Morning came softly to Mermaid’s Cove.
The sea breeze was still cool from the night, carrying the salty scent of waves through open windows.
Pale gold light spilled across rooftops and cobbled streets, painting long shadows and touching the worn stone walls of the Adventurer’s Guild with warmth.
Inside the infirmary, the hush of early morning lingered. Oil lamps had burned low through the night, their flames flickering faintly—soon to be replaced by sunlight.
Mira stirred beneath her blanket.
Her eyes fluttered open slowly, lashes brushing against her cheeks as she blinked up at the ceiling. For a moment, she didn’t remember where she was.
Then she turned her head—and saw her.
Sitting quietly at the bedside, her hair tied in a neat braid. Her posture was graceful even in stillness.
Her eyes, the same deep green as Mira’s, were weary but kind.
It was Elia.
Her mother.
Mira stared for a long second before whispering, “...Mother?”
Elia looked down, startled for only a moment. Then she smiled gently. “Good morning, sweetheart.”
Mira tried to sit up, but her limbs felt heavy. Elia placed a hand on her shoulder and eased her back down.
“Don’t rush. You’ve done more than enough.”
Mira swallowed. “Father? Captain Alric…?”
“They’re safe. Both still resting.” Elia’s voice was warm but quiet, as if afraid to break the peace of the room. “You did it, Mira. You saved them.”
Mira closed her eyes briefly, the weight of it all sinking in. Her body still ached, her magic reserves barely flickering—but she was warm, and she wasn’t alone.
“But I could’ve done better,” she murmured.
Elia let out a soft, fond sigh. “I bet you could. But either way, I’m very proud of you.”
Mira smiled, just a little. “I’ll take that.”
Elia reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair from Mira’s face. “Lana already told me everything. You really did good.”
“I had help,” Mira said, her voice small.
“I know,” Elia replied.
Mira’s smile faded into something quieter, more thoughtful. Her gaze drifted toward the ceiling.
“I almost didn’t make it in time, Mother,” she said softly. “If it wasn’t for the vampi— I mean, Count Veylar... none of them would have survived.”
Elia’s hand returned to Mira’s shoulder, firm and reassuring. “But they did.”
“But it was so close. If I’d arrived just a little bit later, Father would be—” She stopped, her voice catching.
“Mira, you’re seventeen,” Elia said gently. “And yet you stood against trained killers, healed dozens of city guards, and not only brought your father home, but all of them as well.”
Her thumb brushed lightly over Mira’s arm. “You did more than most grown men could.”
Mira turned her head slowly. “Do you ever get used to it? The fear of losing someone you love?”
Elia smiled faintly. “No. But you learn to live with it. And sometimes, it reminds you of what’s important.”
They sat in silence for a moment. The warmth of the rising sun filtered through the curtains, bathing the room in soft gold.
Then Mira asked, “Where’s Father now?”
“They put him in the next room,” Elia said. “And he woke up once before falling asleep again.”
Mira’s shoulders sank with relief.
“And the others?” she asked.
“Rook is already up and raiding the kitchen,” Elia said with a chuckle. “Kael and Grey are outside, keeping watch. Leila hasn’t left your side until just now, but I finally convinced her to go wash up. As for Lucien-sama…” She hesitated.
Mira lifted an eyebrow. “What about him?”
“He’s outside. On the balcony,” Elia said. “Hasn’t spoken to anyone much. Just… standing there, watching the sea.”
Mira stared at the ceiling for a while. Then: “He blames himself.”
“Maybe,” Elia said. “Cassian is with him.”
Mira closed her eyes, letting her mother’s voice wrap around her like a warm blanket.
“I’m glad you’re here, Mother,” she whispered.
Elia leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Always.”
Meanwhile, on the balcony—
The sea wind tugged at the loose strands of Lucien's hair.
He stood with his arms resting on the wooden railing, eyes fixed on the horizon where sea met sky.221Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxjzlCX7GxB
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Light spilled over the water in streaks of gold and rose, painting the waves like a living canvas.
The world was peaceful now—but his thoughts weren’t.
He hadn’t slept. Couldn't.
His armor was gone, but the bloodstain on his shirt felt heavier than any steel—like a phantom pressing against his chest.
The cries. The killing. The smoke.221Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8415CdT0eY
The moment the steel came raining down.
He should’ve seen it coming.221Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUipaJTgKXx
He should’ve done more.
Behind him, the guild was slowly stirring to life—pots clinking in the kitchen, muffled footsteps down the hallway—but Lucien remained still, his gaze distant.
“Running from breakfast?” came a familiar voice.
Lucien didn’t turn, but a faint breath escaped him. “Not hungry.”
Cassian walked up beside him, holding two tin cups. He offered one without a word.
Lucien took it. Steam curled from the surface—coffee, bitter and earthy, but grounding.
“I don’t think I thanked you,” Lucien said after a pause.
Cassian didn’t answer right away. He took a slow sip, watching the waves too.
“You don’t have to,” he said. “We made it out. That’s enough.”
Lucien’s jaw tightened. “Barely.”
Cassian gave him a sidelong glance. “But we did. And everyone’s alive. Even you aren’t too banged up.”
Lucien shook his head. “It shouldn’t have happened at all.”
Then, there it was—the weight that hadn’t lifted, the guilt clinging to his spine like a shadow.221Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoy9rOCYREY
“The Crows came for me, Cassian. All those city guards... they died because of me.”
“The Crows would’ve come either way,” Cassian said calmly. “Blood will be shed. Lives will be lost eventually.”
Lucien said nothing.
The coffee cooled in his hand. He watched a gull swoop low across the water.
“You know,” Cassian said after a moment, “I used to think you were too soft for all this. Too gentle. Too naïve.”
Lucien gave him a tired glance. “And now?”
Cassian didn’t respond right away. He took another sip, then let out a slow breath.
“Now?” he said at last. “I think you’re still soft. But maybe that’s not a bad thing.”
Lucien raised an eyebrow.
Cassian gave a faint shrug. “You care. That’s rare in people who wear crowns or command swords.”
Lucien looked down at the dark coffee in his cup. “Caring didn’t stop the bloodshed.”
“No,” Cassian said. “But it kept you from becoming like them.”
They stood in silence for a moment, the sea wind slipping past like a quiet reminder of everything left unsaid.
Then Cassian spoke again, his voice low.221Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5yDTLkrNN4
“The road ahead will only get bloodier, my prince. Especially with a brother like Crown Prince Damian.”
Lucien’s fingers curled tighter around the tin cup.221Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBKN7haguQX
“I never wanted the throne,” he muttered. “Why can’t they just leave me out of it?”
Cassian didn’t answer right away. He took another sip, his gaze following the horizon where sky kissed sea.
“You already know the answer,” he said quietly. “The palace doesn’t work that way.”
Lucien’s jaw tensed. Then he let out a long, tired sigh.
“You know something, Cassian?” he murmured. “Humans are the only race on this continent that kill each other for power and gold. Even the demonkin don’t do that. They kill—but for food, or survival.”
“Yes,” Cassian said, nodding slightly. “I remember. The schoolmaster said that when he lectured on the Great Demon War.”
Lucien let the words hang in the salty breeze.
Somewhere above, a gull cried out, its voice lost in the rhythm of waves crashing against distant rocks.
Lucien’s grip loosened slightly, but his eyes remained fixed on the sea.
“It’s all so senseless,” he said. “We build kingdoms, write laws, preach order… and yet the moment no one’s looking, it’s daggers in the dark.”
Cassian gave a quiet hum. “You sound surprised.”
“I’m not. Just... disappointed,” Lucien replied, his voice softer now, almost wistful. “I was hoping our generation could be different. That I could be different.”
Cassian glanced at him. “You are. That’s the problem.”
Lucien let out a short, bitter laugh. “So I either become like them… or I die?”
“Or you surround yourself with people who share your belief,” Cassian said firmly. “And if you’re lucky, you survive long enough to change something.”
Lucien finally turned to look at him. “And if I’m not lucky?”
Cassian’s eyes were steady. “Then die trying. But don’t be someone you’re not. You’ll regret it.”
The words settled between them. Neither spoke.
The morning sun had fully risen now, casting the ocean in hues of silver and blue.
The sounds of the guild drifted up from below—voices, laughter, the clatter of pans.221Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4PwRdeR0QA
Life going on, as it always did.
Lucien took another sip of the now-cooling coffee.221Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfCqN3j8RAq
“You ever wonder what it’s like to have... commoner parents?”
“All the time,” Cassian said without hesitation. “But we didn’t. Did we?”
Lucien smirked. It was faint—but real.
Cassian glanced sideways. “We should leave Mermaid’s Cove.”
Lucien nodded. “We should.”
Then, with a quiet breath, he stepped back from the railing.
“But before that, I want to say farewell to Mira,” he said.
Cassian didn’t follow. He just raised his cup in a lazy salute.221Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ12gHOhf2nb
“Tell her I said hi.”
Lucien gave a small nod and turned toward the doorway, the weight on his shoulders no lighter—but now, at least, he was walking forward again...
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and then Add to home screen.