Auther sat on the edge of the bed with his shirt open while the healer prodded the faint scar on his neck. Sunlight slanted across the room, far too bright for how fragile he still felt. When the man finally bowed and left, Viola stayed exactly where she was. She leaned against the wall with her arms folded, watching the door close as if she expected the healer to turn back into a threat the moment he thought she wasn't looking.
Silence settled, thick and warm from the herbs still hanging in the air. Auther rubbed the spot on his neck absently before the words slipped out, quiet and honest. "I almost died," he said. The confession was heavier than he expected because it hadn't come from battle or magic or any mistake he could fight. It was just a butler, a smile, and a single second where nothing felt wrong until everything was.
Viola's jaw tightened as she looked away, not from him but from the memory of how close it had come. She answered without turning, "You trusted too easily." The words were soft but carried the weight of someone who had spent her life learning exactly how dangerous trust could be.
Auther met her eyes anyway, his breath shallow. "I don't want to be untouchable," he said. "I just don't want to die because I trusted the wrong silence." The room felt smaller the moment he finished, as if the sentence had pulled them both closer without either of them moving.
Viola pushed off the wall then, crossing the space with her long strides until she stood right in front of him. She was tall enough that he had to tilt his head up to hold her gaze. She spoke almost to herself while staring past him. "One day you won't need my blade anymore, and I don't know who I am then." The confession slipped out before she could cage it, raw and unguarded.
Auther reached for her hand slowly, giving her every chance to pull away. When she didn't, he brushed his thumb across her knuckles. His voice was light, as if it didn't matter at all. "You're beautiful when you worry."
Viola's eyes narrowed, but a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, dangerous and reluctant. "Say that again and I'll throw you off the balcony," she warned, though the threat came out softer than she meant, almost fond.
He grinned, small and real. "Promise?"
For one heartbeat the air thinned between them, charged and intimate. Her fingers tightened around his and his pulse jumped under her thumb. Neither moved to close the last inch or to step back, letting the moment stretch until it hurt in the sweetest way. Then she released him, stepping away with a quiet exhale.
"Get dressed. Training yard. Now." She turned for the door but paused at the threshold, her voice low enough that only he would hear it. "And Auther… I'm still faster than you."
The door closed softly behind her. He sat there a moment longer, heart pounding harder than any poison ever had, already missing the warmth of her hand.
Word of the antidote spread faster than the poison itself. By midday the alchemy wing buzzed with the news: the pink haired apprentice had saved the prince alone. Lana kept her head down while she cleaned glassware, pretending not to hear the whispers.
Neon Gold heard everything. A strange, venomous jealousy plagued him; he could not stomach the idea of an assistant possessing more relevance than the master. He found her in the storeroom stacking vials, his smile thin. "Talent without obedience is just a liability," he said in that silk over steel voice.
His hand rose out of habit, the same slap he had delivered a hundred times before. But Lana caught his wrist mid air. Her fingers locking before she even had time to think, and the room went silent as if the world itself had noticed. Neon's eyes widened in shock and fury.
"Are you defying me?" he hissed, trying to push her away, but she didn't budge.
Lana's grip stayed steady and her voice came out quiet, almost tired. "I'm tired." She released him.
Neon flexed his fingers, his expression turning colder than ever. "You're done here. Pack your things."
By evening Lana stood outside the wing with a single satchel. She had no master, no lab, and no protection. In a temporary storage room, she sat on a crate and stared at her hands. The cold was beginning to bite, and her mind wandered to the doodles in her notebooks, wondering if she would ever fill them with anything real again.
She found the training yard by following the sound of steel on steel. She had come to thank Auther properly, but she stopped at the edge of the sand, mesmerized.
Viola was driving Auther back with relentless precision. The rapier flashed like lightning. Lana's hand involuntarily clenched into a tight fist at her side, a spark of sudden, defensive anger tightening her chest—anger at her own smallness, at her dismissal, at the world that kept pushing her down.
But then Viola's eyes flicked to her.
The weight of that stare was physical. It was cold, sharp, and carried the effortless authority of someone who dealt in life and death. Lana's fist uncurled slowly, her anger evaporating into a hollow, instinctive fear. The sheer presence of the woman acted like a predator's shadow, forcing Lana's heart to settle into a quiet, submissive thrum just so she could keep breathing.
Viola approached, her six foot one frame looming over Lana's measly five foot four. Lana felt her breath hitch, her back straightening automatically as she tried to reclaim some sliver of space.
"Why do you care about him?" Viola asked. Her voice was cool, stripped of any warmth.
Lana met her gaze, her hands shaking even as she tried to stay unflinching. "I don't. I respect him. There's a difference."
Viola's eyes narrowed, assessing the small, unkempt girl before her. "He trusts you."
"He should trust someone," Lana said, her voice quiet but carrying the exhaustion of her day. "Not everyone wants something from him."
Viola's jaw tightened. For a brief moment, the warrior's mask slipped, revealing a flicker of raw uncertainty. She looked at Lana and saw something she could never be: a person whose hands were used for healing rather than harm.
Lana adjusted her satchel, the height difference making her feel like an insect under a lens. "I'm not here to compete for people. I decide my place." She turned to leave, her pride stinging more than the cold.
"Why are you so unkempt?" Viola asked, her voice low. "It is unusual for your kind."
Lana looked back toward Auther, who was far across the yard. The silent plea for help rose in her throat, but looking at Viola—tall, strong, and terrifying—she couldn't bring herself to speak it. To ask for a place to sleep now would be to surrender the only thing she had left: her dignity.
"I know he's important," Lana said softly.
She walked away into the shadows, leaving the legendary warrior standing alone in the center of the yard. Viola watched her go, her grip on the hilt of her blade tighter than before.