The corridor stretched ahead like a vein carved into the manor's stone heart—silent, dim, lined with towering blackwood pillars that bore the weight of centuries.
Kel walked through it alone.
His footsteps were soft against the deep carpet, but each one carried the echo of the conversation he had just left behind.
"At least take two knights with you… not as Rosenfeld knights, but as your companions."
His father's voice lingered in his thoughts the way dusk lingers before night: solemn, inevitable.
And Kel, who had almost refused, had eventually replied—
"Then I will choose my companions as fast as possible."
"Choose," he whispered under his breath now.
The word felt heavier than the silk-lined coat resting on his shoulders.
Candelabras lined the hallway, their flames flickering golden against polished stone. Each flame shivered slightly as he passed, casting shifting shadows across his face—brief flickers of pallor, of exhaustion, of something darker quietly threading beneath his calm.
The banquet clothes hung cleanly on his frame, untouched by blood or disarray now. Marine had seen to that while he was unconscious earlier. But even if the silk was pressed, even if the gold embroidery along his cuffs shone faintly beneath the candlelight…
It was still the attire of someone whose body had nearly given way.
Kel's breath remained level, but a faint stiffness clung to his steps—so subtle that most would miss it. A seasoned warrior might notice the too-careful way he distributed weight across his left leg. A healer might note the shallow rise and fall beneath his collar.
But to the manor walls, the candles… he appeared composed.
Untouched.
He wore composure like a final layer over injury.
He paused before a window overlooking the east courtyard.
The moon, imperfectly obscured by thin winter clouds, painted the grounds silver.
He watched his breath mist against the glass.
For a moment, his reflection stared back—a young noble in black formal wear, pale, expression calm and eyes too old.
Twelve.
He looked older.
He felt older still.
The thought drifted through him, not with sadness, not with pride.
Just… observation.
Then he turned from the window and continued walking.
The handle of his chamber door was cold beneath his fingers. Silver filigree traced the darkwood like frost lace.
He entered.
The room welcomed him with silence.
Not comfort—just familiarity.
Curtains of shadow-purple velvet swayed faintly in the chill draft, sending shivers of lamplight across walls etched with subtle silver patterns. The furniture remained as always—immaculate, arranged with the discipline expected of a Rosenfeld heir.
Kel closed the door softly. The latch clicked with a muted finality.
He stood for a moment in the center of the room.
Then exhaled.
Long.
Quiet.
As though finally allowing the stillness to settle over him.
He reached up with steady fingers and loosened the dark cravat at his neck. The knot came undone without resistance, like a chain quietly removed. He hung it over a polished stand.
Next came the coat.
He removed it with precise movements, neither hurried nor weary—just methodical. As though even exhaustion must obey etiquette.
The inner shirt remained, simple and dark. His fingers brushed against faint stiffness beneath the fabric near his ribs. Pain rippled—brief, sharp.
He ignored it.
Slowly, he changed into night attire—an elegant but plain linen shirt and trousers of muted charcoal. No crest. No gold lining. Just cloth.
A young man preparing for sleep.
A child finishing a long day.
A cursed heir quieting a war within fragile flesh.
He sat at the edge of the bed.
The mattress dipped slightly.
He let his shoulders ease, only a fraction.
Kel leaned back against the headboard, raising one hand to cover his eyes briefly.
He could still hear his father's voice.
Not the words.
The weight behind them.
"The world does not bend simply because you have decided to walk into it."
He opened his eyes.
The room was quiet.
Too quiet.
He lay back fully upon the bed, one arm resting over his abdomen as though to contain the pain that sparked in small pulses. The other hand remained at his side, fingers curling loosely.
His gaze found the ceiling, a faint grid of carved lines lost in darkness.
Tomorrow…
He swallowed, mouth dry.
Tomorrow, I must choose two companions.
His thoughts began to turn.
Slow at first.
Then gathering speed.
How?
How will I find two people willing to follow me?
A cursed heir. A boy they have spent years whispering will die before reaching adulthood.
Who will be dumb enough… or loyal enough…
His brow furrowed faintly.
He shifted.
Pain responded.
…to walk beside me for two years?
The words from earlier echoed again, with their cold clarity.
"You have ceased to be invisible."
"The Empire has seen you."
Kel's eyes softened—not with fear, but with calculated acknowledgement.
Then the choice must be precise.
Those who follow me cannot simply be strong. Strength, alone, bends when the world shifts.
They must be able to walk when footsteps grow heavy, to remain silent when silence protects, to fight when fighting ends paths rather than extends them.
They must be willing to follow someone who may not live long enough to lead them back.
His pulse quickened.
He shifted again against the mattress.
His breath caught.
The pain pushed deeper.
Would anyone choose that?
Would anyone follow a ghost still in a living body?
The moonlight filtered through the gap in his curtains and crossed the bed in pale silver.
Kel turned his head toward it.
His eyes traced the light.
It seemed cold.
Lonely.
Not unlike him.
He exhaled, quietly.
Forget how I will select…
He closed his eyes.
That can wait.
Tonight, I have done too much to my body.
If I want to walk tomorrow… I must sleep now.
He drew in breath.
Let it go.
The tension in his shoulders eased a degree more.
He felt the exhaustion, once denied, begin its descent.
He reached to turn the bedside lantern down to its lowest flame—just a whisper of light remained.
The room sank into near-darkness, shadows deepening around him like silent watchers.
One last thought whispered through his mind, uninvited:
Father asked for two companions…
His eyes, half-drifting shut, opened again.
N—not Rosenfeld knights.
Not bound to our crest.
Then…
A flicker of something like faint amusement passed through his eyes.
Will I truly be walking alone then?
His lips curved faintly.
Barely.
Gone a moment later.
He exhaled long.
It doesn't matter.
Whatever tomorrow brings…
I will walk it.
His heartbeat slowed.
The pain receded, not from healing, but from surrender to the pull of sleep.
His last conscious thought was quiet.
Not fearful.
Not hopeful.
Just… resigned to effort.
"If no one dares to walk beside me… then I will walk until I find someone who can."
And then—
Kel slept.
Not peacefully.
But without hesitation.
Hands relaxed against his sheets.
Breathing shallow, but steady enough for dawn to accept.
The moon continued to cast its silver veil across the floor, untouched by the fragility of the living.
And somewhere deep within his still form—
Pain slept too.
But only for now.