The night had completely swallowed the plain, and only the lights of Karsten Castle rose toward the sky, like flames imprisoned in stone. Madara crossed the great open gate of the wall, and the clamor waiting inside shattered the relative calm outside.
The courtyard was crowded. Men and women of all ages, soldiers and servants alike, formed a disorderly human tide. Cries of pain, groans, and weeping blended into a suffocating chaos. Sharp orders were shouted above the noise, trying to impose some semblance of order on what was nothing more than a battlefield displaced within the walls.
Everywhere, on the damp grass, bodies lay scattered. Some moved faintly, the wounded stretched out on makeshift blankets; others lay still, their faces covered by a sheet. The acrid smell of blood and sweat mingled with the quieter but ever-present scent of death. Dented armor, smeared with mud, reflected the torchlight in dull flashes, while abandoned swords littered the ground as if stripped of purpose.
Madara advanced unhurriedly, weaving his way among the wounded. His eyes swept the scene without flinching, noting the faces carved by exhaustion, the feverish gestures of the healers, and the absence of hope in many gazes. He passed near a group of soldiers sitting directly on the ground, one clutching a bleeding arm, another staring into nothing as if he no longer saw the world around him.
The fear devours more men than blades.
At the other end of the courtyard, near the steps leading to the castle, more imposing figures seemed to supervise the chaos. They spoke quickly, pointing in turn to the wounded, the dead, and the ramparts, but even their authority struggled to pierce the fog of desolation reigning there.
Madara stopped briefly at the center of the yard. His silhouette in red armor caught a few fleeting glances, but no one dared approach him. This world of cries, suffering, and resignation was not his. And yet he stood there, an unmoving observer, like a shadow from elsewhere in this post-battle tableau.
He resumed his march, his heavy steps crushing the soiled grass, heading slowly toward the torchlight, where the voices seemed more organized than the surrounding turmoil.
Madara kept moving through the wounded crowd. His steps echoed faintly on packed earth and trampled grass, while the bursts of voices mingled with a fog of pain. Soon he noticed a small, more orderly gathering near a corner of the courtyard. Torchlight cast sharp shadows across their faces.
At the center, a woman with emerald-green hair sat on an improvised bench. Her gaze, once sharp and alive, now seemed empty, lost. At her side, a man with fine features and feline ears knelt, his eyes red from tears. Not far off, an old man, straight as a blade with his sword still at his waist, kept watch over them.
Madara recognized the woman instantly.
Madara: Crusch Karsten…
He remembered the royal ceremony. That woman, one of the candidates for the throne, had struck every spectator with her bearing and the quiet strength she radiated. But the figure before him was nothing of the steel presence he once saw. She was only a confused shadow.
The old man lifted his eyes and fixed them on him.
Wilhelm: Who are you? And what are you doing here?
Madara stopped, his red armor catching the reflections of the torches.
Madara: Madara.
The name echoed in the air, unknown to all. Wilhelm narrowed his eyes slightly, as if to measure the man's stature.
The healer with feline ears rose a little, fists clenched.
Ferris: Why are you here? You don't even know her.
Madara turned his head slightly toward him.
Madara: No… I don't know her. But I have seen her before.
His eyes settled again on Crusch.
Madara: She is not the same, is she?
The green-haired woman, silent until then, finally looked him straight in the eyes.
Crusch: … How do you know?
Madara: Your gaze… it is not the same anymore.
A heavy silence followed. Ferris tightened his fists, while Wilhelm seemed to think.
Madara: I am only passing through. I am heading to the Sanctuary.
At those words, Wilhelm furrowed his brow.
Wilhelm: It has been a long time since I heard that name… The Sanctuary. Few among the living still know it exists.
If you wish to learn more, you had better speak with Emilia and Subaru.
Crusch, still silent, frowned slightly, as if the word awoke a distant echo in her memory. But no certainty returned.
Crusch: … The Sanctuary?…
Her voice faded into a whisper, as if lost in the void.
Ferris lifted his eyes, shrugging his shoulders.
Ferris: The Sanctuary? Never heard of it. Or maybe vaguely… but it never mattered to me.
Madara: My reasons are my own. But if this Sanctuary is tied to them… then perhaps we will have to cross paths.
Wilhelm nodded slowly, his expression impassive.
Wilhelm: In that case, for tonight, you may stay in a guest room. It is not safe to travel at night, and we already have too many dead to add another.
Madara held his gaze a moment, then inclined his head.
Madara: Very well.
He stepped aside to pass the group, but stopped briefly before Crusch.
Madara: Whatever happened to you… one does not lose a gaze like yours without reason.
I have seen this void before. When a clan, a name, or a dream collapses… the eyes break before the bodies.
She lowered her eyes, as if those simple words struck a truth she could not grasp.
Wilhelm turned away, signaling a servant to approach.
Wilhelm: Lead him to the guest quarters.
Ferris stayed by Crusch, casting a last wary glance at Madara.
Ferris: … I hope you're not another problem for us.
Madara, already walking away, answered without turning back.
Madara: Problems… always depend on the one who names them.
The torches dimly lit his back as he left, abandoning behind him the murmurs of the wounded and the flickering flames.
The hall of Karsten Castle stretched around him like a gallery frozen in time. Sober columns upheld a carved ceiling, and wide portraits adorned the walls. Most showed stern faces, men and women with striking green hair — an undeniable mark of their lineage. Madara, accustomed to other emblems of power, observed this western style with distant interest. The cuts of clothing, the gilding, the ornate frames… all of it felt foreign to him, almost theatrical.
The walls preserve legacies better than men.
He settled into a padded armchair, heavy and comfortable. The muffled whispers of the staff and the distant echoes of the courtyard could not disturb his calm. He closed his eyes briefly. In his mind, he replayed imagined scenes: the recent battles these broken soldiers must have fought. He guessed at the sting of blood, the metallic odor, the cries within chaos. A part of him felt almost nostalgic… Since his encounter with the brigands, no true action had filled his days.
A few words he had heard earlier still floated in his mind: cult, whale… Names without faces, without substance. He tried to shape them into images, but they remained vague shadows, devoid of meaning. This world was still an enigma, filled with oddities like men bearing animal traits.
As he meditated, light footsteps broke the silence. He opened his eyes, lifting his head slightly. A silhouette slowly descended the stairs into the hall. The silvery strands of her hair caught the chandelier's light, and her pale violet eyes settled on him with caution.
It was Emilia, the royal candidate. Half-elf. Beautiful, distant, and visibly wary.
Madara rose slowly, his eyes following her without a word.
Hurried steps rang against the marble, and a young man with a casual air burst into the hall. His gaze immediately locked on Madara.
Subaru: Who's he? Ah… the famous tourist Wilhelm mentioned? The one who shows up after the battle? And he wants to go to the Sanctuary, right? Do you trust him, Emilia?
Emilia: He seems… a little lost. A little like you, at the start.
Subaru: Hey! That's mean to say!
He walked forward without hesitation, eyeing Madara's red armor.
Subaru: Seriously… You know that in my old world, people would call that a costume? Armor like that, I've never seen here.
Madara stayed silent, staring at him. The boy's words were quick, familiar, as if no barrier existed between them. A way of speaking foreign to Madara, impossible to place… halfway between insolence and something broken.
Subaru: Anyway… we're planning to spend a while at the Mathers mansion before leaving for the Sanctuary.
Madara gave a small nod.
Madara: I have no objection. Thank you for accepting me.
Emilia: We will leave at dawn. The four of us.
Madara: Four?
Emilia: Yes. Otto our driver will take us. And Rem as well.
… I still don't know if I can trust you.
Madara: Trust is a luxury. Keep yours. I ask for nothing.
Even pure souls demand invisible chains to reassure themselves.
She stood still for a moment, her violet eyes locked to his, before turning her head away.