The dawn light burned through the stained‑glass windows of the Imperial Breakfast Hall as Itsuki Hiroto nursed a mug of weak tea and a single buttered roll. Beside him, Princess Lysandra laughed at a court jester's antics; across the table, Lady Virelya sifted through reports, and Sera slid a plate of steaming dumplings in front of him.
"Eat up, Captain," Sera urged, "you look like last night's scarecrow."
Hiroto lifted the teacup with a sigh. I look like death warmed over, he thought, rubbing the ache in his side where he'd landed on the granary floor. Just as the buttery roll touched his lips, Lysandra turned to him, eyes bright.
"Hiroto, I wanted to thank you again for saving me," she said earnestly. "You risked everything—your safety, your reputation—just to pull me free."
Hiroto froze mid‑bite. He swallowed hard and forced a smile. "Actually… I didn't save you. I was running away."
Lysandra's brow furrowed. "Running away?"
"Yeah," he confirmed, in a rush. "I saw those cultists, panicked, and tried to escape. Somehow I tripped into a table, knocked them out by accident, and you were free." He waved one hand dismissively. "Pure luck."
The princess blinked, then giggled softly. "You're so modest." She reached across the table, plucking a dumpling. "Whether by intent or accident, you're amazing."
Hiroto's ears heated. "I'm not amazing. I bruise easily and can't boil an egg. Please don't call me that."
Lysandra set down her teacup. "I will call you what you are: my hero." She smiled—a warm, genuine curve that made the room feel brighter. "I'd like to repay you. Would you join me for a morning walk in the palace gardens?"
Hiroto glanced at Virelya, who gave him a knowing nod. There goes my "stay out of trouble" plan, he thought, putting down his roll. "Sure," he managed. "I mean—yes, Your Highness. I'd be honored."
---
The Crystal Gardens were dewy and cool, the fountains chasing arcs of mist into the air. Lysandra walked beside him, barefoot on the flagstones, her gown brushing the high hedges. Birds sang as if companionably cheering their every step.
"Tell me honestly," she said after a moment, "why do you deny what you've done? Everyone in the court hails you as a legend."
Hiroto considered: the broken soup pot, the accidental rescues, the glowing artifacts. "Because I'm not a legend. I'm an average clerk who trips over his own pants," he confessed. "If people believe I plan these things… they'll expect more. And I—" He paused, searching for the right phrase. "I don't want them to suffer disappointment when I inevitably fail."
Lysandra reached out, touching his arm gently. "Even failures can inspire. Your humility makes you stronger in my eyes."
His heart thumped. Dangerous territory, he thought. "Princess, you're very kind."
She smiled, then beckoned him toward a secluded alcove tangled with climbing roses. Within lay a small pond, its surface glassy. Lysandra plucked a pale pink bloom and tucked it behind her ear.
"Walk with me here," she said. They strolled alongside the water, the only sound a distant waterfall and their soft footfalls.
Suddenly, a screech shattered the calm. Hiroto whipped around to see a crazed peacock—its feathers dyed crimson—rampaging through the hedges. The bird gore‑smeared a statue's foot and flapped wildly toward them, its beak open in what resembled a battle cry.
"Get back!" Hiroto shouted, instinctively stepping forward. But as he lunged, Lysandra's foot caught in her gown's hem. She stumbled onto the path, and the bird veered straight for her.
"Princess!" Hiroto barked—and sprinted forward, terrified.
He'd meant to push her out of the way. Instead, in his haste, he tripped over a root, tumbled chest-first onto the gravel, and slid beneath the bird's flailing feet. Startled, the peacock veered off, flapping back into the hedges where it squawked indignantly.
Hiroto lay there, chest heaving, the gravel imprinting an abstract pattern on his robes. Lysandra rushed forward, kneeling beside him.
"Are you all right?" she cried, cupping his cheek.
He winced. "Yeah… I'm fine. I just… fell on my face while trying to save you."
Lysandra laughed, brushing dirt from his tunic. "You always manage to come out on top."
Hiroto sat up slowly, rubbing his back. "Barely. My ribs taste like sand."
---
As they picked their way back to the main paths, Lysandra looped her arm through his. Courtiers hiding behind rose‑clipped hedges peeked out, whispering and pointing.
"He's always saving her," Sera muttered as she caught up, bag of potions in hand. "I can write a haiku: 'Clumsy clerk dives down / Danger flees from heroic hunch / Princess' heart ascends.'"
Hiroto shot her a pleading look. "Please don't."
They reached the pavilion where a small gathering waited: Lady Virelya, a pair of royal aides, and Cardinal Elgar, who stood apart, arms folded and expression unreadable.
Lysandra paused and curtsied. "Your Eminence."
Cardinal Elgar inclined his head. "Princess, Captain Hiroto," he intoned. "A moment, if you please."
Lysandra released Hiroto's arm. "I will await your return," she said softly.
Hiroto nodded, voice tight. "Of course."
Lysandra departed on a flurry of silk, leaving Hiroto blinking at the cardinal.
"Elgar," Virelya murmured, "this is awkward."
The cardinal's gaze flicked to Hiroto and back. As the afternoon light glinted off his mitre, he spoke with solemn calm, "Captain Hiroto, the Church and the Crown thank you for safeguarding the princess. But the Prophecy Council assembles this evening. Your presence is required to interpret the ... implications of your actions."
Hiroto's stomach sank. Again? He swallowed. "Council… this evening?"
Elgar inclined his head. "Doom approaches with each act you perform, be it deliberate or accidental. We must ascertain whether your role is to save or to seal our fate."
Hiroto closed his eyes briefly, then opened them with resolve. "I'll be there."
As Cardinal Elgar turned and swept away, the courtiers clustered closer, whispering prayers and blessings. Hiroto rubbed his temples, bracing himself.
He muttered under his breath, "Dinner better involve coffee and no orbs."
Sera patted his shoulder. "You're becoming a very busy man."
Hiroto managed a crooked smile. "If I have to save the world again tonight, I might at least learn to fall with style."
And so, with the princess safe, the peacock subdued, and the curse of prophecy once more beckoning, Itsuki Hiroto prepared himself for another round in the game of fate—where every stumble might echo as a legend, and every misstep might decide the world's destiny.