After the emotional reunion before the ruined Citadel, Iselda invited everyone to rest in her family's mansion.
Iselda offered luxurious guest quarters to each of them, but Ari refused to be alone. The thought of sleeping in silence, in darkness, with only her memories for company – no. She couldn't bear it. So Samuel and Frost joined her in the servants' quarters, a simpler room with three narrow beds and plain walls, but it felt safer somehow. Less empty.
Frost woke first the next morning. There was no urgency today – no catastrophe to respond to, no bodies to search for, no desperate rescue operations. He could let Samuel sleep longer.
As he began his morning stretching routine – careful movements that pulled at his burned side, grimacing through the pain – Ari stirred. She was still wrapped in Akira's black cloak like a cocoon, her dark blue hair spilling across the pillow.
Yawning and stretching, Ari sat up slowly. She wore a simple nightgown Iselda had provided, white linen that seemed too clean, too innocent for everything she'd been through.
"Good morning, Frost," she said, her voice still rough with sleep.
"Morning, Ari." His voice was the same as always – steady, practical, unbothered by pleasantries.
Samuel mumbled something incomprehensible in his sleep and rolled over, pulling his blanket tighter around himself.
"How are you feeling?" Ari asked, shifting on her bed and drawing the cloak more securely around her shoulders.
"Don't worry about me." Frost continued his stretches, rotating his shoulder despite the obvious discomfort. "Despite the ugly look, I'm feeling fine. Thanks to Iselda, her healers visit me daily." He paused, his good eye fixing on her with concern. "What about you? How are your legs?"
Ari massaged her thighs and calves experimentally, testing the muscles. She flexed her feet, rotated her ankles. Then, carefully, she stood and walked a few steps around the small room – slow, deliberate movements, but steady.
"I can walk," she said, relief evident in her voice. "It still hurts, but... I'm better than before. Much better."
Frost stopped his routine and reached beneath his bed, withdrawing a leather document bag. He held it out to Ari. She took it, examining the familiar diplomatic seal, and smiled briefly – a fragile expression that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Good thing you had this with you," Ari said. "If I hadn't given you that bag before everything happened, I would've lost it in the fire... or I might not be here today."
"Don't overthink it, Ari." His tone was gentle but firm. "That night haunts me just as much as it haunts you. But the less you dwell on what happened, the better you'll be."
Ari smiled at him, then lifted the cloak's edge to cover her mouth and nose, breathing in the familiar scent – earth and smoke"We both know that's impossible," she said quietly.
She stood and crossed to Frost's bed, sitting beside him. Carefully, mindfully of his burned side, she leaned her head against his shoulder. The contact was grounding.
"It's all behind us now," Ari whispered. "Thanks to Hirako, we all made it out alive."
Frost smiled – or tried to. The burn scar twisted the expression into something grotesque, almost frightening despite the warmth behind it. He patted Ari's head gently with his unbandaged hand. "And what now? What do we do next?"
Ari was quiet for a long moment. Finally, she sighed. "I need to speak with Mr. Arashika. Find out what he thinks would be best." Another pause. "But I suspect we'll still need to proceed with the marriage arrangements somehow." Her voice carried resignation.
She stood, slinging the document bag over her shoulder, and walked directly to Samuel's bed. With exaggerated aggression, she began stroking his hair roughly, messing it in all directions. "Wakey wakey, big guy!"
"Nooo," Samuel groaned, swatting at her hand blindly. "Leave me alone. It's my day off." He dove beneath his blanket like a child hiding from morning.
Ari grabbed the edge of the sheet and pulled. Samuel resisted, gripping the fabric with surprising strength for someone supposedly asleep. A brief tug-of-war ensued, Ari laughing despite everything, until Samuel finally surrendered with dramatic reluctance.
"You're cruel," he muttered, but there was no real anger in it. He stood, forgoing any morning routine entirely, and grabbed his clothes from where he'd draped them over a chair. He dressed quickly–pants, shirt, boots – his movements still sluggish with sleep.
"I'm going to see Iselda," Ari announced. "Wait for me at breakfast."
She left the servants' quarters wearing only the simple nightgown, Akira's black cloak wrapped around her shoulders like armor. She walked through the mansion's corridors – with hesitation and self-consciousness about her informal attire.
She encountered Iselda in one of the hallways. She looked tired but composed, her elegant dress somehow still pristine despite the chaos of recent days.
"Good morning, Ari. Did you sleep well?"
"Well enough." Ari's smile was small but genuine. "Do you have any clothes I could borrow?"
"Yes, of course!" Iselda's expression brightened immediately. "I found a really lovely dress for you. I think it will fit perfectly and look absolutely beautiful on you."
Iselda smiled, but there was a particular gleam in her eye – a spark focused on a certain... enlarged aspect of Ari's figure that the loose nightgown didn't quite conceal.
Iselda led her to her room and presented a light blue dress. It fell to mid-shin length, decorated with delicate floral embroidery along the hem and sleeves. Long sleeves protected against the morning chill, and a collar tied with a small ribbon created a modest neckline with just a hint of a cutout – elegant without being scandalous.
Ari tried on the dress, and her face transformed. A smile stretched from ear to ear, her blue eyes shining with genuine delight – the first real joy she'd shown since the disaster. She spun in place several times, watching how the fabric moved and flowed around her, how the floral pattern caught the light. For just a moment, she looked like the sheltered noble girl she'd been weeks ago.
Iselda folded the nightgown and set it aside, then cast a suspicious glance at the black cloak Ari still clutched. She picked it up with two fingers, holding it at arm's length. "I don't want to be rude," she said carefully, "but I think this cloak could use a wash. Quite desperately, actually. I can have the maids take care of it –"
"No!" Ari protested immediately, waving her hands. "No, no, no. I know it's dirty, but I have to keep it with me. I need to keep it close."
"All right, all right." Iselda raised her hands in surrender. "But I really don't think you should –" She paused mid-sentence, watching in disbelief as Ari wrapped the filthy, ash-stained cloak around herself over the pristine new dress. "Never mind."
"Forgive me for this." Ari grabbed Iselda's hands warmly, her expression earnest and apologetic. "It means a lot to me. More than I can explain."
Iselda smiled with understanding, opening her mouth to respond –
The door slammed open with violent force, crashing against the wall.
A likaon warrior filled the doorway.
He was massive – easily a head taller than Frost, and just as broad. Steel armor covered his torso, decorated with wolf pelts and primitive tribal ornaments. Compared to the warriors who'd hunted Akira, this man was a brute. Raw. Uncivilized despite the fine craftsmanship of his equipment.
His face bore a permanent scowl carved by violence and anger – deep lines around his mouth, a sharp jaw, a nose that had been broken and healed crooked at least twice. His eyebrows were dark with streaks of white, matching his hair: mostly black with white strands running through it like fresh snow on dark rooftops. Sharp, predatory eyes stared out from beneath those brows – pupils slit like a cat's, irises a deep, muddy brown.
When he spoke, his voice was a thunderous growl: "WHERE IS HE?!"
Ari froze. Terror seized her chest like an iron fist. Her mind raced frantically:
Who is he? What does he want? Who is he looking for?
Iselda, by contrast, looked furious. "CAN YOU KNOCK, YOU MORON?!"
The man crossed the room in three massive strides. He towered over Ari, staring down at her with those predatory catlike-eyes, looking through her rather than at her – as though searching for her soul and finding it wanting. His hand shot out and grabbed Akira's cloak, yanking it with brutal force. Ari's feet left the ground as he lifted her effortlessly by the fabric.
"WHAT IS THIS?!" he roared directly into her face. "IS IT HIS?!"
Ari couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. Cold sweat broke out across her spine and ran down her back like rain. Her vision tunneled. Her heart hammered so hard she thought it might burst.
"ARE YOU INSANE?!" Iselda screamed at him. She grabbed the folded nightgown and began beating him with it – smacking his head, his shoulders, his arms, over and over in rapid succession. "GET OUT OF MY ROOM, KREATON!"
Kreaton.
The name crashed through Ari's panic like lightning. This was him. This was the man she was supposed to marry. This violent, terrifying brute who reeked of violence and rage.
Does he even know who I am?
"WHY DOES IT SMELL LIKE HIM?!" Kreaton pulled Ari closer to his face, examining the cloak with furious intensity – but Iselda intercepted.
She wasn't delicate or gentle. She hit him with the nightgown, then switched to punching and kicking – striking his armored chest, his arms, his legs, anywhere she could reach. Despite the size difference, despite his armor, she drove him backward through sheer ferocity. Like herding a dangerous animal, she forced Kreaton out of the room step by step.
As Kreaton retreated, his piercing eyes remained locked on Ari – burning with questions and accusation. Then he was gone, his heavy footsteps echoing down the corridor.
Iselda slammed the door and locked it with shaking hands. She turned to apologize – and stopped.
Ari was drifting. Sitting on the edge of the bed, but not really present. Her eyes were open but unfocused, staring at the ceiling. Her breathing came too fast and shallow – hyperventilating. Her hands gripped the edges of the cloak so tightly her knuckles had gone white.
"I'm so, so sorry," Iselda said quickly, crossing to sit beside her. She placed a gentle hand on Ari's shoulder. "He has no tact, no restraint, no sense of boundaries. Are you all right?"
Ari continued staring at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling rapidly. But slowly – very slowly – she lifted one trembling hand and placed it over Iselda's on her shoulder. The touch grounded her slightly. Enough to speak.
"I... I got scared," Ari whispered. Her voice was barely audible. "That was my first time seeing him. I didn't know... didn't know it would be like that." Her breath hitched. "He's terrifying."
This is the man I'm supposed to marry. This is my future husband.
The thought sat in her stomach like a stone.
"I don't know what got into him. Usually he isn't that rough…"
Iselda stood up alongside Ari. Ari removed the cloak and held it against her chest for a moment before folding it carefully.
"I know it's filthy," she admitted, running her thumb across the stained fabric. "But I'm not ready to part with it." She noticed the dark smear it had left on the bedsheet and winced. "I'm sorry about that. Could I get a bag for it? Something to keep it close?"
"Sure, I'll ask a maid to bring one." Iselda's eyes settled on the cloak with quiet curiosity. "Whose is it, anyway?"
"My Saviour's." Ari patted the black fabric gently. "It belongs to the man who saved me and Liriel from the Citadel. He saved me twice, actually."
Iselda's eyes sharpened with interest.
"Does this Saviour use earth magic, by any chance?"
Ari nearly dropped the cloak. Her eyes lit up as if someone had set a flame behind them. "Yes – do you know him? Do you know his name?"
Seeing Ari's excitement, Iselda raised her hands.
"Not personally. I only heard of him through Kreaton – he mentioned fighting him on several occasions. Kreaton and his Thirteen, that is."
"Did Kreaton say anything more? Do they know each other well?"
"I doubt it." Iselda held her chin thoughtfully. "But it explains why Kreaton acted the way he did. He has enemies, but only a few he pursues that eagerly. It seems your Saviour is one of them."
Ari pressed the cloak against her side. She was thinking of the spears that had arced through the air toward him – and of how he had run. "That's not good," she said quietly.
A moment of silence settled between them. Iselda stepped closer and swept a few specks of the cloak's dust from Ari's shoulder.
"You look really, really good in that dress, Ari."
The smile returned to Ari's face. "Thank you."
Together they left Iselda's room and made their way to the dining room, where breakfast was being served.
It was an open room with a long table and a row of chairs running down each side. The table was spread with delicacies the Likaon Coast had to offer. Samuel and Frost were already seated and served – despite their promise to wait for Ari, Samuel was filling his mouth steadily and Frost was sampling a local wine. Samuel caught sight of Ari and raised his eyebrows. From a small distance she presented herself with a playful lift of the skirt's hem, letting the floral embroidery catch the light.
Iselda stopped two steps ahead of Ari and drew her attention to the woman already seated at the far end of the table.
She was a mature Likaon woman in a simple but well-made pleated dress, with a strand of jewelry at her throat and gray hair pinned into a large, neat bun. Her hands rested in her lap. She looked up when Ari entered and offered a faint smile.
"Ari, allow me to introduce my mother – Vaerra," said Iselda.
"A pleasure." Ari bowed before the matriarch, who returned it with a small, unhurried dip of her head.
"Will I meet your father today as well, Iselda?"
"Unfortunately, no." It was Vaerra who answered, her voice even and soft. "It seems no one told you. My husband – a close friend of your father's – passed away two years ago."
Ari bowed again, genuinely caught off guard. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."
Vaerra reached over and patted Ari's head once – a brief, automatic gesture. "It's all right, dear. Come. Let's eat."
Everyone was seated – Ari, Samuel, and Frost on one side of the table; Iselda, Vaerra, and Liriel on the other.
Liriel had not touched her food. She sat with her teddy bear in her lap, staring at a fixed point somewhere near her own feet, her expression flat in a way that had nothing to do with tiredness. The child who had wandered through the forest swinging Akira's bag and collecting walking sticks had vanished overnight. In her place sat a nine-year-old who had finally, fully understood what she had come home to.
Ari greeted her. Liriel gave no response.
"It's all hitting her now," Iselda said quietly, not looking up from her plate.
The last to join them was Kreaton. When he entered the room, whatever warmth remained at the table evaporated.
He took his place at the head – Ari on his right, Iselda on his left – and without a word, everyone reached for their cutlery at the same moment and began to eat. Every movement was careful and deliberate, each clink of silverware half-suppressed, each swallow quiet. And then there was Kreaton – eating with his hands, drinking as though the glass were an obstacle, burping without acknowledgement, sighing at the ceiling, blowing his nose into the back of his wrist.
He was the first to rise and leave.
The moment the door closed behind him every spine at the table quietly uncoiled. Samuel set his fork down with exaggerated care – as if the danger of noise had genuinely passed – and leaned toward Frost with something clearly forming on his lips. Frost struck him with his shoulder before it could get out.
Ari looked down at her plate, occupied with her own thoughts. Vaerra sat with her hands around her cup, not quite drinking, watching nothing in particular.
Liriel was next to leave. Without a word or a look at anyone, she slipped from her chair and was gone. Vaerra watched the door close after her, then set her cup down, thanked the table quietly for the meal, said her goodbyes, and followed.
Iselda stayed. She sat back in her chair and looked between Frost, Samuel, and Ari without saying anything, her expression unreadable.
It was Frost who broke the silence first.
"Yesterday, as you asked, I went to find Mr. Arashika. He said he'll meet you here after breakfast."
Ari lifted her head and looked to Iselda. "Before we begin any wedding discussions, I'd like to consult with Mr. Arashika first – if that's all right."
"Of course." Iselda rose from her chair. "I'll be in my office preparing. When you're ready, ask any maid or guard and they'll bring you to me." She bowed, then paused in the doorway. "And I'm sorry for my brother." A forced smile, a small wave, and she was gone behind the same wooden door she and Ari had entered through.
"So what now?" Samuel asked.
Ari stood. "We meet Mr. Arashika. Ask a maid if he's already arrived – if not, we'll wait for him outside."
Ari told the others to follow and led them through the corridor toward the front of the mansion. The first maid they passed was young, carrying a stack of folded linens that nearly obscured her face. She stopped when Ari addressed her, listened carefully, and then apologised – she had only just started her morning rounds and hadn't heard anything about a visitor. She directed them to the head maid's quarters at the end of the east hall.
The head maid was older, unhurried, and received them in the doorway of a small tidy room that smelled of cedar. She listened with her hands folded, considered the question for a moment, and shook her head. No carriage had been announced and no guest had arrived. She suggested they wait and offered to send word the moment anyone came – which Ari thanked her for without taking her up on it.
They went outside as planned.
When Frost opened the front door, a carriage was already pulling in. From it descended Mr. Arashika with a single guard at his side.
Sighing with relief and pressing a hand to his chest, Arashika made his way down the carriage steps at his own pace. "Thank goodness you are safe and sound, Lady Ari." He met her halfway and held her hand briefly. "When Mr. Frost told me of your return, I am not ashamed to say I wept."
Ari smiled. "Thank you for those words, Mr. Arashika. As you may have already guessed, I called for you to ask your advice on what to do next."
Arashika scratched his head. "Despite everything, I don't think much has changed." He reached into his bag. "I've brought you copies of all the documents – so we can go through everything and confirm nothing needs to be reissued before–"
"No need." Ari waved her hand. "Frost had the originals when it all happened. They came through undamaged."
"The originals." Arashika paused mid-rummage and looked up. "Well. That is genuinely good news." He withdrew his hand from the bag. He glanced between the three of them, taking in the burned armor, the borrowed dress, and the general state of all three of them.
"How are you holding up, Lady Ari? Truthfully."
"Truthfully?" Ari considered it. "I want to go home."
"Understandable. And you will. But let's make sure we do this correctly first, so that going home doesn't create new problems on top of the ones we already have." He clasped his hands behind his back for a moment. "The marriage arrangement – in my assessment – remains intact. The Citadel's destruction is a tragedy, but it does not dissolve the agreement. Proceeding carefully now will matter more than it did before." He paused. "Now – before I forget entirely –"
Ari folded her hands.
"I'm obligated to inform the Theocracy of anything significant that occurs here. I sent a message to Kar-Ah about the attack after meeting with Mr. Frost yesterday. I included word of your health and your safety."
Ari's expression shifted. "You should have consulted me first. Now my mother will be worried."
Arashika met her eyes steadily. "She will be worried, and I am sorry for that. But I am trusted to report everything of importance that happens here, Lady Ari – regardless of whose feelings it may affect. Yours, your mother's, or my own."
A beat of quiet. Ari looked at Frost and Samuel, then back at Arashika.
"I know. You're right."
"Good." Arashika allowed himself the smallest smile before returning to his bag with purpose. He drew out one paper, examined it, put it back, and produced a second which he held out to her. "Sign this one as well."
Ari took it. "What is this?" She read through the contents.
"The High Priestess granted me authority to act according to my own judgment when circumstances require it. I used that authority." He waited while she read. "That document guarantees your safe removal from the Coast – under full diplomatic protection – if the investigation finds that anyone in a position of authority here was involved in the attack, turned a blind eye, or enabled it in any capacity."
Samuel crossed his arms over his chest. "And if that happens – what does that actually look like?"
Arashika turned to him with measured patience. "It means that the moment credible evidence surfaces implicating Coast authorities, Lady Ari is no longer a bride on a diplomatic visit – she is a protected citizen of the Theocracy and she leaves. Immediately, without negotiation, and without anyone on this side of the water having the legal standing to object." He paused, then added with perfect composure: "Why am I explaining this to you?"
Ari passed the document to Frost, who tucked it into his bag alongside the others. All three of them bowed.
"Thank you, Mr. Arashika. For this, and for everything."
Arashika returned the bow. "Thank you as well, Lady Ari. As this is likely our last meeting for some time – do take care of yourself. Farewell."
"You aren't returning with us?"
"I've decided to remain and oversee the investigation personally."
They bowed once more. Arashika returned to his carriage with his guard, and it rolled away down the road.
Ari watched it go. "Let's finish this and leave. I want to go home."
Frost held the front door open and let Ari through first.
At the first turn in the corridor, she nearly walked into Kreaton. His massive frame filled the passage without warning and she stumbled back a half-step before she could stop herself, the hairs on her ears and tail rising.
Kreaton looked down at her. He was quiet for a moment before he spoke.
"Back then – I didn't mean to frighten you. Or hurt you."
Ari's hand found the bag behind her back and drew it quietly out of sight.
"I also have a question." Kreaton's eyes dropped to where her arm had moved. "That cloak. How did you come by it?"
"He saved me from the Citadel."
"I see." Kreaton moved his hand toward her.
"I won't let you have it." Ari stepped back. "It's his and I have to return it."
Kreaton smiled. "I understand. Don't worry – I know where to find him. I'll make sure it reaches him."
Ari stepped back and settled herself behind Frost's shoulder.
The smile left Kreaton's face. He drew himself up to his full height, moved past them, then stopped and looked back – first at Ari, then at Frost.
"Cover that up. You disgust me."
He moved on, catching Samuel's shoulder hard enough to knock him sideways as he passed.
"Don't listen to him." Ari placed her hand on Frost's shoulder and met his eye with a small, steady smile.
Frost turned his gaze away.
"Let's be over with it already."