Cold, soapy water dripped from Shin's hair, tracing a path down his nose. He stood frozen, a human waterfall, the epicenter of a vortex of chaos. Solara's laughter was a physical force, a high-pitched, cackling gale that made his ears ring. Luna's weary sigh was the only thing grounding him in reality.
On the floor, Mystia was a wreck of pure, unadulterated panic. "I'm so sorry, Your Majesty! I'm so sorry! I'm a failure! I'm the worst maid in the history of the world! I'll accept any punishment! Banishment! Disintegration! Anything!"
"Mystia, it's okay," Shin said, his voice gentle despite the water dripping into his mouth. He tried to wave a reassuring hand, but it just sent a spray of water towards Solara, who shrieked with renewed laughter. "It's just water. Please, get up."
But Mystia wouldn't. She scrambled on her knees, her hands clasped together. "I must help you, my King! I must change your clothes! It is my sacred duty!"
"No, really, don't worry about it," Shin insisted, feeling increasingly uncomfortable. "I can manage. It's just a shirt."
But Mystia was in a full-blown panic. Her duty was all she had. She lunged forward, her hands outstretched, intending to help him undo the soggy, torn buttons of his tunic.
In her frantic state, she misjudged the distance. Her hand didn't go to the buttons; it snagged on the delicate, embroidered fabric of his collar.
RIIIIP!
A sound like tearing silk echoed through the laundry chamber. The entire right sleeve of his royal tunic tore away from the shoulder, hanging limply by a few threads.
The laughter in the room stopped abruptly.
Mystia froze, her eyes wide with horror, staring at the torn fabric in her hand. She looked from the ruined shirt to Shin's stunned face. A choked sob escaped her lips.
"I... I tore it," she whispered, as if confessing to murder. "I tore the King's clothes."
This was the final, unforgivable sin. The apology that followed was no longer a string of words but a torrent of incoherent, heart-wrenching sobs. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so sorry I'm a disaster I'm a curse I'm sorry..."
She scrambled to her feet and, without looking back, fled. Her small figure disappeared down the corridor, her desperate sobs echoing long after she was gone.
"Wait!" Shin called out, his voice thick with concern. He took a step to follow her, but the torn sleeve flapped uselessly, and he stopped, feeling utterly helpless. She was too lost in her own guilt to hear him.
He stood there, dripping wet, with a ruined shirt, and watched the empty hallway where she had vanished. Solara's laughter had finally subsided, replaced by a look of mild surprise. Luna walked to his side, gently placing a hand on his damp shoulder.
"She believes her clumsiness is a curse, my love," Luna said softly, her voice filled with a deep, ancient sadness. "And today, she believes she has cursed her king."
Shin looked down at the torn sleeve, then at the puddle of water at his feet. He wasn't angry. He wasn't even embarrassed anymore. All he felt was a sharp, piercing pity for the girl who couldn't even walk without causing a disaster. The Rite wasn't just about anchoring her power. It was about healing her soul. And he had just made it a thousand times worse.
Shin stood in the empty corridor, the ghost of Mystia's sobs clinging to the stone walls. The torn sleeve of his tunic felt like a physical manifestation of his failure. He wasn't angry; he was heartsick.
"We have to find her," he said, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument.
"Right," Solara said, her earlier laughter completely gone, replaced by a grudging seriousness. "She couldn't have gone far. I'll check the gardens."
"And I will check the western spires," Luna added, her expression filled with concern.
As they prepared to split up, a calm, familiar voice spoke from behind them. "That is an inefficient use of resources."
They turned to see Celia, in her adult form, standing with her ever-present data slate. She didn't look up from it as she spoke. "The subject, Mystia, has a 92.4% probability of being located in her designated quarters in the West Wing. It is her standard retreat protocol during emotional distress. I can provide you with a map."
She swiped on her slate, and a glowing, 3D map of the castle appeared in the air, a single room pulsing with a soft light.
"Thank you, Celia," Shin said, a genuine wave of gratitude washing over him. He didn't wait for the others. "I'll go alone."
The maids' quarters were a stark contrast to the opulent grandeur of the royal chambers. The hallways were narrower, the air warmer, filled with the faint, pleasant scent of lavender and soap. It felt lived-in, human.
He found the room marked with Mystia's name. It was a simple, wooden door, unadorned and humble. He stood before it, his heart pounding. He raised a hand to knock, then hesitated. What could he possibly say? "Sorry about the bucket, now let's perform a magical, intimate ritual"? It sounded insane.
He took a deep breath, remembering his own despair, the feeling of being a complete failure. He wasn't a king right now. He was just Shin, talking to someone who felt like a curse.
He knocked, gently. Tap, tap, tap.
From inside, he heard a muffled sob and a faint, "Go away!"
"It's me," he said softly, his voice close to the wood. "Shin. Not 'Your Majesty.' Just Shin."
The sobbing hitched.
"I'm not mad," he continued. "I'm not here to punish you. The shirt... it's just a shirt. I just... I want to talk."
There was a long silence. Then, the sound of a latch being undone. The door creaked open a few inches, revealing a single, puffy, red-rimmed eye.
Shin gave her his most disarming smile. "Can I come in?"
Hesitantly, she opened the door. The room was small and neat, with a simple bed, a small nightstand, and a tiny wardrobe. A pressed, wilting flower sat in a glass of water on the nightstand. Mystia stood wringing her hands, her head bowed, unable to meet his gaze.
Shin didn't lecture. He just walked in and sat on the very edge of her bed, keeping a respectful distance.
"You know," he began, his voice quiet and gentle, "in my old world, I was a complete failure. I lost my job, my girlfriend... I felt like a curse, too. I felt like everything I touched broke."
Mystia's head lifted slightly, her curiosity piqued.
"Luna told me something," Shin continued. "She said your clumsiness... it's not a flaw. It's just... magic without a home. A lot of energy with nowhere to go." He looked at her, his eyes filled with sincerity. "The Rite... it sounds scary and complicated. And it is. But for me... it helped Valeria. It helped Solara. It helped Celia. It didn't just give me power. It helped them. It gave their power a purpose. It... anchored it."
He leaned forward, his voice dropping to an earnest whisper. "I'm not asking you to do this because it's my duty as king. I'm asking you... because I want to help you. I want to give your magic a home, so you don't have to be clumsy anymore. So you can walk without being afraid."
He looked her right in the eye, laying his soul bare. This wasn't about power or strategy. This was about kindness.
"So, Mystia..." he asked, his voice trembling slightly. "Will you let me perform the Rite with you?"
The question hung in the air. It was the first time he had ever asked. Not been told, not commanded, but genuinely, humbly asked.
Tears welled in Mystia's eyes again, but they weren't tears of despair. They were tears of overwhelming gratitude, of relief. She stared at him, her mouth slightly agape, as if no one had ever offered her such a thing, not as a duty, but as a gift.
She couldn't speak. She just nodded, a single, tearful, decisive nod.