The world moves on, but here we stay,

  Haunted by the light, that's snuffed away.

  The seasons turned, yet our time stands still,

  In every silence, your absence spills.

  Echoing laughter, now tinged with pain

  Your memories, are all that remain

  Your voices, winds we cannot hold,

  They fade to whispers now, quiet and cold.

  The sun wept gently, the moon bowed low,

  Carrying sorrows, we cannot show.

  To you friends, a parting glass, we raise

  An offering, though grief is heavy, hope will blaze

  Sleep now sweet prince, for you have passed

  Your journey ended, though a light you still cast.

  Yet in the quiet, a voice gentle and vast,

  The lady, calls you home at last.

  -Our Grief, a poem by Reginald Archibald Patrick of clan MacAllister, Knight Captain of the Lions of Amalric and Suzerain of Caerleon Mòr (“Great Fort of the Lions”).

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  I kept my mouth shut, focusing on finishing my food, while my mother one-sidedly continued to praise my virtues—how capable I was, how talented, how perfect I’d be for the task. Reika protested loudly in turn, insisting she was far more suited to handle that guy.

  Through it all, the princess and Celestia listened politely, nodding when appropriate, though their smiles were the same measured, gentle kind Reika had worn earlier—the kind that wasn’t irritated, only patient.

  Meanwhile, the prince had once again tried to get close to Reika, trying to monopolize her attention. But the king had clearly had enough. With a sharp motion, he grabbed the prince by the ear and gestured to two guards. They stepped forward and escorted him out of the hall, leaving him squealing in protest.

  A few moments later, Aunty finally spoke. “I should check on the stew I made for lady Celestia,” she said, standing and offering a small smile. My mother also excused herself and went with her. I was quietly grateful for the interruption—I had no idea how much longer I could have endured without turning beet red from embarrassment.

  From the other table, the fathers also stood and the three of them moved toward Lady Celestia’s table. Leading the way was that guy’s father, his posture slightly stiff but formal. Behind him, Uncle and Arthur’s father followed; their steps were steady, but their faces carried a measure of embarrassment.

  When he was close enough, Uncle bowed deeply, shoulders low. The other two offered smaller, more awkward dips of the head. At first, I thought they were unsure of how formal to be but then I remembered they were American and Uncle was Japanese.

  “We are sorry for our attitude last night,” Uncle said after straightening, his voice steady but sincere.

  “We were angry… and scared about our situation,” Arthur’s father added, his tone quieter, tinged with remorse. “We took it out on you unfairly.”

  Trayn’s father flushed slightly and scratched the back of his head. “We’d like to make it up to you, if we can. And… if you ever need help disciplining them, you can call on us.”

  “Hero or not,” Uncle said, his voice firm, “they will be disciplined.”

  Celestia’s hands shot up frantically, her movements careful so as not to strain herself.

  “No, please. There was no harm done,” she said, her voice raspy but earnest. She smiled behind her mask. “I understand your position. It was a natural reaction.”

  Even sitting there, I could feel the weight of the moment. The fathers looked relieved but still a little uneasy, and Celestia’s calm acceptance seemed to diffuse the tension in the room. For a brief instant, everything felt slightly more settled.

  After apologizing once more, the three fathers said they would go to the kitchens to check on things.

  “Even if we aren’t heroes,” Trayn’s father said, voice a little embarrassed but firm, “that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be doing something. Even as guests here, we don’t know how long we’ll stay. It would be rude to just… sit back and mooch off someone’s hospitality.”

  Uncle nodded firmly. “Even if we aren’t useful for combat, we have some manner of pride.”

  “Besides,” Arthur’s father added with a small grin, “we might not be great cooks, but we can still help. Carrying things, chopping vegetables… something simple like that.”

  Nana baa-san followed them out, moving at a brisk pace, likely to oversee the whole operation.

  I watched them go, a mix of admiration and quiet amusement stirring inside me. Even in this strange, unfamiliar world, some things didn’t change: responsibility, humility, and the willingness to step in when needed.

  With the adults occupied, we settled back at the table, this time speaking quietly with the princess. She explained what she had been talking about with the boys earlier, the customs surrounding their names, how introductions worked in this world, and what it meant to be of a main branch versus a collateral line.

  Curious, I asked, “Do we have to follow the same rules? Are we expected to introduce ourselves like that?”

  She shook her head, smiling brightly. “Well, since all of you have the status of heroes, that counts as a pass. No one will mind how you introduce yourselves.”

  I looked at my classmates, and we all seemed to exhale quietly, like a collective sense of relief settled over us. For once, I thought, at least, something in this world seemed simple. We had grown up in Japan, where humility and modesty were valued above all else.

  Being suddenly expected to stride up to people and declare ourselves heroes—it was more than any of us were ready for.

  Once the servants saw that we had finished eating, they politely asked if they could clear our plates. Arthur and Trayn immediately jumped up, offering to help carry them to the kitchens. The servants looked surprised.

  “Don’t worry. It’s fine, even in a small way, we’d like to be able to contribute.” Arthur said, brushing aside their concerns.

  After that, we spent the better part of thirty minutes talking with Princess Charlotte. She shared stories about her life, her studies, the small routines of her days in the castle, and we reciprocated with glimpses into our own lives. At one point, we even showed her our phones.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  She was fascinated like all teens are, leaning forward to examine the screens, asking questions about apps, pictures, and how we used them back in Japan. Halfway through our conversation, Aunty and my mother returned, carrying a pot of Celestia’s stew. The aroma alone made everyone pause mid-sentence.

  “This is Lauya,” Aunty explained. “A traditional stew from their country. Simple beef stew with a few vegetables—this one has something like Chinese cabbage, though longer, corn, and pepper.”

  In contrast in Japanese stews I know, the most common is to use dashi, soy sauce and mirin as a base.

  Mother added, possibly for me and my classmates to hear, “I asked around, but the servants here aren’t familiar with dashi, miso or anything similar.”

  She noticed me staring at her and she smiled. “I volunteered to cook for tomorrow, and Anna will assist. If we’re free, we’ll alternate managing the kitchen to keep the meals varied. That is until they could find another one to manage the kitchens.”

  Wills tilted his head, curious. “Mom, what’s dad doing now?”

  Aunty smiled faintly. “It was a bit too late for them to help with breakfast, so we had him wash and clean the dishes instead.”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle softly. Even in this strange new world, some things didn’t change, the pride of being a father, the authority of a mother, and the quiet routines that kept life moving forward.

  The aroma of the stew was rich, peppery and hearty, and for some reason, it made my mouth water. I discreetly swallowed, hoping no one noticed.

  A maid carefully ladled some of the stew into a bowl for Celestia. She lifted the spoon, took a sip—and immediately flinched.

  “Hot,” she murmured, wincing slightly, but she didn’t stop. She took another careful sip, savoring the flavor despite the heat.

  “How is it to your liking?” Aunty asked, watching her closely.

  Celestia’s voice was still raspy, but this time there was a hint of relief in it, as if something in her nose had finally cleared. “It tastes amazing,” she said. “I thought I would barely taste anything while eating, but the flavor… it hits perfectly with the pepper.” She paused, struggling for a moment before continuing, “Thank you—”

  “You can call me Aunty,” Aunty interrupted gently, offering a small smile. “You’ll be helping my son after all. I was worried I might have added too much pepper, but it seems your tolerance is similar to my sons.”

  Celestia nodded slowly. “In my world, we have something similar,” she said, hesitating slightly. “But the broth is not clear. We usually season it with a red fruit called halmas,” she added, almost nervously. “Aunty. And certainly not with bead-fruit… or, as you called it, corn.”

  Aunty’s smile widened, pleased. “For lunch, we’ll try the spicy-and-sour version, see which one helps.”

  I watched Celestia take another careful sip, and for the first time that morning, she seemed genuinely at ease.

  Even in this unfamiliar world, with unfamiliar flavors and strange customs, small comforts like a good meal seemed to make everything feel a little more bearable. For a moment, it felt almost normal. Almost like home.

  “Wait, Anna,” my mother said, calling Aunty’s attention. “Since your son isn’t a hero, perhaps he could manage the kitchen instead. He was very proud of telling me how good he was at it back then.”

  Aunty paused, clearly considering it. I could practically see the moment the idea settled in—and the realization that followed close behind.

  “That’s true,” she said slowly. “And since the position seems to be vacant, we could petition the king about it. That should keep him out of trouble.”

  Keep him out of trouble. I met Reika’s gaze. To both of us, that sounded like a miracle.

  She then turned to Celestia. “Lady Celestia, from last night—my firstborn’s skill, the one labeled Epic—am I correct in assuming that it ranks higher than Rare?”

  Celestia nodded, pausing mid-bite, a spoonful of corn hovering just in front of her lips.

  “Yes, Aunty,” she said. “It’s my first time actually seeing a skill of that rarity. I’ve only ever read about them.”

  A murmur spread among the boys as they heard this. Wills spoke up after I saw Taka gave him a small elbow. “Uhm, lady Celestia, is having a high-rarity skill is a good thing?”

  Celestia fanned her mouth lightly, cooling the heat from the corn before answering. “The short answer is yes. We’ll cover everything properly in my lecture once I’ve had time to rest. But skill rarity makes a huge difference. And since the skill is passive, that would make Lord Vi quite the expert.”

  My mother looked inordinately pleased with herself.

  Still, another major decision, made without that guy’s consent. I really didn’t want to imagine how he’d react to any of this. Then again, he was unusually soft when it came to his mother. Maybe—just maybe—it wouldn’t be as bad as I think.

  Another thirty minutes passed with everyone chatting before a servant approached us. He was dressed in black, neatly trimmed with white—someone who could only be described as a butler.

  He stopped a respectful distance away and cleared his throat. “Honored guests,” he said, voice smooth and practiced. “His Majesty requests that once you have all finished eating, I am to escort you for tailoring arrangements. I shall wait outside.”

  Rather than rushing, we chose to wait and move as one. It took another half hour or so—long enough for Celestia to finish her meal at her own pace, and for the fathers to wrap up their help in the kitchens.

  Celestia said she would accompany us part of the way, since the route back to her room was the same as ours. Her two maids followed closely, and the princess joined as well. With her came twelve guards—six ahead, six behind. The butler glanced at the sudden increase in numbers, visibly confused and a little nervous, but to his credit, he said nothing and kept his posture firm.

  As we walked, Suzu muttered, “The castle felt like a maze. I’m surprised no one gets lost here.”

  I quietly agreed.

  Celestia explained, “If the castle were ever attacked or infiltrated, anyone unfamiliar with the layout would be at a severe disadvantage.” She spoke matter-of-factly, as if this were simply common sense.

  We passed into another section of the castle, and this time I truly noticed it. Last night, everything had been too sudden, too overwhelming to take anything in properly. Now, walking through its halls in daylight, I realized just how vast the place really was.

  The ceilings soared, corridors stretched on longer than expected, and each turn seemed to lead into yet another wing. I’ll admit, though, I didn’t have the best frame of reference.

  At a crossroads, we encountered two knights clad in full plate armor, their helmets held in their hands. One stood at around 180cm, with brown hair, fair skin, and sharp blue eyes. The other was taller—about 186cm—with slightly darker skin, the same blue eyes, and a shaved head.

  Both didn’t look any different from the other knights we had seen, except for a raised section near their necks decorated with gold symbols and filigree. Both snapped their fists to their chests in salute the moment they spotted the princess and Celestia.

  “Good morning, Princess, Lady Celestia,” called the taller knight, his voice, deep. His gaze lingered on Celestia, concern creeping into his expression. “You don’t look very well, my lady.”

  Before she could answer, the shorter knight glanced over our group, eyebrows lifting. “And who might these guests be?” he asked. “Students, perhaps?” Then he grinned. “Here for a tour?”

  The question hung in the air, lighthearted.

  Celestia stepped toward them as best she could in her condition, leaning heavily on her improvised cane. She raised a hand, signaling for the two knights to come closer.

  They exchanged a glance, then bent down to hear her. She whispered something to them. Whatever she said had an immediate effect.

  Both men froze. Their eyes widened as they looked at her, then at us, then back at Celestia again as if to confirm they’d heard correctly.

  The taller of the two let out a low whistle. “You actually—” the other started, then cut himself off, catching himself just in time. He reached out and gave Celestia’s shoulder a careful pat instead.

  Celestia, for her part, looked quietly pleased with their reactions.

  The taller knight barked out a laugh, then shot his colleague a smug, slightly condescending look as he extended a hand. “Pay up. I won that bet.”

  The shorter knight scowled and jabbed an elbow into his side, prompting another laugh.

  Then they turned to face us properly.

  “Greetings, honored guests,” the taller one said, saluting again with fist to chest. “Knight-Captain Aldric Stonewick.”

  “Knight-Captain Godwin Ravencraft,” the other added, offering a matching salute.

  Godwin glanced at the princess. “Young highness, may I ask, where are all of you headed??”

  “Tailoring arrangements,” the princess replied brightly.

  Both men looked at each other and seemed to come to a conclusion.

  “Mind if we tag along?” Aldric asked, already stepping aside to fall in beside our impromptu procession.

  As we walked on, I found myself glancing down the long corridor ahead, at more explanations, more expectations. Another step deeper into a world that still didn’t feel real.

  But at least, I thought, one thing was clear.

  This wasn’t going to be a quiet stay.