The moonlight filtered through the tall kitchen window, casting a silver glow across the stone floor. It touched the boy first—painting his black coat in soft light, catching the gleam of his long lashes and the deep carmine of his eyes. Under the pale beam, he looked almost unearthly.
Beautiful in a way that was hard to look at for too long.
Dangerous in a way that was hard to name.
Rina sat across from him, her back no longer tense, her shoulders no longer heavy. A strange peace had fallen over her chest after pouring her heart out—rage, pain, fear. All of it had been heard. And the boy hadn't flinched once.
For that, she was grateful.
"…Thank you," she said again softly, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. "Really. For listening."
He turned toward her, smiling again with that same gentle curve of the lips. "You're welcome."
Then, with a teasing glint in his crimson eyes, he tilted his head and asked, "So… how old are you, Lady Rina?"
She blinked at the sudden shift in tone. "Sixteen," she replied automatically.
His smile widened just slightly.
"I'm a flame witch," she added, a little proud despite herself. "First-year at the Academy. We're on a seasonal break right now, but I'm ranked second in the whole school. Not bad, right?"
"Impressive," he said, taking another sip of tea. The glove on his hand creaked faintly as he lifted the cup—black leather, tight, polished.
She nodded. "My family—Amberhart—we carry the blessing of the Phoenix."
"The legendary firebird?" he asked, clearly amused.
"The very same."
There was a pause, filled only by the clinking of the spoon as she stirred her own tea absentmindedly.
Then his voice came again—smooth and casual, but edged with mischief.
"Lady Rina," he said, "what would you do… if your dear fiancé Jean turned out to be—let's say—fat, ugly, with a stench that could kill a flower?"
She looked up, startled.
He continued, feigning innocence, "Lazy. Cowardly. A bully, perhaps. What if he's everything you hate wrapped into one miserable, cursed soul? What would you do then?"
The corner of his mouth twitched, hiding something dangerous behind the charm.
Rina narrowed her eyes, and suddenly, the soft golden light in them flared.
"Then I'd burn him," she said, voice low and serious.
The air shimmered faintly around her as if her very mana responded to her anger. Her hair, that vivid red flame, rippled as if caught in some invisible wind. The kitchen suddenly felt warmer.
"I would curse the day he was born," she went on, golden irises glowing with fury. "I'd make sure he knew he wasn't welcome in my life. I don't care who his mother is, or what throne he's supposed to sit on."
She clenched her fists.
"If he dares look down on me… I'll make him regret it."
Her voice didn't shake. It didn't waver.
It burned.
The boy simply watched her. His face unreadable for a moment, before that gentle smile returned.
"You seem so cute when you're angry, Lady Rina," he said lightly, resting his chin on his gloved hand.
Rina's jaw dropped slightly.
She blinked at him.
"C-Cute?" she echoed, caught off guard.
"Mm," he hummed. "Very… phoenix-like. All feathers and fire."
There was a long silence.
Then—to her own surprise—Rina laughed.
It was small at first, then a little louder. A mix of disbelief and release, like someone who hadn't laughed in days.
"You're strange," she said, shaking her head.
The boy only offered a quiet, noncommittal shrug.
"I've been told."
The teacups between them had long gone cold. The moonlight outside shifted slightly, casting new shadows across the dark counters and the floor.
And still—he said nothing more about himself.
No name.
No reason for being there at that hour.
Just presence. Calm. And eyes like crimson velvet.
She didn't press.
Strangely… she didn't want to.