In the vast, cold palace hall, the high ceiling adorned with ancient sky paintings looked gray that day. Crystal pillars stood majestically along the room, yet not a single ray of light could soothe the unease etched on King Darius's face.
He stood before the glass window overlooking the Valtherion valley, where magic should flow peacefully. But that morning… the air felt strange. The magic that once ran pure now seemed sluggish. Faded. As if held back by something unseen.
King Darius let out a heavy sigh. His silver beard quivering as he murmured to himself, "It's been a month… why hasn't that shadow completely disappeared…"
Slow yet hurried footsteps echoed behind him.
Queen Caelia entered, her face pale. Her golden-blond hair was less tidy than usual, and her purple robe seemed hastily worn. Her expression carried a tension she could not hide.
"Darius," her voice trembled almost imperceptibly. "You still can't trace him?"
King Darius shook his head slowly, eyes fixed on the window.
"No. The veil between this world and the Earth is too thick. The magic's energy is too weak… or perhaps deliberately suppressed. I cannot sense his presence."
Caelia fell silent beside him. For a moment, they only heard the wind stirring the curtains and the faint pulsing of magic outside—not as usual. Unstable. Tangled.
"Mathien should have recovered by now," Caelia finally murmured. "He is the prince of Valtherion. Heir to the highest magic. Yet… he has not returned."
Darius clenched his jaw. "I sent him to Earth to save his life. During that attack, it was the only chance to keep the royal blood alive."
"But now?" Caelia's voice rose. "What good is saving his life if we lose him forever, Darius?!"
"Caelia—"
"The coronation is next month!" She hugged herself, her voice trembling. "How can he ascend the throne if he's not even here?!"
Darius bowed his head. Though hardened by the burdens of the kingdom, his heart was not without feeling. He knew, as a mother, Caelia was haunted by her worst fear: slowly, silently losing their only child.
"I will try again," Darius finally said. "Tonight, I will strengthen the tracking magic. If the veil cannot be opened, at least I must know he is alive."
Caelia closed her eyes. "Please… if you can send a message, tell him that his mother doesn't need a king. His mother just wants her child to come home."
King Darius turned to look at his wife. For a moment, he was not a king, not the protector of a realm, not the wielder of the highest magic.
Only a father longing for his child.
Quiet but worried footsteps echoed through the palace corridor. A young girl in a sapphire-blue cloak entered the great hall. Her face was calm and beautiful, her silver hair neatly tied back, and her eyes—light purple like frozen crystals—reflected a concern she could not hide.
"Your Majesty… Queen Caelia," she said with a graceful bow.
King Darius turned, slightly surprised. "Arabelle?"
"Forgive me if I am bold," Arabelle said softly but firmly, "but it has been too long since I have received news of His Highness Mathien."
Caelia regarded her with a complex expression. She liked Arabelle. The girl had grown up in the palace as the daughter of the grand advisor and had been betrothed to accompany the throne since childhood. Graceful, intelligent, and always composed.
But even Arabelle's elegance now seemed worn. She looked tired.
"I dreamed last night," Arabelle continued softly. "In my dream, he was alone. The world around him was unfamiliar… and his magic… nearly extinguished."
Caelia fell silent.
"He is still alive," King Darius finally murmured. "But we have not yet pierced the boundary between the two worlds."
"In that case…" Arabelle looked straight at the king, "allow me to help."
"No," Darius cut her off quickly. "You stay here. If anything happens to you, not only your family, the entire palace will face trouble."
Arabelle clenched her delicate fingers. "But he is my betrothed…"
The words hung in the air.
Queen Caelia closed her eyes, as if restraining something deep in her chest. "You are a good girl, Arabelle. But you know… Mathien is not an easy man to reach, even by his fiancée."
"I don't care whether he accepts me or not," Arabelle whispered. "But I care that he lives… and returns."
The hall fell silent for a few seconds.
King Darius stepped closer. His shoulders were firm, his gaze still sharp, but his voice softened slightly.
"If you truly care, then stay here. Keep this kingdom stable, and assist us through the magic channels you can reach. I will start the tracking tonight."
Arabelle bowed deeply. Before leaving, she glanced once toward the large window at the end of the hall. Her eyes narrowed, as if piercing the sky far away—toward the world where Mathien now resided.
"I know you're out there, and I will wait for you," she whispered in her heart.
And as she stepped out of the hall, a faint, thin, cold smile touched her lips.
🌸🌸🌸
That night, the wind whistled outside the window. Its bite pierced to the bone. The little wooden house felt quieter than usual—colder, emptier. The kitchen fire glowed dimly, casting a yellowish light on the silent bamboo walls.
On the main floor, Hana sat cross-legged with a small plate of warm rice and an omelet. Steam rose gently, brushing her pale face, still wearing her crumpled school uniform.
In front of her, Mathien sat proudly on a soft cushion, eating dry food from a small metal bowl with all the elegance of a noble at a dinner banquet. Yet his eyes occasionally flicked toward the girl before him. The emptiness was clear, even to a cat.
Hana ate slowly. Not as she usually would.
One bite, chew. Silence.
Then another bite. Still without sound.
Mathien snorted. "You eat like a lovesick snail."
Hana lifted her face. A small smile, not reaching her eyes. "If a lovesick snail still carries its home, I no longer have that home."
Mathien stared at her for a long moment but said nothing. He simply returned to his dry food. The soft crunch of his chewing sounded loud in the quiet.
Hana leaned her back against the wall. One hand supported her chin, while the other still held her spoon. She stared at the kitchen fire from afar, asking softly, "Has everyone in your kingdom ever lost someone?"
Mathien chewed slowly. He looked at his bowl, then said without turning, "Every soldier in Valtherion loses at least one thing when they swear allegiance to the kingdom."
"And you?"
Mathien lifted his head. His eyes were sharp, not with anger, but with memories far away.
"Time."
Hana furrowed her brow. "Time?"
Mathien nodded once. "I grew up too fast for a life I never truly lived. In twenty years, I became not only the heir to the throne, but a guardian. A judge. A protector. But never a normal child."
The fire crackled softly, filling the pause between them.
Hana watched him for a long moment, then spooned the remaining rice into her mouth.
After swallowing, she said, "Then for now… just enjoy being a cat. No royal meetings. No throne. Just dry food and a soft cushion."
Mathien lifted his head slightly, then licked his paw. "Only if you stop waking me up every morning like a broken alarm."
They sat in silence. Yet the tension softened slightly.
Then, without warning, Hana rose, grabbed a thin blanket from the bedroom, and sat back beside Mathien. She draped it slowly over her cold legs, letting its edge stretch slightly toward the orange cat.
Mathien pretended not to care.
But he slowly shifted his body until he was right next to Hana.
No words followed.
Only the quiet night, and two beings sitting side by side—one a human left alone, the other a prince from another world who had forgotten the feeling of coming home.
For a moment, the house no longer felt empty.
Mathien yawned widely, his pink tongue flashing briefly as he stretched on the cushion. He glanced at Hana—still leaning against the wall, hair messy, face growing oily, uniform evidently worn since yesterday. The blanket she had brought still covered her legs but could not hide the fact that her body was weary inside and out.
In a calm—but annoying—tone, Mathien said,
"Stinky."
Hana looked up sharply. "Huh?"
"S-t-i-n-k-y." Mathien emphasized each letter, then licked his paw with pride. "You've merged with the smell of kitchen smoke, rain, and stale instant noodles."
Hana blinked slowly. "Are you insulting me?"
"I'm giving you a truth the mirror will never tell."
The girl exhaled deeply. "Ugh, you actually insult someone who's grieving…"
Mathien blinked slowly, then stood. He leapt beside Hana, sitting gracefully, tail curled around her legs.
"Exactly because of that. You think too much about everything until you forget yourself."
Hana was silent for a moment. Her gaze fell to the floor. Her fingers clutched the edge of the blanket.
"I'm afraid if I stop being busy, I'll realize Grandma isn't here anymore."
Mathien did not answer immediately. He simply stared at Hana for a long moment before finally saying, softly but firmly,
"Then… clean yourself first. Not to erase the memories. But so you can hold them with strength."
Hana nodded slowly.
"Okay, okay. I'll take a bath."
She rose slowly, lifting her weary body. She walked toward the bathroom, but before entering, she looked back at Mathien.
"Don't run away, you big wise cat."
Mathien simply straightened his back and snorted. "I'm not going anywhere, messy human."
Hana let out a small laugh. It was the first sound of laughter since last night—fragile, but with a glimmer of light.
And when the bathroom door closed, Mathien watched her for a moment… before returning to sit by the window.
🌸🌸🌸