The sun stood high, unashamed, pouring light over the world as though it had not been bruised only days before. Winter still lingered in corners and shadows, but the day itself carried a strange boldness—too bright, too calm.
I woke with warmth pressed against my face. Sunlight filtered through the window, insistent, familiar. I turned away from it, curling slightly into the bedding, clinging to the last quiet seconds before thought returned.
My body felt rested.
My mind did not.
The festival had passed without incident. Lanterns. Music. Polite laughter arranged neatly into the night. Everything had unfolded as it was supposed to.
Victoria had barely spoken.
Not sharply. Not coldly. Just… not at all. Her silence lingered now, thin but persistent, threading itself through my thoughts no matter how I tried to shake it loose.
Since the market, our conversations could be counted on one hand. Fewer, maybe.
What changed?
The question circled endlessly, never landing.
I turned back toward the light with a quiet sigh, squinting as it flooded my vision.
"Will you be joining us for breakfast," Dōngzhí called from the doorway, impatience already woven into her voice, "or should I bring it to you?"
Before I could answer, she added, "Hurry up and come eat," and disappeared down the hall, her footsteps light and decisive.
I forced myself upright.
The day, apparently, had no interest in my hesitation.
---
Breakfast was quiet.
Too quiet.
The clink of utensils sounded sharper than it should have, each movement echoing in the space between us. Conversation remained polite, shallow, drifting nowhere. I caught myself glancing at Victoria more than once, searching her expression for something—anything—but she kept her attention on her meal, composed and unreadable.
"Heiwa," Dōngzhí said suddenly, cutting through the stillness, "you should take Victoria to visit your family manor."
I froze.
The reaction hit me before I could stop it. Dōngzhí noticed immediately. She always did. Her gaze flicked between us once, then she calmly returned to her food, as if she hadn't just shifted the ground beneath my feet.
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
Words tangled, useless.
Victoria set her utensils down with careful precision and looked first at Dōngzhí—then at me.
I looked away.
"I don't mind," she said softly.
My throat went dry.
---
The streets were quieter than before. Familiar paths bore fresh scars—cracked stone, hastily repaired walls—but the town carried itself with stubborn dignity. The manor stood much as it always had: weathered, intact, enduring.
Victoria followed a step behind me.
"I didn't know your brother was the provincial governor," she said as we entered.
"Hm. Yes."
"Interesting."
The courtyard bore faint signs of fire damage—blackened stone, scorched wood—but the flames had been contained. Inside, the halls smelled of burnt timber and old memories layered thickly together. Our footsteps echoed softly.
I waited for her to ask something. Anything. I slowed once, half-hoping she'd fill the silence.
She didn't.
---
When we returned to town, the air felt different—quiet, but tight. Like the world was holding its breath.
Dōngzhí sat with her instrument when we reached the shrine.
"Oh, you're back," she said, looking up. "I've just received word from your brother."
My legs moved before my mind caught up.
"What does it say?" I asked, too quickly.
She lifted a folded paper. "Simply put—they've won. The battle is over. They should return within a few days."
The word won echoed painfully loud in my ears.
"Victory," she added, offering the letter.
"They won…" I breathed, turning toward Victoria.
Relief surged through me, sharp and overwhelming. My body wanted to move—to step forward, to hold her, to let the tension finally break.
I stopped myself.
She met me with a polite smile. Kind. Measured. Distant.
"Victoria," Dōngzhí said, already standing, "come help me prepare dinner."
Victoria nodded at once and followed her.
Dōngzhí smiled as she walked away—one of those smiles that pretended to hide something but never truly did.
I remained where I was, sunlight spilling across the shrine floor, realizing too late that things hadn't shifted all at once.
They had been moving quietly for a while.
And I had only just begun to feel the distance.