It had been a week since Kael woke from his long coma.
Though he was far from healed, the stillness that once consumed him had begun to shift.
Each morning came a little lighter, his hands trembled a little less, and his steps—though small—no longer threatened to shatter him.
On this quiet morning, sunlight spilled across the pale marble floor of his room. The scent of fresh linen and lavender lingered faintly in the air. Kael stirred before Robert arrived, blinking slowly as warmth touched his cheeks.
The room was silent.
For once, he stood without assistance.
Still unsteady, his fingers brushed the edge of the nearby table. Step by fragile step, he crossed the room, hand gliding along the wall, past the mirror covered in cloth. His breathing was shallow, eyes wary. Yet he walked. Alone.
The door creaked open with a whisper.
Kael stepped into the corridor.
No one noticed him at first. He slipped through the quiet halls like a shadow. When distant footsteps echoed—maids and guards exchanging shifts—Kael pressed himself behind stone pillars, breath caught in his throat.
He didn't recognize the faces.
He didn't want to.
Eventually, he found a quiet room—its door left slightly ajar. A soft smell drifted out—aged paper, ink, and dust warmed by sunlight.
A library.
Kael entered.
It was vast. Two floors of endless shelves and golden-trimmed railings spiraled around the room. He wandered between rows of books like a child lost in a forest. Sometimes he pulled out and was too old to open. Others, too foreign to read. The words swam across the page like symbols from a world not his.
But then, something caught his eye.
A thinner book, tucked between volumes.
He opened it.
Painted illustrations greeted him.
One image stopped his breath.
A man—tall, proud, clad in black. Pale skin. Crimson-gold eyes. A long black ponytail trailed down his back. He stood with a black steel sword resting at his feet, expression both noble and distant.
Kael stared.
He didn't know this man.
And yet…
He turned the page. There was another picture. The same man—laughing beside someone he did recognize.
Robert.
Younger. Softer. Happy.
The memory was not his, and yet something stirred. Longing, maybe. Or grief.
His gaze returned to the blade in the painting.
Sleek, silver, beautifully crafted. He found himself reaching for the page as if the sword would offer an answer.
A sound broke his stillness.
Footsteps.
Kael turned.
Elric stood in the doorway, sunlight catching the edge of her silver cloak.
"What are you doing here without Robert?" she asked gently, eyes narrowing at the book in his hands. "...So you found that one."
Kael said nothing.
He couldn't.
Elric approached slowly, her tone softening.
"Wanna have a drink with me?"
Still, silence.
"Well," she continued, "if you don't mind… why don't we have breakfast here?"
She left briefly and returned moments later—carrying a tray herself. Tea, soft bread, warm fruits. Everything chosen with care. She set it down on a nearby table and sat across from him.
"I told them to make soft food," she said lightly. Then, with a sly smile, "Do you want me to feed you like Robert does?"
Kael's cheeks flushed. He grabbed the spoon for himself.
Elric laughed—soft and brief.
They ate quietly.
"I don't care if you don't remember your past," Elric said eventually. "But I hope you find peace here. I don't want this place to feel like a cage to you."
Kael stared out the window, gaze far away.
"For now, I think you should stay in your room until you're stronger. But I know you're bored…"
She tilted her head.
"Is there anything you want?"
The silence was long.
Then, a voice—quiet and hoarse, barely a whisper.
"I want to learn writing."
Elric blinked.
Then smiled.
"I can help you."
And for the first time in days, Kael nodded.