The underground of the royal capital had no light. Or rather, it did. Just one thin beam. A ventilation shaft had been carved into the stone ceiling—barely wide enough for a human head to pass through, though it absolutely could not—and a slender ray of light streamed through it. When Lilia found that light, she felt a small measure of relief. The floor of the stone cell was cold. The walls were cold. The air was cold. Even for Lilia, a member of the demon race—a species with body temperature slightly higher than humans, and thus losing heat to the cold more quickly—it was a bone-deep chill that seeped in gradually. The faint trace of a small horn on her forehead—barely more than a pattern now, the mark of her demon heritage—ached slightly in the damp air of the stone wall. *How many hours has it been?* Lilia leaned her back against the stone wall and hugged her knees. Her silver short bob brushed against the stone. The angle of the light beam had shifted, just slightly, from before. Evidence that the sun was moving outside. *It's moving. It's still moving.* That fact brought an inexplicable sense of comfort. The light moving meant the outside world still existed. Even as she sat here hugging her knees, the sun was crossing the sky as always. That simple, obvious truth was something she couldn't help but confirm. Lilia observed the angle of the light intently. By counting it, she could keep track of time. Manage her fear. At least, doing something was better than being lost in the darkness of a stone box. Lilia, in whom innocence and wisdom were mixed, searched with her intellect for what she could do now, before her emotions overwhelmed her. Yet even as she counted the angles of the light, there were moments when her consciousness wavered. The phrase "of the royal bloodline of the demon race" echoed in her mind like light reflecting off stone walls. Fragments of the statute the knight had read aloud. "Brings calamity to humankind." Words spoken in a flat, emotionless voice, yet they kept surfacing again and again. Lilia was afraid of those words. The moment she thought *afraid*, another memory surfaced. Raid's gaze. That look he'd been giving her—on the demon continent, or even before that. Not fear. Not pity. Not wariness. A quiet gaze that treated her presence as natural, as though to say, "There's nothing strange about you being here." When she remembered the weight of that look, her fear became a little smaller. *Where is Raid right now?* Each time that question surfaced, she found herself able to follow the light beam a little more. *** Meanwhile, in another part of the royal capital, there was light. Aira's room of confinement was incomparably better appointed than a stone cell. There was a bed. A small window. A wooden chair and table. Through the window, the stone-paved royal capital was visible, and during the day, the sounds of people passing reached her ears. Though it was called confinement, it was nominally "a temporary waiting room accompanying transport." Only, there were always two soldiers standing outside the door. Aira gazed out the window. Her lustrous reddish-brown hair was tied back, and her transparent green eyes reflected the stone pavement. A shallow scar on her left cheek was faintly visible in the cold light from the window. As vice-captain of the advance guard of the Imperial Knights' Order <Armored Heron Knights>—an elite unit directly under the empire, tasked with expeditions to various nations and advance missions—she knew what actions to take in a situation like this. Wait calmly. Assess the situation. Show no emotion. Aira was executing this faithfully. Footsteps, regular and measured, came from the corridor. They stopped for a beat in front of the door. Then, a knock. Just once, politely. "Lady Aira, may I enter?" The voice was calm. Not forceful. Asking permission. "...Please do." Aira answered without taking her gaze from the window. The sound of the door opening. She judged the person who entered by sound alone. Light footsteps. No sound of a sword at the hip. He had removed his weapons—a message in itself. Aira turned slowly. Vektor, from his outward composure, carried the atmosphere of one connected to the upper nobility of the empire. Late twenties or early thirties. Refined features, calm brown eyes. He had brought neither sword nor short blade into this room. Both hands were visible, naturally lowered. "After such a long journey, are you well?" That was what he said first. Not a situation briefing. Not a condition proposal. Aira paused internally for just a beat, analyzing that choice. "No problems." She answered briefly. Vektor pulled out a chair and sat before the table. Unhurried. His movements had ease to them. Aira tracked his movements with her eyes while naturally repositioning herself so her back wasn't to the wall. A reflex of the Imperial Knights. "I'd like to speak with you about something." "About what." "About our future." His voice was calm. There was no pressure. Aira observed that "calmness" coolly. *It would be easier if he were a villain.* The thought surfaced, and in that moment, Aira questioned herself. Why had she thought that? She couldn't explain it logically. Yet she felt it clearly. If there were threats or coercion, she would have clear grounds for refusal. When spoken to sincerely, the shape of refusal crumbles. "The war is over." Vektor spoke. "What you experienced in the eastern frontier, I'm not in a position to know in detail. However, what the empire seeks now is stability. Your abilities and position—your achievements as an Imperial Knight—are being evaluated fairly. If this matter is handled appropriately... there is more than enough path for the two of us to live peacefully together." There was no lie in it. Aira judged this instantly. The other's eyes, the tone of voice, the choice of words. This man was not lying now. There was calculation, perhaps, but at least the surface of his words was sincere. And precisely because of that, Aira could say nothing. "..." She fell silent. Her gaze remained on him. Her expression was controlled, as always. Yet inside, something wasn't functioning. When she tried to organize the situation through the logic of an Imperial Knight, Vektor's words were sound. A stable future. Fair evaluation. A life for two. The framework was unbroken. Yet no answer came. "I don't mean to rush you." Vektor stood. He was preparing to leave. Aira tracked his movement. Just before heading toward the door, he turned back. "May I ask one thing? I'd like to know your food preferences." A question utterly disconnected from the weight of the moment, posed calmly. Aira's mouth opened reflexively. "Lamb stew is..." She stopped after the words left her mouth. She was surprised by her own answer. Why had those words come out? Lamb stew—a specialty dish from an inn-tavern in a small village in the eastern frontier where they'd stayed, the taste that Lilia had said she wanted to eat again when they returned. Why had that name from a small inn in the borderlands come reflexively to her lips when asked about royal cuisine? Aira realized she was making a surprised expression. "Lamb stew, I see." Vektor repeated it calmly and nodded slightly. "I'll remember that," he added, left a bow, and exited. The sound of the door closing. Aira stared at the door for a while. Why couldn't she refuse? That question floated quietly. Was it because there was no reason to refuse? Or was something getting in the way? If the latter, what was that "something"? No answer came. And Aira found herself thinking for a long time about the fact that "lamb stew" and Raid's profile had surfaced together, all while gazing out the window. *** Night came. In Lilia's stone cell, the light beam disappeared. The ventilation shaft existed, but when night fell outside, no light streamed through. Complete darkness filled the space. Even extending her hand, she couldn't see it. Only the sensation of stone walls remained. Lilia hugged her knees and curled up. Until now, by counting the light beam, she had kept intellect ahead of fear. But with the light gone, there was nothing to count. In the darkness, the words she'd heard all day surfaced again. "One bearing the blood of the demon race." "Brings calamity to humankind." "Foreign national." Under imperial law, demons were classified as "foreign nationals"—a status distinction separating them from regular imperial citizens, treating them as external presences. Residence within the empire required a permit, and without one, immediate detention was the consequence. She was in this cell for that reason. It should have been just that. Yet huddled in the darkness, it stopped being "just that." Lilia let go of her emotional control. Her odd eyes—pale purple and pale amber—grew slightly wet in the darkness. She made no sound. She was simply afraid. And in that fear, what surfaced was—still Raid's gaze. On the demon continent. After returning to the old continent. That morning when the three of them were chewing dried medicinal herbs. The way Raid looked at her. No fear in those eyes. No pity. No preface of "because you're a demon." Just eyes that treated Lilia's presence as natural. *Where is Raid right now?* That question surfaced with increasing frequency as the night deepened. In inverse proportion to her fear. Though Lilia herself didn't notice the increasing frequency. She simply hugged her knees in the darkness, and that question alone was something slightly softer than the stone walls, residing in her chest. *** Aira couldn't sleep. Sitting on the edge of the bed, armor removed, she stared at her own arms. The traces of knight's training ran across her skin in several lines. She traced one of the scars with her finger. Suddenly, she remembered. Once, Raid had looked at this arm in silence. When exactly—she couldn't remember precisely. Yet she remembered the quality of that gaze. Not condemning. Not pitying. Just looking at it as something that "existed." Something shifted in her chest. Her body temperature rose slightly. A change that defied logical explanation. Aira furrowed her brow. As an Imperial Knight, emotion was something to be organized. Process it logically, prevent it from affecting situational judgment. That was Aira's trained fundamental approach. So she tried to process it. She tried to organize Vektor's words. Calm and sincere, without lies. A stable future. Fair evaluation. A life for two. The framework was perfectly sound. By the logic of an Imperial Knight, grounds for refusal were thin. Yet. In the darkness of deep night, suddenly. With no context whatsoever, Raid's profile surfaced. Not shouting. Not encouraging. Just looking forward, that profile. After she and Lilia had been taken away at the harbor, would he still be standing with that profile? With the short blade concealed inside his outer coat, would he be heading toward the royal capital? Aira tried to cut off her thoughts. The moment she tried to cut them off, she realized something. The very act of trying to cut them off meant something. If it were a meaningless profile, there would be no need to cut it off. If it were a meaningless emotion, there would be no need to organize it. The fact that it was necessary meant— "..." Words wouldn't come. *Why are lamb stew and Raid's profile surfacing together now?* Aira was exasperated with herself internally. Her organization as an Imperial Knight had blown away somewhere. There was Vektor's words. There was the matter of mission reports. There was the fact that Lilia was in a stone cell. Setting all of that aside, her thoughts wanted to sway in that direction like a red-brown flag. Something nameless had taken residence in her chest. Warm and heavy, something that couldn't be organized either way. Resistance to acknowledging it, yet an emo