The celebration had finally reached its quiet end.
The lanterns that had glowed so brightly only hours ago now flickered faintly as the last of their flames wilted. Laughter, music, and chatter faded into distant echoes as families, hunters, and civilians began to disperse from the courtyard of Nirvalen's village. What had been a radiant scene of unity now dissolved into the serenity of night, just as the moon climbed higher into its throne above the sky.
Althric stood at the center of the courtyard, his cloak swaying softly in the breeze. The Phoenix he had summoned—magnificent, blazing in warm crimson and gold—waited behind him, feathers shimmering like embers drifting in the twilight.
He clasped his hands together.
"Mr. Kuro, Miss Yume… are you ready to go?"
Before either could respond, a calm voice stepped in from behind.
"Althric," Daiki approached, adjusting the sleeves of his coat. "May I return with you?"
Althric bowed respectfully.
"As you wish, Mr. Daiki. I do not mind."
With that, everyone boarded the Phoenix. Its wings unfurled, scattering sparks of fiery light across the night sky as it carried them effortlessly through the air. The wind rushed past them, cool, refreshing, clearing away the remnants of the evening's warmth.
By the time they arrived back at the village, the flames surrounding the Phoenix dimmed. One by one, they stepped off its back, and the magnificent creature dissolved into thin air—its body scattering into warm fragments of fading fire, vanishing like a dream.
But then Kuro froze.
Daiki halted as well.
Ren was lying on the doorstep of the house, asleep, the moon washing his figure in silver light. His coat was half-slipped off, his breathing soft but steady, as though exhaustion had wrapped around him and forced him into the depths of sleep.
Kuro tensed. "Ren…?"
He stepped forward to lift him, and Daiki followed.
But before either man could reach him—
Yume stepped between them.
Her arms extended slightly, palms facing them, her gaze quietly firm.
"I—I'll take him inside," she said.
Kuro blinked, confused. "But are you sure? We can—"
Daiki stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. He glanced at Yume, and in that brief exchange, he understood everything—the nervousness in her eyes, the faint tremble in her voice, the silent emotion she tried to hide.
He exhaled softly.
"Mr. Kuro," Daiki said gently, "let her handle it."
Kuro still looked puzzled, but the sincerity in Daiki's voice left no room for refusal. Daiki placed a hand on Althric's shoulder as well, guiding both of them away.
As they walked off, Daiki turned his head slightly.
He spoke just loud enough for Yume to hear.
"Yume… put him safely in his bed. Don't make any mistakes."
She nodded, cheeks warm but eyes determined.
Daiki, Kuro, and Althric disappeared into the small path leading toward their homes. Their footsteps grew quieter… and quieter… until there was nothing left but the chorus of the night.
Yume waited until their presence felt completely gone.
Then she allowed herself to kneel beside Ren.
He looked peaceful. Too peaceful.
As though the battles, burdens, and endless responsibilities of being the Ninth King had slipped from him the moment sleep embraced him.
A soft, affectionate sigh escaped her.
"You worked too hard again… Ren."
Her voice was barely a whisper, yet it carried warmth into the stillness.
She slid her arm beneath his shoulders, lifting him gently. Ren's weight pressed against her—familiar, grounding, strangely comforting. Step by step, careful not to disturb his rest, she brought him inside. The wooden floor creaked quietly beneath her feet.
Inside the dim room, she laid him on the futon with slow, precise movements. She pulled the blanket up to his chest, smoothing a few loose strands of hair from his forehead.
His expression softened even further under her touch.
She stood to leave—
But his fingers wrapped around her wrist.
Her breath caught.
"…Yume?"
His voice was low, husky—still entangled in sleep, yet unmistakably his.
She turned, startled.
"Ah—sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."
Ren blinked, eyes slowly opening, golden irises catching the faint moonlight seeping through the shoji window.
"You brought me in?" he murmured.
She nodded, her voice barely steady.
"You fell asleep at the door."
Ren exhaled, rubbing his forehead with one hand.
"Thank you."
Silence settled between them for a moment—gentle, almost shy.
Then he looked at her again, his expression unexpectedly soft.
"You didn't get to dance today."
The words struck her like a quiet breeze—unexpected yet strangely comforting.
She hadn't thought he noticed. In truth, she had told herself many times that it was fine. That she didn't mind. That the celebration wasn't about her.
But when he said it…
Her gaze dropped, her cheeks warming.
"I… wanted to," she admitted, voice faint. "Just once."
Ren rose slowly to his feet. His exhaustion still lingered, but there was something resolute in his posture—something that pushed past weariness.
"Then let's make it now," he said simply.
Before she could speak, he extended a hand.
Yume froze.
Her heartbeat stumbled, then quickened.
But she placed her hand in his.
He led her outside.
The night was beautiful—almost unreal.
The moon hung full and radiant, draping the sleeping village in silver light. The wind carried the faint scent of pine, mixed with the last traces of lantern smoke drifting from distant homes. The grass was cool against their steps, and fireflies floated between the trees like wandering stars.
Ren stopped at the center of the open field.
He gently took her right hand with his left, and his other hand rested lightly at her waist.
Yume's breath hitched. Heat rose through her neck, blooming across her skin.
"There's… no music," she whispered.
"There is." His voice was low, confident, steady.
"Just listen."
The wind murmured softly.
Leaves rustled like whispers.
Somewhere far away, a river hummed with the rhythm of nature.
And in that quiet symphony, they began to move.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
As though time itself had chosen to linger a little longer for them.
Ren guided their steps with steady confidence. Yume followed, her movements flowing instinctively with his. Their breaths synchronized, their warmth mingling, their shadows dancing beneath the moon.
The world felt distant—blurred at the edges—leaving only the two of them in its center.
For the first time in a long while, she felt completely safe.
Ren's voice drifted between them, barely above a whisper.
"You are looking amazing today… Yume. Like a queen who shine."
Her step faltered, her chest tightening.
"Don't… say things like that," she murmured, struggling to steady her voice. "It makes my chest feel strange."
Ren's lips curved into a quiet smirk.
Gentle. Teasing.
But carrying a softness only she ever witnessed.
"Is that bad?"
Yume shook her head. Her gaze lifted, meeting his.
"It's… comforting."
Their movements slowed—until eventually they swayed in place, the hollow of his palm warm against her waist. The moonlight glimmered across their faces, their breaths brushing the cold night air.
Ren lowered his forehead to hers.
Her pulse trembled.
"Yume," he whispered, "you don't have to hide anything from me."
Her fingers tightened around his.
"I know," she said softly. "I know, Ren."
The world fell utterly silent.
No wind.
No voices.
Only the echo of their hearts, beating just slightly out of rhythm.
Ren lifted her chin with two fingers—slow, careful, asking without words.
Yume didn't pull away.
Her eyes fluttered shut, her breath warm, trembling.
Their lips met—softly.
It wasn't a rushed kiss.
Not desperate.
Not claimed by passion alone.
It was gentle, lingering, full of emotion buried for far too long.
A confession without words.
A promise without vows.
Yume's hands curled into the fabric of his chest.
Ren's arms wrapped around her waist, holding her as if the moment itself might vanish if he eased his grip.
The night embraced them quietly.
The fireflies drifted around them.
The wind softened to a hush.
The moonlight seemed to glow brighter.
When they finally parted, their foreheads remained touching.
Yume's breath trembled against his lips.
"Ren…"
Her voice was nothing more than a fragile whisper.
"Thank you… for giving me this dance."
Ren brushed his thumb against her cheek, his voice low, unwavering.
"As many as you want," he murmured.
"Whenever you want."
And there, beneath the silent moon, two shadows intertwined—gentle, unwavering, unbroken—marking the beginning of something deeper than either had dared to admit.
The dance ended.
But the moment stayed.
And so did they.