The morning after Arsh had told him, "I don't want you to disappear." The words still lingered in the back of Leovild's ears. Leovild stood by the window of the guardhouse, gazing out at the city. Verdia's mornings came early. Along the stone-paved streets, laborers carrying tools walked past in the reconstruction effort. A single cart creaked by. He'd seen the same sight yesterday. Even two years after the war ended, this city was still in the process of being repaired. (Should I protect Solaer?) He didn't know how to answer that question. "Hey, did you hear?" A voice came from behind. When he turned, two members of the order were tearing into bread while talking. The morning guardhouse was crowded. This was the shift change—those coming off night duty mixing with those starting their day. "Apparently Commander Valter is bringing a proposal to the council," "What kind of proposal?" "The execution of the Prince of Soleas," Leovild's shoulder twitched. But he didn't turn around. "There's a prisoner management ordinance, isn't there? It prohibits executions in principle," "There's an exception clause. Something about 'when a threat to the kingdom is recognized.' The blood contract apparently falls under that," The voice dropped slightly. "There's one knight bound by curse, right? I worry about that guy too," "...Don't say his name," The two men's conversation stopped there. Leovild nearly pressed his forehead against the window, but held back. The back of his head felt hot. They were talking about his own life, yet somehow it sounded like someone else's problem. No—that wasn't right. It wasn't someone else's problem. If Solaer died, he would die too. That was fact. But the tightness in his chest right now—he had the feeling it wasn't just because of that. Heavy footsteps down the corridor. It was Arsh. Reddish chestnut short hair, sharp green eyes. He passed by Leovild's side, glancing at him only once. He didn't stop. But what lay in that gaze was the same as yesterday. That color—neither quite anger nor quite sorrow. "[cold] Signatures supporting execution are apparently piling up," He spoke quietly while walking. "There's no reason to keep an enemy nation's prince alive. That's the majority opinion," Leovild opened his mouth. "[serious] ...So you're saying I should die too?" "You die because you insist on keeping him alive," Arsh didn't stop. He disappeared down the corridor. His back seemed somehow rigid. Silence returned to the guardhouse. Leovild couldn't say anything in return. Arsh might be right. He probably was right. But the word "right" felt like sand in his mouth now. Even if he swallowed it, nothing remained. --- Past midday, Leovild headed toward Torka Square. He needed a distraction. His head was too loud. He couldn't stay in the guardhouse. Torka Square was lively as always. Stalls lined the plaza, merchants' voices calling out. The smell of roasted wheat, leather, animals—all mixed together, somehow nostalgic. Three children ran past, leaping over puddles. Their laughter burst like fireworks. (This kind of everyday life existed before that war too, didn't it?) Helge Muut's grilled meat stall was in the middle of the square. Even from a distance, the smoke from the oil was visible. "Well, if it isn't Leo boy." Helge looked up while turning skewers on the iron plate. Her grayish chestnut wavy long hair swayed in the wind. Her green eyes narrowed as soon as they landed on Leovild. "[gentle] You look a little different today. Something happen?" "Nothing," "Liar," She said it bluntly. Leovild gave a wry smile and sat in the chair in front of the counter. Helge quickly handed him a skewer. Lamb meat with herbal salt sprinkled on it. It was warm. "[gentle] Talk while you eat. If you don't eat, your thoughts go in a bad direction," "...There's talk of an execution," He said it quietly while biting into the skewer. "Solaer's. Apparently the commander is bringing it to the council," Helge didn't respond. She just listened while arranging the next skewers on the iron plate. "He's bound by blood contract. If one dies, the other dies too. So I also...that's what they're saying," "[serious] Are you trying to protect him because you're afraid of dying?" "...Yeah, I guess. At first," He started to say "at first," then stopped. Helge looked at him. She didn't rush. Just waited. "At first, that's what it was," "And now?" Leovild stared at the skewer. Fat dripped from it. It fell onto the charcoal with a small sizzle. "[sad] I don't understand. Not even myself," Helge was silent for a moment. Then she laughed softly. It wasn't a frightening laugh. "[gentle] You're carrying something, aren't you?" "...Someone told me that," "Who?" "You did. Before," "Then you should understand," Helge leaned her elbow on the counter and peered at Leovild's face. An old burn scar on her left arm peeked out from her sleeve. "[gentle] You try to find answers while carrying everything inside. That's why you go in circles. Feel it properly first, then think about it after," "Feel it? What do you mean?" "How you really feel about that guy. Honestly," Leovild couldn't answer. The laughter from the square drifted from a distance. Reconstruction workers chatted while eating lunch. A child ran past again. Everyday life. Nothing to do with hatred or war—just ordinary days. (That's exactly what I can't figure out.) He thought it, but didn't say it aloud. After finishing the skewer, Leovild stood up. "[gentle] Thank you. I feel a little better," "Liar," She said it bluntly again. This time, he managed to laugh properly. --- When night came, Leovild headed underground. There was still time before his shift change. He should have been upstairs. But his feet carried him down the stairs. He stood before the detention cell and used his key. When he opened the door, torchlight flickered. Solaer was sitting with his back against the wall. His silver-white long hair spread across the floor. A chain was attached to his left wrist. His eyes had been closed, but they opened at the sound of the door. Those star-like pale blue eyes looked at Leovild. "[cold] ...You came again," "[serious] There's talk of execution," "I know," "How?" "The walls are thin. I hear the knights' voices," His tone was quiet. He showed no sign of fear. Just stating facts. Leovild pressed his back against the wall beside the door. Now they faced each other. "[serious] Aren't you afraid?" Solaer said nothing for a moment. The torch flame flickered. Shadows stretched and shrank and stretched again. Then he laughed quietly. He laughed—it took a moment to realize that. His mouth corners rose, just slightly. It wasn't artificial. A genuine smile mixed with exhaustion. "[cold] Afraid, you say. ...It's been quite a while since I heard such a word," "That's not an answer," "[whispers] You cannot kill me," His voice was a whisper. "[cold] Your heart won't allow it," Leovild couldn't move. (No. It just looks that way because I want to live.) He tried telling himself that. But the words echoed hollow in his chest. Solaer continued. His voice unchanged. Quiet, elegant, somehow distant. "[cold] At first, the way you looked at me was filled with hatred. I understood that well. Even now, I try to appear that way. But," Those pale blue eyes turned directly toward him. "[cold] There was a night when you didn't come to take back your coat," Something ached deep in his chest. He remembered that night. He'd fallen asleep, and when he woke, his coat was draped over his shoulders. Solaer had stretched his body to the limit of his chain to place it there. That was all. That was just— "[serious] ...Why are you saying that now?" His voice was hoarse. "[cold] Merely an observation. Don't be angry," "I'm not angry," "Your face says otherwise," Was he angry? He tried to think about it. No. Not angry. Then what was this sensation? His chest stirred, unsettled, but it wasn't anger— He didn't understand. But now it was difficult to look away from that fact. Solaer's gaze fell to his hands. He touched the chain gently with his fingertips. "[whispers] I know you won't abandon me. I don't know why, but," "...Why do you think that?" "[cold] Because I feel it. Through this blood contract, more than I'd like," There was irony in his tone. But something else was mixed into his voice. Leovild recognized what it was. Not gratitude. Something more delicate, more complex. Like a thin ray of light piercing through solitude. (This man...has been alone all this time.) Exiled. Taken captive. Unable to see his own people. A man who'd lived as royalty, now chained to a stone floor. And he was smiling quietly. Perhaps he'd been waiting for someone. Someone who wouldn't abandon him. Leovild looked at his own left wrist. The magical mark glowed faintly blue. (Hatred alone...can't settle this.) The words rose unbidden in his mind. He'd been trying to settle it. Just protect him because his life depends on it, that's all. But—no. It was different. He'd known it all along, somewhere. "[serious] ...I won't let them execute you," He looked at Solaer and said it. "Not because my life depends on it. I don't want you to...disappear," Even as he said it, he felt a kind of surprise. But it wasn't a lie. Solaer looked at him quietly. Those pale blue eyes trembled. Not from the torchlight, Leovild was certain. "[cold] ...You've become quite honest," "You made me say it," "[cold] My doing, then," "No one's doing," Silence fell between them. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence. Stone walls, flickering flames, the weight of chains—that was all there was. In that quiet place, the air between them moved. --- The next morning, Leovild went to Lieber's research cottage. A back alley in the western district. The second floor of a crumbling clock tower. When he knocked, a voice called out "Coming!" and books tumbled. The door opened. Lieber poked his head out. His golden-tinged light brown hair was as unkempt as always, and the star-shaped earring in his left ear glinted in the morning light. His azure eyes looked at Leovild and immediately took on an "oh, you're back" expression. "[excited] Good morning! I found something interesting in my research last night!" "[serious] ...Can I come in?" "Of course, of course!" The room was as cluttered as ever with books and medicine bottles. Stacks of parchment were piled everywhere. When Leovild tried to pull out a chair, there were books on it too. Lieber hurriedly moved them aside. "[serious] There's talk of execution. Commander Valter is planning to bring it to the council," Lieber's expression changed. His hands stopped. "[surprised] ...That's fast. Is he planning to use the exception clause of the enemy prisoner management ordinance?" "Apparently. So time is short," Lieber bit his lower lip slightly. Then he returned to his desk and began flipping through parchments. His hands moved quickly. Hurried, yet careful. "This is what I found last night," He spread out a single piece of parchment. The writing was old. Faded and difficult to read, but he pointed to one section with his finger. "[serious] We already knew from yesterday's notes that the caster's blood is the key to breaking the curse. But there's more beyond that, and it mentions something like 'the alignment of the caster's purpose in casting the blood contract and the will to reverse it,'" "What does that mean?" "[serious] The interpretation is still vague, but. The caster had a reason for placing the curse. If the one attempting to break it understands that reason, and their will is directed opposite to the caster's intention...then perhaps the blood reacts in a certain way," Leovild sat in the chair and took in those words. The caster's purpose. The will to reverse it. "[serious] We still have