The night air was crisp on the balcony where Leon sat, a thin blanket of mist clinging to the city far below. From this distant vantage, Cindralis seemed peaceful — its broken streets a patchwork of flickering lanterns and hurried repairs. A city scarred, but alive, desperately trying to pretend it hadn't bled so recently.
Leon took a long, steadying breath, leaning on the stone railing. The war-torn square where he had lost himself in wrath was a memory still too vivid, yet here he was, watching its remnants from afar, the eerie calm almost unsettling. The lights flickered like fireflies in a storm, and distant hammers clanged as workers labored through the night, rebuilding what they could. Even from here, he could see the hollowed eyes of survivors moving like ghosts in the streets.
A soft creak came from behind. The door to his room opened quietly.
Sylva stepped onto the balcony.
She hesitated, her crimson eyes catching his for a moment before she spoke. "Couldn't sleep?"
Leon turned, surprised it was her who broke the quiet first. "Not much of a sleeper these days."
She joined him at the railing, her pale hair shifting in the breeze, bandages still visible around her arms. The wind caught the hem of her tunic, and for a moment, the two of them simply existed beside each other.
"Are you… really okay?" she asked, her voice low but steady.
Leon chuckled softly. "I'm alive. Still stubborn. Hair's a bit weird now." He ran a hand through the dark strands tipped in white.
To his quiet delight, Sylva's lips quirked in a faint, genuine smile.
It was beautiful.
Leon found himself staring until she caught him.
"Is there something on my face?" she asked, almost puzzled.
He grinned. "Nah. Just… didn't expect you to get all talkative. Careful, or you'll start sounding like Velis."
Sylva rolled her eyes — the slightest, driest gesture. "Don't say that. Once was enough."
Leon laughed, and to his surprise, Sylva didn't leave. They both turned their gaze to the distant lights, the ruined city quietly mending under the moon's watch. The ruins, bathed in eerie silver light, looked almost surreal, like a reflection in broken glass.
A companionable silence settled between them. No need for words, not in that fragile moment where neither of them needed to be strong or clever or guarded.
Just two souls watching a city heal.
Somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled the hour. Sylva's fingers brushed against the cool stone, close but not quite touching his. Leon, for once, didn't flinch away from the closeness.
Neither spoke again, but they stayed there long after the mist began to creep down from the mountains, watching the ruined city's flickering lights, both understanding without needing to explain.
* * * * *
A soft knock at the door roused Leon from uneasy sleep. The morning light filtered through gauzy curtains, painting the room in hazy gold. He blinked, groggy and stiff, his body still aching despite the passage of time. It took him a moment to register the figure standing in the doorway.
A maid — young, with dark chestnut hair tied neatly at the back, dressed in a modest uniform of the Cindralis court. She was unfamiliar to him.
"Good morning, Sir Hero," she said with a practiced curtsy, a gentle smile on her lips. "I came to check on your condition."
Leon rubbed his eyes and straightened himself in bed. It struck him then that this was the first time since waking up the previous day that he'd actually seen someone other than his party. He hadn't even asked where they were.
"Where… is this, exactly?" he asked, his voice hoarse from disuse.
The maid approached carefully, placing a fresh cup of water on the bedside table. "You're in the royal castle of Cindralis, Sir Hero. After the battle — after you and your party destroyed the cult, slew the dragon, and defeated the demon that threatened our city — you collapsed. The city guard and surviving knights escorted you all here. You've been under our care since."
Leon nodded slowly, the fragments of memory aligning in his mind. The battle, the bloodshed, Sylva's face, Velis' smirk, the madness of the blood moon. It felt like a lifetime ago.
"I see," he murmured, taking the water and sipping gratefully.
The maid went about her work efficiently, checking the bandages on his side and arms with careful hands.
"The king has asked for you," she added, glancing at him as she smoothed the blanket. "He wishes to see the hero and his party in the throne room as soon as possible. I've already sent a message to inform His Majesty of your condition yesterday. Now that you're fully awake, he's expecting to meet you today."
Leon let out a weary sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Of course he is."
The maid smiled again, a little more warmly this time. "I'll inform the others. They'll be expecting you in the grand audience chamber within the hour, Sir Hero."
With a final curtsy, she slipped from the room, leaving Leon to his thoughts. He stared at the ceiling for a long moment before finally dragging himself from the bed, already steeling himself for what would undoubtedly be another exhausting day of politics, expectations… and old ghosts.
* * * * *
Leon stepped into the hallway, the polished floors and towering stained-glass windows painting the corridor in fractured hues. As he rounded the corner near the throne room's grand entrance, a familiar figure leaned against the wall.
Sylva.
She glanced up at him, her crimson gaze soft but unreadable. "You made it."
"Didn't plan on skipping." Leon forced a grin.
A quiet pause passed between them before Sylva asked, "You… okay?"
Leon shrugged. "About as okay as someone with two-tone hair can be."
To his surprise, she smiled faintly, the corner of her lips twitching. "Good."
It wasn't long before the rest of the Crimson Vow appeared near the entrance. Velis clung lazily to Lyra's arm, half-asleep, her head drooping before Lyra nudged her awake with an annoyed huff. Darius leaned heavily on a cane but moved under his own power. Selene and Iris whispered animatedly about something arcane, while Gaius leaned casually against a column, trading jabs with Kieran — who, as always, had somehow procured an apple.
"Finally awake, sleeping beauty," Kieran called when he spotted Leon.
Leon rolled his eyes. "Missed you too."
The gathering felt… normal, in its own strange, battered way.
The maid who'd tended Leon arrived and gestured for them. "The king will receive you now."
The doors to the throne room swung open.
What met Leon's eyes was breathtaking. Two rows of royal guards stood at attention, lining the immense marble hall that stretched towards an elevated platform. Upon that dais sat three figures — King Arden Vaelor, his wife Queen Selyra Vaelor, and their son, Prince Caelum Vaelor. Each regal and composed, their gazes steady and unreadable.
A knight's voice echoed through the chamber.
"Announcing the arrival of the Hero Leon and the Crimson Vow."
The entire party knelt in unison, the heavy silence settling over them like a shroud.
King Arden rose slightly from his seat, his voice deep and clear. "We thank you for your service to Cindralis. Your courage and strength have spared our people from greater loss."
Darius, as leader, spoke humbly. "It was our duty and honor, Your Majesty."
Prince Caelum leaned forward with a smirk. "I've heard a peculiar rumor," he began, his sharp gaze settling on Velis. "That the famed Crimson Vow travels with a child. Seems the rumors are true."
Darius kept his voice calm but firm. "One should never judge a book by its cover, Your Highness. Though young, Velis possesses abilities that would humble many seasoned warriors."
The prince scoffed. "According to the reports, she and another — that one," he gestured to Sylva, "took down a dragon without external help."
"It was through our combined strategy, teamwork, and the unique talents of our members that we succeeded," Darius replied smoothly.
Queen Selyra then spoke, her voice gentle but resolute. "Nevertheless, we are grateful. Though our city suffered, it could have been far worse. You and your companions have our kingdom's thanks for preserving what lives you could."
Then came the awards: 500,000 crowns for slaying Ravon the Bleeding Prophet. Another 200,000 for the dragon's death. Titles: Dragon Slayers.
Darius accepted with a bow. Gratitude on the surface, calculation beneath.
As they turned to leave, Caelum's voice cut through. "You, child. Mocking royalty by napping through our generosity?"
Lyra stepped forward, tone polite. "Your Highness, she—"
"I wasn't speaking to you."
Velis' silver gaze flickered open, boredom giving way to the glint of teeth. "Forgive me, Your Highness," she said sweetly. "It's just that after fighting dragons and demons, courtly speeches tend to lull one to sleep."
A murmur rippled through the room.
"Afraid of death, girl?"
Velis pretended to ponder, then smiled. "Not particularly. Why? Planning on offering me yours?"
The prince leaned his cheek on one fist, eyes narrowing. "You'll find this court less forgiving than a battlefield."
"Then it's a good thing I'm very good at surviving," Velis returned, her voice soft as silk and twice as dangerous.
Something shifted. The prince's lips twitched into a ghost of a smile.
Their stares locked like blades held between heartbeats. The room felt smaller.
Then, at last, "You're dismissed."
* * * * *
The great doors of the throne room creaked open, spilling the Crimson Vow back into the grand corridor like spent arrowheads. Their faces were drawn, their bodies still aching from wounds no healer's light could fully erase. Darius walked stiffly, Lyra's hand ever watchful near her dagger, while Leon kept his gaze low and Sylva's pale brown eyes flicked from shadow to shadow. The air outside the throne room was no less suffocating than within.
Velis lagged behind.
Her boots made no sound on the polished stone floor, silver eyes reflecting the light of braziers hung like weary sentinels along the walls. She knew Lyra would scold her later for not keeping pace, but the weight of a gaze prickled at her back, and she'd never been one to resist temptation.
She turned.
Prince Caelum still sat upon the throne, one elbow propped against the armrest, chin resting lazily in his palm. A cruel mouth. Eyes like stagnant water reflecting sunlight. His stare pinned her as a hawk would a vole.
"I take it your naps are strategic," Caelum murmured, voice silk on glass.
Velis offered a crooked, mocking smile and a shallow curtsy that mocked formality more than honored it.
"Sleep is a rare privilege in this war-torn world, Your Highness. Forgive me for savoring it when royalty deigns to host long speeches."
His lips twitched. Not quite a frown. Not quite a smile.
"You speak boldly for one so small."
"Size is rarely an indicator of danger," Velis murmured, stepping closer. The guards along the walls tensed, but Caelum lifted a languid hand, and they froze.
"And danger rarely lingers so carelessly in the den of lions," he said.
Velis tilted her head, obsidian hair brushing her cheek.
"Perhaps it is the lions who have grown careless, mistaking wolves for cubs."
A flicker in his gaze. He masked it well, but she saw it. The faint crack in polished veneer. She always did.
"Tell me, child," Caelum continued, voice like cold wine, "what is your name?"
Velis paused, savoring the question.
"Velis."
The name hung between them, a shard of glass catching firelight. He repeated it once under his breath, tasting it like unfamiliar wine.
"I will remember it," he said. "It is not often a court jester bares her teeth so convincingly."
Velis's grin sharpened.
"Careful, Your Highness. Even jesters leave bodies in their wake when no one is watching."
The air thickened, tension drawn taut as a bowstring. The guards' hands twitched near hilts. Only the sound of the crackling braziers dared intrude.
For a heartbeat, Velis felt the old thrill rise in her veins. The familiar taste of imminent violence, of a game about to turn.
Then Caelum's mouth curved, a ghost of amusement. He leaned back, dismissing the moment with calculated ease.
"Leave us, little one. The court has wolves enough without adding you to them."
Velis inclined her head, silver eyes gleaming like a predator's in the half-light.
"Of course, Your Highness. Thank you for the delightful chat."
She turned, and without hurry, rejoined her party.
As the heavy doors closed behind her, she let her grin widen.
"And so the jackals bare their teeth," Velis whispered to no one. "Good. It will make the hunt more interesting."