The royal ward was quiet except for the faint trickle of the central mana-fountain—a soft blue glow reflecting off five immaculate beds arranged in a gentle circle. Each bed boasted silken sheets dyed in pale moonlight-blue, with a polished mana crystal embedded in the headboard. Beneath each bed table sat vials of crushed herbs, folded cloth, and tiny glass bottles filled with violet liquid labeled Elixir.
I lay there, staring at the wooden-and-stone ceiling, watching the crystalline chandelier flicker with gentle blue fire. My mana vessels still throbbed with unstable rhythm, but the pain had finally dulled into something I could tolerate.
Aeldir's voice echoed in my mind—soft, tired, frayed.
"They only knew our location before the attack… I cast healing. They may be alive. Maybe hiding underground… or looking for you."
I exhaled.
"We'll find them. I promise."
He hesitated.
"We're being watched every moment. If we try something reckless… they won't hesitate to kill us."
Silence settled between us—the heavy, suffocating kind that carried fear and helplessness. His emotions leaked through the shared vessel: hurt, frustration, longing.
"Do whatever you want," he murmured. "Just call me when you need help."
I sighed softly.
"Oye, little bro… don't sink into it. We'll meet them. Give me a few months. Trust me."
"…Are you sure?"
His voice cracked.
"I'll try my best. Now sleep. You're thinking too much."
I lay back, letting the softness of the mattress swallow me. Aeldir drifted into slumber, leaving only faint warmth behind.
The giant oak doors creaked open.
Three guards marched in, halting sharply—and behind them stepped her.
The princess.
My breath froze.
This was the first time I saw her without the cloak, and it felt like seeing a completely different person—like reality had shifted.
Her hair, a fall of shimmering royal-white, framed a face resting between delicate girlhood and refined maturity, giving her an appearance closer to sixteen than eight. Her eyes were impossible to ignore—crystalline iridescent silver intertwined with deep amethyst, a swirling cosmic hue that seemed to pull thought into a quiet void.
She was dressed simply in a black chemise dress, elegant yet harmless, with understated elven patterns that reflected a soft magical glow. Her posture, however, radiated confidence and gentle authority—like someone raised to rule, but allowed a heart that could laugh freely.
She stepped closer.
My pain receptors reactivated, making sitting impossible. I tried anyway.
She immediately placed a gloved hand on my chest—warm despite the thin layer of fabric—and gently prevented me from rising.
"Don't force yourself," she said softly. "Just stay lying down. It's better."
I obeyed without protest.
She tilted her head. "Why do you look so shocked?"
I coughed awkwardly.
"Last time I saw you… you looked like an eight-year-old."
She let out a light laugh. "So you've been wondering about that since the moment I walked in?"
I stayed silent.
"It was the cloak," she explained. "Crafted by the dwarven grand-artificers, structured with elven mana-weaving, and finished by a divinity mage. A masterpiece… and a headache to maintain. It has many forms, including age-shifting illusions."
I swallowed.
"Princess… may I ask something?"
She smiled. "Ask directly."
"Why did you help me in the first place… even though I'm… a tri-blood?"
She paused.
Then smiled—soft, genuine, warm.
"You remind me of someone I knew… long before."
Her eyes softened.
"And I don't believe in racism."
My heart skipped , reminding me of someone I knew… long before
Because those words—
"I don't believe in racism."
Lina had said the exact same thing, long ago, under a starry sky on Earth… right before she died saving me.
My chest tightened. My vision blurred for a moment.
Her grave. Snow. Flowers. Her father crying.
"Are you listening?"
I snapped back.
The princess' face was inches from mine, her brows knit in annoyance, her lips in an adorable pout.
"You really weren't listening," she accused.
"I—I apologize—"
A tiny shard of ice formed between her fingers—no bigger than a nail—and flicked toward my forehead.
Pak!
I flinched at the cold sting.
"That's punishment," she sniffed. "For thinking about some girl in front of the most beautiful elf."
"…Who told you you're the most beautiful?"
She shot me a glare. "It's a secret. Now rest."
She stood, motioned to her guards, and left.
The room felt colder without her.
Eventually, I drifted into a deep sleep.
When I awoke, the pain was gone. Not reduced—gone. My body felt stronger, lighter, energized beyond belief.
The same nurse from earlier stood nearby, monitoring mana flow through a delicate blue spell-circle.
"Your recovery surprised even us," she said. "The King called four of the best healers of the elven nation. They repaired your body entirely. When you wake, their message was simple—'Tell him to be ready.' Your examination is tonight."
"…Great."
A heavy, sarcastic sigh escaped me as I sat upright.
Another test.
Another fight.
Another chance for someone to kill me.
The nurse led me out of the ward.
Tonight… everything would shift.