In his little shabby cottage, Takao was once again busy preserving a bunch of withered lilies. The late morning light filtered through the small window, and the air was rich with the fragrance of herbs and the faint steam of boiling tea.
A sudden knock broke the stillness. Takao rose, his simple robes gliding softly across the dark-stained wooden floor. He slid the door open—and there they stood. The same two soldiers he had once sheltered and treated on that fateful night of ambush.
"You both?" Takao asked, brows slightly lifting.
One of them smiled and stepped forward. "Yes, it is us. How fortunate, doctor, that we meet again. Impressed by your treatment, the Young Master—with permission from His Majesty—has invited you to attend the grand banquet at Tsukiyomi Palace on the occasion of the New Moon Year."
Takao stared at them in silence for a few seconds before nodding slowly, as though letting the words settle. "I see. I will... I will make sure to attend. Please thank His Majesty for granting me this honor."
The soldiers exchanged a triumphant grin that unsettled Takao for reasons he couldn't name. He brushed the feeling aside, convincing himself it was merely his own suspicion.
"Then we shall take our leave, doctor. But—may we know your name?" one of them asked before departing.
"Takao," he replied simply.
They nodded, satisfied, and left. Their laughter lingered faintly in the air long after their footsteps faded, leaving an unease in Takao's chest. Still, he reminded himself—an invitation from the Imperial Palace could not be refused.
He returned to his lilies, but his hands grew restless. His heart stirred with a strange mix of curiosity, excitement, and nervousness. What awaits me in that palace? he wondered. If only I knew…
At Tsukiyomi Palace, the day moved in a different rhythm. The kingdom outside was bustling with preparations for the coming celebration, but the palace itself had fallen into a rare, quiet lull.
In the royal library, Masanori sat at a desk, absorbed in a stack of books. Reika sat near him, her fingers gracefully weaving thread as she knitted, humming a soft, soothing melody. The imperial pair, for once, looked peaceful.
"Masanori," Reika's voice broke the silence, "won't you invite Nozomi?"
Without lifting his eyes from the page, Masanori grunted, "Why? I see no reason to. Why do you insist, dear?"
Reika let out a deep sigh, her hands pausing mid-motion. "Because… I have not seen him in years. He may carry a curse, but he is still my son. And now that he has returned your guards, there should be no grudge left between you…"
Masanori finally looked up, studying her. His gaze hardened, but he saw the determination in her eyes. "Why do you care so much for that boy? He is grown. Let him live his life apart."
But Reika's resolve did not falter. At last, Masanori exhaled heavily and gave in. "Very well. Only for one night. And only for you, Reika."
A soft smile curved her lips as she returned to her knitting, though her eyes glistened faintly.
As dusk bled into gold, then deep blue, Rikuya sat in his chambers, idly turning a glass paperweight between his fingers. A knock interrupted him.
"Come in," he commanded.
Two guards entered, one holding a sealed scroll. "Young Master, the information you requested—about the doctor on Giramuzi."
Rikuya smirked as he took the scroll, dismissing them with a wave. Alone, he unrolled the parchment with deliberate care, his eyes scanning every detail. His lips curled into a sharp smile.
"Excellent," he murmured. "I'll welcome you personally, Takao…"
Meanwhile, at Kagegiri Villa, Nozomi was preparing for bed. He had slipped out of his outer robes and was reaching for his night garments when a knock sounded at the door.
"Who is it?" he asked softly.
A familiar voice replied, "It is me, my Lord. Hishori."
"Ah, yes. Come in."
Hishori entered, carrying a scroll in both hands. "My Lord, Tsukiyomi Palace has sent an invitation for you to attend the banquet."
Nozomi froze, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Truly? That is… a great honor. I shall certainly attend. Thank you, Hishori. You may rest now—have a good night."
Hishori bowed, handed him the scroll, and withdrew. Alone in the quiet of his chamber, Nozomi opened the invitation, his fingers trembling slightly. The words seemed to glow before his eyes, and warmth spread through his chest.
He whispered to himself, his voice barely audible, "I will soon see you again… Mother. Perhaps this time, we may speak as family once more."
A faint smile touched his lips. Yet behind it, in the heart of the night, an ache deeper than words gnawed at him.