The castle had grown quiet.
After a long day of work in the fields, the citizens of Hollow Vale returned to their homes, their hands sore, their hearts light. The corridors of Noctis Spire echoed with soft footsteps, laughter, and the scent of fresh bread. The air was different now — not heavy, but hopeful.
Hazel stepped into her bathroom.
She pulled the white string beside the golden tub.
Clear hot water poured out.
She smiled, eyes wide with excitement. Steam rose gently, curling around the butterfly-trimmed edges of the sink and tub. The water shimmered — clean, pure, a reflection of something long forgotten.
"All of the water isn't clear yet," Balthazar said from the doorway, his voice low.
Hazel turned.
He stood shirtless, still dusted from the fields, his skin glowing faintly in the candlelight. His hair was damp with sweat, and his eyes were tired but warm.
"I asked the elves to filter the castle's water system first," he said.
Hazel nodded. "Amazing."
She hesitated.
"Can I ask you questions?" she said. "About me and Toya's mothers?"
Balthazar's expression shifted — not cold, but distant.
"Yes," he said. "But I'll wait for you in my room."
He turned and left the doorway.
Hazel stripped slowly, her fingers trembling slightly. She stepped into the water, letting it wrap around her like silk. It was smooth, warm, and clear enough to see her reflection. She smiled again — not just at the water, but at the memory of what it used to be.
She bathed herself with the goat milk bar soap the servants had crafted earlier that day, the scent soft and earthy. When she was done, she dried herself with a towel, rubbed marshmallow and cinnamon oil into her skin, and slipped into the white moth nightgown Lysithea had made for her.
She made her way to Balthazar room.
Inside Balthazar sat in the chair near the window, his gaze distant, his body still. Hazel walked toward him, her bare feet silent on the stone floor.
"Do you know who Elizabeth is?" she asked. "And Erica?"
Balthazar looked up.
"Yes," he said. "Your mother and Toya's mother. They raised me. Before the kingdom was attacked."
Hazel sat across from him.
"They were both pregnant," Balthazar continued. "My mother had all the children and pregnant women take refuge in our neighboring kingdom. Some stayed. They wanted to fight. They believed the Vale could survive."
He paused.
"The princess queen and king , ordered her knights to kill the women and children."
Hazel's breath caught.
"Only a few got out," Balthazar said. "Your mothers didn't return. The land was too sick. "
Hazel's hands trembled.
"After the war," he said, "the water turned black. Ashes. Bodies. My father couldn't clear them fast enough. He burned them. He tried to have his dragon eat them."
Hazel's eyes widened.
"But the dragon grew sick," Balthazar said. "And my father… he ate what was left. Rotten food. He gave the fresh food that was stored beneath the castle to the citizens. To me. To my mother."
He looked down.
"Two months later, he died."
Hazel swallowed hard.
"His dragon flew away after his death," Balthazar said. "My mother did the same. She gave everything she had. Then she died six months later."
The room was silent.
Hazel reached out, her fingers brushing his.
"I didn't know," she whispered.
Balthazar looked at her — not as a prince, but as a boy who had survived.
"I don't talk about it," he said. "Not because I forgot. But because remembering hurts."
The castle halls dimly lit by flickering blue candles. Outside, the farmland slept beneath the stars, and the wind carried the scent of fresh soil and distant rain.
Hazel sat across from Balthazar in his chamber, her white moth nightgown glowing faintly in the firelight. He sat in the chair near the window, shirtless, his posture tense, his gaze distant.
She watched him for a long moment.
Then she spoke.
"The demon," she said softly. "It wants you as a host?"
Balthazar didn't move.
Hazel's voice trembled. "Why?"
He took a deep breath.
Then he turned his head and looked out the window, eyes fixed on the orchard beyond.
"When my mother and father passed," he said slowly, "the princess queen and her king heard of their deaths. They returned with an army. Took our resources. Our food. Our magic."
Hazel's hands clenched in her lap.
"They locked me in the library," Balthazar continued. "Locked my citizens in the dungeon beneath the castle. Some of them were killed. Others starved."
Hazel's throat tightened.
"I didn't have full control of my powers then," he said.
He paused.
"One day, I was reading by the fire. On the floor. A little stack of books beside me. I remember the titles. I remember the warmth."
Hazel leaned forward, her heart pounding.
"The princess entered the room," Balthazar said. "she had children with her and a few pregnant women, they were happy to see me, as i got up to greet them. One of her knights held me back and the others slaughtered the woman and children
in front of me. They screamed, the blood pour onto the floor. They cut open the woman bellies and tossed the babies into a pile with the dead children , two of the babies were gasping for air before being lit on fire by the princess. "
His voice dropped.
Hazel's breath caught.
"The knights raped the women and men in the dungeon. They screamed," Balthazar said. "But the library was sealed by magic, I couldn't break. I couldn't save my people.
Hazel stood slowly, walked towards him, and knelt beside his chair.
"I'm so upset, that happened to you and the people." she whispered.
He looked down at her — not as a prince, but as a boy who had been broken.
Hazel reached up and took his hand.
His fingers trembled in hers.
Balthazar's eyes shimmered.
"I hated myself for years," he said. "I hated My magic. My silence. The fact I couldn't save them still hurts me to this day."
Hazel leaned her head against his knee.
And for the first time in a long time, he let himself cry.
Hazel remained kneeling at Balthazar's knees, her hands resting gently on his. The fire crackled softly behind them, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. Outside, the orchard slept beneath the stars, and the castle held its breath.
Balthazar's eyes were distant, but his voice was steady.
"The knights and princess tried to have their way with me days later. My first set of servants protect me with their magic.
he said. When the knights touched me, they turned into decay. The princess was frightened by this."
Hazel's fingers tightened around his.
"I stayed in the library," he continued. "Curled up behind the shelves. I didn't eat unless someone left food near the door. I didn't sleep unless the fire was burning."
Hazel's heart ached.
"The princess family left the kingdom.," Balthazar said. "She thought I was broken. That I wouldn't survive. "
He looked down at Hazel.
"But I did survive."
Hazel nodded.
"I started reading again," he said. "Not just stories. Magic. History. Bloodlines. I found a book my father had hidden — about our ancestral spells. About the orchard. About the dragon."
Hazel leaned closer. "What did it say?"
"That our magic was tied to the land," Balthazar said. "That the orchard wasn't just a place to grow food. It was a sanctuary. A heart. If it died, the kingdom would rot."
Hazel's breath caught.
"I tried to restore it," he said. " there were only a few of us left."
He looked out the window.
"I was 16.," he said. "And I was angry. I didn't know how to use that anger. So I buried it. I buried everything."
Hazel reached up and touched his cheek.
Balthazar closed his eyes.
"I started training," he said. "Every day. In secret. I taught myself spells. I summoned shadows. I learned how to seal doors, how to protect the castle. I kept the people alive, at least the ones who were left."
Silence fell.
Hazel rested her head against his knee.
"I used to dream of the orchard," Balthazar said. "Of the apples. Of my mother's voice. She used to sing while she harvested. I can still hear her in the wind. I promise the people, that I will protect them this time with all my magic. "
The fire had dimmed to embers, casting a soft orange glow across the chamber. Hazel sat quietly beside him on the floor, her hands folded in her lap, her white moth nightgown glowing faintly in the hush of the room. Balthazar looked at her, his gaze distant, his shoulders heavy with memory.
"Hazel," he said gently.
She looked up, eyes still shimmering from the weight of their conversation.
"Keep this between us," he said. "What I told you… it's not for the world. Not yet."
Hazel nodded. "I promise."
He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face, then stepped back.
"I need to rest," he said.
She nodded again.
Hazel stood, turned and walked to the door, her footsteps quiet against the stone. She paused once, looking back at Balthazar — not as a prince, but as a man who had finally spoken.
Then she left.