“My dear prince… open your mouth and say ahh.”

  Her voice was soft. Teasing.

  Warm fingers brushed against his cheek, trying to pry his jaw open.

  “Prince Kael,” she insisted in mock authority, “unhand me at once.”

  A cool breeze drifted past her ears.

  The world blurred.

  And then—

  The dream shattered.

  Her eyes fluttered open.

  The soft weight on her hand was real.

  So was the warmth.

  Sir Kael was leaning over her.

  Very close.

  Too close.

  For a heartbeat she simply stared at him, her mind still tangled in sleep. Then awareness struck like lightning.

  She gasped and bolted upright—

  —and smacked the top of his head in the process.

  “Ow.”

  Kael recoiled slightly, rubbing his forehead. “That was unnecessary, Princess.”

  Her face flushed crimson.

  “I—I didn’t mean to—!” She grabbed the blanket and pulled it up to her chin as if it could hide the heat radiating from her cheeks. “Why are you sitting that close to my pillow?!”

  Kael blinked once. Calm. Composed. Entirely unbothered.

  “You were mumbling.”

  “That does not grant you investigation rights!”

  He almost smiled.

  Almost.

  She slowly lowered the blanket just enough to peek at him. “How long have you been here?”

  “Not long.”

  Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Did you hear anything strange?”

  “Strange?”

  She hesitated.

  “…Like me ordering you to open your mouth?”

  There it was.

  A crack.

  A real smile slipped through.

  “I may have heard something of that nature,” he said thoughtfully.

  Her jaw dropped.

  “You absolutely did not.”

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  “Hmm. I distinctly remember someone addressing me as ‘Prince Kael.’”

  She buried her face into the pillow.

  “I want to disappear.”

  The room filled with the quiet sound of her muffled groan.

  For the first time since the council chamber… Kael felt something lift.

  The weight on his chest loosened.

  Watching her like this — flustered, dramatic, alive — something inside him softened.

  She sat up again, brushing loose strands of hair away from her face. “Such dramatic scenes should remain in novels and bad theatre,” she muttered. “Not in real life.”

  She looked up at him.

  And smiled.

  Not forced.

  Not fragile.

  Just… her.

  And in that moment—

  His heart bloomed.

  A simple, innocent joy.

  Something fragile.

  Something dangerous.

  Because she had no idea.

  No idea what storm was gathering beyond these walls.

  She was laughing.

  And he—

  He could see the future pressing in.

  The smile remained on his face.

  But inside—

  Lightning struck.

  He stood abruptly.

  The shift was subtle, but she noticed.

  Her laughter faded slightly.

  “Are you leaving already?”

  He paused at the door.

  The wind outside carried a distant chill.

  “Aira,” he said quietly.

  She tilted her head.

  “Yes?”

  He almost asked her.

  Almost told her.

  Almost warned her.

  Instead—

  “Are you… missing the place from where you came from?"

  The question surprised even him.

  She blinked.

  Then smiled — softer this time.

  “I never had the chance to laugh freely there,” she said. “If anything… I think I’m the happiest I’ve ever been since coming here.”

  She looked directly at him.

  “And I got to meet you, Sir Kael.”

  The words were light.

  But they struck deeper than any blade.

  He turned away before she could see the crack in his composure.

  Why should that be her happiness? he thought bitterly.

  A thousand-year-old divine system trembled.

  Prophecies were forming.

  And she smiled as if the world were simple.

  His hand curled into a fist.

  He struck the wall lightly as he stepped into the corridor.

  Not enough to break stone.

  But enough to steady himself.

  Anger.

  It surprised him.

  Not at her.

  Never at her.

  At fate.

  At the unseen forces watching.

  At whatever dared to carve suffering into her future.

  He exhaled slowly.

  No matter what the visions foretold.

  No matter what the Archives revealed.

  No matter what ancient law had been broken the moment she survived—

  He would not allow it.

  If the Divine wished to claim her—

  They would face him first.

  If the Severin sought to reclaim what escaped—

  It would meet his blade.

  If the Drakin, the Beasts, or the gods themselves reached for her—

  They would bleed.

  He closed his eyes briefly.

  Until now, he had lifted his sword for duty.

  For Teravyn.

  For balance.

  For a thousand-year-old promise.

  But something had shifted.

  Now—

  He had a reason.

  Not a kingdom.

  Not a prophecy.

  Not monsters.

  Her.

  He opened his eyes.

  The corridor felt colder than before.

  The world felt larger.

  More dangerous.

  And for the first time—

  He welcomed it.

  Because if fate was coming—

  Let it come.

  He would be ready.

  After making that vow to himself, Kael did not allow his resolve to fade into mere emotion.

  If something was coming — he would meet it prepared.

  He completed his report, organized the documents required by the council, and dismissed every lingering distraction from his mind. Once that was done, he descended toward the training hall.

  The vast chamber was empty.

  Cold.

  Echoing.

  He stepped into the center.

  The sword slid free from its sheath with a low metallic whisper.

  The first strike split the silence.

  Steel met air.

  Then again.

  And again.

  Soon, the hall trembled with the rhythm of disciplined violence.

  Kael did not train wildly.

  Every movement was deliberate.

  Controlled.

  His blade curved through invisible lines only he could see. His footwork adjusted with impossible precision, gliding across stone as though guided by unseen currents.

  Then—

  Something shifted.

  A faint shimmer of golden dust gathered along the edge of his blade.

  Not magic.

  Not aura.

  Something older.

  The particles clung to the metal, responding to his grip, tightening with every swing. The air around him distorted subtly — like heat rising from desert sand.

  The resistance he created with each strike was not natural.

  No ordinary swordsman could measure it.

  No observer could truly understand what he was cutting through.

  But Kael felt it.

  Felt the invisible barriers.

  Felt the weight pressing back against him.

  His jaw tightened.

  Faster.

  Stronger.

  Sharper.

  Sweat rolled down his temple, along his jaw, falling to the stone floor. His body moved as one with the blade — shoulders aligned, hips rotating, breath controlled to the heartbeat.

  And yet—

  His posture never broke.

  Even in intensity, he remained composed.

  As if chaos itself bent to his discipline.