Remy paused, drawing in a steady breath. His foot tapped against the floor, the rhythm betraying the storm in his chest.There's no way I can reach the capital gates, let alone the house of a Saint. She could already be dead… but I have no choice but to try. And if she is dead, then I'll need the strength to fight. I'll use them, no matter what it takes, to grow stronger.
The thoughts raced through his mind as he wavered. At last, he lowered his head.
"I agree," Remy said, voice firm though his heart trembled. "I don't fully understand what you do… but you're my best chance of reaching her. So—please—help me."
He bent into a deep bow.
Tear's expression softened. He stepped forward, resting a hand on Remy's back."We will try our best," he said quietly.
Just then, the children re-entered the room carrying trays of food. Remy's eyes widened. On the table lay a full roast chicken, its skin golden and glistening, alongside tapa—the sour bread baked from yeast and flour. The dishes spread across the table like a feast.
"Go on, eat. It's not poisoned," Tear teased, smirking as Remy just stared.
It wasn't fear that held him back—it was disbelief. He had never seen so much food in his life. Twice a year, if fortune smiled, his family might afford fresh fish. The rest of the time there had been no choices, only the same bitter pair: rye and kelp. That was all he had known since birth.
Remy lifted a piece hesitantly, then another. Slowly, he began to eat. For the first time, he realized there was more to food than survival—there was warmth, flavor, and comfort. Without noticing, a single tear slid down his cheek.
"Oh wow," Tear laughed, leaning across the table, "food so good it even brought a tear to your face."
Remy wiped it away quickly, flustered, and bent back to his plate.
The rest of the meal passed with laughter and questions."Where did you come from?""What's your favorite color?"
Voices overlapped, curiosity piling one question over another until,
"Now…now Kat let the man eat." Tear interjected.
"Mmmpt… okay fine" Kat pouted she went back to eating, she was curios.
At last, the table was bare and only clean plates remained.
"Come, follow me," Tear commanded, rising from his chair.
At once, Remy obeyed. They left the dining hall and entered a winding corridor. As they walked, Remy noticed the doors they passed—each sealed, each pulsing faintly with a purple light, like a heartbeat hidden beneath wood and iron.
"What's with this house? It feels like someone's watching me," Remy muttered at last.
"Oh… so you can sense it." Tear's voice held a note of approval. "A keen perception. You'll understand soon enough."
He took one final turn, and before them stood an old door, cloaked in dust and shadow. The handle reeked of rusted metal. Tear reached into his pocket, drew out a key, and pressed it into Remy's hand.
"Here. From today onward, this will be yours."
The key was cold and heavy, as though it carried a weight beyond its size.
"Go on," Tear urged, nudging him gently toward the door.
Remy slid the key into the lock. To his astonishment, the dust and grime trembled, shivering off the surface as though alive. The door's rotted black slowly shifted into the warm glow of polished timber. With a deep creak, it swung open.
What lay beyond stopped him in his tracks—a vast chamber, radiant and grand, stretching far beyond what the manor's crooked exterior should have allowed.
The main area of the room held a magnificent claw-foot bathtub, freestanding, made of polished copper and ornate porcelain. It sat upon a raised marble platform at the center, gleaming like a centerpiece of luxury. A large gilded mirror hung on the wall, reflecting the soft glow of tall windows and the flickering light of candelabras. Thick velvet curtains framed the windows, heavy enough to block the chill of drafts.
Opposite the bath, a library commanded its own grandeur. Floor-to-ceiling shelves, carved from dark walnut, lined the walls and brimmed with leather-bound volumes whose gold-leafed spines shimmered. Before them stood a heavy desk, its surface scarred by time yet dignified, with a high-backed chair that invited one to linger and read. Persian rugs spread across the floor in intricate patterns. A fireplace, its mantel carved with ravens, sent warmth into the room, while above, a crystal chandelier scattered candlelight into a hundred tiny stars. The air was thick with the scent of burning logs, old paper, and a faint trace of lavender drifting from the salts of the bath.
"How brilliant! Who knew your room would be so grand?" Tear exclaimed with delight.
"Go on, take a bath. I'll bring you clothes," Tear said, turning back toward the passage.
Remy stood speechless, awe-struck. This palace of a chamber—his own—felt impossible. He pinched himself, half-expecting to wake.
At last, he lowered himself into the steaming water. It wrapped around him, warm and soothing, as if washing away not only dirt and blood but the scars of what he had endured. Memories surfaced, painful yet fleeting, dissolving into ripples as the bath carried both his tears and his wounds away.
Knock! Knock!"Remy, your clothes are in front of your door," Tear called as he left.
After bathing, Remy stepped out, still a little uneasy. He picked up the folded garments and carried them inside, studying them with hesitation. Slowly, he began to dress, often fumbling in confusion—he was more accustomed to rough, simple attire than to garments of such complexity.
When at last he finished, he stood before the mirror with a casual ease that belied the effort it had taken. His doublet, a close-fitting garment of midnight-blue velvet, was richly embroidered with silver thread that shimmered whenever he moved. Beneath it, a fine linen shirt spilled into a cascade of lace over his shoulders, tied neatly at the throat with a ribbon. His breeches, full and gathered just below the knee, were of matching blue silk and tucked into soft leather boots that folded elegantly at the cuff.
He left the room and returned to the living chamber.
"Wow…" Kat whispered under her breath.
"How brilliant! One could mistake you for a saint," Tear exclaimed, his tone half teasing, half sincere.
Remy flushed, his embarrassment plain. "Thank you," he managed softly.