The room was silent, lit only by the bluish glow of moonlight slipping through the half-drawn curtains. Lyciah lay on her back across the rumpled sheets, still wearing her dress. One arm was bent over her face, covering her eyes, while the other hand rested loosely on the mattress. She had spent hours like that. Not sleeping, barely moving. The memory of that conversation kept spinning inside her mind like a wheel she didn’t know how to stop.

  Her lips pressed together softly. The arm over her face slid upward until it rested against her forehead instead. A long sigh escaped her, emptying her lungs.

  “I should get some air…” she murmured to herself.

  Turning her head to the side, she stared at the edge of the bed for a few seconds, lost in thought. Eventually she pushed herself up slowly until she was sitting.

  And then, without warning, a thought crossed her mind with such clarity that it left her frozen in place.

  Caelan.

  She closed her eyes, and his image came easily: the straight posture, the calm, low voice, the way he always seemed to know what to do even when everything else was falling apart.

  Why…? Why was he the one she was thinking of now? Why did it feel as though hearing his voice—simply having him nearby—would make everything hurt just a little less?

  “That’s ridiculous…” she whispered, feeling heat rise to her cheeks.

  Carefully she stood and walked toward the door. She turned the knob slowly so it wouldn’t make noise and opened it just enough to peek out. Several strands of her white hair slipped forward with the movement. She stayed like that for a moment, half hidden behind the door, still holding it with both hands. Her large blue eyes scanned the corridor in silence… And then she saw him.

  Across the hall, leaning back against one of the walls with his arms crossed, stood Caelan. His eyes were closed and his head tilted slightly downward, so still he looked almost like part of the building itself—like a statue placed there to watch over the place.

  Lyciah froze. Before she could even react, Caelan’s brown eyes opened calmly and settled on her at once. Her heart gave a small jump. She hadn’t expected him to notice her so quickly. Nervous hands moved at once, straightening her dress in hurried little gestures. Then one hand flew to her hair, trying to tuck the loose strands behind her ear. Only then did she open the door completely and step into the hallway.

  “H-hello…” she murmured, avoiding his gaze for a moment.

  Caelan slowly uncrossed his arms.

  “Lyciah.”

  She finally looked up.

  “What are you doing here?”

  The question came out softly, though curiosity lingered beneath it. Caelan took a moment before answering.

  “I…” he began. “I was unable to fall asleep and decided to count doors instead of sheep.”

  Lyciah blinked, her brow knitting slightly in genuine confusion.

  “But…” she said gently, “Ancestrals don’t need to sleep.”

  The remark held no malice at all. It was said with the same natural ease someone might use to point out that the sky was blue. Caelan went still. His mind—usually quick and precise—took a moment to respond.

  “…Correct,” he admitted after a pause. “I have… employed an excuse commonly used by humans.”

  Lyciah lifted both hands to cover her mouth, hiding a smile behind her knuckles as her shoulders drew in slightly. A soft giggle escaped between her fingers.

  Caelan simply watched her. Lyciah’s voice always sounded sweet, even when she laughed quietly. Sweet and gentle, low and warm, as if every word were wrapped in care. It wasn’t a sound meant to draw attention, yet something in him relaxed whenever he heard it, whether he wished it or not.

  A few seconds passed before he spoke again.

  “Lyciah…” His voice was quieter than usual. “You spent the afternoon locked in your room. Are you feeling well?”

  The last trace of laughter faded softly. Her hands lowered from her face and laced together in front of her waist, fingers fidgeting with one another. She inhaled through her nose, and when she released the breath, a small, tired smile appeared.

  “Yes… I’m better.”

  One foot slid slightly behind the other as she swayed a little, then both arms moved behind her back, hands clasping together at her waist. She turned shyly, now standing sideways in front of him, eyes closing as she tilted her head.

  “Although… there’s something I didn’t tell you… Orion didn’t call me in to talk about anything related to the service.”

  Caelan’s gaze lowered slowly to the polished floor of the hallway.

  “I suspected as much.”

  Lyciah opened her eyes and let out a small laugh.

  “Of course you did. It’s not easy to fool one of the Ancestrals.”

  She looked up at him again.

  “He told me about something Queen Heliora did… something horrible.”

  Her fingers tightened together behind her back, her gaze falling again.

  “For eighteen years I’ve been loyal to Elyndra. I believed Heliora was a good queen, someone I should admire and follow… and now I find out she was lying to us all that time.”

  The corridor fell silent. Caelan remembered Momoru’s words, the tension in his voice when he revealed that Orion was in truth Sariel—the surviving prince of the seraphi. That confession had raised more questions than it answered, and he couldn’t help wondering if what Lyciah had just heard had anything to do with that vanished race.

  His eyes returned to her. Lyciah still looked down, shoulders drawn in slightly. She didn’t seem ready to continue. So Caelan remained silent. Pressing her would be unfair.

  “Trusting someone is not a mistake,” he said at last. “The fault belongs to the one who betrays that trust, not to the one who gives it in good faith.”

  He stepped closer, closing the distance between them. He didn’t touch her, yet his presence immediately felt nearer, surrounding her like a protective shadow beneath the dim hallway lights. The simple movement made Lyciah’s heart beat a little faster.

  “Besides… if you were raised within a single path, you couldn’t see the ones that existed beyond it. No one can choose what they were never allowed to know.”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Lyciah pressed her lips together softly.

  “But the day you chose to leave, you broke the chains others had placed on you. That requires more courage than any battle.”

  She blinked several times, forcing the tears not to form. She had always thought of herself as the weakest of the group—the one left behind while the others fought, the one who could never control her power the way her mother had.

  But hearing those words made everything feel just a little lighter.

  “Th-thank you…” she murmured, her voice as soft as a sigh.

  She inhaled through her nose and hurried to add, trying to sound cheerful,

  “B-but this time I’m not going to cry, all right? I’ve cried far too much today… I’m such a crybaby.”

  The confession came with an embarrassed little smile. She caught a strand of hair between her hands and ran her fingers along it slowly, smoothing it again and again in a nervous gesture.

  Without realizing it, a faint smile softened Caelan’s usually serious expression. Then he slowly raised his hand. The movement was careful, almost hesitant, as if he feared doing something improper. His palm came down gently upon Lyciah’s head, fingers settling among the white strands with a delicacy that seemed at odds with someone accustomed to wielding swords.

  Lyciah went rigid. Her blue eyes widened in shock. Sudden warmth rushed to her ears, her cheeks flushing a deep red. Her shoulders gave a small jolt, and both hands flew to her chest, clutching the fabric of her dress while her heart raced wildly.

  The touch was gentle. Warm and protective.

  “Then I will make sure you have no reason to cry,” he said.

  Lyciah’s lips trembled as if she were trying to hold onto a smile that was already slipping away. Moisture gathered at the edge of her eyes. Before she could stop it, a tear slid down her cheek. Then another.

  It took Caelan a second to understand what was happening. His expression changed immediately. The calm composure collapsed, replaced by clear confusion. He quickly withdrew his hand from her head.

  “Did I… said something wrong?”

  His voice came out louder than usual. Lyciah shook her head quickly.

  “N-no!”

  The word came out choked. She lifted a hand to wipe her tears, drawing in a shaky breath.

  “N-no, that’s not it… I… I’m… happy…”

  The words tumbled out between small sobs. The more she tried to calm herself, the tighter her throat felt.

  Caelan watched her, growing increasingly bewildered, unsure how to react.

  Lyciah pressed her lips together desperately. Great, she thought in dismay. I just said I wasn’t going to cry… and here I am. Crying again.

  Before she could say anything else, a familiar voice drifted from the far end of the hallway.

  “I’m glad to see you’ve come out of your room, Lyciah.”

  Naeriel’s calm voice wrapped around the moment like a warm breeze. She inclined her head slightly, watching Lyciah with gentle affection. Her golden eyes moved briefly to Caelan before returning to her, accompanied by an amused smile.

  “But you shouldn’t allow two men to make you cry on the same day… it’s too much for such a sensitive heart.”

  The remark—spoken without the slightest trace of malice—made Lyciah’s sobs mix with a shaky little laugh. Gradually, her breathing steadied.

  Caelan regarded the newcomer in silence. Astra, they called her within the company. If Sariel truly was the surviving prince of the seraphi, then the most logical conclusion was that this elegant, serene young woman must be the princess.

  Naeriel stepped closer to Lyciah.

  “My brother is worried. If you feel up to it, I think it would reassure him greatly to see that you’re feeling better.”

  Lyciah nodded at once, carefully wiping the last of her tears.

  “Yes… of course. He’s been very kind to me.”

  Then she turned toward Caelan, and all the composure she had just managed to gather fell apart at once as the memory of everything returned. Her gaze dropped immediately.

  “S-so… I’ll go… g-go talk with him.”

  Naeriel couldn’t help smiling at the scene. There was something transparent about that shyness—the way Lyciah avoided looking directly at him while the blush returned to her cheeks. No questions were necessary to understand it.

  Caelan gave a small nod.

  “Do not take too long returning. You should try to rest soon.”

  “It will only be a few minutes,” Naeriel assured him kindly.

  She gently took Lyciah’s hand and tugged lightly, guiding her down the hallway.

  Caelan remained where he was, watching them leave. He still did not fully trust Sariel. But he was almost certain of one thing: whatever the prince’s true intentions might be, he did not seem willing to hurt her.

  The corridor fell silent once the two girls disappeared around the corner.

  Lorena had just finished placing the last clean tray back in its spot when her phone screen lit up. She paused, the cloth still in her fingers, staring at her husband’s name on the notification as if she already knew it wouldn’t bring anything good.

  “Are you going to be long? My brother will be here in less than an hour. I’m not going to make him wait because you decided to entertain yourself in that little shop of yours. Hurry up and have everything ready. And don’t make excuses.“

  No greeting. No how are you? Just curt orders.

  Her shoulders slowly sagged as a tired sigh escaped her. She switched off the lights, locked up, and stepped outside.

  The metal shutter rattled down with a harsh clatter that echoed along the street. Lorena rested her forehead against the cold metal for a moment before straightening again. Her legs hurt. Her back hurt. That small corner of her chest that never seemed to rest hurt most of all.

  She adjusted her bag on her shoulder and began walking beneath the streetlights. Every step toward home felt heavier than the last. She didn’t want to return to that immaculate dining room where every dish had to be perfect, where every gesture of hers seemed to be scrutinized under a microscope, where silence existed only to point out her mistakes.

  Her gaze lowered to the pavement as she walked. And almost without meaning to, she thought of Azul. Of the way he looked at her as if she were the most precious thing in the world. Of how he said that simple nickname—baker—with a softness that seemed to brush against her skin, gentler than any touch.

  Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag.

  “I wish I could see him right now…” she murmured.

  Turning the corner without lifting her head, she took two more steps before glancing up absentmindedly—and stopped dead.

  A few meters away, beneath a streetlamp, orange hair swayed in the night breeze like a living flame. The figure stood with his back to her, motionless in the middle of the sidewalk, hands tucked into the pockets of a dark jacket.

  The world seemed to contract around that single point, the distant noise of the city fading into a dull murmur. Her heart skipped. She blinked once, unsure whether exhaustion was playing tricks on her. But no. She would recognize him anywhere.

  Inside Ekchron’s mind, the murmur never rested. Voices and laughter layered over one another. Comments that came from no one and everywhere at once.

  Boring.

  Find another.

  Break it.

  Play.

  Then—

  “Azul…”

  Her voice floated through the air with a clarity that pierced the chaos. The voices did not disappear, but they quieted just enough to make room for that soft, trembling sound. Ekchron’s attention snapped in that direction, and his body reacted before his thoughts did. He spun on his heel, eyes widening as he recognized the silhouette beneath the streetlamp.

  Lorena.

  She was still there, unmoving, her chest rising and falling quickly. Emotion tightened her throat, tangled with the exhaustion and lingering pain from her husband’s message. Before she could think about it too much, her feet moved on their own.

  She closed the distance almost at a run—and hugged him.

  Her arms wrapped around him tightly, pulling him against her as if she feared he might vanish at any moment.

  Ekchron went rigid. Heat rushed up his neck to his ears in an instant, a rosy flush spreading across his cheeks. His arms lifted by pure instinct, hovering awkwardly in the air on either side of her without daring to close around her.

  “I-I…” he began, faltering. “Well now, baker… what a dramatic display of enthusiasm. I had no idea my mere presence provoked such… such effusive reactions.”

  He tried to keep his usual crooked smile—that one he wore whenever he mocked the world—but his voice came out slightly higher than normal, and the faint stammer betrayed his nerves.

  A couple of seconds passed before Lorena seemed to come back to herself. She pulled away slowly, her hands sliding down Ekchron’s jacket until they finally let go.

  “I’m sorry…” she murmured. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  Ekchron remained exactly where he was, arms still half-raised in the air. He blinked once. Then again. Finally, he lowered them awkwardly.

  Idiot.

  He hadn’t even known how to return a hug. Such a simple human gesture—one anyone else would have understood without thinking.

  Clicking his tongue irritably, he looked away, annoyed with himself. A hand went to his head, ruffling his hair slightly as he glanced aside.

  “Are you… all right? I mean… was that hug about something in particular? Did something happen?”

  His brow furrowed faintly, as if the question irritated even him.

  “Not that I care,” he added immediately, in a quieter mutter.

  Lorena looked at him and offered a small, tired smile.

  “It’s just…” she breathed in deeply, “I don’t feel like going home right now. I suppose I’ve had a bad day.”

  The words came out soft and measured, leaving unsaid everything that truly weighed on her.

  Ekchron tilted his head, studying her with genuine confusion. His eyebrows rose. He didn’t understand the problem.

  “Then don’t go back,” he said with a shrug.

  He said it with complete naturalness, as though he had merely pointed out the obvious.

  It wasn’t profound advice. Nor brilliant. Nor especially sensible. But Lorena’s exhausted mind clung to those simple words as if, at last, someone had given her permission to stop pretending.