"By the way… Sirene."Elestia tilted her head toward her tiny companion as they sat by the fire. "I've been meaning to ask—why in the world are so many spirit fairies gathering around that kiddo?"
Sirene hovered uncertainty above Kale, her wings flickering with soft green light. "I… don't know," she admitted, shaking her head.
Elestia sighed, stretching her legs toward the fire. "Well, whatever it is, it can't be good. Feels like the universe is plotting something again."
She called Kale over and gently pulled him into her arms. The night was cold, but his small body radiates warmth.
"He's so warm," she murmured as the boy snuggled into her back, falling asleep almost instantly. For the first time in years, Elestia felt the kind of peace that only silence—and a child's steady breathing—could bring.
The next morning, she rose early. "First things first," she said softly. "Let's give our last respects to your might-be daddy before we leave."
She'd already buried Philip the previous day, marking the grave with wildflowers and a simple wooden cross. Today, she stood with Kale beside it, bowing her head.
Afterward, as they packed up, she turned to call him again. "Kale?"
Silence.
"…And there he goes again." Elestia sighed, chuckling under her breath. "One second I look away, and he disappears. This kid's a magician."
She followed the faint sound of rustling grass through the trees—until a sharp cry split the air.
"KALE!"
Elestia's heart lurched. She sprinted toward the sound, branches scratching her arms. When she broke through the clearing, her blood ran cold.
A tall man in a black cloak was holding Kale's hand. The child was crying, his small fingers struggling to pull away.
Elestia froze midstep. "…Who are you?"
Then she saw them—the red eyes. Crimson, sharp, unmistakable.
Her breath hitched. "...Red eyes… Prince Ciel of the Zhekiel Empire."
The man removed his hood, revealing dark hair and a face too sharp, too composed for this cruel world. In his arms, he lifted Kale effortlessly, inspecting him.
"Why," he asked quietly, "is my little brother with you? He was supposed to be traveling with Philip."
A surge of suffocating mana leaked from his body, pressing down on Elestia like a mountain. She staggered and dropped to her knees.
"W-wait…"
The aura vanished as quickly as it came. His gaze cooled. "Speak."
Elestia steadied herself. "We met by chance. Philip… is dead. I buried him forty miles west of here."
Prince Ciel's expression darkened, unreadable.
He was everything the world whispered about: the fallen prince who would one day destroy an empire, claim the Demon King's throne, and lose everything for love. Elestia had seen that destruction once before.
"Did you kill him?" His tone was razor-sharp.
"No," she said firmly, then explained everything—how she found Kale, the burial, and the merchant's badge.
When she finished, Ciel's expression softened almost imperceptibly.
"...Little brother?" Elestia blinked, realization dawning too late.
Their fates had crossed once before—on a battlefield drenched in blood. She never thought destiny would twist back around like this.
"Mama!" Kale's wail broke the silence.
Ciel frowned. "She's not your mother."
Kale's cries only grew louder, his little fists pounding against the prince's chest. Both adults exchanged looks—then sighed at the same time.
"Fine," Ciel muttered. "Call her whatever you want."
"Thank you," Elestia said dryly, rubbing her temples.
Before the air could settle, Sirene appeared in a flash of light. "Elestia! Assassins!"
From the shadows, masked figures emerged—silent, fast, surrounding them.
Elestia reacted instantly, throwing up a shimmering barrier around Kale. "Pursuers?" she asked, eyes narrowing. "Yours or mine?"
"What do you mean yours?" Ciel shot back, summoning a blade of pure mana.
"Well, I didn't order any assassins today," she said, already drawing her sword.
They moved together without thinking—her magic weaving through his power in seamless rhythm. She was fast, experienced, her blade clean and efficient. The kind of fighter who'd lived through too many wars.
When the last assassin fell, Ciel bent to pick up a small brooch from the ground. He turned it between his fingers, frowning.
"Recognize this?"
Elestia squinted. "Ah. Must be a gift from my dear step-sister, Carmila."
Ciel looked up sharply. "Carmila… the newly awakened saintess?"
"Yep," Elestia said, wiping blood from her blade. She flicked a spell to clean the stains from both their clothes.
He watched her in silence, intrigued by her composure. Most nobles tremble at my presence, he thought. But she fights like someone who's already died once.
Before she could react, his arm suddenly wrapped around her waist.
"Wha—what are you doing?!"
"Hold on tight," he said simply.
The world blurred into streaks of light—and then, in an instant, they stood in a vast indoor garden blooming with ethereal flowers. The scent of lilies filled the air.
"Don't tell me…" Elestia's voice cracked. "We're in the Zhekiel Empire?"
Ciel smirked. "What if I said yes?"
Her eyes widened. Before she could retort, a sharp slap echoed.
"NO! Bully! Bad guy!" Kale cried, his small handprint now perfectly visible on the prince's cheek.
Elestia went pale. "K–Kale—!"
Ciel blinked, then burst out laughing—a deep, rare sound that startled even the nearby servants. "You two… are really interesting."
He set them down gently and called out, "Prepare a guest room. Treat them well."
Then, with a faint smirk, he turned away. "Enjoy your stay."
Elestia stared after him, dumbfounded.
"ENJOY MY STAY?!" she finally shouted. "HOW THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO ENJOY ANYTHING, YOU TYRANT?!"
Her voice echoed through the imperial greenhouse. Somewhere in the distance, Ciel's amused laughter answered back.
Sirene sighed, landing on Elestia's shoulder. "You really do attract trouble, don't you?"
Elestia groaned. "At this point, I think trouble's in love with me."