The palace at night was never truly silent.
Even when the lamps were dimmed and the corridors emptied, the Moon Kingdom breathed softly through stone and silver. Wind brushed against high windows. Distant guards shifted their weight. Somewhere, water flowed through hidden channels, carrying moonlight along with it.
Princess Lily Ember did not notice any of it.
She stood motionless in her mother's private chamber, the echoes of her own words still hanging between them like fragile glass.
"He is more talented than me."
For a long moment, Ama Ember did not speak.
She sat near the low table by the window, hands folded neatly in her lap, posture elegant despite the lateness of the hour. Silver hair, tied loosely at her back, reflected the moonlight with a softness that made her appear carved from memory rather than flesh. The former queen, widow of King Max, eldest princess of the Heart Kingdom—titles that once shook nations—now looked like a woman listening too carefully.
Lily noticed the change instantly.
Her mother's expression did not break. There was no shock, no anger, no disbelief. Only stillness. A deep, sinking quiet that Lily had seen only a handful of times in her life—each time before history shifted its course.
Ama Ember lowered her gaze to the tea cooling untouched before her.
"…More talented," she repeated softly.
Lily swallowed. She had not expected praise to weigh this heavily.
"Yes," Lily said, her voice firm despite the tension tightening her chest. "Not just talented. His control, his understanding—Mother, it felt like he was not using healing magic. It was as if he was commanding the body itself."
Ama's fingers tightened, just slightly.
"And the difficulty?" she asked. "The treatment. Tell me how difficult it truly was."
Lily exhaled slowly. Her pride resisted the words, but she forced herself forward.
"The patient's arm was beyond conventional recovery. Nerve damage layered with mana decay. Even the Moon Fairy could only restore part of it without risking collapse. Victor…" She paused, remembering his pale face, the faint tremor in his hands. "He repaired it piece by piece. Not with overwhelming power, but with precision. Each cycle drained him nearly dry."
Ama finally looked up.
"How many times did he empty his mana?"
"At least seven," Lily answered. "Possibly more. He hid it well."
Ama closed her eyes.
Silence returned, heavier than before.
Lily hesitated, then pressed on. "Mother… do you know why Victor Grey was forbidden from learning magic? From even gathering mana?"
The air changed.
It was subtle, but unmistakable. The moonlight across the room seemed colder. Ama's breathing slowed, deepened. When she opened her eyes again, they were distant—focused on something far beyond the palace walls.
"If I am not mistaken," Ama said slowly, "then when Victor awakened his talent… your uncle Max did not like the expression on his face."
Lily blinked.
"…Are you joking?"
Ama's gaze sharpened, and Lily instantly regretted the words.
"No," Ama said calmly. "I am not."
"But Uncle Max was not someone who judged children by their expressions," Lily protested. "He was—"
"I was wrong," Ama interrupted gently.
The word struck harder than any rebuke.
Ama straightened, her voice lowering. "Your uncle did not dislike Victor. When he looked into that boy's eyes, he saw something he had seen only once before."
Lily's heart skipped.
"…The king who awakened Ominous Wisdom," she whispered.
Ama nodded.
"That man nearly destroyed the world," she said quietly. "You were too young to remember the fear. Entire kingdoms burned not because of cruelty, but because wisdom without restraint sees no reason to stop."
Lily clenched her fists. "Victor is not like that."
"Max knew that," Ama said. "That is why he did not kill him. He chose to observe instead. But then the war came. And your uncle died on the battlefield before he could finish watching."
The room felt suddenly smaller.
"To prevent his worst fear from becoming reality," Ama continued, "he entrusted the decision to his nephew—King Wilson. He ordered Victor forbidden from practicing magic. Not because he was weak. But because he might become too strong."
Lily's chest tightened.
"And the Grey family?" she asked quietly.
Ama's expression darkened. "Masters of fire magic. And infamous for losing themselves to it. Their flames burn not only enemies, but sanity itself."
Lily felt the weight of it crash together.
"Ominous Wisdom in the hands of fire," Ama murmured. "Max feared what would happen if calculation and destruction walked the same path."
Lily stepped forward, voice trembling but resolute. "Then please, Mother. Ask King Wilson to at least allow Victor to gather mana. He does not seek power. He seeks healing."
Ama studied her daughter.
She saw the pride Lily tried to hide. The frustration. And beneath it all, the sincerity of someone who had seen war's aftermath and understood the value of a healer more than any general.
"I have seen wars," Ama said softly. "I know what a brilliant healer is worth."
She turned toward the door. "Call the maids. Invite His Majesty for tea."
King Wilson arrived without delay.
Despite the hour, he entered the chamber composed, crown absent but authority unquestionable. When he saw Ama rise to greet him, he bowed deeply.
"Aunt," he said respectfully.
Tea was poured. Courtesies exchanged. For a time, they spoke of ordinary matters—the kingdom's harvests, border patrols, the state of the capital.
Then Ama's voice shifted.
"How fares the healing corps?" she asked.
Wilson hesitated. "Poorly. Training healers has always been difficult. Lady Lily's Fairy's Touch is profound, but it takes years to master."
"And Victor Grey?" Ama asked casually.
Wilson's cup paused midair.
"I heard," Ama continued, "that he mastered it easily."
The silence that followed was dangerous.
Wilson lowered his cup slowly.
"…Yes," he admitted. "So I have heard."
The past stirred. Fear long buried began to wake.
And somewhere in the palace, Victor Grey slept—unaware that the chains around him were beginning to crack