From a distance, Leon leaned against a great tree cloaked in shadow, the silver light of the moon spilling across his face. His golden eyes glimmered softly beneath the night sky, and the wind played gently with his hair, carrying with it the quiet hum of the forest.
"Are you not hungry, my lord?" came a familiar voice.
Leon turned, startled from his thoughts. Standing behind him was Celistine, wrapped in a long grey fur coat to guard herself from the bitter chill of the night.
"No," Leon replied coldly, his voice steady yet distant. "I'm full."
Both of them turned their gaze to the sky, to that wide and silent moon that seemed to hang above them like a watchful eye.
"I'm sorry… for startling you earlier," Leon said quietly.
"No—it was my fault," Celistine answered, her tone soft, her gaze lowering in guilt. "I shouldn't have tried to touch you without your permission."
Leon's eyes flicked toward her, and when she dared glance up again, she caught him smiling—mischievous, almost teasing.
"What are you looking at me like that for?" Celistine asked, her voice trembling slightly as warmth crept into her cheeks. She quickly looked away, embarrassed by her own words.
Leon's grin deepened. "Are you tempted by my beauty, Your Highness? You seemed rather eager to touch me." His tone dripped with playful arrogance as he leaned closer, close enough for her to catch the faint scent of smoke and steel that clung to him.
Celistine's heart stumbled in her chest. "I was only curious," she shot back sharply, crossing her arms to mask her flustered state. "I wanted to see if your tan skin was as rough as it looks."
Leon chuckled under his breath, the sound low and rich. Then, without warning, he caught her right hand in his. Celistine gasped, eyes widening as he guided her trembling palm to his cheek.
"Does it feel rough now?" he murmured.
Her breath caught. The warmth of his skin seeped into her palm, and she felt the steady rhythm of his breath brush against her wrist. His hand held hers gently but firmly, and for a moment the world fell quiet—only the whisper of wind and the distant cry of an owl remained.
Celistine's heart skipped wildly. His golden eyes, so striking under the moonlight, seemed to pull her in without mercy. She had never imagined a creature could look so human and yet so otherworldly. Since their first meeting, there had been something about Leon that disarmed her, something that made her feel safe… and dangerously at ease.
"Your Highness?" Leon's voice broke through her thoughts.
She blinked, pulling her hand back quickly, her fingers brushing against her own chest as if to calm her racing heart.
"It was…" she hesitated, glancing at him.
"It was what?" Leon asked, brow raised with amusement.
"It was oily, that's all," she replied curtly, trying to sound composed though her voice betrayed her.
Leon smirked, the corner of his lips curling in quiet amusement. He turned his eyes back toward the vast, silvery sky. Celistine, too, slowly calmed herself, stealing glances at him while he stood in silence, bathed in moonlight.
"Are you used to… sleeping knowing that someone might try to kill you at any moment?" Celistine asked softly.
"Not exactly," Leon replied, his tone returning to its usual cold steadiness. "But as a knight, it's part of one's duty to remain alert, even in sleep." His arms folded across his chest as his gaze stayed fixed upon the moon. Celistine mirrored his stillness, her mind wandering.
"What kind of people are the Blackthreads, really?" she asked at last.
Leon's eyes flickered toward her. "We are not so different from you, Your Highness," he said quietly. "We may appear fearless, but many of us have families to return to. Men who bleed, laugh, and dream like any other."
Celistine fell silent. His words sank deep into her heart, unravelling the lies she had been told about his people. The Blackthreads were not the monsters she had been led to believe. They were human—wounded, proud, and burdened by their pasts.
And Leon… he was proof of that.The only reason he stood here before her was vengeance—for a sister taken from him by Medeya's cruelty.
The moon lingered high above, pale and watchful, as two souls from opposite worlds stood together in its quiet light—bound not by words, but by something far deeper, and far more dangerous.
While Celistine and Leon took their time travelling toward the Western Empire for the royal meeting, Barron was already preparing himself in his chamber, carefully packing the things he might need for their journey to the East.
Across from him sat Grace, quiet yet restless. She had been assigned by Celistine to guard Rehena during the mission, alongside Barron. But today, unease weighed heavily on her chest — something in her heart whispered that something was wrong. Her father had set sail for Portekwero earlier that day, and a gnawing dread urged her to follow.
"Are you certain you don't want to come, Grace?" Barron asked, fastening the strap of his leather satchel.
"I wish I could," Grace replied softly, her voice laced with guilt. "I wanted to travel with you, but… I can't shake this feeling about my father. Something feels off."
Barron smiled faintly and stepped closer. The warmth of his presence seemed to steady the tremor in her heart. Without a word, he reached out and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. Grace froze — her breath hitched as the warmth of his lips brushed her skin. And before she could gather her thoughts, he lifted her chin gently and kissed her lips.
It was soft, slow — a kiss filled with quiet longing.
When they parted, Barron's Silver eyes held hers with an intensity that left her rooted to the spot. "I understand," he murmured. "You're worried for your father. Go to him, Grace. Protect the ones you love."
Her lips curved into a small smile. "Thank you," she whispered.
They walked together toward the front of the mansion, where the carriage awaited. The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth.
Outside, Rehena had already stepped onto the courtyard of the Northern mansion. A single carriage waited there — modest and brown, blending easily with those used by common folk. Celistine had chosen it deliberately to avoid suspicion; the Eastern Empire's eyes were sharp, and this journey was not a safe one.
Rehena's mission was to recruit skilled scholars and healers from the East — a task as delicate as it was dangerous. Only three men would accompany her, Barron among them.
Barron loaded the last of their belongings onto the back of the carriage, his movements precise. Rehena's gown glimmered faintly beneath the daylight — a deep violet velvet trimmed with gold, the cream-coloured panel down the front laced neatly at her bodice. Her sleeves fluttered like soft silk in the morning breeze, and her honey-brown hair caught the sunlight, spilling in loose curls down her back.
Barron, in contrast, was dressed plainly: a grey tunic with purple trim, a brown belt around his waist, black trousers, worn boots, and a black hooded cloak to hide his noble bearing. At his side hung his sword, discreet yet ready — the mark of a man who knew danger was never far.
When Rehena finished adjusting her gloves, she turned to face her father, Lord Herbet, who stood solemnly beside the mansion steps.
"Father… I'll see you soon," Rehena said softly, wrapping her arms around him. Lord Herbet held her tightly, unable to conceal the worry etched across his face.
"Keep safe, my daughter," he said, his voice low and trembling. He took her hand, holding it between his palms, before glancing toward Barron who stood a few paces away. "Sir Barron, I trust you to protect her. The road ahead will not be easy."
Barron bowed deeply, hand over his chest. "Yes, my lord. I'll guard your daughter with my life, as Her Highness Celistine commanded."
Lord Herbet nodded, his worry easing a little. He had seen Barron's courage before — how he fought to defend the City of Renia. If anyone could keep Rehena safe, it was him.
Beside Lord Herbet stood the Crown Prince, Carlo, his expression shadowed by longing. He wished with all his heart to accompany Rehena, but duty chained him to the capital.
Rehena approached him with a soft smile. "My love," she whispered, "I'll see you soon."
Though she smiled, her heart ached. Parting from him, even for a mission, tore at something deep inside her. Carlo reached out and pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as if the world might take her from him.
"Please, be careful," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "And remember — if ever you need me, I'll be there. Always. I love you, Rehena."
Tears pricked her eyes as he pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. She lingered in his embrace for one last heartbeat before stepping back and smiling through the ache.
"I love you. So for now… farewell," she said softly before climbing into the carriage. Carlo guided her up the step himself, his hand lingering a moment longer on hers.
As the carriage began to move, Barron turned once more to Grace, pulling her into a final embrace. She held onto him tightly, as if memorizing the warmth of his body.
"Take care of her," Carlo said, patting Barron's shoulder firmly.
Barron nodded. "Yes, Your Highness."
The wheels creaked, the horses neighed softly, and the carriage rolled forward along the sunlit road ahead. From the window, Rehena waved her hand — her eyes bright, though tinged with worry. Barron settled beside her, his expression calm but alert, ready for whatever awaited them in the Eastern Empire.
The morning light stretched across the landscape as the carriage passed beyond the gates — and with it began a journey that would test both their courage and their hearts.
It had taken almost two weeks for Celistine and her companions to reach the Western Empire. Finally, they had arrived at the first border. It had been nearly three years since Celistine last set foot here.
First, they settled all of Celistine's men and belongings at an inn, ensuring everything was in order. Then they made their way to the mansion together with Leon, cloaked entirely in black inside the carriage. He had insisted on accompanying Celistine even just outside the gates, unwilling to risk leaving her unprotected, no matter how brief the journey.
When the carriage finally came to a halt in the main courtyard, Celistine drew a long breath. Her eyes swept over the scene: two royal carriages bore banners of the Eastern Empire — a green flag emblazoned with a bear, and a red one with two crossed swords, representing the Southern Empire. Above their own carriage fluttered a black and red flag, marked with the head of a dragon — the standard of Celistine's house.
"Are you ready?" Leon asked, his face hidden beneath the shadow of his cloak. He drew the curtain across the carriage window, his golden eyes fixed on her.
"Yes…" Celistine replied.
A sharp knock at the carriage door from Criston signalled it was time to step out. As Celistine reached for the handle, Leon suddenly gripped her waist. She froze, startled, and instinctively glanced at him.
"Be careful," Leon warned, his voice cold and fierce. "If you're not out by mid afternoon, we'll raid the mansion and get you ourselves." His stare was lethal, a silent reminder of what Harold had done to her when she had attempted to escape the Western Empire years before.
Celistine nodded, swallowing her fear. Slowly, she stepped down from the carriage, escorted by Criston. Her boots touched the courtyard stones, and her eyes immediately fell on Medeya, wearing that same grin Celistine remembered from her days as Empress.
"Long time no see," Medeya said, her smile sharp, almost predatory. Behind her, her lady-in-waiting glanced back at Celistine with an unmistakable glare of disgust.
Celistine's gaze hardened. She met Medeya's grin with a cold, measured stare. She knew, instinctively, that this was only the beginning.