The rose was wilting again.
Kael stood quietly beside the window, fingers resting on the edge of the vase. It wasn't the freesia that once softened the room's air—just another rose, its petals curling, its scent dull and unfamiliar. He gently pressed one petal between his fingers, feeling the brittle edges begin to flake.
His body could stand now. He didn't need Robert's arms to lift him. The mana leak that once fractured him from within had stabilized—thanks to the nights Elric and Robert shared their life force with him, despite the toll it took on their own bodies.
Still… something inside him felt untethered.
He wondered, not for the first time, if the man he remembered—the one who had fed him scraps, who brought freesia in secret—had ever truly existed.
Was he alive? Was he real?
The thought always drifted back to Reinhardt.
He had convinced himself that the man had been a beggar—a silent, half-starved shadow lingering near his bed during the worst nights. A memory, maybe. A dream. But if Reinhardt was real… Why didn't he come when Kael couldn't even breathe on his own?
Kael had started placing leftovers out on the balcony after dusk, like a ritual. Every morning, the food remained untouched. Cold. Forgotten.
"Is something wrong with the flower, Young Master?" Robert's voice was warm as always as he entered the room, balancing a tray of coffee and a few well-worn books. "You've been staring at it all morning. Should I swap it out?"
Kael didn't reply. He never did. But Robert smiled as if he had.
"I'll leave it for today. Maybe it just needs more sunlight," he said gently, setting the tray down beside Kael's seat.
-----------------------------------------
Kael had changed.
He still rarely spoke, but emotions now flickered visibly across his face. He blushed—a faint but unmistakable tint of red—whenever Robert tried to feed him, even though Kael's hand had long regained the strength to hold a spoon.
Sometimes, when Robert fussed over him too much, Kael would shoot a subtle glare or furrow his brow in irritation. It was enough to make Robert laugh in quiet relief.
"He's healing," Robert whispered one night to Elric. "Even if it's slow… he's still here."
But Kael's eyes still lingered too long on the balcony. Still returned to the vase more often than necessary.
Early one morning, Robert took Kael for a walk through the courtyard, letting him stretch his legs under the gentle sun. As they passed the training hall, Kael came to a sudden halt.
Elric was practicing in the courtyard, her blade spinning through the air in precise, elegant arcs.
She moved like water—sharp and fluid. Her training uniform clung to her body, soaked through with sweat, outlining her toned form beneath the thin fabric. The morning sun caught on her silver-white hair, tied in a messy knot, strands clinging to her flushed cheeks. A sheen of sweat trailed down her neck, gliding between the curve of her collarbones.
She looked like a warrior sculpted from light and wind.
Kael stared.
"Morning walk, huh?" Elric jogged toward them, still holding her wooden sword casually over her shoulder. Her breath was heavy, skin glistening. "Wanna join me?"
Robert stepped forward protectively. "Wait—he's still recovering. Is that safe?"
"It's just a wooden sword," Elric grinned. "I'll guide him myself. Who knows? Maybe the Hero still remembers how to swing."
She offered the sword. Kael didn't hesitate.
Elric stepped behind him and gently adjusted his posture. Her hands touched his arms, firm but soft, aligning his grip. "Like this," she murmured. "Slice through the air—not with force, but intention."
She showed him once.
Kael lifted the blade. He copied her movement.
With a single swing—
CRACK!
A burst of mana surged forward. Three dummies at the far end of the courtyard shattered into splinters.
Silence.
Elric's mouth fell slightly open. "That… wasn't just instinct," she whispered.
Robert blinked. "He didn't even hesitate."
Kael, however, stood frozen, staring at the wreckage with wide eyes. His body… had moved on its own.
This body knows this feeling…
Elric walked forward slowly. "Swordsmanship isn't my specialty," she said, reaching for Kael's arm with a gentle curiosity. "I only train to stay strong. But I always adored your form… even now, it feels like your body remembers what your mind has forgotten."
She squeezed his forearm lightly, inspecting the lean muscle. Then she smirked and looked at Robert.
"But I'm not sure he can keep it up. His muscles are weak… thanks to someone," she teased.
Robert folded his arms with a huff. "At least Young Master is healthy. I don't see you feeding him three times a day."
The three of them remained in that quiet courtyard, surrounded by shattered wood and rising light. Kael said nothing. But his silence no longer felt empty—it felt alive.
-----------------------------------------
That night, the room was dark.
Kael had long since drifted into sleep, his breath soft and even beneath the covers. Robert had already left, the candlelight extinguished, the halls silent.
Then—
A quiet sound.
The balcony door creaked open, just enough to let in the night breeze.
A figure stepped in, soundless.
Golden hair glimmered beneath the moonlight.
Reinhardt.
He held a single bundle in his gloved hand—a fresh bouquet of freesia. Their delicate scent flooded the air the moment he replaced the wilted rose.
He didn't speak. He didn't move toward the bed.
Instead, he sat quietly in the chair beside Kael, resting one elbow on the armrest as his green eyes lingered on Kael's peaceful face.
"…You're healing," he whispered to the silence.
For a long time, he just watched.
Then, Kael stirred.
His brows furrowed. His body tensed.
Sweat formed along his temples, and a single tear escaped from the corner of his eye.
Then—
"…Please… kill me…"
The words slipped from Kael's lips in his sleep—shaken, soft, drenched in pain.
Reinhardt's entire body still.
The candle in the corner flickered.
He stood. And slowly—tenderly—he reached forward, brushing the tear from Kael's cheek with the back of his gloved hand.
"…You've suffered more than I ever imagined," Reinhardt whispered. "But I won't let you fall again."
Not now.
Not ever.