Elric walked with Kael slowly back toward his room, supporting his arm gently. He didn't resist her touch this time. His steps were still small, but steady. Whatever had stirred inside him in the library—curiosity, perhaps, or something older—was enough to keep him walking.
Around the corridor, someone came rushing into view.
"Young master!"
It was Robert—breathless, eyes wide. He looked like he hadn't slept.
"I've searched the entire west wing—I thought—"
"He's fine," Elric interrupted calmly. "We had breakfast together."
Robert exhaled in relief, but still approached Kael, eyes full of worry. He checked him over with swift glances, steady hands.
Back in the room, Kael sat with Robert's help.
Elric crossed the space and stood beside the window.
"Bring parchment and ink," she said suddenly. "I'm going to teach him how to write."
Robert blinked. "You are?"
"I've already started," she said plainly.
"With respect, Lady Elric," he said carefully, "I've known him longer. I should be the one."
"He needs structure," she countered. "And routine."
"He needs familiarity."
Kael, seated between them, looked at neither. His fingers curled around the edge of his blanket.
"…We'll both do it," Elric said at last.
Robert nodded and left to gather the supplies.
Over the next few days, the room transformed into a quiet classroom. Elric began with a children's book: The Legend of the Tree of Beginnings. It was simple, with large letters and vivid images. While she read, Robert guided Kael's hand to mimic each letter.
The first time Kael touched the quill, the ink splattered.
The second, the nib broke.
By the third, he was writing—shaky but determined.
Each night, Robert sat at his bedside, reading softly under the low light. He encouraged Kael to speak, mouthing words gently—but Kael never answered.
Still, Robert didn't give up.
Elric noticed something curious: Kael's focus.
His gaze never wandered. He wrote with a stubbornness that reminded her of the old Kael—the boy who had once stood against demons without flinching.
One night, Elric brought a blank parchment and wrote slowly:
Michael Einhart Delcra.
She showed it to him.
"That's your name," she said. "The one granted by His Majesty."
Kael stared at the paper.
Michael.
He traced the letters slowly.
Again.
Again.
In three days, he wrote it perfectly.
Robert smiled softly. "You always learn too quickly. You couldn't sit through a strategy lesson—but show you a sword and you'd master it before the sun set."
Elric gave no comment, only watched him write his name again.
Something about the way he held the pen now was different.
Steady.
Deliberate.
She said nothing else. She didn't ask him to remember.
She simply stayed.