It began before Elric left for the capital.
The faint morning light crept into the manor room, weaving through the tall windows in golden lines. Robert blinked awake, a soft ache in his neck reminding him he had fallen asleep again beside Kael's bed. His hand was still resting atop Kael's.
Warm. Too warm.
He sat up slowly, brows furrowed, and focused—there, pulsing beneath the pale skin of Kael's wrist… faint mana. Stronger than yesterday.
"…You're stabilizing?" he whispered.
Kael's chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm, his face still pale, eyes closed. He hadn't spoken or stirred since the incident atop the tower.
A soft knock broke the silence.
Elric entered, dressed in a deep forest green travel coat. Her gaze immediately landed on Kael, and she crossed the room quickly. She leaned down and brushed her fingers through his snow-white hair, lingering.
"I have to go to the capital now," she said softly, voice tight. Then, without looking at Robert, she added, "Please take good care of him."
She gave Kael's hand one last squeeze before turning sharply, striding out to the waiting carriage without further word.
Robert followed her to the door, bowing low as the horses trotted away.
She's gone… Now, every breath Kael took rested on his watch.
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Robert's daily routine was precise. Relentless.
Mornings began in the kitchen. He personally prepared every meal, carefully blending mana-boosting herbs into porridge and soft foods. He brought the bowl up to Kael's lips, trying every gentle method to make him swallow.
Nothing.
The food slipped past Kael's lips but was never consumed. Robert wiped it away patiently.
Later, with the help of the maids, he changed the sheets, cleaned the room, and aired out the chamber. Every corner was spotless. Every bottle and cloth is refilled. Kael's comfort was never neglected.
Afternoons were spent handling estate documents. Elric had entrusted him with critical reports and military letters. Though he was no longer a prince, his pen still carried the elegance of one.
Nights were for healing. For hope.
Robert rolled up his sleeves and massaged Kael's stiff muscles. With practiced ease, he transferred bits of his own mana into Kael's core. It glowed briefly… and faded. Again. And again.
Even if his own body trembled from exhaustion, Robert did not stop.
"I'll give you all of mine," he whispered once in the dark. "If it means you'll wake up."
Robert's daily routine was precise. Relentless.
Mornings began in the kitchen. He personally prepared every meal, carefully blending mana-boosting herbs into porridge and soft foods. He brought the bowl up to Kael's lips, trying every gentle method to make him swallow.
Nothing.
The food slipped past Kael's lips but was never consumed. Robert wiped it away patiently.
Later, with the help of the maids, he changed the sheets, cleaned the room, and aired out the chamber. Every corner was spotless. Every bottle and cloth is refilled. Kael's comfort was never neglected.
Afternoons were spent handling estate documents. Elric had entrusted him with critical reports and military letters. Though he was no longer a prince, his pen still carried the elegance of one.
Nights were for healing. For hope.
Robert rolled up his sleeves and massaged Kael's stiff muscles. With practiced ease, he transferred bits of his own mana into Kael's core. It glowed briefly… and faded. Again. And again.
Even if his own body trembled from exhaustion, Robert did not stop.
"I'll give you all of mine," he whispered once in the dark. "If it means you'll wake up."
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On the seventh day, the carriage came.
A sleek black coach with the imperial seal rolled through the gate. It did not stop for formal greetings. It went straight to the front steps.
Robert's eyes narrowed. No notice. No letter.
The door opened with a mechanical click.
Out stepped a tall figure, his presence as cold and clinical as the metal clasp on his alchemy case.
Long, moss-green hair fell in a thick braid down his back. His ears were sharply pointed—more so than a normal half-elf. Round glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, glinting beneath the sun.
He wore a white and gold long coat—imperial healer robes. But unlike priests, there was no holiness in his step. Only calculation.
"Prince Robert," said the man coolly, his tone deep, his posture perfect. "It's been a long time."
Robert froze.
"…I'm no prince anymore," he said quietly. "Please, just call me Robert."
The man's lips curled in amusement. "To the public, perhaps. But not to those who remember the bloodline. For me, you will always be royalty."
He extended a hand.
"Viscount Jaesper Greys. Imperial Healer."
Robert glanced at the insignia on his glove—the crest of the Emperor himself.
So Reinhardt had sent him.
"…Come," Robert said at last. "He's upstairs."
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Kael lay motionless as always when they entered. His chest rose and fell gently, but the air around him was still—no fluctuation of energy, no natural healing response.
Jaesper approached the bed and placed his bag down with precision. He adjusted his glasses, peering over the rim as if inspecting a specimen.
"So this is the Hero," he murmured. "Michael Einhart Delcra."
Robert stood silently at the foot of the bed.
Jaesper crouched and pressed two fingers to Kael's wrist. A green shimmer extended from his fingertips. Lines of light danced across Kael's veins—like tracing the roots of a dying tree.
"You've been feeding him mana?" Jaesper asked without looking up.
Robert nodded. "Bit by bit. Every night."
Jaesper frowned. "I can see it. But it's leaking."
He moved to place a hand on Kael's chest. The glow brightened momentarily, then dimmed.
"His vessel is fractured," Jaesper explained. "Imagine pouring water into a bowl with invisible cracks. What you're giving him is being lost before it can settle."
Robert's jaw clenched. "Even so, I won't stop."
Jaesper glanced up. "Your High—" He caught himself when he saw Robert's glare. "…Sir Robert."
A short silence passed.
"You're wasting your life force. His body doesn't respond to basic transfer methods because—well, because he's not like us. He was never normal to begin with."
"Then what can you do?" Robert asked coldly.
Jaesper stood and stretched his fingers.
"First, I will treat you. You look worse than him," he said, eyeing the pallor in Robert's cheeks and the tremble in his knees. "You're about two days away from collapse."
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
"I gave you an order," Robert said, voice firm now. "Help him first. I'll be next—if necessary."
Jaesper narrowed his eyes—then chuckled dryly.
"Still stubborn," he muttered. "Fine. But if you faint on me, I'll strap you to a cot myself."
Jaesper turned to his attendant. "Set up my workspace in the adjoining room. I want to monitor his aura every hour. Bring the runic analyzer, the stabilized catalyst, and my whiteboard. We're starting full observation."
The assistant bowed and rushed off.
Jaesper turned back to Robert.
"I will need quiet, space, and no interference. And if any of your household attempts to touch my equipment, I will hex them."
"Understood," Robert said.
Jaesper sighed. "He's not dying… yet. But something is binding him from inside. Not a curse—at least not a regular one. Something far older. Deeper."
He looked down at Kael with faint curiosity.
"…He's still fighting."