"No! The journey is dangerous!"
Elric's voice echoed off the stone walls, cutting through the quiet midnight stillness of her office. Her arms trembled at her sides, clenched fists betraying the storm inside her chest. Her blue eyes, usually calm and composed, now shimmered with thinly veiled fear and frustration.
"Even if you use a teleportation port," she continued, her voice rising, "we'll still have to go through the edge of the snowstorm. Kael's fever isn't going down, Reinhardt. It could get worse!"
Reinhardt stood by the window, silent and unmoved. His hands were behind his back, his figure silhouetted by moonlight.
"I know," he said quietly. "But we don't have another choice. His sword… is at Delcra's castle . I placed it there after the final battle, five years ago."
Elric's expression shifted, confused. "What does that have to do with—"
"That sword," Reinhardt interrupted, turning to face her, "has the ability to absorb corrupted or negative mana. If Kael's current state is because of residual dark energy… then that sword might stabilize him."
Elric's lips parted, but no words came out. Her hands dropped slightly.
She wanted to argue. She should argue. But something in Reinhardt's calm certainty made her hesitate. A second passed. Then another.
"…Are you trying to keep Kael away from me?" Her voice cracked now, quiet and bitter.
She looked away as she bit her lip, hard enough to sting. "You know I'm indebted to him. You know I… I want him to live in peace. Even now, even after everything we've done—he's suffering. He doesn't deserve that. None of it."
Her breath caught in her throat. She refused to let her tears fall.
Reinhardt finally stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. "I'm not keeping him from you," he said. "But right now, this is what he needs. Delcra is the only place left that's untouched by our interference. Somewhere that still belongs to him."
He stopped in front of her, his expression softening. Gently, he placed his hand on her shoulder.
"I know you care deeply for Kael," he murmured.
Elric flinched.
Her golden eyes rose to meet his, wide and raw with emotion.
"And I trust you," he continued, "that if anything were to happen… you'd be the first to protect him in my place."
She couldn't speak. Only nodded, barely.
Reinhardt's hand fell away as he turned back toward the tall window.
"I'll be returning to the Imperial Palace in three days. But you need to leave first. Quietly. With only your most trusted people."
Elric stood still, fighting the whirlwind of emotion clawing at her throat.
"You'll depart before dawn," Reinhardt went on. "No colors. No sigils. The fewer eyes, the better. I've already sent word to Delcra."
Her head snapped up.
"…You mean," she said slowly, "they know Kael's alive?"
"I didn't say that." He glanced at her. "I told them their master would be visiting. That's all. Most of the staff there were chosen by me. They've kept their loyalty—and their silence."
Elric finally nodded.
She bowed politely and turned to leave—but stopped at the door.
"…You said it's a short visit," she murmured without turning. "So… he'll come back, right? He'll return to this house?"
Hope clung to every word.
Reinhardt didn't answer.
He only smiled, the kind of smile that said too much and too little all at once.
Elric understood.
She stepped out without waiting for a reply. And every step she took away from that room weighed heavier than the last.
-----------------------------------------
The sky was still dark when Elric stepped into the courtyard behind her estate. The stars had begun to fade, but the sun had yet to rise. A sharp wind brushed her cloak, snapping the fabric behind her legs.
Before her stood a modest wooden carriage—no family crest, no golden wheels, nothing that marked it as belonging to the house of Vaelthorn. Just two horses, a silent driver, and two cloaked knights disguised as merchants mounted on either side.
All exactly as Reinhardt had instructed.
Elric checked her silver pocket watch. 3:00 a.m.
She turned at the sound of hurried steps.
Robert appeared from the hallway, his figure carefully supporting someone slumped over his back.
Kael.
Still unconscious.
Still feverish.
Elric's heart dropped when she saw his face—far too pale, lips dry and tinged red from the cold. His breath came in shallow waves against Robert's shoulder.
She ran toward them.
"Is he still burning up?" she asked as she reached to support Kael's legs.
Robert nodded, his expression grim. "Yeah. His fever hasn't gone down all night."
He gently shifted Kael's weight as Elric touched Kael's cheek. His skin was damp with heat. She sucked in a breath.
Robert carefully wrapped a thick shawl tighter around Kael's neck. "We have to keep him warm. The cold will only make it worse."
"Put him on my lap," Elric said, opening the carriage door. "I'll keep him steady during the ride."
Robert didn't argue. He understood immediately.
She climbed in and settled against the seat. Robert placed Kael gently onto her lap. She tucked the blanket around him, making sure his weight rested comfortably on her.
"I'll ride with the driver," Robert said. "Please don't look away from him. Not for a second."
"I won't," she whispered.
The door closed, muffling the outside world.
Through the small window, she caught a glimpse of the manor. Reinhardt stood at the balcony window above, arms folded, watching the carriage quietly from the shadows.
The carriage began to move.
The wheels creaked over dirt and gravel as the horses trotted off the estate path, veering into the less-used trails between the trees. Their lanterns swung with the motion, casting flickering lights across the cold morning fog.
Robert's voice came from the front.
"When we get near the edge of Vaelthorn territory, the snow will start. That's where the storm begins," he warned. "I'll cast a protective barrier to shield the carriage. When I give the signal, I'll need you to focus only on Kael."
"I understand," Elric answered softly.
She looked down at the boy in her lap—still, quiet, flushed from fever.
She adjusted the blankets again, brushing back strands of his white hair. His bangs were damp with sweat, sticking to his pale forehead.
"Hold on, Kael…" she whispered.
They'd left Vaelthorn's estate behind.
The road had softened with frost, the jolts of the wheels dulling against a thin blanket of snow. Outside the window, flakes began to fall gently, fluttering through the air like slow-burning embers.
Inside, Kael shifted slightly.
Elric tightened her hold, steadying his head against her chest.
She smiled faintly and brushed his hair again.
"I remember the last time we traveled in snow…" she whispered. "You loved it. You ran ahead of everyone… just so you could turn around and laugh at us for being slow."
She tucked the shawl closer around his throat, shielding his exposed skin. Then she wrapped her arms around him tighter, gently rubbing his hand between hers.
"I thought you were childish," she said with a small, nostalgic laugh. "But… It made me happy."
Then—
A twitch.
Her breath caught.
She looked down and felt it—his fingers moving slightly, just enough to wrap around hers.
"Kael…?"
His eyes fluttered open. Barely. But they opened.
She leaned down immediately, her voice gentle.
"Are you uncomfortable?" she asked, brushing her thumb along his hand.
He blinked slowly. His grip is weak, but real.
"Are you hurt anywhere?"
Again, just a blink. No strength in his throat to answer.
Elric reached up to touch his forehead.
His skin was still burning.
"Your fever's still high… but you're awake. That's good. That means you're fighting it." She pressed her cold hand against his flushed cheek. "Just a little longer. We're taking you somewhere safe. Somewhere that belongs to you."
His eyes closed again. His lashes trembled.
Then he whispered—
"Your hand… smells… sweet…"
Elric froze.
Her face turned bright red.
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
He was already asleep again, breath steadying against her wrist.
She stared at him, stunned. Then slowly, slowly, a quiet laugh escaped her lips—small and breathy and full of disbelief.
She turned her gaze back to his sleeping face. Her hand never left his. His fingers, even now, still clutched faintly at hers.
She didn't let go.