Dreamcrown – In the Heart of the Capital
The streets pulsed with life like open veins; wooden carts laden with colorful fruits lined up beside small stalls layered with dust, while the scents of sharp spices mingled with the smoke of burning coal from the kiosks. Sounds overlapped—merchants calling, boys shouting as they carried bread, women laughing as they haggled over cloth. Yet this noisy life was restrained, as if it all existed beneath a heavy shadow.
The royal guards, with their puffed chests and polished spears, marched confidently along the streets, indifferent to the broken gazes of the common folk. Their mere passage was enough to silence the noise for a few moments—until the voices returned, tenser than before.
Amidst it all, Aqua Nightover walked slowly, dissolving into the crowd as though searching for something he had not yet decided whether he wished to find. His steps were heavy, his eyes drifting across the faces of people, the merchants, the hanging fabrics that swayed with the wind—as if something unseen was guiding him through the clamor.
Then he stopped.
He turned to the right. His gaze lingered, fixed at the end of a narrow stone alley where a black door stood, solitary, as though planted there centuries ago to watch the comings and goings in heavy silence. He did not know why his feet froze, but something in the darkness of that door stirred a muffled tremor within him, as if some distant memory had awakened.
"Aqua?"
The voice was soft, familiar—like a breeze cutting through the market's din. He turned quickly, his eyes widening when he saw her.
Barbara Starkov. She stood beside a small stall exuding the smell of oil and fried chicken. Unlike her usual self, she wasn't clad in the steel armor that had always clung to her image in his mind. Instead, she appeared in a deep blue dress that fell gracefully to her ankles, fine white threads beneath it catching the light with every movement. Her sandy-blonde hair, usually pulled back neatly, now cascaded freely over her shoulders, swaying with the breeze like golden dunes shifting in the silence of the desert.
She gave him a sideways smile, tinged with playful mischief: "Are you following me?" she asked lightly, then laughed, stepping toward him with a small skewer of fried chicken in hand. She took a bite, swallowed, and raised a teasing eyebrow: "What are you doing here? I was only a few steps away, and you didn't even greet me?"
Aqua remained silent for a moment, his features uncertain, eyebrows lifted in quiet surprise. Then he spoke in a low, awkward tone: "Ah… nothing really… I'm just not used to seeing you wear these… things." He ended with a faint smile, tinged with embarrassment.
Barbara looked up at him, then laughed brightly, shaking her head: "Of course I won't wear armor all the time, you fool! I'm a lady."
He studied her for a moment, and a reluctant sideways smile tugged at his lips. "Good… to know," he murmured.
She playfully struck his shoulder, and a brief silence settled between them—not heavy, but expectant. Then she asked: "So… you still haven't answered me. What brought you here? I didn't think you enjoyed wandering the capital."
He didn't reply at once. His eyes, almost unconsciously, slid back toward the black door at the end of the alley. Something inside him shuddered, and he quickly looked away, as though afraid his secret might be read upon his face.
Barbara noticed. She turned gracefully, her gaze falling on the same door. She studied it for a moment before looking back at him in surprise: "The Hall of Mirrors…? Really? I never imagined you as one of its patrons."
He shook his head quickly, denying, his eyes avoiding hers: "No, not at all. In truth… it was foolish of me to come here. Goodbye."
He began to walk away, but her hand caught his wrist suddenly, tugging him back with gentle insistence: "Wait! I was only joking."
He hesitated, his breath uneven, while her eyes returned to the door. A sudden spark of an idea lit within them: "Hm… what if we went in together? We'd have fun!"
He turned to her in shock: "What? No! That's impossible."
But she only laughed, and with childlike spontaneity, pulled at his arm with force: "Come on! We're already here—it would be silly to leave without seeing!"
His body was dragged along unwillingly, his voice echoing in protest: "Barbara! Stop! I'm serious!"
Yet she didn't turn back, pulling him forward with playful determination, like a child tugging along a newfound toy. And with every step closer to the black door, Aqua's heart tightened further…
For the door was not merely a wooden gate painted in darkness, but a wall of old memories—buried, painful—returning to life with every beat of his chest.
At the threshold of the Black Door, Barbara paused for a moment, then stepped across lightly, as though it were any ordinary entrance. She turned back to see Aqua frozen in place, his eyes drowned in the darkness beyond, as if the doorway had swallowed a fragment of his soul. She reached out, clasped his wrist with childlike firmness, and whispered with a playful laugh: "Come on!"
And she pulled him inside.
The corridor was the first thing to greet them; low, winding walls glimmered with a dim red light that seeped from torches embedded like veins of fire in ancient clay. The air was heavier here, carrying the smell of burning oil mingled with the resin of something long-forgotten. Their footsteps echoed against the stone steps, a broken resonance, as though they were descending into a hidden, forsaken crypt.
But when the massive wooden shutters at the stair's end swung open, it felt as if the earth itself exhaled its secret into their faces. The doors trembled with a deep murmur, a muted roar, and before them surged a world unlike anything outside.
The hall was not filled with mirrors, as its name suggested, but with walls of dense black stone, streaked by twisted silver veins resembling frozen rivers of moonlight. The stone was rough, yet glossed with layers of beeswax, so that the surfaces gleamed like the hides of mythical beasts shimmering in firelight.
Eyes of Fire—those torches, clutched in twisted metal arches shaped like bats, devoured the air and spat tongues of flame that sent bodies' shadows quivering across the walls. The shadows danced and stretched like ancient spirits reawakened: some brandished swords, others opened their arms in forbidden embraces.
The floor, made of ebony wood, was polished into a dark mirror that reflected fire, bodies, and shadows alike, as though they were walking upon the surface of a black lake that swallowed the sky and returned it in shattered fragments. With each step, Aqua felt as though he were treading on his own reflection—or the fractured ghosts of himself.
At the heart of the hall lay a pool of black marble, called the Well of the Underworld. Its water was still, dark, reflecting the flickering lights and shadows upon the high ceiling, carved with grotesques of beasts and forgotten masks, until the scene seemed as though they were staring into an inverted world beneath their feet.
The music was not a song but a pulse. Low drumbeats, deep as the echo of a buried heart, threaded with the breath of a mournful flute, and a lone lyre sketching lines of sorrow. No one truly danced; rather, they partook in a ritual, where every motion of the body was a confession, and every swirl of a shadow a memory returned from an unwritten age.
Barbara advanced with confident steps, her eyes glittering with childlike wonder: "Look— isn't this enchanting?"
But Aqua's eyes were searching. Not for the hall's beauty, but for something else. Something he feared to see as much as he longed to.
At the order table stood Viscountess Marie Vanthorp. She turned at the sight of Barbara and spoke with a smile tinged with surprise and reproach: "Barbara?! What are you doing here, you little mischief? Does the Marquise know of your presence?"
Barbara approached with an elegantly cool smile: "Don't worry, Marie. We won't stay long… we'll just steal a few moments of this evening."
Marie's lips curved into a sly grin as she noticed the boy trailing behind. Her voice lowered into a teasing whisper: "Ah… look at you. Have you found yourself a partner, little one?"
Barbara turned her eyes aside, laughing as she pulled Aqua with her into the center of the hall: "Hush!"
There, upon the glossy black circle, Aqua hesitated, his voice faint: "I don't think this is right, Barbara…"
But she seized both his wrists, her eyes gleaming with a brilliance untouched by doubt: "It's fine… why make it complicated? We'll just steal one moment, one dance—then we'll go."
She spun lightly, drawing him into a graceful turn he was unaccustomed to. His feet stumbled, clumsy in keeping pace, which only drew a peal of bright, ringing laughter from Barbara amid the thundering drums: "Struggling, young knight?"
Their reflections upon the floor seemed like the dance of spirits other than themselves. And Aqua, deep inside, could not tell whether he was dancing—or collapsing.
The hall felt like a world apart from the clamor of the capital; towering walls gleamed with vast dark mirrors, reflecting and multiplying the faces of the guests, as though the place itself toyed with memory and imagination. The torchlight fractured across polished surfaces, sketching circles of light and shadow that swayed with the breath of those within, turning the floor into a living canvas of warm and cold hues.
Aqua stood amidst it all, his eyes fixed upon his broken reflection between the mirrors. Then, suddenly… he closed his eyes.
And when he opened them, the mirrors no longer showed Barbara Starkov. Instead, they revealed another image… one that had haunted him for years. It was the ghost of his sister—her face as luminous as a snowflake, a breath of serenity. Her dress of white and blue flowed like a stream of pure water, her long silver hair drifting about her like a delicate snow of silk. For a moment, Aqua felt like a child again, hearing her laughter echo through the hall's chambers.
But the vision slowly faded… until Barbara's smile reemerged, radiant, bright, like a sun dispersing the shadows. She stood before him, real, alive, different from the past. And in that instant, Aqua felt something break inside—a bitter realization: that clinging to the past was nothing but a burden, and that the present moment was worth living.
He clenched his fists, closed his eyes once more, and the smile that touched his lips this time was bitter… yet true.
He opened his eyes. He reached out and seized Barbara's wrists firmly.
She faltered for a moment, her eyes widening in incomplete surprise, but he gave her no chance to speak. With sudden lightness, he drew her toward him, and she instinctively bent her body in a dancer's bow. He looked down at her with a faint smile unlike any he had ever worn before.
She stared at him in confusion as he lifted her again, then spun her in a fluid step that sent her blue dress whirling around her like an ocean current. He pulled her back into his arms, moving with her in an elegance too effortless to believe.
With every step he drew her along, with every turn their eyes met… searching for an answer she could not find. She smiled faintly, trying to break his silence: "Where did you learn these moves, you pretentious boy? Have you known how to dance all along? Was this your plan to impress me?" She laughed, but her voice was softer than she had expected.
Aqua stayed silent, his gaze fixed. Then, suddenly, his rhythm slowed, as if sinking into deeper waters. Barbara looked at him and found his features shifting. When his voice came, it was strange—low, as though he spoke more to himself than to her: "My sister… she used to come here with me… when we were children."
Barbara froze, her laughter dissolving into a slow silence. She understood. The reason behind his distraction, his unease, his gentle harshness. She blinked, then whispered: "I… I'm sorry. I didn't know."
But with a graceful step he returned her to the dance, dipping her again before lifting her lightly. He looked into her eyes and said with a calm smile: "It's alright… no need to waste this moment. We came here to enjoy ourselves… didn't we?"
Barbara hesitated, then her eyes softened with a gleam of understanding, and she smiled as though she grasped more than words could say. She drew herself closer, allowing her body to sink into the dance.
Under the glow of fire and the mirrored reflections, the pair seemed woven from light and shadow, a living dance that captivated the onlookers. Among the crowd, Marie Vanthorp watched in silence, a faint smile on her lips, as though she saw more than what appeared.
But Aqua and Barbara… were entirely lost in the moment. The world around them slipped away until nothing remained but a dance, a memory, and the flame's glow lighting hearts long steeped in shadow.
The music swelled… deep drums pounding like the earth's heartbeat, threaded with the pale notes of a lyre, then the long breath of a flute drifting through the hall, like a hymn from an age forgotten.
Torches along the walls bathed the chamber in halos of red and gold, while their fire's reflection in the mirrors conjured an illusion that the hall was filled with countless dancing pairs—ghosts of light and shadow.
And in the center of the hall, beneath the fire's glow and the mirrored sky, Aqua and Barbara were lost entirely in their moment… a single, eternal dance, echoing the meeting of sun and moon.
The music quieted slightly, its rhythm gentler now, as if the hall itself had decided to make space for them.
The fire on the walls flickered softer, glowing tenderly like a sunset melting into the horizon.
Aqua and Barbara remained at the center, though it was no longer a dance as before, but a simple, quiet sway, their bodies moving like ripples upon still waters.
Their hands were lightly clasped—not a grip of strength, but a fragile thread binding them together. Barbara tilted her head upward to meet his eyes, finding them distant at first, but when they caught her gaze, they returned—grounded, present, fixed on her.
She smiled faintly, a smile that needed no words, as though saying: I am here.
Aqua gave no reply, but laid his hand gently on her back, a touch like a passing breeze. Their bodies drew closer until the space between them was nothing but the beat of a heart.
There was something childlike, spontaneous, in their steps. Barbara burst into laughter at times when Aqua stumbled with a small mistake, and he would shake his head, murmuring: "Forgive me, I haven't done this in seven years… I'm no good at it."
She answered with quiet cheer: "You're the best partner I could ask for."
The words were not casual… something in the way she spoke made his heart falter for a moment. He said nothing, only spun her with a swift turn that sent her blue dress rippling like a wave, her sandy hair fanning out like golden flames.
When she returned to rest in his arms, he said nothing still… but he gazed at her, longer than he should have, a look he did not wish to end.
Barbara felt it, lowered her eyes for a moment with a shy smile, then lifted them back toward him, as if granting him permission to remain there, in her gaze, unrestrained.
The music around them faded from their awareness, leaving only warmth, only the stillness of the moment.
Even the shadows on the walls seemed to stop their dance, yielding the stage to them alone, as though the entire world had been created to witness only this:
Him… and her.
There were no words of love, no grand confessions. But that gentle dance, that silence full of breaths and quiet laughter, was the greatest confession of all—a confession that for this one moment, they truly were… together.
The music ceased. The drums fell silent. Feet stilled.
A great hush settled over the hall, as though even the lovers' breaths had been frozen in the air.
Aqua and Barbara turned in surprise, finding all eyes fixed upon the distant platform, where suddenly the torches flared with a blazing golden light.
There… a figure rose slowly upon the stage, clad in a heavy black robe, his face hidden behind a white fox mask. He was not alone… around him stood men and women in masks of wild beasts, as if spirits of an ancient forest had been summoned from legend.
Then… the melody began.
It was no ordinary hymn, but a lament that tore the chest.
A lone lyre wove warm threads, trying to gather the piercing wail of the rebab—
that transparent sound, like a fiery arrow, cutting through the heart.
The voices of the choir rose as though in a mysterious prayer:
"Ooooh… Ooooh… Ooooh… ARCADIA… A Ghostly Song…"
The chorus trembled through the hall like a muffled storm, its echoes striking the black walls adorned with silver.
Then the figure in the white mask advanced.
The torchlight glowed upon the silk of black garments, flames reflected in the hidden eyes behind the ivory mask.
The light revealed a slender form and a graceful stance—not one made for a knight.
The face did not need unveiling, for the timbre of the voice, when it whispered, was the truest confession.
A soft voice flowed forth, clear as a shard of ice melting in the room's warmth, like a cold, silent wind passing through the high wooden beams, carrying with it an ancient enchantment that seated the audience in uneasy silence:
"Once a kingdom, proud and high,
Now a shadow in the sky.
Crowned in fire, veiled in dust,
History fades, but scars don't rust."
Here the drums sank low, and the rebab rose like a solitary moan, as if the hall itself breathed pain with each string:
"Chains of gold, the weight of time,
A throne that whispers, "You are mine."
Justice bends where fear still reigns,
And mercy drowns in silent flames."
The rhythm grew sharper, the lyre quickened, and the women's voices interwove—rising and falling like waves:
"Oh, Arcadia, lost in the tide,
Once a kingdom, now cast aside.
A curse of power, a fate undone,
The battle rages, yet no one's won."
Aqua had frozen in place. His eyes widened, every word embedding itself in his chest as if written for him alone.
A heavy weight pressed upon his heart, as though the song was exposing something he had always known deep inside… but had never dared to confess.
Suddenly, the drums fell silent, leaving only the lead singer's voice—a whisper as if disclosing an ancient secret:
"Blades and banners, red with grief,
Who wears the crown—who's the thief?
A nation born from shattered oaths,
A dream that rots but never chokes."
The drums returned slowly, beating like the pulses of a heavy heart, while the choir's voices rose in piercing tones, filling the air with awe:
"If kings return, will we be free?
Or slaves to fate, eternally?
The past is carved in stone and steel,
A broken truth we dare not feel."
Barbara's heart faltered. She felt the hall closing in on her, and that the words were not meant for the crowd, but for Aqua alone. She gripped the edge of his coat, whispering in anxious plea: "Aqua… maybe we should leave. It's getting late…"
But Aqua… did not hear her. His eyes were fixed on the platform, devouring every word as if it were a spell—or a curse—from which there was no escape.
The singer's voice soared higher:
"Oh, Arcadia, kingdom of ghosts,
Where time forgets, but no one knows.
A rise, a fall, a lie, a sin,
Who rules the throne… when none can win?"
The rhythm surged, the choir became a storm, voices rising like waves of the sea and crashing down again. Torches shuddered as though bowing before the hymn:
"The crown still glows in fading light,
A kingdom lost… yet not in sight.
The world may break, the war may end,
But Arcadia… will rise again"
The hymn reached its zenith, a collective cry blending with the sharp rebab and the lyre weeping its strings. The flames along the walls flickered wildly, as though applauding destiny itself.
In that moment, Barbara seized his arm with force, dragging him away. Her steps were hurried, pulling him toward the door, while eyes from all sides followed them.
But Aqua… his head remained turned back.
His eyes never left the platform. Never left the white mask. Never left the hymn that echoed inside him… even after he had passed through the door.
Aqua had left the melody—
but the melody had not left him.
Their footsteps echoed against the cobblestones, the night of the city draped in a gray veil pierced only by the glow of hanging lanterns.
Barbara walked lightly ahead of him, her shoulder trembling with each quick breath, her hand pressed to her chest as though trying to steady her heart. She whispered, her voice barely reaching his ear: "I felt something strange when they began to sing… those words… it was as if they touched me… it frightened me for a moment. What about you? Why were you so distant then?"
But Aqua… was silent. His eyes were unfocused, adrift in a sea of echoes still hammering in his chest like an endless drum. His gaze clung to a faraway void, as though time itself had stopped around him.
When she turned to look at him, she saw something unfamiliar: an inner struggle weighing on his shoulders heavier than any armor.
Before she could speak again, her eyes caught sight of that small food cart that had been there earlier. Her face lit up suddenly, and she smiled softly, her voice brimming with life: "Come on! I'll get you the best fried chicken you've ever tasted!"
She darted lightly toward the stall, like a child stumbling upon a small refuge from the weight of the world.
But Aqua remained still, drowning in his thoughts… until a small body suddenly collided with him. He staggered for a moment, pushed back, yet he paid little mind at first… his mind still a prisoner of the song.
And then a strange sensation swept over him… an emptiness at his side. His hand moved instinctively, reaching for the hilt of his sword—only to grasp at air.
His breath quickened, his eyes widening bit by bit… the sword was gone.
He spun around, and there he saw it—
a thin boy darting through the crowd, the black blade gleaming in his arms.
Aqua's voice erupted, a roar ripping through the night of the city: "You!!!"
He surged forward at full speed, chasing the boy through the throng. The crowd turned, startled. Barbara turned first, her face overtaken by shock: "Aqua!? What's happening!!?"
But she didn't wait for an answer. She ran after him at once, while Aqua drove himself harder, shoulders crashing against passersby, shoving past them, his eyes locked on the thief slipping between bodies like a shadow that knew every corner and every escape.
Aqua was panting, his body straining beneath the weight of the pursuit, but he did not stop. The boy was fast—so fast the distance grew instead of closing. Aqua's eyes stayed fixed on the sword, the one thing he could never afford to lose.
Between ragged breaths, he muttered through clenched teeth: "Damn it… if only Raymond were in this situation."
At the end of the long passage, the boy veered left, vanishing into a branching path. Aqua halted briefly, gasping for breath, his mind alight as he studied the place.
Corners, alleys… a trade route that spilled into the forests. He whispered to himself, broken between breaths: "[If Raymond were here… what would he do?]"
The answer came swiftly.
Instead of following the boy's steps, Aqua lunged into a side alley. His feet struck the ground hard, muscles burning with the pace.
And there… at the end of the other lane, the boy stood leaning against a wall, panting, waiting for the moment his pursuer would emerge so he could slip away in the opposite direction.
But he did not realize… the tiger had already circled behind him.
Aqua pounced, seizing the boy by his collar, lifting him clean off the ground before slamming him against the wall with such force the air burst from his lungs. The sword clattered to the ground, its metal ringing against the stone.
Aqua roared, his face nearly bursting with fury: "You little wretch!! I'll cut your arms off for this!!"
The boy trembled like a branch in a storm, tears gathering in his eyes, his voice breaking in fear: "I… I'm sorry, my lord! I didn't mean to… please, forgive me!"
But Aqua's eyes remained sharp, like the very blade he had nearly lost.
Suddenly, a familiar voice rose at the mouth of the alley: "Aqua!!"
Barbara was running toward him, her breath ragged. He glanced at her for a moment, then back at the boy, who looked nothing more than a terrified child. Aqua's grip loosened, and he let him drop to the ground.
He bent to pick up the sword, lifting it as though clutching it to his chest.
Barbara approached more calmly now, her eyes shifting to the trembling boy before rising to Aqua. Her tone was soft, tinged with compassion: "Aqua… he's only trying to find a little money to eat. He meant nothing else."
Aqua stayed silent, his grip tightening around the hilt of the sword. He exhaled slowly, his voice strained: "If he had asked, I would have given. But to steal the one thing I have left in this world!…"
Barbara stepped closer, her gaze drifting to the black blade in his hand.
She studied his face, then murmured faintly to herself: "…Your uncle's sword…"
And at that… Aqua lowered his head slightly, as though the weight of the entire world had returned to rest upon his shoulders.
Then, with a hushed voice, turning his face away and moving on in heavy steps, he whispered: "Let's… just go."
Barbara did not answer him. She remained standing in place, her eyes following him for a moment before they lowered to the boy still sitting on the ground. He stared into emptiness, tears pooling in his eyes like deep wells that nothing could ever fill.
She exhaled slowly, then walked toward him in calm steps. Kneeling down until her gaze met his, she made him lift his eyes to her with hesitation and suspicion.
Barbara's voice came forth soft, like a breeze on a still night: "What's your name?"
The boy lifted his head toward her, his sunken eyes bearing an age that did not belong to him, as though his childhood had been stolen before it could take shape. He wiped away a tear that had traced his cheek with a dirt-stained hand, struggling to hide the trembling of his lips.
"Alen…" he spoke it quietly, as one reclaiming from the ruins of memory the last fragment of himself.
Barbara studied him intently, her eyes narrowing little by little until a faint smile spread across her face—one that carried more warmth than words ever could. A single small step brought her closer to him, as though she were crossing the distance between two different worlds.
But she said nothing… instead, she drew a small leather pouch from her pocket and held it out to him.
Barbara: "Take this… it will help you."
His hands trembled as he reached for the pouch. He opened it quickly… and his eyes widened in shock. Dozens of gold coins gleamed inside. His expression shifted—from misery to astonishment, and from astonishment to a radiant smile he had not worn in a long time.
But Barbara did not let him drown in the glitter. Her voice came soft, warm, like a mother speaking to her child: "That's not what I meant… there is something far more important."
The boy faltered, lifting his head to her, his voice hoarse and questioning: "More important than gold?… What could that be?"
His fingers dove back into the pouch, and there… they touched something colder, different. He pulled it out.
It was a red coin, relatively heavy, carefully engraved. On one side, the letter V; on the other, the letter D, etched with fine lines that shimmered beneath the moonlight.
He raised his brows in bewilderment, turning it between his fingers: "What is this?… Is this what you meant?"
Barbara smiled, then let out a soft laugh as she rose to her feet, stepping back with steady steps.
Barbara: "That… if you want a better future, to be free from these alleys… seize this chance. Go to him… his men are everywhere. Just hand that coin to a merchant in the port of Varlom or in Dreenland… and you'll be guided to him."
She did not wait for his reply, nor did she look back. She vanished into the darkness of the alley, leaving the boy clutching in his hand the shape of his new fate.
This boy had been one of the "street rats"—a small gang that once infested the capital, run by men steeped in corruption, until they were swept aside by a knightess who later came to be known as the Star of the Night. The boys had scattered then: some perished, some wandered, and others lingered as echoes drifting through the alleys.
But this boy… now stood before two paths. One leading to hunger, theft, and death as a shadow in the dark. The other… to a chance, to a beginning, to another destiny.
On the other side of the street… Barbara was hurrying to catch up with Aqua, calling to him in a voice low yet insistent: "Aqua… wait!"
He turned to her after a moment, his eyes still clouded with distraction, and she fell silent. She walked up beside him until she was at his side. No words were exchanged. They simply walked together in a long silence.
The night around them whispered, and the city slept. But between their steps, something unseen was forming… a bond Barbara did not yet understand, but one that was already sinking deeper.
Saveros – Kallery – A Small Carriage Moving Through the Wet Streets
Liana sat in the back of the carriage, her body hunched forward, her head resting on her knees. The light rain tapped against the wooden roof, and the wheels rattling over the mud sent faint tremors through her feet. She wasn't looking at anything... just staring into the void, her eyes glassy, lost in the darkness of her thoughts.
The driver was an ordinary man, a drunkard reeking of cheap wine. He held his cup in one hand while lazily flicking the reins with the other. His tired eyes carried a cynical look as he watched the nobles in the streets tossing coins to beggars as if throwing crumbs to pigeons. He sighed, then let out a faint, mocking chuckle as he raised his cup slightly before speaking.
"AAh… the nobles."
He paused for a moment, then continued, his voice hoarse from drinking.
"They have everything. Money, mansions, embroidered clothes, servants polishing their boots before they even get dirty… And yet, they look at us as if we were filth stuck to their soles."
He took another swig, then nodded toward a nobleman passing by, laughing alongside a woman dressed in a gown lined with gold.
"Do you see that man over there? He may look polite, elegant, a respectable man... but I've seen men like him laugh the same way while ordering their soldiers to burn down an entire house... just because the poor farmer living in it was a day late in paying his tax."
He waved his glass as if trying to dispel an image from his mind.
"They think we don't see, don't understand, don't feel. But we know... we know how they live in their palaces, how they eat from plates of gold while our children steal scraps from the mouths of starving dogs. We know how they frown in boredom if their service is delayed for a moment, how they believe we exist solely to bow before them, to break our backs so their tables remain full."
He sighed, then muttered, staring into his cup.
"In the end, we don't even have the luxury of dreaming of something better."
Liana listened without lifting her head. She said nothing, though she had met one of them. To her, Raymond was a different example... but he was merely an exception in a sea of nobles who lived in a world of their own. Her eyes remained fixed on the void as if his words did not touch her... but they did. They sank their claws deep into her heart.
She pressed her fingers against her knees, each word from the coachman sinking into her as if she were hearing them for the first time, seeping slowly into her depths. She knew well that many nobles were as he described. She knew the ruling class knew no justice, that the poor starved while feasts overflowed in the palaces. She knew... and at the same time, she had seen it with her own eyes in a dark moment.
And what terrified her the most… was that she could not deny a single word he said.
At that moment, the carriage suddenly halted, its wheels slipping in the muddy road before jerking to a sharp stop. The rustling trees swayed strangely in the damp air, and the coachman's voice rang out in startled irritation.
"You there, madman! What are you doing in the middle of the road?"
But the man standing before the carriage did not answer. He stood in the middle of the path as if he were a stone, unmoving.
Raymond.
His face was hazy beneath his cloak, unmoved, ignoring the world's rhythm around him, even as the coachman leaned forward, spitting out words laced with anger. Raymond did not care for the man's complaints. Instead, he reached into his pocket, pulled out two gold coins, and tossed them into the air, letting them land quietly on the carriage's threshold.
Then, he stepped back before climbing inside, his gaze fixed on the carriage.
In that moment, Liana saw the familiar face before her... the face of a man she no longer knew how to deal with. Her eyes narrowed suddenly, as fear surged from deep within her. Her fingers tightened around her bag, as if trying to hold on to herself before she slipped away.
Raymond, sensing her tension, did not move immediately. He closed his eyes for a second, as if taking a deep breath. Then, slowly, he took a single step forward.
Liana's unease grew. She froze, as if time itself had wrapped around her. She tried to remain composed, but his eyes… they followed her. Without a word, Raymond sat quietly across from her. His movements were slow, deliberate.
She struggled to steady her breath, but words failed to form. Her eyes, which had seen nothing but emptiness throughout the journey, were now drawn back to him... as if he had entered her world once more in an inexplicable way. She closed her eyes for a second, feeling a strange weight settle in her chest.
The coachman glanced at her, uncertain of what was happening, but Liana lifted her head slightly in a quiet gesture. He did not understand, but there was nothing to do except flick the reins and continue onward.
The horses surged forward, and as the carriage rolled farther away, Liana buried her head between her knees, as if trying to escape what she had just seen... to escape everything... as if peace itself was slipping away from her.
But Raymond remained silent in his seat, his eyes fixed on the sky, where raindrops scattered against the carriage's roof... as if weighing their eyes with even more unspoken questions.
Time passed. The carriage moved. And inside, there was a deadly silence, as if nothing could ever return to the way it was.
Raymond: "You weren't the one who wrecked everything in the castle, were you?"
His words were quiet, yet they cut through the stillness of the carriage like an arrow.
Liana did not reply. Her body curled in on itself. She buried her head between her knees, her arms wrapped tightly around her legs as if they were a frail shield against the world. She was trying to escape... not just from him, but from the truth itself.
Raymond remained silent, his gaze piercing, unreadable. There was no anger in his expression, nor confusion. Just an unsettling calm, as if he were watching a familiar scene that no longer surprised him. Then, without warning, he exhaled slowly.
Raymond: "I knew that…"
Liana shuddered... not from the cold, but from the weight of his words. Something in his voice made her chest tighten, a strange sensation that she was completely exposed before him, despite her desperate attempts to hide everything. She lifted her head just slightly, enough for a fleeting glance toward him.
He sat there, unbothered, a small, almost sardonic smile on his lips... as if everything had been clear to him from the start.
Raymond: "When Rinus told me, I didn't believe it at first... until he said he went to my room and found you there. If you had done it, he would've told me about the damage to the castle, but there was nothing. Then I thought… what reason would you have to do such a thing?"
He paused for a moment, then lifted his gaze to her... as if delivering a final judgment.
Raymond: "Was it one of those men who chased us before…?"
She didn't answer. She only shut her eyes tightly, as if trying to push something out of her mind. But she couldn't.
Tears fell... not sobs, but a slow unraveling, a thread of pain spilling out beyond her control. With a trembling hand, she wiped her cheeks and murmured, her voice barely audible, as if confessing something she had been denying even to herself.
Liana: "They were with me… I was the one who planned it."
She spoke while staring at the carriage floor, unable to lift her eyes to him, as if afraid of what she might see in his expression. Then, after a heavy silence, she continued, her voice hesitant but laden with weight.
Liana: "When the first time I saw you… you looked ordinary, like any other aristocrat who ended up here, wandering the streets. But what made you different… was your lineage. No matter how penniless you seemed, you were still a noble of Vanheim."
She stopped. Her lips trembled slightly, as if fighting herself before adding:
Liana: "So, we planned to trap you back then."
The rain outside faded into a soft murmur, as if the world itself had paused at her words. She took a shaky breath, wiping her face in a futile attempt to regain composure.
Then, after a moment's hesitation, in a voice barely above a whisper... like holding something fragile, afraid it might break... she said.
Liana: "I deceived you… I stole from you… but the one thing I never lied about… was how I felt about you."
She felt her chest tighten as if the words were choking her, but she could no longer keep them inside.
Silence filled the carriage, heavier than any words could be. Raymond did not move, did not speak. He only watched her, his gaze impossible to decipher... not angry, not pitying… but something else entirely. Something that made her feel as if she had nowhere left to hide.
Then… Raymond reached for his cloak.
The fabric rustled softly, like a breeze stirring between trees. The sound made Liana open her eyes slowly, as if waking from a heavy dream.
And when she looked up… she saw Raymond drape his cloak gently over her shoulders... without saying a word. His touch was light, yet it carried an indescribable weight, as if it belonged to someone who knew exactly what cold felt like… and what loneliness truly was.
But what she was really looking at wasn't the cloak... it was Raymond's face right in front of her.
He was close enough for her to see his eyes, that flickering light within them, as if something inside refused to fall… a tear that wouldn't drop.
His features were calm, reassuring in a way she couldn't understand. There was no reproach, no anger… just presence. The presence of someone who didn't have to stay, yet chose to.
And at that moment, without thinking… she lunged toward him.
She held him tightly... not just a mere embrace, but a desperate grasp… a silent collapse in the rain.
Her hands clung to his clothes as if afraid he would disappear. She buried her face in his chest, and her eyes overflowed with everything she had been holding back. It wasn't just crying; it was as if she was releasing something that had been trapped deep within her for years… anguish, regret, sorrow, fear… and something she hadn't even admitted to herself.
When she held him, she hadn't intended to speak… but she broke down.
She gasped, like someone trying to breathe for the first time after nearly drowning, then began whispering, her voice fractured, trembling between sobs.
"I'm sorry… I… I'm so sorry… I'm sorry…"
She repeated it as if there were no other words, as if that single word held everything she couldn't express. Her voice was filled with something deeper than regret… something akin to slow, inevitable collapse, as if all she had suppressed had come crashing down at once.
Raymond didn't move at first. It was as if he was processing what was happening, hesitating for just a moment… Then, with rare gentleness, he raised his hand and lightly touched her head.
It wasn't a forceful embrace, not sweet words, nothing excessive. Just… a touch.
He started to gently pat her, his fingers lightly brushing through her wet hair, as if she were a lost child who had finally found her way back.
Raymond didn't respond. He didn't try to stop her. He simply let her cry… let her pour out everything inside her, while he comforted her in silence, as if telling her that apologies no longer mattered.
The rain kept falling, the world outside the carriage kept turning… but in that moment, inside that carriage, time had stopped.
Kallery – After what felt like an eternity of silence, the carriage finally stopped in the middle of the city.
Both of them stepped out. The streets were crowded, but all the noise faded before what was happening between them.
Liana walked a few steps, then suddenly halted. Raymond, who had been walking ahead, stopped as well and looked back at her in silence.
She was frowning, gripping her bag so tightly that her fingers trembled. Then, slowly, she extended her hand toward him, offering him the bag.
She said nothing, but the way her fingers tightened around it told him everything she couldn't say.
It was that unspoken word in her eyes, in the way she stood, in the turmoil that gripped her.
But when she finally opened her mouth, her voice was quiet, shaky, barely audible.
The air was cold, but it wasn't the reason her fingers trembled as they clutched the bag.
She stood there, silent, hesitant, tense, as if everything inside her was waging a battle. She had to do it… to get rid of it, to hand it over to him. But why was it so difficult?
And finally, in a voice so faint it sounded like she despised saying it, she whispered:
Liana: "Take it…"
Raymond didn't move. He didn't reach out, didn't even look like he had heard her.
Instead, he glanced at the bag she held as if it weighed more than it should, then lifted his gaze to her.
His expression wasn't pitying, hesitant, or even surprised. It was calm… confident… decisive. Then, in a steady voice, he said without hesitation:
Raymond: "It's fine. You can keep it."
But Liana's fingers only tightened around the bag, as if she wasn't just offering it to him but insisting... strongly, stubbornly, with a hidden desperation.
Liana: "No, I won't take it."
Her words were strained, but not weak. Raymond saw it.
He saw how her determination wavered between defiant pride and a desperation she was trying to hide. He saw how fiercely she was trying to defend something she wasn't even sure existed anymore.
He stepped closer.
It wasn't a threat, not an attempt to impose his will. He simply stood nearer… so she wouldn't escape.
Then, in a quiet yet undeniable tone, he said simply:
Raymond: "You'll need it for your family."
The moment the words left his lips, they pierced through something inside her... something she wasn't ready to face.
Her… family?
It was quick... the tension in her brow, the way she inhaled sharply, how her face paled for a second.
Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to respond, to say something… but only unsteady breaths escaped them.
Then, as if grasping for anything to keep herself standing, she stammered:
Liana: "W… What?! No! My family is fine! Who told you that?!... Was it Wilder?!"
Raymond didn't answer immediately.
He didn't need to. Instead, he slowly extended his hand.
Her hands were trembling. They were cold. Her pulse was erratic.
Gently, yet firmly, he took her hands, as if she was about to collapse without realizing it. He lowered them slowly, as if she were carrying a weight she had never admitted was there.
Then, he looked at her directly. His eyes were calm… but they said everything.
It wasn't the look of a man trying to convince her. It was the look of someone who had already understood.
Raymond: "I told you… it's fine."
For a moment, she felt like her breath froze inside her. She hadn't expected anyone to notice what she was trying to hide. And she hadn't expected it to be him.
Then, the next words came… softly, yet carrying something else this time: "Also, did you forget? … I am a Vanheim."
It was gentle… but it weighed more than she could bear. "This amount means nothing to me."
To him, this bag was just numbers. But to her…? It was something far greater.
It was her pride. Her refusal to admit. Everything she had been running from since the beginning.
She wanted to refuse, to lift her head and throw the bag in his face, to scream that she needed nothing from him.
But she knew the truth. She knew it painfully well, without needing to hear it from him.
Her family needed this money.
But… to take it? To admit that?
That was harder than she could bear.
And then… he said it.
In a soft voice that left no room for retreat.
Raymond: "Don't worry. Just go to them. And if anyone asks where you got the money from…"
He paused for a moment.
It was brief, but to Liana, it felt like the silence before a storm, as if the entire world had waited with him.
Then, as if his words were just a passing remark, he said it with his usual calm, with that quiet weight that left no room for debate: "Tell them it's from your husband."
The tension shattered.
Suddenly, Liana's head snapped up, her eyes wide, as if she wasn't sure she had heard him correctly.
She stared at him, searching for any hint that he was joking, testing her reaction, trying to provoke her.
But Raymond wasn't smiling. He wasn't joking. He wasn't even waiting for a response.
He was… too calm. Too confident. As if what he had just said was completely obvious.
And then, as if that wasn't enough…
He lifted his gaze to her, his tone still composed, as if he were discussing something entirely ordinary.
Raymond: "As for me, I'll be going now. There's something I need to take care of, and I'd also like to check on Rinus. I'll return later to meet your family."
He said it with the same simplicity one might use to announce a meeting time or a short trip, as if his previous words hadn't been an earthquake that suddenly shook her world, leaving her amidst the rubble, struggling to catch her breath.
Then, with complete calmness, he turned and walked away, leaving her suspended between shock and confusion.
It felt as if something inside her had stopped working... or perhaps had started working in a way she had never experienced before. Her heart was pounding wildly, not out of fear, but because of something else… something she had yet to comprehend. A strange warmth crept into her cheeks as her mind screamed with questions that had no answers.
But she couldn't let him leave so easily.
Liana: "Wait!"
The word escaped faster than she expected, stronger than she intended, carrying all the tension she had fought so hard to hide.
Yet, he did not stop. She felt the blood boiling in her veins, the anger wrestling with confusion, and that unnameable feeling pressing on her chest with a suffocating weight.
Liana: "Who said we're getting married?!"
This time… he stopped. There was no rush, no shock, not even a moment of hesitation.
Just a brief silence… calm… assured. But he didn't turn around. He didn't need to. Because the smile that formed on his lips… was enough.
Soft, subtle, yet carrying something deeper than mere amusement. Something that felt like an acknowledgment... or perhaps a promise... without the need for words.
Then, without saying a single word, he lifted his hand in a simple farewell gesture… and stepped into the carriage. As if, to him, the matter had been settled from the very beginning.
As if she needed no answer beyond that smile. As if he had left her to drown in the chaos he had ignited within her… and walked away as if nothing had happened.
As for her… she remained standing there. Paralyzed between anger, tension, and denial… when suddenly, something crept into her... a feeling she couldn't quite define. A strange warmth. And her heartbeat, quickening without permission.
Heat rushed to her face even more, and when she turned to the street, she noticed a few people watching her.
Her face flushed completely. Embarrassment. Frustration. A whirlwind of emotions all at once.
And yet… despite everything… in that moment, without realizing it… a smile formed on her lips.
Not just any smile... but one of those rare smiles that come from deep within, despite all efforts to suppress it. A smile carrying traces of shyness, hidden happiness, and perhaps… something close to an unspoken confession.
A beautiful smile.
Then, As Time Passed…
Varlom – Castrophil Keep – In the high balcony.
The night sky loomed over the land, cloaking it in darkness, while the cold winds howled through the horizon, as if mourning the sorrow that engulfed the earth. Among the dark clouds, a falcon carved its path like a black shadow against the frigid air, its wings beating steadily until it reached its destination.
The falcon descended onto the high balcony of the Castel's upper floor, where Rinus stood waiting. He gazed into its eyes for a moment... eyes untouched by the warmth of life, yet seeing everything with a clarity akin to an unspoken truth.
Rinus's eyes widened the moment he saw the red seal, marked with the emblem of the serpent. His expression reflected a crossroads, a pulse of restless anxiety. His fingers trembled briefly, as if hesitating to touch it or even acknowledge it. But in an instant, he understood, his eyes sinking into that bitter clarity. He turned sharply, his swift footsteps echoing through the dimly lit marble corridors, his gaze steeled with a haunting resolve, heading straight outside.