Darkness.
The scent of iron and damp stone.
A candle flickered somewhere far, unable to reach where he sat—a boy too small for the world that swallowed him.
Thin wrists pinned by calloused hands. Metal scraping skin.
"Hold him."
A noble voice—smooth, pleased, cruel.
A boy with tangled black hair struggled, but his arms were thin like reeds; the guards towered like mountains. The needle slid into his skin again. Warm blood flowed. His small body trembled.
"Black hair is eternity,"
the noble whispered, like reciting a poem he adored.
"In the kingdom of the rising sun, they worship this color. Eternal life. Eternal power."
Kael whimpered but bit his lip until he tasted copper.
His voice came out cracked, tiny—
"Please… stop…"
The noble smiled, stroking his face like he was admiring a gemstone.
"You are precious, child. My jewel. I will never let you die."
You will live—for me.
Those words weren't said, but hung heavy.
Pain. Fear. Blood.
The child squeezed his eyes shut.
-----------------------------------------
Later—silence, only the moon watching from high above.
Kael lay motionless on a tiny bed, chest rising unevenly. His arms bruised, bandaged sloppily, still stained red.
He stared blankly at the ceiling.
"Moon… please…"
His voice was a thread, trembling.
"Please… I don't want to be here anymore…"
A crash outside the door.
His breath caught.
Two girls dragged by the hair. Their limp bodies smeared across cold stone. Their hair—scarlet. Eyes—glass.
He wanted to scream, but no sound came. Just tears.
Then—his door burst open. The edge hit his forehead. He fell, clutching the sting, dizzy.
A tray clattered down beside him.
"Eat!" The guardian barked.
"Lord David demands more blood tomorrow. If this tray isn't empty… you know what happens."
The door slammed shut. Metal lock clicked.
Meat. Grease thick and sickening.
His hands shook as he lifted a piece, forcing himself to chew. His stomach lurched. He gagged, but he swallowed, tears streaking silently.
"Please… please…"
Each bite a prayer.
"I want to leave. Save them… please…"
Screams from the Redemption Cell echoed again.
Fists against ears did nothing; agony muffled still leaked into him.
Cold floor.
The child curled like a wounded animal.
Tears fell, soaking stone.
Darkness swallowed him.
-----------------------------------------
Moonlight greeted him next.
Not cold stone—soft sheets.
Not screaming—quiet breathing.
Kael blinked. Slowly. The ceiling was familiar. Pale. Warm.
Vaelthorn.
A vase sat on the table beside him. Forget-me-not flowers. Tiny blue petals like morning skies.
He stared. Hand lifted weakly, fingertips brushing a petal.
Licht… those flowers…
The memory of that dream—Licht's voice promising to live, Kael—echoed faintly in his heart. And warmth filled the cold places.
A hand touched his.
He turned.
Reinhardt sat beside the bed, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly messy as if he hadn't slept.
"Kael?" Reinhardt's voice was soft—too soft for an emperor.
"You're awake."
Kael tried to sit. Pain burned his temples. His body felt like sand filling a broken vessel.
Reinhardt immediately supported him.
"…thank you."
It slipped out low, fragile.
Reinhardt froze for a heartbeat—surprised—then smiled faintly.
"You don't need to thank me."
A glass of water touched Kael's lips. He drank slowly, hands trembling. Reinhardt steadied them.
"It's already evening," Reinhardt murmured.
"You fainted this morning after seeing Iris. You were… struggling in your sleep." His jaw tightened. "As if choking on memory."
Kael's gaze lowered. He closed his eyes briefly.
"I keep dreaming…"
Voice shaky.
"The orphanage. The children. The blood. Someone called me precious—like a thing."
Reinhardt exhaled slowly, pain in his eyes.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
"I wish I could have reached you sooner, Kael. Take you away earlier."
Kael looked at him, expression unreadable, but something pained flickered behind his eyes.
A moment of silence settled like dust.
Reinhardt straightened, expression solemn.
"I think… it's time I tell you everything I know."
Kael's fingers curled slightly.
Fear. Hunger for truth.
Dread. Hope.
"You mean… about the orphanage?"
Reinhardt nodded, a bitter smile on his lips.
"Yes. How you survived it. Who touched your life before I ever did."
His eyes darkened with a storm he'd carried alone for years.
Outside, the last trace of sunset bled into night. A single candle lit the room; flames danced, shadows trembling across Kael's pale face.
"You deserve to know," Reinhardt whispered.
"No more secrets."
Kael met his gaze, silent but steady.
He had been running from the past, but it was here now.
He would face it.
Both turned toward the window as twilight swallowed the sky.
The moon rose again—silver, silent witness.
And the truth waited beneath its light.
-----------------------------------------
Steam curled upward from porcelain.
Robert poured tea with practiced ease, the gentle sound filling the heavy silence in Elric's office. He set cups before the two women seated opposite each other—both straight-backed, both stiff, both avoiding one another's eyes like the air between them was glass that might shatter.
Iris stared out the window, face unreadable.
Elric sat like a commander waiting to march into battle, hands clasped, jaw set.
Robert stood beside them, trapped between queens of ice and fire.
He very much wanted to run.
Unfortunately, Elric's earlier command—
"Stay."
—still echoed like an oath binding him.
No Reinhardt present to buffer.
No Kael to distract.
Just two powerful women and him… a sacrificial lamb with a teapot.
At last, Iris broke the silence.
"Lady Elric," she said softly, fingers brushing the rim of her teacup, "how is he?"
Elric stiffened almost imperceptibly.
"What do you mean?" she replied, tone controlled but strained.
Iris's eyes flickered, a faint knowing smile touching her lips.
"I meant Kael's condition. I heard he even stood against the undead dragon at Delcra."
Elric nodded once, sipping her tea like armor.
"Yes. Even without memories, he still protects others. He never stopped."
Her voice was calm… but her knuckles whitened around the cup.
Those who knew her would recognize it—the soundless thunder beneath still waters.
Iris lowered her gaze, voice softening with genuine ache.
"When Viscount Jaesper said he would never wake again… I thought we'd lost him forever."
Her grip on her teacup tightened. "He spent his childhood fighting battles he never asked for. He never had a chance to simply… live."
Elric's gaze softened, just slightly.
"I won't let him suffer again," she said quietly, firmly. "I will protect him. No matter what."
The conviction in her tone filled the room like steel drawn from a sheath.
Iris held her stare for a moment—then smiled gently, acknowledging both the promise and the unspoken jealousy simmering beneath.
"To be cared for so fiercely," she murmured, "he is fortunate."
Robert cleared his throat, wanting to flee but unable to.
He was witnessing two storms learning to share the sky.
Iris suddenly brightened, changing the subject with effortless poise.
"Lady Elric, when will you next attend court? We should go together. It feels dreadfully lonely breathing the same air as those pompous old men."
Elric almost—almost—smiled.
"I dislike courts. They question my right to the North since I lost my brother."
"And they question mine because I was adopted," Iris replied lightly. "But there is someone in this room mostly fit to rule and yet refuses to take his rightful title."
Her eyes drifted to Robert.
Robert froze, shoulders jerking upright.
"Please," he said quickly, voice cracking, "pretend I am furniture."
Iris laughed.
"You could claim Azurite," she teased. "But instead you brew tea for Kael every morning like a loyal hound."
Robert's face burned.
"If I claimed my birthright, who would make your tea, Lady Chesly?"
"Oh?" Iris raised a brow. "Then I truly forbid you. No one in the East brews tea as you do. My academy staff butchered your recipe despite your handwritten instructions."
Elric huffed softly—half-laugh.
Robert prayed for escape.
Then—
The door opened.
They all turned.
Reinhardt stepped in first, sleeves rolled, expression warm but eyes sharp.
And behind him—walking, steady and upright—
Kael.
Elric was at his side in a heartbeat.
"Are you feeling better?" she murmured, hand slipping to support him.
Kael did not move away.
He nodded, quiet but present, eyes clear though shadowed by exhaustion.
His gaze found Iris.
And Iris—smiled. Soft. Trembling at the edges.
A breath seemed to leave the room with relief.
Reinhardt clapped his hands once, breaking the tension.
"Well," he said, voice shifting from emperor to friend, "now that the original five of us are here… why don't we remove the masks? No titles. No courtiers listening through walls. Just us."
His smile turned real—rare and warm.
"Let us speak as who we were," he murmured, "not what we've become."
Elric's hand stilled upon Kael's sleeve.
Iris's eyes softened.
Robert straightened, the weight of memory sinking in.
Kael looked between them—confusion, curiosity, something aching in his chest like a door unlocking at the pace of a heartbeat.
For a moment—
They were not emperor, duke, archmage, nor prince.
Not weapons nor symbols nor ghosts of war.
Just five broken children who once saved the world together.
And now—trying to save one of their own.
The moonlight spilled through the window, touching Kael's white hair with a silver glow.
Forget-me-nots rested in a vase nearby.
Not forgotten.
Not lost.
Not alone.
He drew in a slow breath.
This time—he did not tremble.