The battle was over, but the silence that followed was far from peaceful.
Ethan trudged down the dim-lit hallway of the hotel, his body heavy with fatigue. The others Ceris, Sylviane, Sayo walked in near-silence beside him. Even Omen, usually smug and loud-mouthed, said nothing.
Their boots echoed softly against polished stone floors. The mission had been a success. Lives were saved. A criminal syndicate was crushed. And yet...
Every step Ethan took felt like it was dragging a memory behind it.
They reached their respective rooms. Quick goodnights were exchanged, half-muttered, half-hearted. No one had the strength to say more.
Ethan shut the door behind him and collapsed onto the bed. He didn't even bother removing his jacket. His muscles ached, his arm still sore where Omen had fused during battle, and his head spun with everything they had seen.
He thought he would fall asleep in an instant.
But sleep came with a price.
He was back in the tunnels.
Blood splattered across the stone. Screams echoed in the distance. The sharp metallic scent of gore clung to his throat.
His dagger no, Omen was in his hand. And as he looked down, he saw it again: that moment. The flash of his blade slicing through the enemy. The tear of flesh. The weight of a life being unraveled by his hand.
The guard's eyes were wide. The scream didn't even get out before Ceris struck the finishing blow.
He wanted to throw the weapon. He wanted to run.
But he stood there frozen in the moment.
The dream twisted, flashes overlapping.
The children in their chairs. Kite's desperate face. The green, toxic blood exploding from the guard's veins.
Omen's voice.
"You should've just killed them."
Ethan bolted upright, drenched in sweat.
His breath caught in his chest. He sat still for a few seconds, hand gripping the sheets tightly.
He looked down at his hands. They were trembling.
"…It's just a dream," he muttered, trying to steady himself. "Just a dream."
But the images didn't fade.
Not right away.
He knew he wouldn't be sleeping again.
Throwing on his cloak and strapping Omen into his new scabbard more for the sense of familiarity than protection Ethan slipped out of the hotel room.
The capital's streets were cold and quiet as he stepped into the early dawn light. The sky still wore the indigo shade of night, with only the faintest hint of gold on the horizon.
It was around five in the morning, but already the city stirred.
Shopkeepers lit their lanterns and prepared their stalls, the flickering lights casting a warm, almost dreamlike glow along the cobbled streets. The aroma of baked bread and spices hung faintly in the air. Workers carried crates and supplies from wagons to storefronts, chatting in hushed tones to one another. Brooms brushed against stone. Shutters creaked open.
Despite the chill, the city was waking up.
Ethan walked with no real destination just moving, just breathing. Trying to push away the weight clinging to his shoulders.
Every now and then he caught glimpses of normal life: a pair of kids racing to set up a fruit stand, a man sipping steaming tea on his porch, a young woman arguing with her sleepy cat while trying to open a butcher shop.
All of it felt oddly distant.
He was walking in a world he didn't quite belong to anymore.
Eventually, his wandering steps took him to the heart of the capital a vast circular park nestled between buildings, softly illuminated by arcane lamps that floated lazily through the air like drifting fireflies. A cool breeze brushed through the tree-lined paths, carrying with it the scent of fresh earth and dew-touched grass.
Benches curved around the central fountain, and scattered throughout the park were small, glowing golems each no taller than a toddler tending to the flora. One gently misted a row of lavender, another carried a tiny watering can as it pattered along a line of blooming shrubs.
The soft hiss of water, the rustle of leaves, the hum of arcane light it was all so peaceful.
Ethan found a bench beneath a willow tree and sat down, letting the serenity wash over him. For the first time since the mission, he let himself breathe not just inhale, but truly breathe.
He leaned back, eyes scanning the quiet dance of light across the grass.
For a fleeting moment, the world felt still.
After a few minutes of quiet reflection, Ethan stood and began making his way back to the hotel. The sky was beginning to brighten, golden light slipping between rooftops. By the time he returned, the streets had fully awakened to the rhythm of morning.
As he stepped into the hotel lobby, he spotted Ceris, Sylviane, and Sayo already gathered near the front desk, speaking with the receptionist.
Ceris looked over the moment he entered.
"There you are," she said, relief lightly laced in her tone. "We were starting to wonder where you disappeared to. It's time to check out."
Ethan blinked, still slightly groggy from his walk. "Right... What about our luggage?"
Sylviane, ever composed, answered without looking up from her note.
"It's already handled. One of the Duskmere staff will deliver everything, including the tailored attire. It'll be waiting for us back at the manor.
With that, they left the hotel and made their way to the arcane train station. The soft whir of magic-infused rails greeted them as the train stood waiting sleek, with glowing runes etched into its metallic frame, pulsing like a heartbeat.
They boarded quietly. The cabin was warm, a stark contrast to the chill outside. Ethan took a seat by the window, watching as the capital slowly rolled by, the buildings and people shrinking into the distance as the train glided forward.
None of them spoke much. The mission had left them drained mentally, emotionally, physically. Even Omen seemed content to remain quiet, nestled against Ethan's side within his scabbard.
The countryside unfolded outside the window in a gentle blur. Hills rolled by, mist clung to the treetops, and the occasional arcane wildlife flickered in the distance.
It wasn't long before Duskmere Manor came into view, its grand silhouette rising over the horizon like a familiar sentinel.
They were home. Or at least… somewhere that felt like it.
As they stepped off the train and walked the familiar path leading to the main gates of Duskmere Manor, a cool breeze drifted through the estate grounds. The towering gates swung open, and the familiar stonework of the manor greeted them.
At the front entrance, several Duskmere staff members were already waiting. Their luggage had arrived before them lined neatly at the steps as though by perfect timing.
Ethan stepped forward and gestured toward his own bag.
"I'll carry mine," he said.
The staff looked at each other, confused. One tried to politely intervene.
"Sir Ethan, please, there's no need—"
But Ethan was already hoisting his luggage off the ground. "I insist."
They hesitated, then finally relented with a small bow.
As Ethan started up the stairs, he frowned. The bag was... heavier than he remembered.
Not just heavy. Unreasonably heavy.
By the time he reached his room, his arms ached slightly from the climb. Still breathing steadily, he set the bag down and popped open the latches.
What he saw made his heart skip.
Kite.
Curled awkwardly amid Ethan's clothes inside the oversized Duskmere travel trunk, knees pulled to his chest, face dirty and tear-streaked, already fast asleep.
Ethan stared for a long moment.
"…How the hell did you even fit in there?"
Ethan let out a long, tired sigh as he stared down at the sleeping boy. Everything from the mission to the train ride back had left him drained, and now this. Trouble, it seemed, had a habit of following him like a loyal pet.
From within his scabbard, Omen's voice stirred, lightly amused.
"Gotta admit, I'm impressed. Kid sleeps like a rock and folds like a scroll. That's some dedication."
Ethan muttered something under his breath, then crouched down beside the trunk and gently shook Kite's shoulder.
"Hey. Wake up."
Kite stirred slowly, blinking groggily as he came to.
"Wha—?"
Ethan didn't wait for him to fully gather his thoughts.
"What in the world were you thinking?" he said, his voice stern but not angry. "Do you realize how dangerous that was? You snuck into noble grounds. Into my trunk. That's not just reckless, it's trespassing."
Without hesitation, Kite's expression crumbled. Tears welled up and spilled down his cheeks as he clutched the edge of the trunk.
"Please!" he sobbed. "Please, I just want to see my sister. I know she's here. I know she's in the medical ward. I just—just let me see her! I won't cause trouble, I swear!"
Ethan's jaw tightened. He looked away for a moment, weighing the plea. He could still see the desperation on Kite's face from the day of the raid, and now that same raw emotion was unraveling again.
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
"I can't let you see her. Not like this. Not yet."
Kite's eyes widened in alarm, but Ethan raised a hand gently.
"Your presence here needs to be reported first. To the current Patriarch of this house, Arthur. You can't just appear and expect everything to be fine. This is a noble manor, not a street alley. We do things carefully here. Understand?"
Kite nodded slowly, sniffling as more tears slipped down his cheeks. His hands gripped the edge of the trunk, and he tried to wipe his face with his sleeve.
Ethan let out another breath, softer this time.
"Well then," he said, standing up and offering a hand to the boy, "let's go."
Ethan led Kite through the familiar halls of Duskmere Manor, the boy keeping close but quiet, his steps unsure.
They arrived at Arthur's office, the heavy wooden doors standing as solid and intimidating as ever. Ethan raised a fist and knocked twice.
"Enter," came Arthur's voice from inside.
Ethan opened the door and stepped in, immediately noting that Maelin was present, seated across from Arthur and speaking in hushed tones.
He paused, offering a small bow.
"Apologies for the intrusion," Ethan said. "I can come back later if this is important."
Arthur waved a hand calmly. "If you're already here, speak."
Ethan rubbed the back of his neck, half-exhaling in awkwardness. "Right. Well... I just thought you should know. A certain, someone decided to stow away in my luggage on the way back from the capital."
Arthur's brow lifted slightly. "A certain someone?"
Ethan turned and gestured to the hall. "You can come in now."
Kite stepped into the office slowly. His posture was tight with nerves, his hands fidgeting at his sides. The grandeur of the room, the polished floors, the heavy bookshelves, the noble atmosphere it all made him feel like he didn't belong.
He swallowed hard as Arthur's gaze landed squarely on him.
"Name?"
"K-Kite, sir," he managed to stammer.
Arthur's expression remained unreadable.
"And why," he asked slowly, "did you not only stow away in a stranger's belongings, but trespass onto noble land?"
Kite looked down at his feet, his voice trembling but clear.
"They… they took my sister. My twin. She's the only family I have left," he said. "I knew she was being brought here. I just wanted to see her—to make sure she's okay. That's why I snuck in… into the old man's luggage."
Ethan blinked. "Old man?"
Omen burst out laughing from within the scabbard. "Hah! I like this one. Has no fear and no filter. Old man! That's perfect."
Ethan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm not even twenty."
Kite flinched a little, clearly embarrassed, but the damage was done and Omen wouldn't let it go anytime soon.
Arthur raised a brow, folding his hands atop the desk.
"There are multiple children currently under the care of our medical ward," he said. "Which one is yours exactly?"
Kite wiped his face, still sniffling. "She's my twin," he said. "Her name's Lynn. I've got sun-kissed skin but she's paler, white as paper, but we both have blonde hair. She's always been… different. Gentle. Sickly sometimes. But she's strong. Stronger than she looks.
Before Arthur could respond, Maelin finally spoke up.
"Is she the blonde girl? The one with slightly wavy hair?"
Kite's eyes lit up instantly. "Yes! That's her! Is she okay?"
Maelin gave a soft, reassuring nod. "She's already awake. Surprisingly, she was the very first to recover, much faster than the others. A strong spirit, that one."
She turned toward Arthur, her tone even but with a certain weight to it. "You should explain to the boy what we were discussing before they arrived."
Arthur glanced between Maelin and Kite, then leaned slightly forward.
"We were just talking about your sister," he said. "Maelin intends to keep her here. At the manor. Not as a prisoner, but as her personal disciple."
Kite blinked, stunned.
"Your sister has a very rare affinity not only with arcane magic, but specifically with healing magic. It's almost unheard of. She possesses a gift that could surpass even Maelin's, in time."
Maelin folded her hands calmly. "And since Ceris is not an arcane-innate herself, I have no heir to pass on what I know. Until now."
Ethan stood in silence, taking in the weight of it all, while Kite broke into another round of quiet tears this time from relief.
She was safe. She was in good hands. She had a future.
After a few moments, Kite looked up at Arthur, wiping his face with the back of his hand.
"Please… if it's okay, can I work here? Even if it's just as a servant—I don't care what I have to do, as long as I can stay near her."
Arthur considered him for a long, heavy pause, his fingers steepled.
Then he spoke.
"No."
The word landed like a blade between them.
Before Kite could respond, Ethan stepped forward, unable to keep quiet any longer.
"Then... what if he served as my squire?" he asked.
Arthur's gaze shifted to Ethan, unblinking.
"A squire?" he repeated. "Ethan, squires are traditionally appointed to young noble-borns. They are meant to be groomed for knighthood, educated, trained, and refined. Kite is neither noble nor knight material."
He leaned back in his chair.
"That is not a title given out of pity, nor sentiment.
Ethan stood a little straighter, voice steady despite the tension.
"I know I might be overstepping my voice, Sir Arthur," he began, tone formal. "Kite might not fit the mold for not being born noble by blood... but I can be sure that he is an honorable one."
Arthur said nothing.
Ethan continued.
"He's a kid who sacrificed everything for his sister. I saw him get beaten by thugs and still throw himself at them just to protect her. He has more bravery and resolve than I've ever had to give. And he's willing to give up everything he has just for her to have a better life."
He lowered his gaze, stepping forward and bowed.
"I know I'm lacking as a Kingmaker. I'm still far from being able to offer my shield to Lady Ceris the way she deserves... But please—let me train the boy. Let him answer to me. Let him run errands, start from the ground up. I'll be responsible for him."
For a moment, silence hung in the air.
Then, Maelin, quiet and composed as ever reached out and gave Arthur a sharp pinch to the side.
He grunted and gave her a sidelong look.
"You're being too hard on the boy," she said calmly, but there was no mistaking the scolding in her tone.
Before Arthur could respond, Maelin stepped away from the desk and knelt beside Kite, pulling him gently into a hug despite the dirt on his clothes and the grime still clinging to his face.
Kite's eyes widened and then all at once, the tension collapsed from his body as he sobbed into her shoulder. Loud, full cries, everything he had been holding in finally spilling out.
Arthur sighed and turned away slightly, his voice softer.
"I was only testing his resolve. I didn't intend to break him."
He looked toward Ethan.
"And you've grown."
Arthur clasped his hands behind his back, walking slowly toward the arched balcony doors.
"You're brave enough now to challenge my judgment, to act on your own will and to speak not just for yourself, but for others. You're beginning to think like a Kingmaker."
He paused at the balcony, staring out over the estate grounds.
"The boy will train with an assigned knight as a squire. If he passes the trials of what it means to be a knight, he will be taught the sword of Duskmere. But if he fails..."
Arthur turned his head slightly.
"Then he shall serve this manor in a different way. One chance. Make it count.
Maelin gently released Kite from the hug, brushing his hair aside as she spoke with a softer tone.
"That said, now is not the time to see your sister," she told him gently. "The medical ward is still being monitored. There may be lingering arcane toxicity, and we can't risk it spreading further. Let her rest and you get settled. Learn your responsibilities."
Arthur nodded in agreement. "Someone will prepare a shared room for you and your sister, once she's cleared."
He cast a glance over his shoulder. "In the meantime, go take a bath. Gods know you need one."
He then turned his gaze toward Ethan.
"And you—meet me in my office tomorrow. We have things to discuss."
Ethan straightened and bowed respectfully. "Yes, sir."
With that, they were dismissed.
Ethan stepped beside Kite, offering his hand. The boy took it without hesitation, eyes still red but no longer shedding tears.
They walked together through the manor halls. Along the way, Ethan spotted one of the maids sweeping near the corridor.
"Excuse me," he said politely. "Can you prepare a set of clothes for a boy around fourteen? Maybe… five foot one?"
The maid gave a quick nod and moved off to make the arrangements.
Ethan gave Kite's hand a light squeeze as they continued.
"Let's get you cleaned up first. You'll feel better."