The corridors are empty of all commotion.
No murmur, no breath.
Only a thick, cold silence, hanging like a black veil over the ancient stone.
In a tall chamber, forgotten at the far end of the eastern wing, the light is scarce.
A few streaks of moonlight slip between half-drawn curtains, tracing pale, almost unreal lines across the floor.
Emilia stands near the window.
Arms folded against herself, she looks outside, unmoving. Her silver hair reflects a bluish glow; her face, frozen, betrays nothing—neither fear, nor anger, nor hope.
On the stone ledge, a tiny figure is already there: Puck.
Even smaller than usual, he does not move. Not a word, not a glance toward her. His eyes fix on the courtyard far below. The same eyes as Emilia's: fixed, troubled, silent.
In the dark grass, down below: Guts.
Seated, back straight, legs crossed. His sword is driven into the earth at his side—tall, heavy, still as a funerary stele. The night wind sometimes stirs the tatters of his cape, but he does not move. No shiver, no gesture. He seems emptied of all warmth, of all intent. A body set there. Something torn from the world, yet still breathing. Still standing. Like a specter forgotten by death.
Emilia stares at the figure among the shadows. Her arms tighten around herself. Then, aloud—not really for him, not entirely for her—she says:
Emilia : Since Ram… he hasn't spoken a word.
Silence returns, with the faint clink of a dying flame. She continues, lower:
Emilia : Will he stay like this? As if he… no longer exists?
She does not turn her head. She does not wait for an answer. But she knows Puck is there. And that he listens.
He takes his time. When his voice comes, it slides like a breath across the cold stone:
Puck : He has seen everything. Taken everything. And he is still here.
A pause. Neither heavy nor empty. Simply true.
Puck : That is what's most frightening.
Emilia does not avert her eyes.
Emilia : You're going to leave, aren't you?
He tilts his head gently, almost ashamed. Under his paws, a halo of frost spreads across the ledge.
Puck : …I'll have to be away, Lia. I can't stay anymore. That's how it is.
Emilia lowers her eyes. Her hands tremble slightly, pressed against her.
Emilia : At first… I think I was beginning to like him. To admire him, even.
Her voice breaks, faintly.
Emilia : He never really listens to me, but… he's there. Solid. Silent. Like a wall.
A breath.
Emilia : And now… I need him. But I'm afraid of him.
— It isn't fair, is it?
Puck remains still. He comments on neither fear nor doubt. He only says, low:
Puck : Trust yourself, Lia. It's the only thing you can do.
She doesn't answer right away. Below, the motionless man seems to drift even further from the world. Emilia inhales deeply, all the way.
Emilia : …Alright. Tomorrow, I'll speak to him.
Outside, a gust scatters moon-dust over the dark grass. Puck closes his eyes. When he opens them again, a faint, nearly invisible warmth glimmers there.
Puck : Good night, Lia.
The room falls quiet once more. Only the moon keeps tracing its pale lines across the floor.
She lingers at the window, mind empty. Then she takes a thin cape from the back of a chair, blows out the candle by habit, and cracks the door open to breathe the cool air of the corridor. She has no purpose—only to walk a little before sleep. The stone smells of wax and clean linen, a lantern glows at the corner. She closes the door softly behind her and moves on, unhurried; at that same moment, calm footsteps approach in the dimness.
Otto : Lady Emilia?
Emilia : Yes.
Otto : Otto Suwen. I… I recognize you. You're the half-elf candidate for the throne.
A hard line passes across Emilia's face. She stiffens.
Emilia : Emilia is enough. Without the rest.
Otto : Forgive me. I'm not very good with titles.
A short silence.
Emilia : Crusch?
Otto : She hears, she replies. But names slip away. Even her own. It's… as if nothing holds.
Emilia : Do you think it will come back?
Otto : I don't know. Sometimes yes. Sometimes never. I'm a stranger here; I only observe.
Emilia : And you? Will you stay, or will you leave?
Otto : I hesitate. If I leave, I sleep better. If I stay, I feel I'm doing what's right.
She nods, without smiling.
Emilia : Then help.
Otto glances toward the dark window.
Otto : The man down there… Guts. He looks like a ghost. Like a place where sound stops.
Emilia : He frightens me. And I need him. Both are true.
Otto : One can be afraid… and still remain close by.
She exhales, almost to herself.
Emilia : Tomorrow, I'll speak to him.
Otto : Alright.
They bow faintly and part ways in the cold corridor.