all informed. Lady Emilia said nothing about what happened. Only that “Subaru hurt himself for her sake again.”

It was rather arrogant and selfish of the half-elf to assume that Subaru would put himself in danger for her sake alone, but Rem knew better than to voice this opinion.

Just as it was selfish of her not to tell Rem that Subaru was publicly beaten and humiliated by a member of the Royal Guard. No, not just a member, but their supposed “Finest.”

He broke Subaru’s arms and legs for Od’s sake!

Did the stupid elf think that little detail was unimportant? Did Subaru mean so little to her? How dare she get to claim his heart when she doesn’t even—

“And,” Rem asked incredulously. “Subaru is fine with that?”

To allow the man who publicly shamed him to share his glory—truly?

“Yeah,” he grinned easily. “The guy’s apparently one of the kingdom’s best. Having him around would help.”

Oh, that was right. Rem was being silly again. Forgiveness came naturally to her Subaru. Of course, he would allow it.

“Once the hunt is done, he will join with the army to do battle with the Witch Cult, yes?” Rem asked.

“Eyup,” he agreed easily. “That’s the plan.”

“Very well,” Rem smiled brightly as she burrowed her face into his chest. “Rem will do as Subaru asks.”

Subaru will guide the army to victory against the whale, then he will bring them to the village and rescue everyone.

“Thanks, Rem,” he smiled and finally returned her hug. “And I’m sorry about not letting you fight.”

Rem had absolute faith in him.

Even if the world turned its back on him.

Even if that disgusting elf abandoned him.

Rem, and Rem alone, would be his truest ally.

“I’m sorry for everything that’s going to happen.”

Because Natsuki Subaru was her hero.

“Rem doesn’t mind. Subaru will always do the right thing, no matter what.”

Always.

“Yeah… This is the right choice.”

No matter what.

Ram had known to anticipate an army at their doorstep when she received a letter from her sister. She half-expected it to be a prank orchestrated by a certain idiot—until she saw said army march into the Mathers' territory through her clairvoyance, helmed by Duchess Karsten herself.

Next to the duchess was her dear little sister, Rem. Riding on top of an Earth Dragon wearing the same repulsive colors as the loud, screechy mutt that stumbled into her home months ago and refused to leave.

Rem turned her head up to face Ram, fully aware that the older twin was spying on them. She smiled in greeting, sending her emotions to Ram through their Synesthesia.

Ram, for her part, smiled back and returned the warm emotions in kind.

She allowed them to make their way to the manor unimpeded, as requested by Rem in her letter.

Circling back, Ram arrived at the manor ahead of the army, completely content to pretend she never spied on them.

Shortly afterward, Lady Karsten and Rem entered through the main door, accompanied by an old butler and a cat demi-human in the Royal Guard uniform.

She greeted the duchess and her entourage at the front door with the grace and manners you would expect from a servant of Roswaal Manor, something that same idiot wouldn’t have been capable of had he been in her position.

No, Ram did not miss Barusu. Not at all. She did not miss his exaggerated stupidity or his amusing fumbling. She most definitely did not miss his “Puppy experiencing Sugar Rush” energy. Ram did not miss the boy one bit.

Shut up.

Even when he wasn’t around, Barusu would cause her no end of annoyances.

No one must ever know.

Ram bowed at exactly 45 degrees and spoke with a soft cadence, “Greetings, esteemed guests, I am Ram. A servant of House Mathers. It is my utmost pleasure to welcome you to our humble manor.”

Perfect. Poised. Postured. Take that, Barusu. You wet dog.

“Many thanks for your greeting,” Lady Crusch replied diplomatically. “I assume you have been informed of our purpose here?”

“Yes, Ram has received the letter from her sister,” Ram affirmed. “The army is here to purge the cultist scum that has infiltrated our forest.”

“Evacuating the villagers comes first,” Lady Crusch corrected. “Once they are safely out of the way, we may engage the villains in battle. Your fellow servant is already working on the evacuations.”

Barusu was? Ram found that she wasn’t as surprised as she expected to be. Though he might not be the sharpest or strongest tool in the shed, that fool was dependable when it counted.

“Yes,” Rem gushed. “Subaru has been working very hard lately!”

And there it was, the one negative quality Ram would attribute to her sister: her awful taste in men.

Ram resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

So many better options out there, and it just had to be him. How droll.

“Ram will be sure to reward him once this is over,” she agreed. Good work must be rewarded appropriately, and it was her role as the big sister to give him said reward.

If only he weren’t such a handful of a little brother junior and were dependable all the time, instead of only in crisis.

Beggars can’t be choosers, she supposed.

Klack. Klack. Klack.

Footsteps echoed from the stairs behind her. A soft voice spoke out, “Ram, who is it? Is Subaru back?”

Lady Emilia came into view. As soon as her boots became visible, negative emotions entered the stump where Ram’s horn was in waves.

Rem was angry at the woman for some reason, but otherwise, she kept herself silent.

“The alliance army has arrived, Lady Emilia,” Lady Crusch replied in Ram’s stead. “I assume you have read the letter your maid sent.”

“About the alliance, mhm?” Emilia asked. “Yes, I did. Rem did a veeeeery good job—”

“With all due respect, Lady Emilia,” Rem interjected coolly. “We are pressed for time. We need your permission to escort the villagers out of the vicinity before it descends into a pandemonium.”

“My… permission?”

“Yes, all the preparations are already being made,” the duchess took over the conversation once more. “We await only your approval for the evacuations.”

“I see…” She replied dejectedly. “So the talks have already settled.”

“Lady Emilia, the survival of the villagers depends on your decision here,” Lady Karsten urged. “A timely response would be welcomed.”

“Um, yes,” the half-elf stuttered out anxiously. “Please, evacuate the people. I’ll help everyone protect them from the villains.”

Ram sighed internally. Truly, what a capable woman the half-elf candidate was.

Lady Crusch smiled at that, “Well said,” she encouraged before turning to the demi-human knight and nodding to him.

The knight nodded back, and the members of the Crusch camp quickly exited, presumably to inform the villagers that they had received their permission.

Once they’d all left, Rem addressed the elven lady.

“Lady Emilia as well,” Rem said. “You will be joining the evacuations.”

“Eh?” The lady asked, startled. “But—”

“The cult is here for you,” Rem replied rudely, her decorum dropping as her voice rose. “Do not waste Subaru’s efforts any more than you already have.”

“Subaru? He’s here?” The half-elf questioned, her own voice rising with the tension. “Why did he come back! That nincompoop! I told him—"

“Lady Emilia.”

The sheer intensity of Rem’s voice caused everyone to stop and stare.

Emilia could only stare with her mouth agape as she quietly asked, “R-Rem?”

“Subaru has worked very hard to get us to where we are,” Rem seethed. “And Rem will not have you call him names for doing your job for you.”

“I—I wasn’t trying to—”

A line too far. Whatever emotions Rem was feeling, to verbally chastise the Lady their lord served was a step too far.

Even if Ram agreed with her criticisms.

“Rem.” She chastised.

Rem bit her lip; her frustration hit Ram through her horn like vertigo.

“Yes, Sister,” she replied before turning to Emilia. “My apologies for forgetting decorum, Lady Emilia.”

The elf hurriedly waved her off, “No, it’s fine, Rem. You were right. He’s working veeeeery hard for everyone. I shouldn’t be unfair to him.”

Rem nodded but otherwise did not reply.

“Rem should go and check on Subaru, in case he needs help with anything,” she said as she turned to the front door.

“Then I should come along, too!” Emilia replied excitedly. “Subaru can be veeeeery reckless and won’t listen to reason, so—"

“Lady Emilia, please reconsider,” Rem interrupted her again. “Your presence will only distract him.”

Ram sighed once more. Her sister’s current behavior was unbecoming of a maid.

“B-but—"

“Lady Emilia,” Ram interjected. “There is wisdom in abstaining. Ram understands that you miss him, but Barusu does not need distractions.”

“I wasn’t going to distract him! I just wanted to help—”

“Lia.” The disembodied voice of the Great Spirit spoke from inside Lady Emilia’s Mana stone. “Maybe you should listen to them. It sounds like Subaru’s got the situation under control, so let’s leave him to it, alright?”

“Puck—I… I understand,” she acquiesced. “Please look out for him, Rem.”

“Rem doesn’t need Lady Emilia’s permission to look after Subaru,” she pointed out. Then, softer, she said, “But her concern is noted. Rem will inform him that Lady Emilia misses him.”

Ram did not know a person could turn a shade of red that deep, that quickly.

“Rem!” Lady Emilia cried indignantly.

Everything is falling into place. The army was here. A plan of action was set. All loose ends were seemingly tied.

And yet, despite it all, Ram couldn’t help but feel as though things were about to go horribly, horribly wrong.