Night had fallen when the great gates of the Karsten estate opened.
The convoy advanced slowly, wheels screeching against the cobblestones. An unusual noise at such an hour. Torches flared atop the walls; silhouettes leaned forward. A bell rang once, as if to warn the court.
Soldiers descended, running to meet the arrivals. Then they stopped dead.
No Crusch Karsten at the head of the procession.
No Wilhelm. No Felix. No familiar face.
Only a stranger — young, in a worn green coat, far too calm for such an escort. He leapt from his cart as if he owed no explanation. In his hand, the reins of an Earth Dragon, snorting softly.
Behind him, survivors. Hollow-eyed men, wounded in silence, gray-faced, clothes torn. Some carried in others' arms. Some already lifeless.
No one cried. No one screamed. War had emptied souls before it claimed bodies.
The stranger raised his hand, palm open, as if to calm the hushed stir.
Otto : I don't come as an enemy. I brought them back. Those I could.
Officers stepped forward. A glance at the cart, at the wounded, then at him.
Officer : And Crusch-sama?
Otto slowly nodded and gestured to the rear of the cart.
Otto : Alive. But… touched by forgetfulness.
A heavier silence fell over the courtyard.
He leaned closer to an older officer, voice low, almost in confidence:
Otto : Like those erased by the Whale. Forgetfulness has taken her.
No one answered.
Otto : She needs rest and treatment. Take her to her chambers.
The men hesitated a heartbeat, then obeyed without further question.
The stranger followed at a slow pace, eyes never leaving Crusch — lying there, peaceful, empty. Passing the gate, he brushed the bridle and whispered to the Earth Dragon; the beast calmed, docile.
The chamber was silent. Curtains drawn, candles flickering.
Otto sat on a stiff chair, hands clasped, back straight, eyes fixed on the floorboards. He was not used to noble rooms. Still less to watching over a candidate for the throne.
A murmur stirred him.
Crusch moved. Slowly. Eyelids fluttered, then her head turned — toward him, toward the room, toward the unknown. Her gaze slid across walls, curtains, furniture. Nothing made sense. Her fingers brushed her ring finger, searching for a missing weight.
Crusch : Where am I…?
Otto straightened, reached for the pitcher, poured water into a cup.
Otto : At home. The Karsten estate. Drink a little.
She lifted it to her lips, never taking her eyes from him.
Crusch : Karsten…?
Otto gestured with his chin toward a small crest carved into the bedpost.
Otto : The same symbol is everywhere here. — He paused. — And on your ring… which you no longer have.
The silence grew thick.
Crusch : Am I hurt anywhere?
Otto : Shoulder and ribs. Nothing dangerous tonight. You're safe.
She looked at the curtains, the furniture, then back at him.
Crusch : Who am I to you?
Otto : The person I'm responsible for until morning. I was on the road, I saw the field… I carried you here.
Crusch : Why?
Otto : Because I could. And because no one else did.
She nodded faintly, as if that was reason enough.
Crusch : And now? Will you leave?
Otto : Not yet. It's late, the court is on alert, and there are wounded still to settle. I'll stay as long as I'm useful.
She fixed her eyes on the crest again, then on her bare hand.
Crusch : …Alright.
The handle turned sharply. The door burst open.
Felix rushed in, eyes red, breath ragged. He ran to the bed, dropped to his knees, and seized Crusch's hand in both of his.
Felix : Crusch-sama… Crusch-sama! You're here… you're alive…!
His voice trembled. He laughed and cried at once. Words stumbled over each other, louder than the silence of the room.
Crusch did not answer.
She looked at him without warmth, as one regards a stranger too close.
Felix froze.
His eyes searched her face — for a sign, a flicker, a memory. Nothing.
He pulled back slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed, hands falling empty. He lifted his head toward Otto and whispered with a smile stripped of strength:
Felix : I told you men were dangerous… and you brought this one straight into her room, huh?
The joke fell flat. A last refuge against despair.
A heavy step echoed in the hall. A man entered.
Wilhelm. Straight, calm, sword at his side. Years had hardened his gaze; only a crease at his mouth betrayed the fear.
He approached without pause.
Wilhelm : Crusch-sama.
She raised her eyes to him.
Wilhelm : Do you remember me?
Silence fell again. Dense. Suspended.
Crusch remained still. Then, in an even voice:
Crusch : I'm sorry. I… I don't recognize you.