12th day of Brownleaf, tenth month of the year, 983

  Fighting the need to yawn, Mulia stretched and got out of bed. Opening the window a tiny bit to let the morning air refresh her room, she turned towards her wardrobe. Her new uniform, an old one from the attendants that had worked here before had worn, was dyed grey and black. Appearing expensive at a glance, the black dyes in the northern duchy were very easily farmable, in a way.

  These were harvested from the monsters and chimaeras in the shape of a black ichor like blood. This northern custom was frowned upon in the rest of the Empire, as its origin could be called barbaric and that blood was taken as being cursed and bad luck. Of course, adding to these preconceptions, monsters were less common in the central provinces. What’s more, as these were also richer and had rich farmlands, more colourful and expensive dyes were widely used. Nonetheless, black blood was a popular dye for monster hunters, edge knights or traditional nobles, being a source of pride and a show of combat progress.

  Putting it on, Mulia gazed towards the emblem in the shoulder pads. An extinguished bonfire with a shield stuck on it, the coat of arms of the Ashen Household. Its origins lay in the early Ashen, an old mage hunters’ group that slowly gained more prestige. Its symbology was but a casualty of that job. Fire magic being the most common attack magic was represented as being extinguished. The shield on top of the ashes meant its success in protecting against such attack magic. The sable background contrasted with the golden ashes of the bonfire, adding a degree of prosperity brought by the ashes, and the argent coloured shield, considered the holiest of metals in the past, with a meaning based on their old motto ‘Righteous condemnation recovers prosperity.’.

  Her new mornings were way more simpler, and silent. The screaming mornings she had suffered now were illusions only real in her memories. The absence of a good upbringing dwarfed by the new feeling of freedom, which was somewhat contained by the fear Lord Noct still inflicted.

  ‘If a mage is not blabbering about magic, they should not be allowed to speak at all.’ The old saying resounded in her mind. Eternal, the popular knowledge of the northerners carried by tales of old still carried warnings against mages, a fear as old as magic itself. After all, a mage needed only to raise a finger to destroy a life as if cutting the strings of a marionette. And, while Mulia thought herself better than to fear a person who had just saved her life, she had more than enough reasons to keep her barriers up.

  Leaving her room as the sun started to shine through her window, she started her duties with some familiarity. Three days of experience had teached her that it was no different from the work she did while living in her old home. Nethers, it was way easier, for the only job she really had to do was cooking for herself, and she was not even sure it could be called a job. This, however, didn’t stop her from trying her best, not that it had changed the castle for the better in a visible way.

  Nevertheless, she dusted the corridors of the castle, slowly restoring old passages and rooms from their not so pristine condition. Cleaning a window, her mind wandered towards the mirror in her room. A real mirror, installed for her personal use in her personal bath. She refused to believe she would get a salary and not a debt notice by the end of the week. She had already vowed to let her hair grow, as it was currently on the short side just for commodity sake. With hot water, not being able to fathom how it worked nor why she was getting it, she could be bothered to style it herself. Smiling at the window, she repressed a laugh. This job could have been the best birthday gift ever if not for the fact that she had turned twenty two last week.

  Her brown eyes inspected the window and, happy with the result, she nodded. ‘I still can’t believe it's a body sized mirror.’ Her mind wandered back towards the morning, when she was able to see her full height, a metre and three quarters, reflected wholly and with breathtaking clarity. Still, for all that thinking about mirrors, loneliness was starting to weigh on her. “Meeting” Soral had not gone as great as she had hoped and there were few, none, people willing to talk most of the time. But she would persevere.

  Noticing movement in the garden below, she catched a glimpse of Noct down in the garden, fully focused on his training, at least at a single glance. Realising he was almost finished, and really needing to ask for some kind of instructions on her work apart from “Do as the baroness says.”, she grabbed a towel and a bucket of fresh water.

  Descending and entering the castle’s back garden, she was able to hear some veteran soldiers starting to train on the main one. The back garden itself, if it could be really called that, was lacklustre. Most grass had a sick yellow revealing its lack of care and, while spacious, that same emptiness came from a lack of most common decorative plants. Only a few wild bushes and trees decorated the place. Sighing, as it could make for a great small farm as it was high quality land, she refocused her attention on the regent, dressed in training pants and training weights. His build was on full display, devoid of the shadows and tricks that his usual vestiment hid him in.

  She could have blushed in embarrassment if she swung that way. A toned build, slim and compact with well defined muscles that went for endurance rather than solid strength. Her measuring gaze, kept in check thanks to the fear, continued on him as he swung his sword in vertical strikes, his skin glossing under the morning light as it reflected off his sweat as it trailed his scars.

  That grim reality made known was not kind. That same full view had also brought into attention all of his horrendous scars. Cuts, burns, old stab wounds and carvings result of attack magic, together with old bruises, tainted his flesh as if they were a disease. A silent scream that warned of Noct’s long career as a seasoned warrior. The worst of them were twentish linear strikes, still flesh, on the back. From a whip, she supposed. Her gaze turned glare, as the knowledge of their unhealed state settled in her mind. A serrated whip from the military, maybe? She had heard whispered stories in the taverns.

  She shuddered. And she was right to shudder. While ignorant herself of the quirks about that punishment, It was not very common, as serrated whips were only used for mages that were known to use body strengthening magic. Coated in a particular alloy powder enchanted in batches, copper being its basis, it ingrained itself on the wounds, using its magic to stop both the healing and the bleeding with the objective of causing everlasting pain. Very difficult to remove without holy powers, it continued to reopen the wound periodically, dissolving the scarred tissue. Overall, the work of this particular punisher had been stelar, as the injuries appeared as if they had just been done, creating a weird feeling of dissonance over them not bleeding.

  Shaking her head, she grounded herself. Sitting on a nearby bench, she waited until Noct reached the end of his training session. The increasing sounds of more soldiers trickling in for training kept her company as Zh?n continued its walking along the sky. Relaxing on the unordinary good day that they were having slugginess came to her. That slugginess was broken by a calm but firm voice with equal parts of measurable amusement and irritation.

  “You know I pay you to clean the castle, not to rest under the morning sun, right?” Jumping, now fully awakened, she was met by a pair of brown eyes slightly tainted by a shining green. Giving him both the bucket of wanted and the towel she had prepared, she started to think of a response to that. Not waiting for her words, he started to dry himself, taking a swing from the bucket.

  “But shouldn’t a servant be of help towards their lord?”

  “Exactly.” Noct grabbed his training shirt from some nearby shadows and dressed himself, fully covering his scars. “And that lady is the soon to be baroness. Whom you should be serving right now.” Frowning, he used his hand to shield his eyes from the sun as he rested his back on a tree. His tone was calm and impersonal, as if he was dealing with some paperwork, a time tax that he just had to deal with. His attention was fully on the other garden.

  “She is still asleep, regent.” Starting to think boredom was better than risking her job like this, she heard herself say, to her panic, “Do they still hurt?”

  Now that caught Noct's attention, who turned to look at her, confused at what she was referring to.

  “The strikes in your back. Shouldn’t they have healed or gotten better by now?” Came the slow clarification.

  “It does not concern you.” Was his reply, late by a few seconds. Cutting and cold words, he got out of the tree, ready to return to the castle. He had yet to decide on a definite way to approach the woman yet. Expelling her for a random excuse was in the cards, but he could not be bothered to search for another servant. The creatures he had surveilling her also reported a great work ethic so he was willing to just overlook her. He doubted she was looking to make easy gold by stealing the castle so that only left the reality of her being a spy. Her tries of trying to talk to him despite her fear just further proved that theory.

  “Sorry, regent. I should not have intruded on your privacy.” Bowed Mulia. Guilt and pity slipped into her voice. She should have known better than to ask about painful subjects.

  Her words had the opposite effect they had meant, as Noct stopped after hearing the pity in her voice. His hand clenched and he returned to the tree, still hiding his heavy breathing caused by the training.

  “They do not heal. They are strikes from a military whip. I faced a military trial and was found guilty of high incompetence and grievous misconduct that caused the death of fellow soldiers by disobeying orders.” He casually added, his focused eyes looking to the horizon. He already regretted snapping at her, causing the memories of that time to resurface. Still, he would tolerate no pity. She could hate or fear him but never pity him. If needed be, he would give enough reasons for the first two cases.

  “What happened?” Whispered Mulia, her gaze trailing him with unease but unflinchingly. Still no judgement in her gaze.

  ‘I really should either sleep more or shut up when I am tired. I could always just cut this conversation short.’ “During my second year of military service, just after returning from the University, I was in the men at arms of this barony, laden with miscellaneous work in one of the wings. The beginning of the revolts were filled with guiding the civilians out of combat zones, maintaining public order in the villages that supported us, distributing supplies.” His eyes glinted and his mouth curled into a mocking smirk. “Noblemen were mandated by Imperial prerogative to do these kinds of things, to be visible in the middle of war while doing their sacred duties.”

  “Back then we had…around fifteen hundred soldiers, give or take.” His words still flow. The reason was unknown to himself…No, he knew why. “The job was supposed to be quick and easy, as all military operations are supposed to be. The enemy were a hundred bandits on paper. The main army was preparing to attack their hideout and pivot towards Sulare and secure that village. That action would commence the revolts but that is another topic.” His clothes made noise as he moved against the army, somewhat uncomfortable. “Nasty bunch, they had been assaulting nearby sites. Meaning, a lot of retreating peasants. A lot of starving people.” His gaze turned cold. His counsellors had been the ones managing the relief programs of the retreating peasants. A ‘little’ of embezzlement had almost caused a barony wide famine.

  “All in all. It was an unremarkable raid, no real damage was expected. Yet, after a few days of begging from different passersby, I couldn’t be bothered to keep saying no.” Noct’s voice darkened. “I let a young woman with a small kid with a toy, escorting them towards the food transport.” He forced a smile. “Did you know that the rest of her family had been taken prisoner by the bandits? Well, I did not. While the kid bothered me while running around, she pulled a scroll. A nearby soldier pushed and shielded me with his body. She just exploded.” The fingers of his right hand had started to bleed as he was gripping the tree too hard, breaking his nails.

  “An immolation scroll. A fifteen centimetre scroll that could be activated by anyone. Just by opening the scroll. Lank didn’t make it.” His forced smile had banished, together with half of his tone. “Shrapnel from the cart on most of his right side. The insides slithered right out of him. The armour didn’t help, too cheap for that. The burns also didn’t do him any favours.” Noct shook his head.

  “Of the kid we found half of the toy he had been holding. Too close to the mother, at least his body had protected it. The food went up in flames together with the cart. Had I done my job properly, three people wouldn’t have died so, after my report, my high commander was struck by inspiration. As said by Imperial Law, he could legally whip me as punishment and pray to Olfa, God of Law, for my death. So he prayed and sentenced me to fifty strikes with a serrated whip. High Commander Andras, by then captain, spoke to my defence, lessening the punishment to twenty.” His gaze turned to her, as if expecting something. “The rest is as you see.”

  There could be no silence, as training in the main garden had started in earnest, shattering the calm morning with screams, grunts and hits.

  “Did…did they really use the deaths of three people to inflict a personal punishment upon you to get you out of the picture?” Mulia got up in a flash, causing Noct to flinch. “You feed two refugees and almost die because of it and you are the guilty one? Acting like she could not have used the spell without your help, did that high commander not have any shame?”

  Seeing her emotional outburst, Noct took a few seconds to answer. He had gotten not what he had wanted. Her fear had turned into indignation, and he did not understand why. “Political agency aside, I was the one who failed my duties. Their blood is in my hands and the punishment was well deserved despite its external motivations.” Moving away from the tree, and healing his bleeding hand, he frowned. She did not seem to be lying, and that painted her in a worse light. Who would not punish such incompetence?

  Noticing the worsening atmosfere, Mulia calmed down. “I am sorry for bringing the topic up.”

  “Do not feel sorry for me, I was not one of the dead.” Answered Noct as he turned around, tired of this conversation. “Neither do fret for things long passed. I will be working now, as you should.”

  Noct did his best to ignore the gaze that trailed him as he entered the castle. He was reconsidering yet again having hired her. She was either a fool for pitying him or looking for political favour.

  …………………………………..

  Folding her clothes inside the laundry room of the castle, the flowing water greatly helped with her workload. A few apparatus, magical in nature, were also busy drying and cleaning the clothes with soap also created in situ. Each day she grew more accustomed to all of these commodities, brand new from the looks of it. She finished quickly, as she only had to clean her own share. ‘Should I really be here?’ A small thought crossed her mind, being dismissed quickly. The pay was good, the workload was almost nothing, she would only need to sort Soral out and be done with it.

  Mulling her thoughts on her way towards the kitchen, she almost collided with Soral, who was returning from her training. Completely exhausted, she ignored Mulia, a bit of an awkward move as the both of them were moving in the same direction.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “Good morning, Lady Soral. I was on my way to prepare some breakfast, should I make your portion too?”

  “No need to bother.” Was the curt reply. All conversations with Soral always ended like that.

  Not willing to tolerate this anymore, Mulia walked quicker and stopped in front of Soral.

  “My lady, apologies if the question is unbecoming of a servant but I need you to act like my, well, lady. It is my job as the maid to cook your breakfast.”

  Soral stopped, a tick showing in her eye. “Rest assured, I will not terminate your contract. Now, if you could…?” Soral pointed at her to move to the side.

  “What do I have to do for you to act like it?” Unrelenting, Mulia asked again.

  “For starters, turn trustworthy.” Snapped Soral with a hiss.

  “But, my lady, nobody in my job and situation is trustworthy? How could you ever trust a servant you have not picked by yourself?” Mulia tilted her head to the side. “That is not something I can realistically achieve.”

  “Huh?” Soral stopped, not bothering to hide her trembling and tired legs.

  “Well, I can tell you why you could employ me safely. I am currently learning to read, so I could not dig for your information. I know nothing about poison and, well, you are a mage. All of my social circle supports your ascension. I have no dependents so no blackmailing potential from that angle, and who even knows I work here? More assurances than that I cannot give.”

  Soral’s glare turned into an appreciative inspection of Mulia. “Now that I remember, I do not know your name nor do I think we have properly greeted each other. I am Soral of the Ashen Household.” Soral curtsied.

  “And I am Mulia without a surname. I am happy to finally meet you, my lady.” Mulia did the same.

  Now with half a smile, Soral continued, “Has anyone told you could make a good merchant?”

  “My apologies?”

  “Forget that comment. I would love to have breakfast with you.” She could use a fast witted servant.

  Now with a happy smile, Mulia escorted Soral to the kitchen, where they took a somewhat lengthy breakfast followed by Soral’s magical studies, Mulia further interacted more with Soral as she cleaned the room. Finally having made progress, they said her goodbyes as Soral went to the city to work and Mulia to have lunch.

  Having made it, she chose to have it in the main garden, where the two hundred new were finishing their training and going away, leaving to her the whole place.

  After eating, she reopened her learning guides. They were but writing paper enchanted with self cleaning magic and a simple book used in the household promoted lessons in the library of the barony. The papers worked by simply turning them over, cleaning and/or causing new phrases to appear for her to complete and copy.

  Engrossed in her lesson, she didn’t notice High Commander Andras finishing his training and walking towards her.

  “How are you doing, my lady?” Jumping a bit, his disarming smile did little to calm her down as she scrambled to stop the ink from dropping.

  “Learning to read, sir Andras.” Her eyes twitching, she finally managed to recover her position and items with no damage.

  Ignoring her anger, he laughed. “That I see! Speaking about reading, how is it going on the work front? All fine?”

  Finally talking to Andras again, she asked a burning question. “Speaking about work. Why did you give me this job?”

  “Anything wrong with it? You didn’t really reject it.” Andras sidestepped the question, a thing that did not fly over Mulia.

  Yet she let it go. “No, no. To be honest, it is a very good job. I have no complaints, but…” Her voice trailed towards silence, remembering her conversation with Noct.

  “Well, Sora…, the baroness is a bit untrusting, she is still a kid that has had a very b…” Noticing the confused look of Mulia, Andras realised she was not talking about Soral. His guilt flaring, he asked in an almost hurried tone, his gaze now cold serious. “Did he do anything grave?”

  “No! No, no, no.” Defended Mulia, noticing Andras’ sudden change. “He just told me a tale from his early military days. I was just trying to make sense of it.”

  Letting out a very small sigh, he recovered his smirk and tranquil gaze of before. “I am surprised he told you about the time he burned his tent and had to sleep with me.”

  “...what? No! Wait, did he do that?” Letting him go, Mulia played along with the joke, not really getting Andras’ behaviour. And she was curious. Unbeknownst to them, a shadow moved.

  Nodding, Andras sat on the bench. “Well, it had been during a forced march. Exhaustion had started to weigh down on all of us as we travelled to fight some rebels on our countess’ behalf. To destress, we had a drinking contest, played darts, and went overboard. Usual business. The bastard always won, but that is another story. Continuing, autumn was in full swing, so it was a tad cold and rainy. Setting ourselves at midnight, Noct had just woken up. Cold and wet, and angry as only Noct could awaken when tired, he made a fireball. Of course, it was an excellent plan that would warm him and his tent. And warm it did, setting fire to his possessions. His curses woke up half of our company!” Andras roared in laughter.

  “No way!” Mulia joined in too, not really believing he could be so sloppy or unguarded.

  Calming down, Andras nodded, nostalgia in his tone. “He could be like that.” Wanting to return to the problem Mulia had, he added, “The regent can be rash, unforgiving and very headstrong. He only depends on himself and that can make him, well, kind of a bastard. Yet I do believe he tries, even if he is a shadow of the man he had been. If you would, what happened?”

  “Well. I say the scars in his back. I asked about them and he told me about the whole affair. You already knew, right?”

  Andras nodded. ‘So he still remembers, huh.’ “Inexperience is a danger on the field. That lowly tactic cost us a good archer and a better mage, as Noct had to heal for a few weeks after the punishment. That, in turn, increased our casualties on the attack.”

  “Yet they haven't healed. The wounds I mean. Why? Aren’t they years old?” She surprised herself by the worry in her tone.

  “That’s how it is. The metallic dust from the whip has that intended effect. It can only be removed in the Capital. Military laws.” Drily said Andras.

  “Can something be done to help with the pain?”

  “The usual ointments for pain, not that much more. You oughta ask the alchemist for something more effective, but anything from day to day will work.”

  “I see.” The conversation dying, Andras looked towards the horizon. Maybe Noct really had changed or, in reality, slowly returning to what he had been. The hope of fighting shoulder to shoulder again like in the old times was sweet but unfeasible. The test with Mulia was, at least, working as he had wanted it to go, even if that did little to lower his guilt over using her as a pawn. People could not change easily after all, but he was still ready to both forgive and forsake. Yet, he wanted to hope.

  ……………….

  Under the setting sun, visible by the window, Mulia was dusting the study of Noct as he finished his work. Having created for herself two problems at the same time, cleaning Noct’s study while he was in it and having made some ointment which was resting on her waist, she was debating with herself on how to fix them. Her distracted mind, having drifted from her work, was causing her some trouble already. Not cleaning as well, forgetting places, dropping expensive books and almost toppling the bucket of water, she was starting to get nervous. A careless move and, again, half a row of books fell from their bookshelf, causing her to jump, startled.

  As she was crouching to get the books, a ‘thumb’, different from the ones from the books, resounded on the study. A greedy sound made from a pouch filled with coins. Surprised, Mulia looked towards its origin, the desk. Noct had just put it there, today a bit paler than usual.

  “No need to keep the charade going.” She froze, fear now remembered. Cold hate was evident in his voice.

  “I…I do not follow, my regent.” Managed to mumble Mulia, stopping herself at her half crouched position.

  “Have you turned dull, servant?” His tone gained edge as his indifferent gaze turned into a glare. “I am offering you your last opportunity. You may run away with the gold, enough for a commoner’s life I believe.”

  “I still do not understand.” Not really knowing the suddenness, she slowly raised from her position.

  Noct clenched his left fist, hidden under the table. “I do not care under whose orders you are acting, how much money you will be paid nor what your objective is. Yet I am offering you this. Leave.”

  “But that’s the thing and you know it! I am working here out of my free…”

  Noct’s fist crashed against the desk, denting it. “I won’t tolerate more manipulators! I am the one who calls idiocy, servant. You have been terrified of me since the very first day so you wouldn’t be here without a good reason. Whatever ulterior motives you lot are hiding, I do not care, nor will I ever do!

  “I speak the truth!”

  At that word Noct frowned. The shadows below her arms jumped in front of her, forming a black spear that touched the bridge of her nose with murderous intent. Her legs weakened, causing her to fall on her ass, yet the spear moved along with her. “The only truth here is that I will kill you if you do not comply.”

  Terrified, Mulia locked eyes with Noct. The now almost bright green eyes of Noct were piercing her, yet she saw an emotion she didn’t expect. Accomplishment. The look someone had when proven right. She couldn’t but laugh. That was it! That was the reason! The eeriness in her new mood threw Noct off long enough for her to get the say for now.

  Breathing out, she started. “You know? I used to love ‘A princess and a dragon’, the fairy tale about a princess who saved a drake egg and grew it into a tame and loving creature.” The whispers were easily heard in the small study. “I always dreamed about becoming a tamer and, well, being a heroine. But I am not and you are right. You scare me, Noct. Like nothing before in my life. Despite all my dreams and my virtues, of always dreaming of holding fast in front of my fears, you horrify me. I try to rationalise it away, I tell myself you saved my life, I force myself to believe you wouldn’t hurt me, I shame myself for not being able to achieve it fully. And, after all that, I am still afraid.”

  Noct continued to glare at her, not one to bother with excuses and manipulations. They were lies. No one would bother to force themselves to stop fearing him. No one should.

  “I thought myself a better woman but, Gods be damned, I have a right to be scared, you know?! You murdered three people in front of me in the most horrible way I could have imagined! I still hear their screams at night!!” That made Noct break line of sight, not that Mulia noticed. “I know they were going to kill me. I know you are justice and executioner in this barony. But these actions do nothing to quench my panic! Is this what you wanted to hear? Are you enjoying my fear, you sadistic prick?!” Anger now powering her, she raised from her position, forcing her legs to stand. The spear moved with her, never harming her.

  Noct’s anger flared again, and he rose from his chair, trying to intimidate the servant by meeting her halfway.

  Yet Mulia continued, unabated, also walking towards him. “I worked all evening to make an ointment for the wounds on your back, not that you would care. Because I am trying to change! I am fighting against my fear because I thought you deserved better than that. But I see you are pettier than me, Noct!”

  Now face to face, Noct towered over her, yet Mulia’s heated words grew in intensity. “You hate the fear people have of you yet you have already given up on changing the situation. Am I wrong?” She stabbed her chest, devoid of armour today, with her index finger. “You surrendered and took the easy path! You morphed your distaste and discomfort into hate and ire, like you are doing right now! You couldn’t be brave enough to confront the reality so you demonised all in order to ease your consciousness. I bet you ask yourself things like ‘Why do they hate me after all I have done for them. All I have sacrificed.’ yet you never once considered that their feelings may be right and you ought to change! Yet you never tried! Worse than that, you are just searching to make people angry to make yourself feel better! You search for external punishment yet you reject it all the same!”

  “You know not what I have tried or not nor what I do.” His words would have carried more weight if his intimidation tactics were working on Mulia. Instead, they felt flat, practised.

  “But I do know! I know what I see in front of me, not in the past, but in the present. And the only thing I see is a person that fears leaving his shell! I may be scared, but you are the one absolutely terrified! Terrified of trying, of failing, of facing whatever is eating you inside and outside. Terrified of taking responsibility for your actions! What’s more, you think that surrendering now to your sister pardons you from your wrongdoings? Your crimes? That it counts as enough punishment? Nethers’ fire, you aren’t called a tyrant because of your culinary skills!” The shadow spear long banished, Noct backed a step. Mulia walked another one. “And I think I get why you want me gone. I am a reminder of your failings! Here it is, a powerless commoner walking, and getting ahead, on the path you gave up at the very beginning? You didn’t care enough to ask me for my name yet you feel defeated by me?! Do you only know to lash out in anger?”

  Her throat sore, and fed with the whole affair, Mulia finished her rant. “You want me gone? A shame you have no authority, for my Lady and employer is Soral of the Ashen. No amount of thugness will kick me out so good luck convincing her to dismiss me!”

  Noct, his back against his desk, grabbed the hilt of his sword. Guilt, painful truths, regret and self hate were being overpowered by a single emotion. Envy. Putrid and green envy. A powerless, magicless commoner without a surname, commanding no men nor combat skill…yet all her words had hit true. All her words had stabbed true. Almost snapping, yet he had forgotten how it felt to be looked at like a person. Mulia’s glare had no fear in it, she was looking at someone who she considered an equal, nay, inferior.

  Sighing, he unclenched his sword. He answered, not hearing his own words over the irregular thumping of his own heartbeat, and looked away. “Apologies won’t be in order.” He managed to say in slow words. “For you have to prove me wrong. I won’t be manipulated again by another High C…”

  Bloodlost getting to him, his legs gave up as his shortness of breath caught up to him, hitting the edge of the desk with his unarmoured back. Brunting, he started to fall to the ground before two pairs of strong and callous hands grabbed him, stopping his fall as his back started to be stained with blood. Pain bringing back clarity, and his hearing, he realised he had been grabbed by Mulia, who had reacted on instinct and out of honest worry.

  As Noct struggled to get back on his feet, she remembered the conversation with Andras. A shadow indeed. The sight before her did not scare her a bit. A man simply lashing out as would an injured and cornered animal, unwilling to fight against his or her reflection. A man who had resorted to putting a blanket made of hate in front of what he couldn’t bear to see. A man who had closed himself to the world and had failed miserably. Someone who had chosen to embody the monster that had come to be seen as to endure the stares, the looks of fear from the people he had wanted to protect. ‘How had you managed to scare me when you are this brittle?’

  His eyes were a pit of confusion, not understanding why she had helped him, only putting herself more at risk by angering him. By choosing to try and understand who she feared, and what had almost snapped at her with grave consequences. “Are you alright?” The honest question just lost Noct his next words.

  ‘Funny, we have both been scared of each other.’ Mulia couldn't but think, seeing Noct struggle for words.

  “Why?”

  “Why what?” Asked Mulia, helping Noct to his feet.

  “Why go this far for someone like me?”

  A more honest question than what she had expected. After a few seconds, she shrugged. “Because I wanted to. No deeper reason. What I worry about now are your wounds, they have reope…” Mulia’s sentence trailed off as Noct simply healed the bleeding with magic, brute forcing through the dust, even if not able to cure them fully.

  “...You also need not to worry about the pain.” Said Noct, eyeing the tonic. “Medical expertise comes with some benefits. Turning pain off as a mage is a fairly easier thing to do.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yet…you have my thanks. And my apologies.” Noct nodded, awkward. “I have confirmed you are not a dangerous spy.”

  Mulia sighed, taking that as a victory.

  …………………..