The sun rises slowly over the kingdom.
Sir Rowan walks toward Harlan's apothecary, the early light dull against his sleepless eyes. His armor feels heavier than usual, each step dragging slightly.
"Damn it, Leonard…" he mutters under his breath. "Where did you go…"
He knocks.
A small slit opens. Harlan peers out, then unlocks the door.
"You're just in time," he says. "He's been breathing steady. Should wake soon."
Rowan steps inside.
The room smells of herbs, smoke… and blood.
Erwin lies on a narrow cot, wrapped in bandages, chest rising evenly.
For a moment, nothing moves.
Then
A sharp gasp.
Erwin's body jerks, his eyes snapping open as if dragged back from something dark.
He inhales too fast—pain hits instantly. His body locks.
"Layla—"
The name tears out of him.
He tries to sit up.
Fails.
Pain crashes through him, and panic follows right behind it.
"Layla—where—where is she—"
Harlan clicks his tongue and shoves him lightly back down. "Easy, idiot. You want to tear yourself open again?"
But Erwin doesn't hear him.
His eyes are wild, searching the room like a trapped animal.
"Layla… I have to—she's alone—"
He forces himself up anyway.
His legs give out.
Rowan steps forward quickly and catches him before he hits the floor.
"She's safe."
Rowan's voice is firm—but not loud.
"You hear me? She's safe."
Erwin freezes.
The words don't settle immediately. They hang there, fragile, like something too good to trust.
His breathing stays uneven.
"…safe?" he repeats, barely a whisper.
Then something shifts as he sees the armor.
And fear comes rushing back in.
His body stiffens in Rowan's grip.
"I didn't steal anything," he says suddenly, voice breaking. "I swear—I didn't—I didn't take anything—please—just don't—don't take her—"
Rowan's expression tightens.
Harlan groans from the side. "Oh for fuck sake...will you listen? No one's here to drag you anywhere."
Erwin doesn't look at him.
He's shaking now.
Not from pain.
From memory.
Rowan lowers his voice.
"Look at me."
Erwin hesitates… then slowly does.
"I don't know what happened but believe me i mean you no harm to both of you," Rowan says.
A long pause.
Erwin's breathing begins to slow—just a little.
His shoulders tremble.
"…she's really safe?" he asks again, softer this time. Smaller.
Rowan nods.
"I'll take you to her myself."
That's what breaks him.
Erwin's knees give out completely, but this time Rowan holds him steady.
Tears spill freely down his face.
"I… I…" he chokes, unable to finish.
He bows his head deeply, voice shaking.
"Thank you… I don't… I don't have anything to give… but I'll repay you… somehow… I swear…"
Rowan exhales quietly, exhaustion catching up with him.
"Forget that," he says, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Just stand. Your daughter's waiting."
Erwin nods, still trembling.
This time, when he rises—
He doesn't resist the help.They step out into the morning fog.
Rowan supports him as they walk, explaining in fragments what happened. Erwin listens in silence. Each step feels unreal.
She's safe.
Outside Rowan's house
Leonard sits slumped on the front steps, back against the door.
An empty bottle hangs loosely from his fingers. A dagger rests in the other.
"…shitty world…" he mutters, eyes half-closed.
The door creaks open behind him.
Leonard slips slightly and jolts awake.
He blinks—
Layla stands there, small and quiet, looking down at him.
For a moment, he just stares… then lets out a tired breath.
"…hey," he says, voice rough but softer than before. "You're awake."
Layla nods, clutching the pouch in both hands.
"I got coins… and meat…" she says, a faint smile trying to form.
Leonard's expression flickers—he understands immediately.
For a second, he looks away.
Then he pushes it down.
"Yeah?" he says, forcing a bit of lightness into his voice. "That's impressive."
He gently lifts her into his arms and settles her on his knee.
"Well," he adds, tapping the pouch lightly, "That's good we'll get your daddy back with this."
Layla's smile fades a little.
Leonard notices instantly.
"Hey—no, no," he says quickly, nudging her. "Don't make that face."
He pokes her side lightly.
"Come on. Show me that brave smile again."
She doesn't react.
So he leans in, lowering his voice like he's sharing a secret.
"You know what happens if you don't smile?"
Layla looks up at him.
"I eat your breakfast."
A pause.
Then he dramatically rubs his stomach.
"All of it. Every bite."
Layla's eyes widen—
"No!" she blurts, grabbing onto him.
Leonard grins.
"There it is."
He gently rubs her belly, playful and warm.
"That's the smile I was looking for."
She giggles, the sound small—but real.
From inside the house, soft footsteps.
Elsbeth appears in the doorway, still waking, her expression softening at the sight.
On the staircase just inside, Luan stands quietly, one hand resting on the railing his bells calm.
He doesn't speak.
He just watches Layla laugh—something calm and fragile in his eyes.
Elsbeth glances at him.
"Are you feeling better?" she asks softly.
He nods once.
But his attention never leaves the child.
Layla suddenly turns her head toward the road.
Leonard follows her gaze.
Through the thin morning fog—Two figures approach. One steady.
One struggling.
Layla freezes.
"…Daddy?"
Then—
"DADDY!"
She jumps down from Leonard's arms and runs.
Erwin barely has time to react before she crashes into him.
He drops to his knees instantly, arms wrapping around her, holding her tight—too tight, like he's afraid he'll lose her again.
"I'm here… I'm here…"
His voice breaks completely.
"I'm so sorry… I'm so sorry…"
Layla clings to him, crying into his chest.
"I was scared…"
"I know," he whispers, pressing his face into her hair. "I know… I'm here now… I'm not going anywhere…"
They stay like that longer than anyone speaks.
No one interrupts.
Finally, Erwin pulls back just enough to look at her.
His eyes fall on the pouch in her hands.
"…where did you get that?"
Layla brightens instantly.
"From fairies!" she says. "It was next to me when I woke up!"
Erwin stares at it.
Then pulls her closer again.
"…yeah," he says quietly. "It must have been the fairies."
Leonard quickly nudges the bottle away with his foot and straightens.
"Well," he says, clearing his throat, "now that everyone's awake…"
"…we should eat let's go inside."
Erwin looks at all of them, overwhelmed.
"…thank you," he says again, softer this time.
Layla beams.
"Thank you, brave princess!"
Leonard crouches beside her.
"Hey—if you don't eat, I'm taking your share."
Layla gasps and runs inside.
"No! I need to be strong like the princess!"
Her laughter echoes inside the house.
For a moment— everything feels… okay.
Meanwhile…
Inside the grand halls of the Church, where candlelight flickers like silent witnesses—
King Theoron kneels.
The Pope watches from his throne-like seat, fingers steepled, eyes heavy with quiet judgment.
"We cannot allow her to continue," the Pope says at last, his voice calm, but absolute. "The girl is no longer a rumor to be ignored. She is a threat—to order, to faith… to us."
Theoron lowers his gaze, but a faint smile tugs at the corner of his lips.
"It is not her," he says softly. "Not truly."
The Pope's brow lifts slightly.
"It is the jester."
A pause.
"That thing has poisoned her mind. Filled it with defiance… with illusion." Theoron's voice darkens. "Remove him… and she will remember her place."
The Pope studies him for a long moment, weighing not the words—but the man.
"And how," he asks quietly, "do you intend to remove something that does not die?"
Theoron's smile deepens.
"Even immortality has limits," he says. "You simply have to be… creative."
Silence stretches.
Then—
A low chuckle escapes the Pope.
"You never disappoint me, Theoron."
Theoron rises slowly, bowing his head once before turning away.
"Then I will bring you results."
He walks through the towering doors, the echo of his footsteps swallowed by stone.
Outside, the air is colder.
A knight steps forward immediately, head bowed.
"My king."
Theoron does not stop walking.
"Three bottles of ivy poison," he says. "The pure kind. I want it to hurt."
The knight hesitates—just for a second.
"And…?" he asks carefully.
Theoron finally stops.
Turns.
There is no anger in his face.
Only amusement.
"Go beyond the walls," he says. "Find me peasants. The starving kind—the desperate kind."
The knight's throat tightens. "For what purpose, my king?"
Theoron steps closer, voice dropping to something almost gentle.
"Tell them this…"
A small smile spreads across his face.
"If they wish to feed their families… they must die for them."
The knight freezes.
"…Five gold coins for each corpse."
Silence.
Then—
"…Yes, my king."
The knight leaves.
Theoron watches him go, then turns his gaze toward the distant, crumbling city beyond the palace walls.
Lantern light glows behind him.
Darkness stretches before him.
His smile widens—slow, satisfied, monstrous.
"Let's see how long your hope survives…" he murmurs. "…my little jester."