The grand chamber of the Nieren palace was silent save for the steady dripping of wax from the towering candelabra. The throne room’s vastness swallowed sound, its marble floors reflecting the cold glow of moonlight filtering through stained glass windows. The murals depicted victories spanning generations, battles waged in the name of sovereignty—yet their brushstrokes whispered of something far older than mere ambition.

At the room’s center, King Kaelvryn Nieren stood before a massive war table, his fingers idly tracing the map’s borders. Red markers outnumbered the gold. He scarcely remembered when that shift had occurred. His advisors spoke of supply lines, of strategy, of ensuring the kingdom’s dominance—but a voice far older than them all resonated within his bones.

"Push forward. Expand. Subjugate. It's the only way to provide for your people."

The words did not come as commands but as instincts, deeply embedded, as natural as breathing. He once sought treaties, once believed in diplomacy, but those notions had withered like autumn leaves. The lingering scent of iron and ash from the siege all those years ago never quite left him. That night, as fire devoured the outer walls, he had felt something greater than fear. A presence. An offering.

The doors creaked open. His chamberlain entered, bowing low.

"Your Majesty," the man murmured, gaze downcast. "The next shipments of refined metals have been accounted for. Production will continue as planned."

His hand simply pressed down on the map’s edge, smudging ink like spreading bloodstains.

"...Good," he said faintly.

Beyond the window, the moonlight dimmed, as if veiled by an unseen shadow. And somewhere, unseen but ever-present, the old insignia carved into the war table gleamed faintly beneath his palm.

A Flaming Spear Crossed with a Sword.

----------------------------------------

The dirt road leading to Emilia’s home was uneven, their footsteps muffled by the weight of exhaustion and dust. The moon hung high, casting faint silver light upon the modest house nestled at the edge of town. Though their journey had been long, their spirits were lifted by the information they carried—at last, they had a clearer understanding of the kingdom’s supply routes, a key to disrupting its war efforts.

Otome was the first to approach the door, her movements sharp and efficient despite the fatigue lining her face. Nanik trailed behind, his usual unreadable expression in place, while Victoria, Huranti, and Jason exchanged quiet words about their next steps.

Victoria knocked twice.

The door creaked open, revealing Emilia.

She stood there, framed in the dim candlelight of her home, her expression solemn, unreadable. Emilia didn’t greet them. She didn’t even glance at their travel-worn appearances.

“...What’s wrong?” Victoria asked, instinctively narrowing her eyes.

Emilia’s grip on the door tightened, knuckles pale.

“Lady Elysia.”

Emilia said nothing more before turning away, her steps slow and heavy as she led them deeper into the house. Otome and Victoria followed without a word, their boots barely making a sound against the wooden floor.

She pushed open the door to the dimly lit bedroom, where the air was thick with the scent of herbal tea and candle wax. At the center of the room, Elysia lay beneath a thick blanket, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight streaming in from the window.

Emilia walked in and lowered herself into a chair beside the bed, resting her hands on her lap. Her voice was quiet, pleading.

“My lady, please. You have to eat…”

But Elysia did not answer.

She sat upright against the pillows, her silver locks cascading down her shoulders in tangled strands, untouched since the night before. Her amber-orange eyes stared out of the window, distant, unfocused, as if she weren’t truly there. The untouched tray of food on the nightstand had long gone cold.

Victoria stepped forward cautiously, concern etched across her face. “Elysia…?”

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Still, no response.

Otome folded her arms, frowning. “How long has she been like this?”

Emilia lowered her head, gripping the fabric of her dress tightly. “Since she awoke.”

Otome’s expression darkened. “What happened?”

“My lady has been in this state, ever since the assault leveled against the Luminastra estate. I believe that she is the only living survivor from the estate that day…”

----------------------------------------

A short while after when only Emilia and Elysia remained in the room.

Tokei enters the dimly lit room, standing by the door for a moment. She doesn’t fidget, doesn’t shift uncomfortably—she just stands there, watching.

After a long silence, she speaks. "Elizabeth, your patient, moved. She stirred a little. Riftel is still watching her, but..." Tokei’s voice remains even, expression unreadable. She pauses before adding, "She might need you."

Elysia doesn’t react immediately, her gaze still locked on the window.

Tokei waits, staring blankly at her, trying to find the right thing to say. The seconds stretch. She exhales slightly. "I don’t know what to say to people when they’re like this, but... Elizabeth is in need of her doctor."

A deep breath. Slow. Measured. Elysia finally blinks, as if waking from a long sleep.

"Doctor.." she murmurs.

She had promised. She had promised to look after Elizabeth to Riftel, but in the chaos, in the grief, she had forgotten. She had let herself break.

The realization is like ice water poured over her.

Emilia’s head snaps toward her in surprise as Elysia throws back the covers, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

"My lady—!"

"I need to see them." Her voice is hoarse but resolute. In a whisper, she continued, “I might not have been able to save Alain… but that doesn’t mean I can’t save others.”

Tokei steps aside, watching as Elysia marches past her, driven by something beyond herself. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t react, but something about the shift in Elysia’s posture tells her that the words had landed.

Elysia had remembered, and she wasn’t going to waste another second.

----------------------------------------

The door creaked open as Elysia stepped into the dimly lit room.

Riftel sat at the bedside, eyes weary yet sharp, watching over the frail figure lying beneath the covers.

Elizabeth.

The moment the door clicked shut behind Elysia, Elizabeth stirred. A slight twitch of her fingers. A flicker of her eyelids. Then, sluggishly, her dull, pale blue eyes cracked open.

"Elizabeth," Elysia breathed, already moving closer.

Riftel straightened as Elizabeth’s gaze shifted toward them, hazy and unfocused. A second passed, then another—her lips parted, as if to speak, but instead, she tried to move.

Her arms trembled as she attempted to push herself upright. The effort alone had her breath hitching. With visible strain, she forced herself up just a few inches—only for her arms to give out beneath her. A sharp gasp escaped her as she collapsed back onto the mattress, her chest rising and falling unevenly.

Elysia was at her side in an instant.

"Don’t—don’t move yet," she instructed, voice firm but gentle. "You’re not strong enough."

Elizabeth’s brows furrowed, her frustration evident, but she couldn’t deny the truth. Even now, her limbs felt foreign—unresponsive, as though they weren’t truly her own.

Elysia placed a hand on Elizabeth’s wrist, fingers pressing lightly to measure her pulse. Too weak. Too unsteady.

"Your muscle mass has deteriorated," she murmured, more to herself than to Elizabeth. "Prolonged coma… so likely severe atrophy. Blood circulation is compromised. And based on the discoloration in your fingertips—anemia."

Elizabeth blinked slowly, her throat working as she tried to swallow. "How... long?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, raspy from disuse.

Elysia hesitated. "Almost a month."

Elizabeth’s expression flickered—shock, then frustration, then something else, something heavier. Her gaze drifted to her hands, thin and frail-looking. A wave of exhaustion washed over her, her head sinking deeper into the pillow.

Riftel clenched his fists, tense with quiet concern. "What do we do?"

Elysia didn’t hesitate. "She needs a controlled recovery process. Nutrition first—a balenced intake of nutrients to replenish what she’s lost. Then rehabilitation. If she pushes herself too soon, she risks permanent damage."

She glanced down at Elizabeth. "You can’t force your body to recover overnight. But if you listen to me, you’ll stand again."

Elizabeth exhaled, closing her eyes for a brief moment. When she opened them again, the haze had lessened—just slightly.

"...Understood."

Elysia nodded, already mentally sorting through what she needed to prepare. There was still so much to do, but for the first time in what felt like forever, she had a direction. A purpose. She was going to become someone her brother would’ve been proud of.

----------------------------------------

Looking into the room, I saw that Elyisa seemed like she was acting closer to her usual self, and that gave me a bit of relief.

Now it was time to tackle another pressing matter. The terminal had once again appeared before me and unlike ever before there was a strange notification:

[Alert - Ire Haven has accessed skill ]

[Permison granted by Administrator Makina]

[Compensation Provided: Recoved_LHC_LOG001.MP4]