The first thing Kael felt was weight—cold and heavy, pressing against his chest. His eyes fluttered open to darkness.
Water.
He was underwater.
Bubbles escaped from his lips as panic rushed through his veins. He thrashed instinctively, arms clawing upward toward a faint glow far above. The surface seemed impossibly far, but he forced his arms and legs to move, lungs burning.
His fingertips brushed light.
With one final, desperate kick, his head broke the surface.
Kael gasped, gulping in the air like it might vanish. But when he looked around, confusion gnawed at him. The water beneath him had gone still—then hard. Tentatively, he pressed his palm down. The surface was solid, smooth like polished stone, yet his lower body still floated as though submerged.
"What… is this place?" he whispered.
He dragged himself out, collapsing on the unyielding surface to catch his breath. That was when movement caught his eye—a flutter of crimson against the endless expanse.
The butterfly.
The same red butterfly from before hovered in front of him, its delicate wings beating in slow, deliberate rhythm. Kael's hand rose hesitantly. The creature alighted on his finger without fear.
Warmth seeped into him instantly. He glanced down at himself—his hair and clothes, moments ago dripping wet, were completely dry.
"…Thank you," he murmured.
The butterfly's wings flickered as if acknowledging his words before it took flight again, circling him once—beckoning.
Kael pushed himself up and followed. Each step echoed faintly as if he were walking on glass. Ahead, the butterfly came to rest on a small, lone flower growing impossibly from the water's surface. Only a single petal remained.
He crouched, studying it, but the flower's identity eluded him.
The butterfly's wings quivered again—communicating without words.
Kael reached out, brushing the last petal with his fingertips.
A flash—a memory not his own—slammed into his mind. Two young men clashed with swords, their movements filled with rage and grief. Shouts filled the air, sharp and urgent, but the words were muffled, indecipherable. The scene twisted—steel piercing flesh, blood splattering across the ground, both men falling.
Kael staggered back, clutching his chest.
Breathless. Confused. Shaken.
"What… are you trying to show me?" he asked the butterfly.
But the edges of the world blurred, colors bleeding together—
-----------------------------------------
He awoke to the sensation of someone holding his hand tightly. Slowly, his gaze shifted—and found Elric.
"Kael!" Relief lit her face as she pulled him into a hug. He stiffened at the sudden closeness, his senses still struggling to adjust. His eyes darted around the unfamiliar room—larger than his own, with black and gold decor that spoke of nobility, not Vaelthorn's quiet austerity.
He tried to sit up but a wave of dizziness washed over him.
"Easy," Elric murmured, steadying him. Her palm brushed his forehead. "Hm… still a bit warm, but much better than yesterday."
Her voice was soft—until Kael remembered the moment their lips had met in Vaelthorn, when she'd forced him to drink the potion. His face heated instantly, and he turned away to avoid her eyes.
Elric blinked, then flushed as well. "I—I already apologized for that, so don't—"
The door burst open.
"Are you feeling alright?" Robert strode in, a cup of coffee in each hand, with Sebastian following behind.
Kael tested his breath—steady. His chest felt lighter. His fists clenched experimentally—his body felt less heavy, though the dizziness persisted.
He studied Robert and Elric with quiet suspicion. Robert caught the look and smiled reassuringly before sitting beside him.
"We're in Delcra territory," Robert explained gently.
Kael's gaze drifted toward the window. Rolling hills stretched under a golden sky—nothing like Vaelthorn's landscapes.
"Young Master…"
The voice belonged to the older man beside Robert. Kael turned toward him, meeting the calm, practiced smile of someone used to formality.
"Sebastian Smith, your loyal servant," the butler introduced himself, kneeling politely. He extended a hand, but Kael instinctively pulled back.
Sebastian's smile flickered, but he nodded in understanding. "My apologies—I forgot you're not comfortable with new faces."
From a polished box in his hands, Sebastian passed an object to Elric. She opened it and tilted it toward Kael. Inside lay a sword hilt, stripped of its blade.
Something in Kael stirred. He hesitated, then reached out.
The moment his fingers brushed the hilt, the same memory as before slammed into him—the duel, the shouts, the blood. His breathing quickened.
"Kael?" Elric's voice cut through, her hand steadying his shoulder.
He didn't answer. Black smoke—visible only to him—drifted from his palm into the hilt, curling and disappearing into the metal.
Sebastian's voice broke the silence. "This is one of the fragments of your sword that you left behind. There are others, if you wish to see them."
Kael's eyes flicked briefly toward the butler, then away.
Robert stepped forward. "It's alright if you don't want to. We have plenty of time—focus on recovering first."
Slowly, Kael placed the hilt back into the box, though his gaze lingered. Robert set it beside the bed.
"Young Master, you haven't eaten since yesterday."
Kael leaned back against the pillows. He was tired—his body craved rest—but food was necessary. Robert brought a tray with coffee and porridge, guiding Kael's hands as he began to eat.
Elric's shoulders relaxed as she watched him eat without resistance. Even Sebastian seemed relieved.
That night, Robert brought him a final potion to lower his fever. Kael drifted into sleep, Elric seated faithfully at his side.
"Elric, you should rest," Robert suggested quietly. "You've been awake since yesterday."
She hesitated, then finally rose. A maid guided her toward her room.
Halfway down the grand staircase, she stopped.
A massive painting hung against the wall—a portrait of the Hero Kael. He stood tall, sword in hand, smiling with unshakable confidence.
Her fingers brushed the frame. "I miss your smile, Hero Kael…" she whispered.