The day had finally arrived.
Gray light seeped through the palace windows, soft and pale, as the world stirred awake at dawn. The selected few for the expedition moved through the courtyard with purpose—fastening saddlebags, checking straps, securing supplies. Horses stamped their hooves against the cobblestones, breath misting in the cool morning air.
A total of six people were listed and they are almost ready to depart.
Ayumu stood at the grand doors of the palace, her white robes catching the early light, her short veil swaying gently in the breeze. She watched the preparations with a quiet intensity, committing every face, every movement, every detail to memory.
As Rhea tightened the last strap on her horse, Ayumu stepped forward and pressed a small leather bag into her hands.
"Rhea," she said softly, "I packed more medicine. I brewed them myself and labeled each one." She paused, her fingers lingering on the bag for a moment longer than necessary. "And I put in more food and cooking herbs, in case you need them…"
Rhea looked down at the bag, then back up at Ayumu. A small, knowing smile tugged at her lips.
"Thank you, Ayumu." She tilted her head. "Sad you won't be coming with us?"
The words landed like salt rubbed into an open wound.
Ayumu's expression crumpled—just slightly, just for a moment. She looked, for all the world, like a flower wilting under an unexpected frost.
"Please do take care, Rhea," she said quietly. "And be safe."
Rhea's teasing smile softened into something warmer. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Ayumu in a firm, brief hug—the kind that said I'll miss you without the need for words.
"See you soon, Ayumu" Rhea whispered.
Then she let go, swung onto her horse with practiced ease, and guided the animal toward the forming line of riders.
From atop their horses, the others watched the exchange of hugs by the two women. But none watched more intently than Kaiser.
His red eyes were fixed on Ayumu, unblinking, as if he were trying to carve her image into his very soul. The way she had handed Rhea that bag. The way her voice had softened. The way she had looked so lonely standing there under the massive palace doors.
Lucky Rhea, he thought—and immediately hated himself for thinking it.
He tore his gaze away and faced forward.
The expedition set off.
Ayumu stood at the doorway and watched until the figures blurred into dots.
Then, slowly, she turned back and saw the Emperor.
Visil stood in the shadow of the entrance hall, just behind the threshold, his arms crossed over his chest. Watching to see if she would do something foolish. Watching to acknowledge that she had no ideas about following them.
Ayumu lowered her head slightly and walked past him into the palace.
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The day passed.
Ayumu went about her duties as usual—helping Visil with correspondence, organizing schedules, reviewing supply requests. She moved through the emperor's office like a quiet ghost.
Everything went smoothly. Too smoothly.
Because all the while, she was… quiet.
Not her usual soft-spoken self. Not the gentle murmurs or the occasional hesitant joke. This was a deeper silence.
Visil noticed. But he told himself that so long as she didn't go on the expedition, in a few days she would be alright. A few days of rest, of routine, of normalcy. That was all she needed.
That was what he told himself.
At the end of the day, the maids reported that Ayumu had retired to her room. She was supposedly continuing her work at the small office attached to her quarters—the one she used for late-night tasks when she couldn't sleep.
Visil decided to go to her.
Not as an emperor. As a brother.
He walked the familiar corridor toward her chambers.
I'll console her, he thought. She's sad. Anyone would be. I'll just… talk to her. Cheer her up.
He reached her door and knocked.
Knock, knock.
No answer.
He knocked again, a little louder.
Knock, knock, knock.
Silence.
Visil frowned. He pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The small office was exactly as it should be—papers stacked neatly, quills in their holder, inkwell sealed shut. A small lamp lighting the area slightly.
And there, in the office chair facing the window, was Ayumu.
Well—the top of Ayumu. Her white hair was visible above the chair's high back, soft and pale in the candlelight. She was sitting perfectly still, facing the dark window, her head slightly bowed.
Visil exhaled slowly.
"Ayumu," he said gently, stepping further into the room. "It's me."
No answer.
She's sulking, he thought. Really sulking.
He tried to appease her, moving slowly around the table, keeping his voice light and warm.
"I know you wanted to go," he said, circling closer. "But it's for the best, you know. Maybe tomorrow we can take a break. Go horseback riding…"
He paused. Then remembered.
Her horse, Atlas, had been killed two weeks ago. Maybe seeing a horse now would make her more sad.
He scratched the back of his head, wincing.
"Uh… maybe we can go to the town in disguise and walk around? Or walk in the forest? Just the two of us?" He attempted a smile, though she couldn't see it. "What do you say, Ayumu?"
Still silence.
Visil's patience began to fray. He approached the chair from behind, his footsteps heavier now.
"Ayumu," he said, his tone edging toward irritation. "How long are you going to be upset—"
He reached the chair and grabbed the back to pull it around to face him.
Clank.
Something hit the floor.
A mop.
A white mop that looked, from afar, somewhat like Ayumu's hair. The mop rolled across the floorboards and came to a rest against the leg of the desk, its handle wobbling slightly.
Visil stared at it. Then at the empty chair. Then at the mop again.
His eye twitched.
Then he saw it—a folded piece of paper on the desk, held down by the inkwell. His name was written on the outside in Ayumu's neat, looping handwriting.
He snatched it up.
Dear Brother,
If you are reading this, you may have discovered that I am not in my office. I apologise for defying my brother's advice, but adventure calls to me, brother. I promise to bring back good news for the betterment of the empire.
Sincerely,
Ayumu Velmiar
Visil read the letter once.
Then twice.
Then a third time, as if the words might rearrange themselves into something less infuriating.
They did not.
His hands began to tremble—not from fear, not from sadness, but from a deep, volcanic rage building in his chest. The paper crinkled under his fingers. His jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached.
"AYUMUUUUUUUUUU!"
The scream tore through the palace like a thunderclap. Servants froze in the corridors. Guards flinched at their posts.
The Emperor of the Velmiar Empire had lost his sanity.
All because of his white magis sister who had gone off on an adventure.