The blinding white light receded as if swallowed by the cold air of the temple. Kael stood there, breath ragged, hand trembling violently around what should have been a sword—yet wasn't.
Where the length of a blade should have gleamed in the light, there was only a knife. Short, sharp, its black handle adorned with the same intricate pattern as his old sword.
He stared at it in confusion.
This… isn't right.
Elric stepped forward slowly, her eyes wide, the afterimage of the burst still lingering in her vision.
"It turned… into a knife?" she murmured, almost to herself. Then, with a steadier tone, "So if you find all the fragments, will it become a sword again?"
Kael didn't answer. He didn't know. The weight in his palm told him nothing, the cold metal offered no visions, no whispers of guidance—only silence. He tightened his grip as if pressing harder might force it to speak.
"Can I hold it?" Elric asked.
Kael's gaze flicked to her briefly before he handed it over.
The moment her fingers curled around the hilt, her brows furrowed in surprise. "It… doesn't drain my mana anymore." She turned the blade, letting the dull light catch on its edges. "How about you?"
Kael shook his head once.
Before Elric could speak again, the heavy doors to the temple swung open. Footsteps pounded against the stone floor—guards in Delcra's black and gold crest, their polished boots echoing with each stride. At their head was Robert, his usual calmness replaced with urgency.
"Young master—" he began, but stopped mid-step.
The air was heavy, thick, as if pressing against their chests. Kael had turned to face them, his crimson-gold eyes narrowed in sharp warning. The aura that radiated from him was suffocating—angry, unwilling to be approached. None of the guards dared to move.
Even Robert hesitated.
"Robert! Can you check his hand? He's wounded," Elric's voice cut through the tense air like a whip.
Kael turned back to the knife in his hand. The cold pressure he had been unconsciously giving off vanished, and the guards—previously holding their breath—shifted uncomfortably, some exchanging confused glances.
Robert approached slowly, eyes catching the blood-soaked handkerchief wrapped around Kael's hand. He dropped to one knee and quickly unwound the fabric. The cut was deep.
A faint glow filled his palm as Robert placed his hand over the wound, the healing spell stitching the skin back together. "Did you have a nightmare?" he asked lightly, though his tone was just a shade too forced. "All the mirrors in your room were destroyed."
Kael noticed the faint tremor in Robert's fingers as he worked.
Reaching up, Kael placed a light hand on Robert's shoulder. "I just… shocked. Sorry." His voice was quiet, low enough that only Robert and Elric could hear.
Robert froze for a second, then smiled in relief, the tension draining from his face. "It's alright, but please—don't destroy things with your bare hands. I nearly fainted when I saw all that blood."
A shuffling sound echoed from the doorway. Sebastian, breathless, entered the temple. His eyes darted first to the opened fragment box, then to Kael, who sat with Robert kneeling beside him.
"What happened?" the old butler demanded, still catching his breath.
Elric crossed her arms. "We found the fragment. When Kael fitted it to the handle, there was a blinding light. When it faded, the sword… turned into that knife."
Sebastian's gaze fell on the weapon in Kael's hand. He didn't step closer—Robert had already warned him about Kael's earlier aura.
Still, he smiled faintly. "It's good news you're unharmed. Did you feel anything when you combined them? Remember anything?"
Kael ignored him.
Sebastian took the silence as his answer. "Then let's get you back to your room. It's been cleaned, and you need to change out of that blood-stained shirt."
Robert agreed, rising to his feet. "Yes, we should move." He carefully took the knife from Kael, wrapping it in his own handkerchief before tucking it safely away.
As they left, Elric remained standing with Sebastian.
"Do you know what will happen if he gathers all the fragments?" she asked, her tone flat, eyes fixed on the closed temple doors.
"I can't predict," Sebastian admitted. "But I'm certain His Majesty Reinhardt will know more."
Elric exhaled sharply. "That light—if anyone else sees it, it could bring danger to him. He still doesn't remember… even after touching the fragment."
"I can't predict the future," Sebastian said with a faint smile. "But I wish for Archduke Kael to remain healthy."
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"Once you've eaten, we could visit the library," Robert suggested lightly. "They have rare works from Eastern academia. You might like them."
Kael didn't respond. His gaze wandered over the hall's lavish decorations—ornate curtains, polished vases, paintings framed in gold.
Then his steps halted.
A portrait.
Of himself.
The man in the painting had long black hair, eyes like molten gold and fresh blood, a sword in hand, and a smile brimming with confidence.
Robert stopped too, noticing Kael's stillness. "Brings back memories," he said softly. "You were the strongest, most confident man I ever met. You saved Delcra from complete ruin. That's why His Majesty awarded you this title."
Kael's eyes narrowed slightly.
The Kael in his dreams wasn't like this. That Kael was always bleeding, struggling, failing to arrive in time. This smiling man felt like a lie.
"I can't be like him," Kael whispered, his fingertips brushing the canvas.
"What was that?" Robert asked, tilting his head.
A sudden wave of dizziness made Kael sway. The hallway spun around him. Robert caught his shoulder, steadying him.
"You've lost too much blood," Robert said firmly. "Let's get you to your room."
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Reinhardt stood at the drained edge of the lake, the winter wind pulling at his coat. Mages and guards were busy at work, their spells drawing the last of the water away.
A servant ran from the mansion. "Your Majesty, Hero Kael has arrived at Delcra Castle."
Reinhardt's eyes narrowed. "And Albert?"
"Count Albert departed from the west gate. He'll arrive within a day."
Reinhardt closed his eyes briefly, considering. A sudden gust of wind swept through the area, and the ground trembled faintly.
His lips curled in a small smile. Three more remain.
Another guard hurried over from the drained lake. "Your Majesty, we found something."
Wrapped in cloth, the man held a black dagger—its surface pitted with rust, a faint wisp of dark smoke curling from its edge.
Reinhardt studied it for a moment, then gave his order. "Send it to the Imperial Palace for examination. And prepare my belongings—I will return this evening."