Ellistra didn't give Aldric time to process the weight of the hall, the names spoken, or the truth about his parents before she spoke again.
"Come," she said simply. "I'll take you to get proper clothes."
Before Aldric could respond, she took his hand.
Not gently. Not forcefully.
Decisively.
Aldric blinked once, then allowed himself to be pulled along the polished corridors of the Scarlet estate. The halls were wide and tall, lit by lanterns that cast warm light against red-and-gold walls. Servants bowed as Ellistra passed, but Aldric noticed something—none of them looked surprised.
It was as if she had already decided this path long ago.
They stopped at a large door carved with a crimson sigil.
Ellistra opened it and stepped inside.
"This is my room," she said casually.
Aldric paused at the threshold.
"…I see."
The room was spacious but disciplined—weapon racks, training mats, scrolls, and a single large bed near the window. Everything had a place. Everything spoke of control.
Ellistra walked to a small bell near the wall and rang it once.
Within moments, several maids entered, heads bowed.
"Prepare clothing," Ellistra ordered. "For him."
The maids glanced at Aldric—then moved instantly.
What followed was… chaos.
Fabric after fabric. Colors, cuts, layers. Aldric stood still as servants measured, adjusted, changed, removed, replaced. He tried not to look uncomfortable. He failed.
"This feels excessive," he muttered at one point.
Ellistra watched with arms crossed, amused.
"You represent yourself," she said. "And now, me."
Hours passed.
Finally, Aldric stopped them.
"…This," he said.
They stepped back.
He stood before a tall mirror.
A luxurious, Middle Eastern–inspired ensemble fit him perfectly—
A deep purple jacket, elegant and sharp, tailored to his frame.
A white inner garment, clean and flowing, accented with faint embroidery.
A white stole draped across his shoulders like a mark of rank.
A white obi belt, firm and balanced, securing everything in place.
He looked… composed.
Not like a warrior.
Like a ruler.
Ellistra's eyes lingered.
Then she smiled.
"…You look like a king," she said.
Aldric exhaled softly. "I don't feel like one."
"That's why it suits you," she replied.
She tilted her head slightly.
"So," Ellistra asked, voice light, "what do you want to do tonight, Aldric?"
He looked at her.
Really looked.
And smiled.
"I want to go on a date with you," he said. "I want to know you better."
From the hallway—
"Ahem."
Ellistra's eyes flicked sideways.
"Dad," she said flatly. "Go on about your day."
Michael Scarlet stepped into view, hands behind his back, expression innocent.
"I'm merely passing by," he said. "You may continue."
Ellistra stared until he left.
"…He's impossible," she muttered.
Aldric chuckled.
Night fell gently over the Scarlet estate.
The courtyard glowed under lantern light, stone paths reflecting the moon above. Aldric walked beside Ellistra, their hands intertwined—not tight, not hesitant.
Just there.
They sat beneath the open sky, stars scattered across the dark like distant fires.
For a while, neither spoke.
Then Aldric did.
"I may have to fight the world one day," he said quietly. "Those with influence… they've been corrupted. They buried my clan's truth. Painted us as monsters."
Ellistra listened.
"I got my revenge," Aldric continued. "But I've learned something. The fight is over… but the war isn't."
She didn't interrupt.
She didn't console.
She simply placed a hand over his.
"You don't have to worry too much," Ellistra said. "I'll always have your back—if no one else does."
Aldric smiled.
"…Thank you, Ellistra."
They looked up at the night sky together.
After a moment, Aldric leaned back—carefully—and rested his head against her lap.
She didn't move.
Didn't speak.
She just stayed.
And for the first time since Hollowdene—
Aldric Yagurah felt… still.