Before dawn, Leovild opened his eyes. To be precise, he'd been aware before even opening them. A gentle pulse reached deep within his chest. Not his own. Quieter, more regular — Sorael's heartbeat. Transmitted faintly through the blood contract. Alive. Sleeping. There. (Thank goodness.) With just that thought, Leovild opened his eyes. A stone ceiling came into view. The morning light filtering through the second-floor window of the Falkenerde administrative building was still weak. Yesterday's events seeped back into memory. The execution order. The plaza. Captain Valter's roar of anger. And that moment when he'd pulled Sorael into his arms. His cheeks grew warm. (Calm down.) He told himself that and got out of bed. His hands trembled slightly as he tied his boots. Normally it was nothing, but today it wouldn't cooperate. He didn't want to think it was because yesterday's lingering sensation still remained in his body. When he went down to the dining hall, several knights were already eating breakfast. As Leovild entered, one of the members sitting at a table looked up. Then immediately looked away. The man beside him stopped tearing his bread and turned toward the window. The conversation died. He understood. That man had sided with the Prince of Soleas — rumors to that effect had already spread. The dining hall smelled the same as yesterday: stone and barley porridge. Yet the air directed at him was different. Colder. Leovild silently took bread and water, then sat at a table in the corner. No one spoke to him. He bit into the bread. It had no taste. As he tried to leave the corridor, he collided with Arsh. Reddish chestnut short hair. Sharp green eyes. A small tattoo on his right ear barely visible in the morning light. The moment their eyes met, Arsh's expression stiffened for an instant. Then, without a word, he looked down at the floor. Leovild said nothing either. The two passed each other in the corridor. Only footsteps echoed on the stone, growing distant. (Was yesterday right?) Without an answer, he looked outside through the corridor window. Verdia's morning came early today too. Laborers carrying tools walked down the street for reconstruction work. A single child jumped over a puddle. An ordinary morning. Nothing had changed. Only he had changed. — At that moment, a cheerful voice came from the direction of the administrative building's entrance. "[excited]Excuse me, let me through! This is heavy!" It was Helge Muut. She came rushing in, her grayish chestnut wavy hair swaying, carrying a large basket in both hands. The basket was packed full of something wrapped in cloth, and it smelled wonderful. Meat and the scent of charred wheat. "[excited]Leo boy! There you are!" "Helge, this is the knight order's headquarters." "[gentle]I know. That's why I came." Helge set the basket on the floor without hesitation and pulled Leovild into a tight embrace. Her strength was considerable. Fifty-four years of arm strength. Leovild couldn't move an inch. "[gentle]I heard about the commotion yesterday. I'm so glad you all made it through... truly, I'm so glad." Her voice was slightly hoarse. She was trying to smile, but it wasn't quite working. Leovild clearly saw that her green eyes had turned red. (Helge...) Something caught in his throat. Since yesterday, no one in the knight order had spoken to him directly. Only cold stares or silence. So this warmth — just a little — seeped in. Or rather, quite a bit. "[gentle]Thank you, Helge." He couldn't say anything else; he was too embarrassed. Helge opened the cloth of the basket. Skewered meat piled high inside. Next to it, a covered pot. Barley porridge. The moment the scent of charred meat spread through the corridor, knights began appearing from nowhere. "Something smells good." "Is that Helge's skewers?" "[laughing]That's right, help yourselves! My treat!" The corridor quickly became noisy. The cold air from before loosened just a little. Someone laughed. Someone else said happily, "There's barley porridge too." Helge pressed an extra skewer into Leovild's hand. "[gentle]Deliver one to that prince too. He's in the basement, right? He must be hungry." Leovild looked at the skewer in his hand. Lamb meat with herbed salt. It was warm. "...Understood." --- The staircase leading to the basement was always dimly lit. A torch stuck in the wall flickered as Leovild passed beneath it. He was careful as he descended, making sure the skewered meat in his hand didn't cool. He thought it was strange to worry about such a thing. But he couldn't stop. He used a key to open the detention cell door. Sorael was sitting against the wall. His silver-white long hair fell across the stone floor, hiding his downturned profile. The chain on his wrist made a faint sound. Sensing the presence, he looked up. Star-like, luminous blue-white eyes met Leovild's. Then they looked at the skewered meat in his hand. For just a moment — barely a moment — surprise crossed his face. "[cold]...What is it?" "A gift. From Helge." He passed the skewer through the iron bars. Sorael paused for a moment before taking it. Their fingers almost touched. Almost, but didn't. Then both fell silent. The sound of Sorael biting into the skewer echoed in the quiet room. Leovild stood with his back to the bars, then turned to face them, unable to decide which felt more natural. Yesterday's events drifted in the air between them. The embrace in the plaza. That kiss. The moment Sorael's breath stopped, and the moment it started again. The afterglow of it was still here. Both of them knew it, which is why at first they couldn't meet each other's eyes. Leovild spoke first. "[serious]...You are alive. That is enough." His voice was low. He hadn't thought before speaking. But it was the most honest thing he could say right now. Sorael's hand stopped. "[cold]Why do you protect me so? What do you gain?" His tone was elegant and quiet. But beneath those words lay something else. Less a question than a confirmation. Or perhaps — something trying to touch upon something deeper. Leovild tried to answer. (Because of the blood contract. Because I don't want to die. That's all. I should say that.) But his throat wouldn't move. The words wouldn't come. It was the same yesterday. He knew the right answer, but if he spoke it aloud, it felt like something precious would become a lie. He looked away. His eyes fell to the stone floor. The torch's light cast the shadow of the bars across it. Silence continued. After a while, Sorael said quietly. "[whispers]...I understand." He didn't press further. Leovild considered what that one phrase meant. I understand — what? That there was no answer? Or that the very fact of there being no answer was itself the answer? But he felt something stir faintly in his chest. The heartbeat reaching him through the blood contract had quickened slightly. Sorael's. His own probably had too. Both of them knew. The answer wasn't in words. It was already here, in this resonance. --- As evening fell, Leovild knocked on Arsh's door. "...Come in." Inside, Arsh sat in a chair by the window, polishing his sword. The rhythmic sound of the whetstone echoed through the room. He didn't turn around. Even as Leovild entered, he didn't stop his work. "[serious]Yesterday... thank you." Arsh's hand slowed for just an instant. "[cold]Don't thank me." "But—" "[cold]I haven't forgiven him yet. Among Soleas's royal family, there is one who killed my comrades. That hasn't changed." The sound of the whetstone continued. Arsh's back was rigid. Leovild could see that something had accumulated on those shoulders since yesterday. Anger, perhaps. Doubt, perhaps. Or both. For a while, silence fell over the room. Then Arsh set the whetstone down quietly. With the sword resting on his lap, he faced the window. Verdia's twilight was visible beyond the half-ruined roofs. "[sad]...I don't want you to disappear. That's all." His voice was low, wrung out. "For now, I won't draw my blade." With just that, he turned back to the window. Leovild looked at his profile. The tattoo on his right ear. The scars of battle. His sharp green eyes reflected the sunset, appearing a slightly different color. Arsh wasn't good at showing emotion. But the weight of those words came through clearly. Was it friendship, or something else? — Perhaps even Arsh himself hadn't sorted it out yet. Thinking of how he'd stood in that plaza yesterday, carrying that unresolved feeling, Leovild's chest ached with a dull pain. "[gentle]...I understand." There was nothing to say in return, and nothing that needed to be said. That was enough. --- As evening deepened and the outside grew dark, the sound of running footsteps echoed through the corridor. Light footsteps. Leovild turned to see Liebel coming around the corner of the hallway. His golden-brown hair swayed, and the star-shaped earring on his left ear glinted in the corridor's torchlight. He was breathing hard. Excitement and tension mixed in his azure eyes. "[excited]Leovild! I've been looking for you!" "What is it, Liebel? You're running so hard." "[serious]I've been tracking the magical traces from yesterday's ritual interference. I've been measuring them this whole time." Liebel pulled parchment from his bag. Fine writing and diagrams covered it. He pointed to one spot with his finger. "[serious]In the underground of the eastern district's rubble — from the royal capital's underground waterways, I'm detecting magical reactions of the same type as ancient forbidden magic. The same characteristics as the power that interfered with the blood contract." Leovild took the parchment and looked at that one point. The eastern district underground waterways — a place from the founding era whose full extent no one knew. After the war, it was the most dangerous area at night, a ruined wasteland. And there, the one who'd interfered was present. "[serious]In other words... the one who interfered with the blood contract is still in the royal capital's underground?" "[serious]That's highly likely. And the reaction is stronger than yesterday. They might be... preparing something." A heavy silence fell. Leovild thanked Liebel and headed back down to the basement. He stood before Sorael's detention cell and opened the door. Even in the gathering dusk, only Sorael's silver-white hair glowed faintly. "[serious]We need to talk." He relayed Liebel's report directly. The magical traces. The eastern district underground waterways. The reaction stronger than yesterday. Sorael listened in silence. His star-like eyes watched Leovild quietly. After hearing everything, he slowly closed his eyes. "[cold]...The battle to break the curse has only just begun." "Yes." The two looked at each other quietly. If asked whether he was afraid, it would be a lie to say no. But he had no intention of giving up. The iron bars of the detention cell stood between them. Yet in this moment, their meaning felt thinner than yesterday. The resonance of the blood contract swayed slowly between them. Leovild looked at his left wrist. The magical mark glowed faintly blue. Proof that Sorael lived. Now it's our turn to move, he decided quietly in his chest. Someone still lurked in the royal capital's underground. An answer-less mystery waited in the darkness. But — he wasn't alone. For now, that fact was enough.