After dinner, the Great Hall slowly began to empty. Most students drifted off toward their House dormitories, their chatter fading down the long corridors. A few lingered at the smaller tables, laughing softly with their friends under the glow of floating candles.
Eirene rose from her seat, her movements slower than usual, her face carrying a faint shadow of unease. Kalen, who had been quietly watching her from across the room, stood as well. Something in her expression tugged at him—an unspoken conflict she was trying to mask.
"Where are you going? And why do you still look upset?" Kalen asked, stepping closer.
"It's nothing, Aeron," Eirene replied quickly, though her eyes betrayed her worry. "Tina told me Professor Maeron was looking for me, so I'm just heading to his clinic. I'll also… ask him for some money for tomorrow's shopping." Her voice faltered slightly at the last part.
Kalen frowned. "Okay then… do you want me to escort you to his clinic?" His tone was sincere, his concern plain.
Eirene managed a small smile and shook her head. "It's fine, Aeron. I'll manage on my own. You should rest. Good night."
Reluctantly, Kalen stopped there, watching her walk away until she disappeared down the torch-lit hallway. He didn't follow, yet he couldn't bring himself to return to his dorm either. Instead, he wandered back to his House table and sat down, staring absently at the flickering candlelight on the empty plates.
Across the hall at the Drakemont table, Marcus noticed him. For a brief moment, their eyes met—Kalen's steady, Marcus's unreadable. Then, without a word, Marcus turned back to his friends, laughing as if nothing had passed between them.
The soft glow of a single lantern lit Professor Maeron's cabin when Eirene stepped inside. The smell of parchment and herbs hung in the air, as if the room itself carried the weight of both medicine and secrets.
"Ah! Princess—finally, you're here." Maeron rose from his chair with a relieved smile. His voice always carried warmth whenever he used that name, the name he had given her since birth.
"Hello, Professor," Eirene greeted politely.
"Now you've finally made time for your godfather," Maeron teased gently, though his eyes betrayed concern. "You know, my little princess, I've been looking for you all afternoon until now, yet you were nowhere to be found. Where were you? Are you well? And why are your eyes so red? Have you been crying?"
Eirene lowered her gaze quickly. "It's nothing, Professor. Something went into my eyes, that's all."
"You were looking for me—was there something special?" she asked, trying to change the subject.
Maeron studied her face, his eyes sharp, searching for cracks in the mask she wore. But as always, she kept her emotions hidden too well, leaving him no answers. Finally, he sighed, moving toward his desk.
From the drawer, he drew out a small card and held it out to her.
"What is this?" Eirene asked, her voice cautious, her hands refusing to move.
"It's your bank card. Take it."
She looked at him with questioning eyes, still hesitant.
"Take it, Princess," Maeron urged softly. "This is your own money—left by your parents. It has nothing to do with me. It will help with your studies."
The word parents struck her heart like a bell. Slowly, with trembling fingers, she reached forward and took the card. The moment her skin brushed against it, her eyes filled with tears, blurring the name embossed on the plastic.
Maeron's chest tightened at the sight. He wanted to gather her into his arms, to soothe her pain, but as always, she created distance between them.
"If you don't have anything else to say," she whispered, wiping her tears quickly, "I'll take my leave now. Good night, Professor."
He had let her go like this many times before. But tonight, for the first time in her eight years of life, he stopped her.
"Wait, Princess."
Eirene froze mid-step, then turned, her face composed now, her voice calm. "Yes, Professor?"
Maeron swallowed, suddenly uncertain, yet he forced the words out. "May I ask you something?"
"Sure," she replied.
"Why are you always so distant from me? Why have you never once called me your godfather? Why do you never share your feelings… your suffering… with me?"
Eirene stared at him, stunned for a moment. But she recovered quickly, a bitter smile curving her lips. Stepping closer, she looked him directly in the eyes.
"Because, Professor," she said in a steady voice, "you've always lied to me about my parents. The day you tell me the truth, I'll accept you as my godfather. Until then… you are only a professor to me."
Her words cut deeper than any blade. Maeron felt his lips seal, unable to defend himself against this little girl's piercing truth. Yes, he had hidden the real story of her parents' death. And yes, guilt weighed heavily upon him. But he had done it for her sake—or so he believed.
"Very well," he murmured at last, trying to steady his voice. "I'll guide you to the main hall."
"There's no need, Professor. I can go on my own."
"There is a need," he said firmly. "It's against school rules for students to wander alone outside the building at night. If anyone sees you, your House will lose points—or worse, you might get detention. I won't let that happen. Come."
Together, they walked back through the silent corridors until they reached the Great Hall. There, Kalen was still seated at his House table, waiting. The moment he saw Eirene with Maeron—and the card trembling in her hand—he rose from his seat.
"Good night, Eirene. Professor." His voice was quiet, his expression unreadable. Then he turned and left for his dormitory.
Eirene too excused herself and moved toward her dorm, the card pressed tightly in her palm.
Maeron remained behind, watching her departure with a heaviness in his chest, the flickering hall lights casting long shadows over his face. He stood there alone, as if rooted in place by the truth he could not yet bring himself to tell.