Chapter 52: Two Idiots At A Table
After taking a bath, Kael changed into a brown-colored shirt. His damp, messy brown hair clung to his forehead in uneven strands, water droplets still dripping occasionally down the sides of his face. He sat at the table, silent. Too silent.
He didn't have the energy today—not to be sarcastic, not to provoke, not even to sigh in exaggeration like he usually did. The freshness of the bath hadn't revived him. If anything, it made the dizziness worse. The sleep that had evaded him all night now tugged at his mind like a heavy mist.
Meanwhile, Seraphina was making tea in the kitchen.
Kael's eyes were half-lidded and unfocused. They stayed open, but there was no energy behind them—just a heavy, lazy stare. He let out a sigh, one that sounded more like a groan, low and weary. Then, slowly, he turned his gaze toward her.
His hand, which had been resting on his knee, shifted. It moved up to the cold surface of the table, followed by the other. He brought them together, folding them gently, as if shaping a makeshift pillow. Leaning forward, he rested his head on his hands.
Through the small gap between his fingers, his tired eyes looked at her—just off to her left, as if he couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze directly.
He didn't know why.
He just did.
The way she moved her hands with precision. The flick of her fingers as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. The way she acted like she didn't see him watching, even though it was obvious she knew.
She was just trying to ignore him.
But her silence only made him stare longer. There was something oddly calming about it. Maybe it was the quiet hum of the morning. Or maybe it was just her presence. He wasn't even thinking much—just drifting.
Meanwhile, Seraphina could feel it. She wasn't looking at him directly, but the weight of his eyes burned across her skin like a silent accusation.
"Tch. Why is he staring at me like that? I'm not even looking at him, and I can still tell. His eyes haven't moved an inch. Seriously, does he think I wouldn't notice? Idiot."
She clicked her tongue softly.
"Ugh… is he doing it just to piss me off? No… he's too much of an airhead for that."
Her lips pressed into a thin line.
"It's not even that uncomfortable… and that's what annoys me. I should hate it. I want to hate it. But I don't. Not really."
She let out a quiet breath through her nose.
"Whatever. As long as he keeps that annoying mouth of his shut, I'll survive."
The tea was ready. She arranged everything neatly on a tray, carried it to the table, and set the freshly prepared meal in front of him.
She glanced at him.
His eyes were still pointed vaguely in the direction of the kitchen, yet there was no reaction. No movement. No blinking.
She waved her hand in front of his face once. No reaction. Again. Still nothing.
She sighed. "Don't tell me…" Her brows twitched. "He's sleeping… with his eyes open? What kind of fool does that—"
She shook her head slowly and set the tray aside with care, the soft clink of dishes briefly filling the silence. Without saying a word, she reached for the chair beside him and pulled it forward, the legs scraping gently against the floor. Then she sat down, not directly across from him, but angled slightly—at his right, just close enough to feel present without pressing in.
Kael remained where he was, seated at the head of the table. She had taken a spot along its length, the difference in position subtle but noticeable—like two points on different paths, meeting at a quiet intersection.
Carefully, she adjusted her gown, smoothing the fabric with unnecessarily slow motions.
She looked at him. Still unmoving. His head gently rested on his arms, eyes open, lips parted just enough to let out slow breaths. Even from where she sat, she could hear the quiet rhythm of his breathing.
Suddenly, a smile tugged at her lips—small, fleeting, quickly hidden. "Always being dramatic, huh?" she whispered. "Now, look at you sleeping like a kid… Drama Queen."
Her eyes remained fixed, unmoving for minutes. There was something comforting in that stillness—perhaps because she knew he wouldn't be dramatic here, wouldn't mock her here.
Her gaze no longer held its usual sharpness. The edge had dulled, softened into something unfamiliar—something she couldn't name, yet couldn't ignore. It settled in her chest like a whisper, quiet but insistent.
Something stirred.
Then, before her thoughts could catch up, her hand moved. Not by her own will—at least, that's what she would tell herself later.
It wasn't a decision. Not a choice. Just a quiet pull, as if something unseen had taken hold of her limbs and drawn them forward. Her fingers drifted slowly, almost hesitantly, creeping toward him like they no longer belonged to her.
Each inch felt impossibly long. Her breath caught in her throat. She could feel the faint tremble in her wrist, the way her heart stuttered with each heartbeat.
And then—
Her hand hovered in the air, suspended just above Kael's tousled brown hair. So close. Too close.
Her fingers trembled, unsure, as if they were waiting for something—for permission, for clarity, for courage that hadn't come yet.
"Why?"
The question drifted through her thoughts—quiet, restrained, but insistent. It did not shout. It didn't need to. It simply lingered, refusing to leave.
"Why is my hand there?"
She stared at it in silence.
"What... what am I doing? Did I really just—was I actually about to touch him? With my own hands? But... why?"
Her mind supplied the answer at once. Crisp. Neat. Clean.
"To wake him up, obviously. That had to be it, right?"
Order. Structure. Logic. She clung to it like a blade in fog.
"It's not like there's any other reason. He said he wanted his breakfast warm. If it gets cold, he'll just whine like a child again. That's all there is to it. Yes... that makes sense."
She told herself that once—then again, and again, and again. A spell. Rehearsed. Mechanical. She wove it around herself like armor.
And yet…
Her hand did not move. It should have. She should have pulled it back the moment reason returned.
But it stayed. Poised. Suspended in midair. Not touching. Not retreating. Caught in the gravity of hesitation.
Surely not because she wanted to touch his hair. Surely not to test if it was soft or coarse, the way it fell across his brow. Surely not to feel its warmth—or coolness—against her skin, like some kind of indulgence.
Her eyes narrowed. A fine, almost imperceptible motion. Cold. Controlled. She might as well have been glaring at her own hand.
Her lips pressed together, thinning into a severe line. She exhaled once through her nose. Slow. Quiet. A breath sharpened by irritation.
Then—
Wet.
Warm.
Soft.
"Owww—Honey…"
The sound that slipped from Kael's lips was low, drawn-out, and entirely inappropriate for a sleeping man.
Seraphina snapped her hand back so violently, her knuckles slammed into the wooden chair behind her.
She clenched her teeth, fingers tingling with a sharp sting, her heart pounding in her chest. Slowly, she shook her hand, trying to ease the faint pain. Then, barely above a whisper, she muttered,
"Tch… stupid."
The word left her lips, flat and clipped—as if merely speaking it disgusted her. She crossed her arms tightly and leaned back, as if to shake off the heat creeping up her neck and ears. Her gaze fell to him again. He lay slumped against the table, mouth slightly open. Somehow, even in sleep, he looked smug.
She scowled, as if trying to force herself to calm down, to think of something—anything—else. And just as she wished, the thought shifted. "Though what really confuses me," she muttered under her breath, eyes narrowing slightly, "is how he even managed to wake up so early in the first place."
She leaned back a little, her brows furrowing as the memory came to her. "That lazy idiot almost made me pour water on his head just to get him out of bed yesterday. So, how did he wake up early?"
A scoff escaped her. "And he expects me to believe he ran across the entire district—twice—and did five hundred push-ups?" Her gaze dropped, as if trying to picture it. "With those legs?"
She shook her head, unconvinced—but then paused. Her thoughts wandered back to that moment—not long ago—when he came back from jogging. She remembered the glint of sweat clinging to his neck, face, and hands… but not much beyond that.
But yesterday—yesterday was different. Her cheeks warmed slightly as the image returned. She had clearly seen it, even through the fabric. His shirt had clung to him, damp and nearly transparent in the light. The sweat had soaked all the way through, not just spots here and there.
"Yesterday, he was completely drenched—I could even see through his shirt. But today? Nothing like that." Her eyes narrowed. "Which means he didn't do everything I told him. Slacked off again, didn't he?" She sighed, shaking her head. "You lazy bastard… What am I supposed to do with you?"
Her frown softened, but her mind remained tangled in the uncertainty. Her eyes narrowed at him.
"And his eyes… They were so… dead. Like he—"
"Stop, honey… Not there… Ahh... no... ahhh…"
Kael's voice broke through the stillness like a groan from some fevered dream. His face twitched. He shifted in the chair, sighing, murmuring again under his breath with that same, infuriatingly soft tone.
Seraphina froze.
Then her cheeks flushed so fast it was like someone lit a fire under her skin. Her thoughts, just moments ago rational and annoyed, were now scrambled beyond recovery.
Her heart skipped a beat.
"No... no way," she thought. "That didn't just sound like… Like that. Right? He's dreaming about— No, he couldn't be. Not me. Not… with me."
She stared at him, blinking rapidly, her expression contorting between shock, offense, and something she would never, ever admit aloud.
"Honey… Ahh… slower…"
Kael groaned again, but this time, it slipped into something softer—a moan, quiet and breathy, laced with heat.
Thud!
The table shook beneath her fist. She shot to her feet so suddenly that the plates rattled and a spoon clattered to the floor. Water sloshed in the jars. Kael flinched in his sleep—but didn't wake. That only made her angrier.
Thud!
She slammed her palm against the table again, her voice slicing through the morning like a whip. "WAKE UP, you damn bastard!" she shouted. "What the HELL are you dreaming about?!"
He bolted upright, wild-eyed, dazed, and looking very much like someone who had just been pulled from the depths of a very private dream.
"Honey…?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes in a daze, his voice thick with sleep and confusion.
Seraphina shot him a glare, struggling to hide the blush creeping up her cheeks. "Calm down, Seraphina," she told herself. "You totally misunderstood everything. He was probably dreaming about something else… not that. He didn't mean it like that. There's no point in making a scene."
She exhaled slowly, trying to steady her nerves. "If you ask him, he'll definitely just mock you. Better to let it go. Just calm down."
He blinked as his vision cleared. And then—oh, he saw it. The expression on her face, cold as a glacier, her blue eyes burning through him like twin lasers from hell.
He froze, as if trying to piece together why death itself had taken humanoid form and was now seated directly beside him.
Her smile was slow. Icy. The kind of smile predators gave just before sinking their teeth in. The corner of her mouth twitched, but her eyes did not match the gesture.
"It's nothing," she said sweetly, though her eyes suggested otherwise. "You just fell asleep at the table. Eat your breakfast before it gets cold, idiot." Her voice was calm—almost gentle—but it didn't match the sharpness in her gaze.
Then she picked up a knife from the table, turning it slowly in her palm, her fingers tracing the edge with deliberate ease. A thin, unsettling smile curved her lips, cold and precise.
Kael hesitated. His throat felt dry as a flicker of unease settled in. "Did I… do something wrong?" he wondered. "I don't remember doing anything that would make her this angry."
The silence dragged on, heavy and awkward, until he finally forced himself to speak. "Uh… sure. I mean—wow, this smells amazing. Did you make it?"
She didn't respond—just stared at him. Her gaze was unsettling, sharp enough to make his skin crawl. It felt like she was silently saying, If I got the chance, I'd kill you.
He picked up his spoon like it might save his life. "Heh… so cheerful this morning, darling." he muttered under his breath, beginning to eat with exaggerated innocence.
She kept watching him.
"…Why are you smiling like that?" he finally asked, eyes darting toward her suspiciously. "It's… kinda creepy."
Her smile widened by a millimeter.
"Huh?" she lifted one hand slowly. "Did you say something just now?"
"Nope. Nothing." Kael hunched over his eggs in surrender, chewing in terrified silence.
Still, he couldn't help but glance at her again. Then his eyes shifted to the tray, her meal still untouched. "Aren't you going to eat? It's getting cold," he asked.
"Yes, of course," She said, shifting slightly as she set her knife back on the table. She picked up her plate and spoon with deliberate grace and began to eat. Even as she ate with poise, that unsettling smile never left her face.
Then suddenly, in the midst of chewing, he caught it—her scent. It was sweet. Almost too sweet. Not quite like the night before. This time it was softer… gentler. Like wildflowers at the end of spring. It drifted through the space between them, subtle but undeniable. It wrapped around him quietly, pulling his thoughts in her direction before he could stop them.
He drew in a slow breath, and the scent deepened. It filled his chest, stirred something unspoken.
Then the thoughts began to rise. "It's strange though. Why's she sitting so close?" he thought. "I can... I can smell her from here. She doesn't usually sit beside me like this."
It was strange. A kind of strange that made his heart stir.
"Why's she acting like she's my wife..."
A pause.
"She actually is though."
His gaze remained ahead, but his mind wandered sideways—to her, to the moments lately that had started to feel different.
"Am I overthinking these past few days, or… is she actually changing? Like giving my greetings a reply. Asking for forgiveness like this morning..."
He frowned softly, almost to himself.
"Is this really that cold-hearted Seraphina I knew? Or… has she always been like this but I've never notice that side of her before?"
He swallowed the thought, quietly shaken by the idea that maybe he'd never really seen her before. Not like this. Not so close.
Then that scent again.
"That smell is going to kill me."
It made his pulse beat just a little faster. He dared a glance toward her—just a peek. And there it was. She was eating.
"And that smile… It's rare to see her with that face."
His heart stirred, uncertain.
"Is she trying to hide her anger or something? But why's she angry anyway?"
He watched her for a moment longer, then looked away, almost shyly.
"Whatever. Trying to understand her would take too much brainpower—I just don't have it," he thought.
But it wasn't whatever. Not anymore.
Meanwhile, Seraphina wasn't silent in her mind either. As she chewed, her thoughts drifted—sharp, but slightly amused. "He's so quiet today. Is it because I woke him up so suddenly?" She gave a tiny huff. "Well, he deserved it. Now he probably just wants to crawl back to sleep again."
Then, out of nowhere, that voice echoed in her memory.
"Honey… Ahh… slower…"
"What kind of idiot dreams about something so inappropriate...?"
Her brows twitched slightly.
"Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. I want to kill him. Right now."
The silence between them lingered, not awkward, but alive—soft and full, as though the quiet itself was speaking for them. There was no need for words.
Sunlight filtered in through the window behind the table, casting a warm, golden hue across the room. It gently wrapped around them, creating a stillness that felt sacred.
In that tranquil moment, two souls sat together—lost in their own thoughts, yet connected. They didn't speak, but somehow, they understood. The silence wasn't empty. It was complete.
Finally, Kael broke the silence. "Ahm..." he groaned, stretching his arms above his head. "I'm feeling so sleepy. I'm heading to bed. Take care of things here, alright, darling?"
She didn't say anything—just nodded.
He stood up and walked toward his room, leaving Seraphina behind. She sat there in silence for a moment, then let out a deep sigh.
"My mind is wreck. That bastard... he moaned my name in his sleep. I can't get the sound out of my head. Does he have to sound like that? Disgusting. I'm done for the day. And now that I think about it, I've skipped training for two days straight because of him."
She let out a sigh. "That demon... Zandagar, was it? His skin was like armor—my sword techniques didn't even leave a scratch. I should be sharpening my skills, pushing myself harder since then. But instead... I'm babysitting a young man." She glanced over at her so-called charge. "My husband, no less."
She paused, her expression tightening.
"Well, he does need to become stronger. I had planned to begin his sword training within a month, but with that fragile body of his, it's not viable yet. Two more months—then he'll be ready for my techniques."
A pause.
"However many attempts it takes, I'll give them to him. I don't care about anything else—I'll make him strong, no matter what. Because I have no intention of becoming a widow anytime soon. He's always throwing his life away. If he becomes strong enough to survive on his own, I can finally stop watching over him and focus on my duties as Knight Captain."
---
Few hours later...
—Knight Orders Office—
A knock came from the door.
"Enter," Seraphina said, her voice calm and composed.
The door opened, and Aldren stepped in. His silver armor was polished to standard, his movements precise but not showy. He came to a stop in front of her desk and saluted.
"Investigator Aldren, reporting, Captain."
Seraphina looked up from the report she had been reading. Her gaze met his, sharp and unreadable.
"Any new information?"
"Yes, ma'am," Aldren replied, standing at attention. "As instructed, I've been observing the S-Ranked adventurer's widow over the past few days."
Seraphina nodded slightly. "Proceed."
Aldren continued, his tone steady. "She follows a strict routine. Rarely leaves her home. Most of her time is spent indoors. Curtains drawn. Lights dim. The neighbors say she speaks to no one unless necessary. I only saw her leave to buy basic supplies—bread, herbs, candles. Nothing suspicious in the timing or the items. She walks straight to the market, shops quickly, and returns immediately."
Seraphina rested her elbow on the desk and tapped a finger against the wood, thinking.
"So she isolates herself. Still mourning, most likely. But people show their grief in many ways. Anything odd in her behavior? Any signs of contact, magical or otherwise?"
"None, ma'am. No strange visitors. No signs of enchantment on the property. Just grief. Honest grief, if I had to guess."
Seraphina glanced toward the window, though her focus remained inward. "It feels wrong to suspect someone in mourning, but we can't afford to dismiss anyone yet. Especially with the nature of the case." She turned her eyes back to him. "Anything else?"
"Yes. While I was observing her, my team began tracing the adventurer's origins. He came from a village about two weeks' ride to the north. He moved to Velhart two years ago and married not long after. The village is small, quiet—typical rural place. People still remember him."
"What did they say?" she asked, now fully attentive.
Aldren nodded. "He worked at a small goods shop. Didn't make much. Decent fellow, they said. Kind. Honest. Took care of his aging father until the man passed. After that, he left to try and earn better money through adventuring."
Seraphina was silent for a moment, processing. "A common enough tale."
"There's more," Aldren said. "Before marrying his current wife, he was engaged. To a girl from the same village. Childhood friend, apparently. Helped him at the shop, grew up with him. They were close. Got engaged a year before he left."
"And?" Seraphina prompted.
"She died," Aldren said. "Before the wedding. An illness, supposedly. Sudden. The village cleric performed the funeral rites."
"Cause of death confirmed?"
"Not exactly. The villagers say it was illness. Fever that wouldn't break. But there's talk. Some say it wasn't natural. Whispers about a curse. Her health declined over weeks, and no remedies worked. The old women say her eyes lost color by the end. That's often a sign of something deeper."
Seraphina's tone cooled further. "And his wife—the one here in Velhart—said nothing about this girl?"
"No, ma'am. Not a word."
Seraphina's gaze sharpened. "So either he kept that part of his past from her, or she's withholding it from us."
"Yes, ma'am."
"If the girl truly died of illness, it ends there. But if it was a curse, then someone might have wanted her gone. And if that someone is still alive..." She paused, eyes narrowing. "It could all tie back. People carry their pasts with them, Aldren. Sometimes they think they've outrun it. They haven't."
"Agreed, Captain."
She reached for a fresh sheet of parchment, her tone turning decisively strategic. "Here's what I want next. Return to the village. Speak with the cleric who handled her funeral. If he's still alive, ask for details. If there was a healer involved before her death, find them. I want to know everything—from the first symptom to the last breath."
"Understood."
"Also—" she added, before he could turn, "—ask about the relationship itself. People rarely forget young love. There may have been jealousy. Resentment. A broken promise. Something always lingers in the quiet places."
"Understood, Captain. I'll gather everything we can."
---
(Chapter Ended)
To be continued...