Since the day Princess Lumielle was branded a traitor, Hynes had felt like a ghost inside his own body. His breath came and went, his feet moved when commanded—but nothing truly lived inside him anymore. He was but a husk, a shell of his former self.
His entire life had been dedicated to protecting her—serving her, worshipping her. But now, with his goddess gone, his purpose had vanished along with her, leaving him adrift in a world that no longer made sense.
A burst of laughter yanked him from his stupor.
Across the cobbled lane, a young couple swung their toddler between them, the child giggling with glee as their feet barely touched the ground. The mother kissed the father's cheek. The father tousled the little one's hair.
Hynes watched them unblinkingly, his heart blooming a bittersweet ache. He saw himself in the man—strong and protective. He saw Lumielle in the woman—elegant, warm, radiant. And in the child… a symbol of a future he'd only dared to imagine on sleepless nights.
A family.
A life beyond the sword. Beyond the palace. Beyond the shadows of duty and responsibility.
He had vowed to protect her. To die for her, if needed. But he'd also loved her. Not as a knight loves his liege, but as a man—wholly, helplessly, and eternally grateful to the woman who had pulled him from the abyss.
"I would've given you the world…" he whispered to no one.
The family vanished behind their door, and with them went the fragile fantasy.
Hynes exhaled slowly, turning his gaze upward. Across the glistening water, the palace loomed like a silent monument to everything he had lost. Time felt disjointed, slipping through his fingers like sand.
He blinked—and suddenly, he was moving. Before he knew it, he was pacing through the palace's inner ward, driven by instinct alone. Maybe deep down, some part of him simply wanted to be near her again.
Suddenly, a glint of light from the tower window caught his eye, forcing him to shield his face. Through his fingers, he saw the flash again, his heart clenching in his chest when he noted it was on the uppermost floor.
"Princess?" he whispered, eyes wide. "Is that you?"
Without hesitation, he bolted. His legs carried him faster than his mind could keep up, up the spiral stairs, past guards and attendants who didn't dare question his presence. He didn't stop until he reached the floor.
"Lumielle…" he exhaled breathlessly.
He'd never stepped foot in her private quarters before—not like this. It was his first time, and it was a tragedy. The room was torn apart, ash and broken wood scattered across the floor. The source of the light was just a shard of glass by the window, reflecting the sun at just the right angle to spark false hope.
The sight hollowed him. Yet, as he slowly wandered deeper into the space, he could almost see her—the faint memory of coral pink hair trailing past curtains, the glimmer of jade eyes in manalight, the hum of a voice dancing through the room. He followed that illusion like a man chasing a ghost, each step bringing him closer to what once was.
Then he saw it—the splintered dresser, one drawer still half-open. Nestled inside was a collection of fragrant panties and brassiere. It was as if he had discovered a treasure chest—one more precious than gold or jewels.
Hynes froze like a rusted cog, his eyes wide. He was instantly flushed and flustered. His grief was replaced by a heady cocktail of lustful excitement.
Surrendering to his lecherous tendencies, he reached into the drawer and retrieved a handful of the silky treasure. Pressing it to his face, he inhaled deeply. His heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, he swore he heard the bells of heaven tolling.
The scent—unmistakably Lumielle's—sent a jolt through his body. He was left taut, dazed, and utterly spellbound. Letting the garments slip from his grasp and back into the drawer, he kept hold of one particularly lacy pair of panties. Its scent was the strongest, the most intoxicating token of the goddess he had ever laid hands on.
Against all reason, the hopeless captain reached down, coiled the delicate fabric around himself, and surrendered wholly to his impulses. His eyes rolled back, body quivering as waves of ecstasy crashed over him. He teetered on the edge of madness and pleasure—then fell, spiraling into a dark, all-consuming release.
As his body convulsed uncontrollably—
"Captain Hynes."
The words were laced with mockery.
Hynes flinched, his heart slamming against his ribs, gratification instantly replaced by something unsavory.
Stynx stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a crooked smirk painted across his face. "Figured you'd be the first one up here. Still mourning, are we?"
Forcing composure, Hynes kept his back turned as he discreetly dropped the now-damp undergarment to the floor, nudging it under the dresser with the toe of his boot. Only once he'd secured his trousers did he finally turn around without giving away his sin, his face unreadable.
"A shame we don't have a body to hold a proper funeral for the traitor," Stynx continued dryly, brushing soot from the sleeve of his coat.
Hynes clenched his jaw. The word traitor tasted rotten in the air. "I'm here to pay my respects," he said, stepping away from the open dresser.
Stynx chuckled and began to saunter in. His eyes swept across the ruin like a wolf sniffing for weakness. "Is that what we're calling it now?"
Hynes stopped, shoulders stiff. "I'm not in the mood."
"Of course, you aren't," Stynx drawled, his voice light as a whisper yet heavy with disdain. He dragged a finger lazily along the charred edge of the bedframe as he passed it. "Funny, isn't it? How it was once every man's dream to enter this room, especially on a cold, rainy night. Now it's just another hollow space filled with ghosts and ashes."
Hynes turned to face him fully, his expression hardening. "Why are you here, Stynx?"
"Renovations," he replied with a shrug, as if the answer was trivial. "Builders are coming in the morning. Thought I'd take one last stroll through history before it all gets scraped away—wall by wall, tile by tile. Seems only fitting."
Hynes's gaze lingered on him a moment longer, searching for motive behind those smug eyes. But there was nothing to be gained from staying, only murderous impulses. And he'd already missed the perfect opportunity to end the bastard five months ago.
"By the way," Stynx continued, tilting his head tauntingly. "With Lumielle gone, are you even a captain anymore? Do you even still have a purpose?"
Hynes grinded his teeth and turned, marching toward the scorched doorway. "Go to hell."
As he vanished down the hall, the echo of his boots fading with distance, the devilish smirk Stynx had been barely holding back curled into full form. His gaze shifted to the space beneath the dresser, to the vital piece of evidence that dwelled there.
"Thank you for your service, Captain," he muttered with amusement.
***
A stout, middle-aged man imperiously sat on a cushioned bench, his back turned to the open archways behind him. Though no crown adorned his head, there was an undeniable air of prestige that clung to his presence like sacred incense.
His pearly white robe had an excessive amount of gold trim, the garment draping over his shoulders like a divine mantle.
A doctor stood behind him, palms lightly placed against the center of his spine. His brow furrowed as he slowly inhaled, focusing his mana into his hands. A gentle blue glow pulsed under his fingers. A few moments passed in complete silence, save for the soft hum of mana at work.
Then, with a quiet exhale, the doctor pulled his hands away and moved a step back. "No wonder you've been feeling weak and unable to self-heal, Your Eminence," the man said calmly. "It's not an ailment—not in the conventional sense. You're simply suffering from a severe calcium deficiency."
The man in the robe tilted his head slightly, but did not turn. "Calcium, you say?" He asked in a deep tone.
"Yes. A deficiency that could be easily remedied by dietary changes," the doctor continued. "Primarily, I'd recommend a higher intake of dairy—milk, especially."
At last, the man rose to his feet. He turned just enough to reveal the polished gleam of two full rows of golden teeth flashing behind a disarming smile.
"Ah, of course. The fasting," he mused aloud, tone syrupy smooth. "I've devoted many days in solemn prayer and abstinence. A worthy sacrifice… but it would seem the body protests."
The doctor nodded, doing his best to ignore the extravagant golden accessories the man wore around his neck and wrists. Even his golden head accessory resembled a crown.
"While worshipping Goddess Zepharion is surely vital to your work and calling, Your Eminence, you mustn't neglect your health. Even the most pious flame needs fuel, or it flickers out."
"Wise words," the bishop said, a pair of narrow and cunning eyes gleaming with an unreadable glow as he reached for his golden staff. "I will keep them in mind."
With a formal bow, the doctor turned and took his leave.
Sometime later, in another chamber, a nun approached with a subservient tilt of her head.
The bishop snatched a golden goblet of creamy milk from the tray she offered and downed it in three large gulps. Thick trails of white trickled down the corners of his lips as he sighed in satisfaction.
Then, almost ceremoniously, he unfastened his robe, letting it drop to the marble floor in a ripple of silk and gold.
Bare-chested and proud, he approached a tall brass door and pushed it open with both hands. Steam wafted out like ghostly fingers. Then he stepped into the mist-laden chamber beyond, where shifting silhouettes stirred within the haze.