The air inside the Duskmere medical ward was clean and faintly floral, carrying the scent of dried lavender and crushed mint. Though it was a place meant for healing and care, Maelin had made it her own tucking small clusters of plants into nooks and corners, letting ivy trail softly along the tops of tall shelves and windows. It wasn't overgrown, but it breathed with life, like a quiet garden hidden within walls of linen and tincture.
they gently laid Ethan on one of the ward's soft patient beds, his expression still faintly drawn from exhaustion. His breathing was even, and his arm, the one wrapped in those strange chains, had relaxed at last.
Ceris stood beside the bed, watching him. Her brow was creased with concern.
"Will he be alright?" she asked, her voice quiet but laced with worry.
Maelin adjusted a pillow beneath Ethan's head and gave a small, reassuring smile. "Kingmakers are stronger than most realize. He'll recover. What he needs now is rest."
Ceris nodded slowly but didn't move. Her eyes lingered on Ethan's face a moment longer.
Maelin, watching her granddaughter closely, saw it, the heaviness in her posture, the shadow in her eyes.
"You're carrying something," she said gently. "Something heavier than just worry for him."
Ceris didn't respond at first. The silence stretched between them as if she were debating whether to speak. Her fingers curled slightly at her side.
Then, in a trembling voice, she whispered, "It's my fault."
Maelin tilted her head. "What is, dear?"
"All of it." Ceris's voice cracked as the words spilled out. "Grandfather... he had to give up his chance to become king. And Mother" she paused, her throat tightening. "She died because of me."
Maelin's brows gently furrowed. "Ceris…"
Her eyes welled up, tears blurring the edges of her vision. Her voice shook.
"I've carried that with me for so long. That it's my fault they lost everything. And now I keep wondering..." she whispered, "if I really deserve to ascend to the throne at all. If I treat someone like Ethan as a tool... or worse, as someone useless... what kind of ruler does that make me?"
Before another word could slip free, Maelin stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Ceris, pulling her into a gentle, full embrace. She guided Ceris's head to her chest, resting it there while one hand softly caressed the back of her hair.
Ceris let the tears fall. No resistance. No shame. Just the quiet surrender of a girl who no longer had the strength to hold it in.
Maelin held her close, saying nothing because sometimes, that was all a heart needed.
After a while, Maelin whispered softly, "Dear, you know that's not true."
The words lingered in the air, gentle and warm. Ceris didn't respond. She just cried quiet, trembling sobs muffled against Maelin's chest.
And Maelin stayed there with her, cradling the weight of a sorrow that had lived too long in silence.
And after a long silence, when her breathing had steadied and her fingers had unclenched, Ceris whispered, her voice muffled against Maelin's chest:
"If I become Queen… if I do it right… then none of their sacrifices will be in vain."
Maelin's hand paused for a moment, still resting gently on her granddaughter's hair. Then she resumed the soft, rhythmic motion, her silence as warm and steady as the sunlight spilling through the window.
Ceris didn't say who she meant. She didn't have to.
And in that moment, surrounded by herbs, quiet strength, and the scent of healing earth, Ceris finally allowed herself to feel the weight she carried and slowly, to begin letting it go.
After some time, Ceris quietly pulled back and wiped her eyes, trying to compose herself.
Maelin placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Why don't you get something to eat, dear? I'll stay with Ethan for a while."
Ceris hesitated, but then gave a small nod. She didn't speak again as she stepped out of the ward, leaving Maelin and Ethan in the quiet.
Maelin turned her gaze to the bed. "I know you're awake, Mr. Pierce."
Ethan cracked open one eye, a sheepish look forming. "Was it that obvious?"
Maelin gave a soft chuckle. "To someone like me? Quite."
He shifted slightly under the blanket. "I didn't mean to listen in. I just… couldn't say anything."
"It's fine," Maelin said, brushing a strand of ivy from the edge of the windowsill. "Sometimes, hearing the truth unfiltered is the only way we really begin to understand someone."
She glanced back at Ethan. "Be patient with her. She's not as harsh to everyone as she is to you. She expected something very different when she summoned her Kingmaker. That disappointment it hurts more than she lets on."
Ethan was quiet, absorbing her words.
"Forgive her," Maelin said softly. "Even when she struggles to forgive herself."
Ethan looked toward the door where Ceris had gone. "...Yeah."
Maelin smiled and patted his arm gently. "Now stay in bed and rest. You've earned it. Tomorrow will come soon enough."
Ethan lay still for a while after she left. The quiet settled around him like a warm fog. Then, faint footsteps returned.
Ceris stood at the doorway, uncertain.
Ethan gave a tired smile, his voice soft. "You're really not as cold as you act, you know."
Ceris paused, caught off guard. She looked like she might deny it, but didn't. He continued, voice gentle but honest.
Ethan gave a faint look toward her, voice soft. "I heard a bit… when I was out. You stayed. You cared. I don't know what exactly you're carrying, but… the fact that you're still standing?" He looked down at his hand, flexing his fingers. "I think that takes a lot more strength than anyone gives you credit for."
Ceris shifted uncomfortably, arms crossing lightly not defensive, just unsure.
Ceris looked away slightly. "I didn't do it for praise."
Ethan nodded. "I know. That's why it meant something."
There was a pause. Ceris lingered instead of leaving. Then, quieter:
Ceris hesitated, then asked quietly, "…What were you like… before all this? Before you were summoned?"
Ethan blinked. He wasn't expecting that. A slow smile tugged at the edge of his mouth warm, a little sad.
Ethan leaned back against the pillow, his gaze distant. "Normal. Pretty boring, honestly. I had school, part-time jobs… my parents would nag me about my grades. And I've got two little siblings. Little gremlins, really. Always stealing my snacks."
He let out a soft laugh under his breath—the kind that stung a little. "I miss them. I miss home."
Ceris glanced at him, her eyes softening. Ethan gave a slight shrug, the smile still there, even if tired.
"But I'm here. And as much as I want to go back… I can't, not yet. So I'll do what I can while I'm stuck in this whole Kingmaker mess." He glanced over at her. "For you. And maybe for myself too."
Ceris didn't respond immediately. But this time, she didn't look away.
"…That's foolish," she said at last.
Ethan grinned. "Probably. But that makes two of us, doesn't it?"
There was a pause. And for the first time, Ceris didn't deny it.
She lingered a moment longer, then looked at him again.
"…What if you could go home?" she asked.
Ethan blinked. "What do you mean?"
Ceris looked toward him, her voice quieter now. "They say Kingmakers are given a choice. When their Candidate ascends to the throne… they can choose to stay, or return to their world."
Ethan shifted, slowly trying to sit up. He braced himself with one arm, attempting to push upward but the strain on his midsection flared suddenly, making him wince. He let out a breath and eased himself back down.
Ethan (softly, with something like hope beneath the exhaustion): "...That so?"
Ceris gave a faint nod.
Ethan with a brief pause. "Then I guess I've got something to work toward." He gave her a tired but genuine smile. "Help you win. And maybe, one day… go home."
Ceris turned slightly, as if she was about to leave but then she paused. Her voice was softer now.
"Then don't fall behind," Ceris said, her voice steady.
She stood there for a second longer, her eyes lingering on him. And then, almost like the words were pulled from her chest, she added, "Thank you… for what you said."
Ethan blinked, surprised but said nothing. Her words carried more weight than she probably realized.
Ceris smirked faintly, and added
"And don't die in that bed. I don't want to win by default. That'd be boring."
And for the first time, she smiled a real one before finally turning and walking away.
For the first time since their summoning, it wasn't silence that followed her but understanding.
Elsewhere, within one of the upper balconies of Duskmere Manor's inner court…
Sylviane's fingers dug into the wooden railing as she looked down at the training fields far below. Her brows were furrowed, jaw tight.
"She only just awakened her mark," she muttered bitterly. "And already she's acting like some rising star."
Behind her, Sayo stood quietly, arms folded within her sleeves. Calm as ever.
Sylviane turned sharply, her voice sharper now. "Why am I still here? Babysitting amateurs like her? I should be out there on real assignments, actual engagements, not stuck playing big sister to the Manor's weakest Candidate."
Sayo didn't answer.
"And you," Sylviane snapped, spinning toward her weapon propped against the nearby wall. Her voice rising. "Shura, that was your fault. You went quiet. Didn't even respond to my commands the way we trained."
A faint, low laugh echoed from the dao.
Shura's voice oozed mockery from the dao's spirit. "Maybe I just wanted to see what you'd do under pressure. Isn't that what you nobles are best at?"
Sylviane's eye twitched.
"If you hadn't gone rogue," she snapped, "we could've won properly. Beaten Ceris outright. Not... this mess of a 'default' outcome. Now no one even knows who won."
A low chuckle echoed from the blade. "Oh? So close to victory and still throwing a tantrum. You should be used to almosts by now."
Sylviane gritted her teeth and turned away, fists clenched so tightly her nails bit into her palms.
"Temper, temper," Shura purred. "You know what they say—when the blood runs hot, the aim runs wild."
Sayo finally moved. Quietly, gracefully, she stepped forward and opened her arms toward Sylviane slowly, invitingly, as if saying, "Come here. Let it out. Be selfish for once."
Sylviane stared at her for a long moment, her breath catching.
Then, with a sharp inhale, she walked into Sayo's embrace. Not with grace, but urgency like someone collapsing into shelter during a storm.
Her forehead rested against Sayo's shoulder. Her arms wrapped around her tightly, gripping the fabric of her robes.
Sayo held her close, silent and unshaken.
Because she knew Sylviane didn't need answers right now. She just needed someone who wouldn't flinch.
Even if her crown was still far away…
She was still allowed to fall apart in someone's arms.
Back in the Medical Ward...
Ethan lay on the bed, the quiet of the room almost too loud. The scent of dried herbs clung to the air, earthy and calming, but his mind wouldn't settle. He stared at the ceiling, one arm slung over his eyes.
"You imitate the shape of a warrior, but not the soul of one."
Sayo's voice lingered in his mind like smoke that wouldn't clear.
He had brushed it off earlier. Maybe even laughed a little. But now?
Now it sat uncomfortably in his chest, like a stone.
"...I'm imitating something I'm not," he muttered. "Like I'm acting out someone else's fight."
He turned his head to look at the wrappings around his dominant arm. The chains had settled, silent. No glow, no heat. But still there. Still watching.
Ethan exhaled through his nose. "Omen."
A pause.
Then, a low voice echoed softly in his mind, tired and vaguely irritated.
"What."
"What does it mean? What Sayo said. About me imitating someone else's form. Is that what you meant too? When Shura said I wasn't ready, was it the same thing?"
There was a brief silence. Then:
"You're asking too many things for a half-broken body lying in bed."
Ethan blinked. "So... you're dodging."
"No. I'm resting." Omen's voice was sharper now, like a chain being pulled taut. "You want answers? Heal first. We think better when we're not half-dead."
"Gee, thanks," Ethan mumbled, letting his head fall back against the pillow. "Motivating as always."
There was a pause, softer this time. Almost like an exhale through metal.
"Sleep, Ethan. You're not ready to shape the blade. Not yet. But… we'll find it."
Ethan closed his eyes.
And in the quiet that followed, he wasn't sure if Omen meant the weapon...
...or him.