The autumn sun crept shyly, its rays cut off by the top of the palace tower and spilled as a copper glint on the training yard. Ren stood to the side, as if merely waiting for his duty to deliver water; but his eyes followed every movement of Princess Knight Alicia as she slashed at the steel-hard log. The Lumenheart sword ignited a spark of white mana, but Alicia's eyes looked dim—reminding Ren of embers that were about to go out because of a wavering wind.
Once the training was over, the soldiers dispersed. Hiro chatted with the general, once again lost in logistical plans. Alicia slid her sword back into its sheath, then walked alone to the tent beside the field, as if seeking air. Ren followed slowly; not chasing, but offering a "coincidence" that was always right on time.
Inside the tent, there were only wooden benches and a water drum. Alicia sat down, removing her steel gloves, staring at her red palms. Ren stood at the door, knocking on the cloth pole. "May I come in?"
Alicia looked up, trying to smile bravely. "You always show up when I look weak, huh?"
"If it happens to be called by the heart, maybe it's destiny," Ren replied lightly. He took the herbal ointment from his pocket—he had brought it since morning—then knelt down, gently rubbing it on the temple of Alicia's thumb. The girl winced, but didn't pull her hand away.
"Hiro is getting busier," she murmured, staring at her cream-covered finger. "It feels like every step we take is a war step now. There's no room to think about… anything else."
"Something else?" Ren raised an eyebrow.
Alicia swallowed, looking down at her sword. "About what it means to win if your heart is left empty." She laughed bitterly. "It's hard, huh, when your role is a hero. You have to look perfect, even when you're afraid."
Ren let out a short sigh—half sympathy, half acting. "You know, I used to wish I could be a hero. But after seeing the burden on your shoulders, I'm grateful to be just a servant who can hear." He tied Alicia's blonde hair so that it wouldn't stick to her sweat, a gentle but precise movement. "Sometimes, listening is more life-saving than slashing monsters."
Alicia stared at him for a long moment. "Then… listen." Her voice was barely a whisper. "If someone smiles only to hide their wounds… should we ask them to take off their mask, or should we just stand by their side?"
Ren straightened up, pretending to think, then said ambiguously, "Sometimes the mask needs to crack from the inside. You can't force it, but you can be the reason they want to open it themselves." He patted the back of Alicia's hand warmly. "Be a mirror, not a hammer."
The Knight Princess closed her eyes, memorizing her words—a mirror, not a hammer. When Ren said goodbye, she called out softly, "Ren… if my mask cracks, stay here."
Ren bowed—the gesture of a dutiful servant—but when his back was turned, his faint smile hinted at a plan maturing.
The Great Library was silent except for the squeak of pens in the closed research room. Selene sat cross-legged on a low couch, her grimoire open in her lap. Ren copied symbols onto parchment, writing slowly to make the conversation last longer.
"Your mind is foggy, Lady Selene," Ren said without looking up.
Selene snorted. "I was concentrating." But the crystal pen paused; she stared at Ren—as if searching for the mirror he had just mentioned.
Ren rolled out the parchment, placing it on the table in front of Selene. "If you put a resonance triangle here," he pointed to the edge of the circle, "the mana waves will bounce back, forming an echo chamber. You can hide your inner voice inside it."
Selene blinked. "The inner voice doesn't need an echo. It needs clarity." Then, more quietly, "How do we know what we want… if there are too many variables?"
Ren leaned back in his chair, feigning hesitation, then repeated the ambiguous sentence, "The echo lets you hear the loudest words. Maybe the outside input needs to be muffled, so that only the most honest whispers remain."
The Grand Sorcerer stared blankly at the symbol. "But the most honest whispers are sometimes scary," she whispered. She bit her lip as her silver eyes met Ren's. "Like… thinking about someone when you should be thinking about destiny."
Ren lowered his head, swallowing nonexistent saliva. "What's scary is not desire, my lady. What's scary is denying it until it's too late." He reached out, touching the back of her hand briefly—very lightly, as light as breath on frosted glass. Selene shivered, but did not flinch. Her gaze was clouded, somewhere between analysis and new throbbing.
"Your ambiguity is disturbing," she murmured.
"Ambiguity saves," Ren replied. "It gives room for interpretation, room for choice."
Selene closed the grimoire tightly, standing. "Tonight, I will deploy the resonance triangle in the meditation room. Keep me company—someone to hold me back if the echoes get too loud."
Ren bowed. "With pleasure, my lady."
Dusk was approaching evening. In the front chapel, the morning mass candles had been prepared early because Maria couldn't take a nap. She sat on a bench, her prayer book open but unread. Ren came in with a basket of dried roses for tomorrow's incense.
"You haven't eaten yet," Ren reprimanded.
Maria twirled the rosary in her fingers. "My tongue feels bitter every time I eat. It's like there's something stuck in my heart."
Ren put the basket down, sitting across the aisle on another bench. "Speak. Maybe the bitterness will be less if shared."
Maria took a deep breath. "If someone gives me comfort, should I be grateful… or suspicious because my heart is easily shaken?"
"That depends," Ren answered, standing deliberately ambivalent. "Does the comforter demand anything in return?"
Maria shook her head quickly. "No. But… my own mind demands guilt."
Ren smiled faintly—a victim's face full of understanding. "Maybe we're the same, Maria. I often feel guilty accepting the prayers of good people like you, even though it might not be appropriate."
Maria was shocked, covering her mouth. "Don't say that! You… you deserve it!"
"If a saint says I deserve it, maybe I can believe it a little." Ren leaned forward, touching Maria's shoulder—a light touch, but she held his hand there, as if begging him not to leave.
"Thank you," she whispered. Tears brimmed at the tips of her eyelashes, but this time they weren't of sorrow: they were a kind of relief, because in the ambiguity of Ren's suggestion, Maria found justification for a feeling she couldn't suppress.
In the moonlit garden, Eiryn was picking luminescent leaves for a spirit salve. Ren approached with a hand lamp—acting as a savior who provided light. The elf turned, smiling thinly.
"The wind whispers that you are anxious," Ren began, mimicking an elven idiom.
Eiryn looked down at the luminous leaves. "The wind carries news of a tangled heart." She held the strands to her chest. "When two winds of opposite directions meet, a storm may be born."
"Sometimes storms push away the clouds," Ren replied poetically. He flicked on the lamp, its light dancing in Eiryn's emerald eyes. "Where does your wind want you to go?"
"I… don't know yet," Eiryn answered slowly. "My heart flutters when spirits come to me—but lately, it's come when spirits are still. When someone stands beside me."
Ren took a deep breath of air. "Then perhaps your wind is pushing you to the ground—so that you feel grass, not just sky."
The elf laughed softly, the sound of wind passing through a bamboo flute. "I don't understand your cunning human language, Ren. But it's… comforting." She took the lamp from Ren's hand, letting their fingers touch on the iron handle. "Your light is comforting, though not always clear."
Ren lowered his head, letting the lamp be taken. "If you need a more honest light, tell me. I'll turn it off… or it'll burn brighter."
Eiryn's eyes were half closed, as if studying the stars. "Sometimes the dimness makes the stars visible." She handed the lamp back, but their fingers intertwined for two seconds longer than was appropriate.
Night was thick. The dorm room was dark except for the candle on Ren's desk. He opened his notebook, scribbling quickly:
Today:
– Alicia was given the concept of 'mirror vs hammer'.
– Selene demanded the guidance of an inner echo.
– Maria received vindication for her guilt.
– Eiryn was guided to find dim comfort.
My role: victim in need of acceptance + gentle savior. Effect: confusion grew, they began to question which was light and which was shadow.
Ren closed the book, blowing out the candle. Behind the window curtains, the palace slept; only four different windows remained lit—each owned by a woman holding a riddle of feelings.
Alicia stood on the balcony, hugging her sword like a doll. The wind from last night's rain still lingered in her hair. Is Ren the one I seek? Or just a warm shoulder? she thought.
In the purple tower, Selene sat inside the resonance circle. Her inner echo turned a thousand times, but the name "Ren" was the loudest—making the circle vibrate until it cracked.
In the dark chapel, Maria knelt, pressing her prayer book to her chest. With every word of "love," Ren's face appears in place of the icon of the Goddess.
In the deep forest, Eiryn calls out to the spirits, but the voice of nature answers with a single whisper: "Him."
Four hearts stir, four beats blend in the thick air—all drawn to a single ambiguous star that offers warmth and mist at once.
And a true hero—Hiro—finally looks around, sensing an inexplicable hole in the side of the Knight Princess. He doesn't yet know the name of the hole… but the first step of suspicion has been taken.